#DOVE SWEEP | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tasteleeknow · 1 year

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EVERYTHING AND NO ONE

PAIRING: prince!minho x maidservant!reader GENRE: smut. fluff. angst. royal!au. forbidden love. CONTENT: 18+ minors dni. unprotected intercourse. major injury. pet names. WORD COUNT: 14.3k (and i could've kept going)

SUMMARY: you're a royal servant, someone who was supposed to sink into the shadows and speak only when spoken to. power: you had none... except when it came to the crown prince.

NOTE: thank you to @lino-nyangi, @tasteracha, and @therhythmafterthesummer for beta reading and helping me edit this beast.

do not repost to other sites, including translations.

You’d never forget the first time you saw him. Pushed forward by the momentum of the crowd, you found yourself in a prime position to see the royal procession through the city. Leading an annual hunt in celebration of his birth, Minho sat astride his horse, offering small waves to the cheering crowd as he passed. It was only then, seeing him in the flesh that the reality of your new role as a royal maidservant finally sunk in. You were due to start the next day, to train while they were away and be prepared to serve when they returned.

Two years later you prepare his bath in preparation for his first night returned from this year's hunt. It’s a process of lugging buckets of hot water from the pump at the end of the hallway, enough to fill the large tub that sat in the corner of his large room. Then, when the tub is full and you’ve tested the water temperature, you place a small offering on the stool beside it. A bar of soap. In the little free time you had, that is what you did: make soap. It was calming, and using the soap you’d infused with sumptuous scents was one of the few luxuries you had. You shared any extras with the prince. He was kind.

He wasn’t like the other members of the court, he’d acknowledge your presence, he’d speak to you like you were a person as complex as he was. It wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. When he’d started, it had thrown you off kilter. You weren’t prepared to have conversations with the crowned prince. You’d been told in your training to not be heard, and if you could help it, not seen either. Still, he’d persevered, chatting to you like you weren’t supposed to complete your tasks and get out of the way with as little disturbance as possible.

You stand as the door opens, brushing down your apron and making yourself presentable for his entrance, just as you were supposed to. He sweeps into the room as he always does, ignoring any sense of decorum and addressing you directly.

“Are you making me a bath, little dove?” he says, unbuckling his sword belt.

It wasn’t a new nickname. He’d taken to calling you that a year prior. You had no idea what to make of it, apart from that he couldn’t mean anything bad by it. He didn’t have an unkind bone in his body. Even towards someone like you.

“Stop calling me that,” you sigh, returning to your task of filling the large tub with warm water. You tip the final bucket in.

“What should I call you instead?”

“Nothing. You know you cannot talk to me at all.”

“Cannot?” he questions, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Should not,” you correct. “Of course, you can do anything you like.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Is it not?” you question, placing the bucket down beside you.

“There are… many things you can do that I cannot.”

You huff out a laugh, swirling your fingers through the bath water to check its temperature. He may be kind, but he was still a prince, he couldn’t help his ignorance. “Unless you mean make a bed or scrub a floor, I’ll have to disagree.”

He ignores your snarky comment, like always. It’s a dangerous line you toe, you remind yourself.

“You can marry who you like,” he says.

You stand, lifting your now empty bucket onto your hip. “Can I?”

“Of course. You’ll marry someone you love. I’ll wed someone chosen for me.”

“I’m not sure I’ll marry at all.”

He takes a step towards you and holds his cuff out, silently asking for help to unfasten the buttons. You lower your bucket to the floor and close the distance between you.

“Why is that?” he asks as you work on unbuttoning each cuff.

“I have my work here.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you think he’s dropped the subject. Then he speaks again.

“You wouldn’t leave for love?”

You shrug. “I love my life; my work. I don’t need anything else.” You don’t add that he was a major part of the reason why, that you enjoyed talking to him too. “Whoever is chosen for you, you might come to love her.”

He’s quiet.

“I don’t think I will,” he pauses, and when he speaks again, the sorrow leaking from his tone takes you off guard. “I don’t think I can love again.”

You lift your eyes to his. “Again?” you question. You had never known him to court anyone. Perhaps before you arrived? Although surely that’s gossip you would have overheard downstairs.

“No, little dove. Not again.”

“Are you courting? A secret courtship?”

He smiles. “No, I don’t think I’d call it a courtship.”

“But you’re in love?”

He nods.

“Don’t let them hurt you.”

“I don’t think I can promise that,” he says, one corner of his mouth tilting up into a sad smile.

“You think they’ll hurt you?”

“Not on purpose.”

He laughs when you frown, concerned. “Don’t fret, dove. I’m prepared for it. I’ve always known she wasn’t for me. I can’t have everything I want, remember.”

—

It’s only a few weeks later that an announcement is made: the crowned prince is to marry. You’re prepared for it, you knew it was coming any day and still… you cry. You let yourself have one night of tears. Then, the next morning, you put it from your mind. It’s not your place to mourn the loss of him, he was never yours in the first place. The only consolation you can take from the news is that it helped explain his low mood over the past week, he wasn’t losing interest in your company, he was processing his soon to be announced nuptials.

He’s quiet as you move around the room, preparing his room for the day. He sits solemnly on the edge of his bed. You can feel his eyes on you. His silence is unnerving, out of character. It’s so unnerving you eventually spin to face him.

“Are you going to continue staring until I leave the room?”

It’s enough to be thrown from the palace: addressing him directly, speaking to him like this. You were too comfortable. Sometimes you wondered if you’d ever slip up when you weren’t alone, speak to him in such a way when others could overhear.

He smiles. It’s a sad smile, all of his smiles were recently. You didn’t like it. It was only over the past week you’d realised how much his smiles got you through your days. He was depriving you.

“If you don’t mind,” he answers.

You replace your poker in the small stand beside the fireplace and pull yourself to your feet. He looks sunken, bare shoulders hunched over. Fix him, your heart instructs.

“She’s very beautiful, apparently,” you say, taking small steps towards him. “That’s all anyone downstairs could talk about this morning. She’s known for it.”

He frowns. “Do you think that matters to me? That it will make it better?”

“I just think you should be open to the idea that you might come to love her, that you might be happy.”

He stands suddenly, linen pants falling low on his hips. You saw him shirtless everyday, waking him in the morning, helping him change, it was a part of your job. Still, the way he’s looking at you now, chest bare and hair tousled from sleep….you unconsciously press your palm over your racing heart. He’s not for you, you beg it to understand.

“Will you be happy?” he asks.

You frown, confused. “What does this have to do with me?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” he says, taking one step towards you. “You’ll be happy for me?”

“I’m your servant.”

He covers his face with his hands suddenly before turning away from you. You watch his shoulders rise and fall as he paces across the room and then turns. You stand across the room from each other, facing off.

“If you weren’t working here. If… you were—”

“Your equal?” you finish.

“Would you consider us friends? In a world where we were allowed to be.”

I’d tell you I love you. “I guess so.”

“So in this hypothetical world, where we are friends… you’ll be happy if I marry her?”

“When,” you correct. “When you marry her, I’ll be wishing you all the happiness in the world.”

He moves towards you suddenly, closing the distance between you. When he’s a few steps from you he stops. His lips part and press together a few times, like he’s struggling to find the words he wants to say next. You wait.

“I thought I’d prepared myself for this. I thought I’d talked myself through it, that I was ready to let—” he cuts himself off, running his fingers through his already messy hair. “I wasn’t meant to be this person, to be self-sacrificing and putting the good of the people above my own desires. I desire, I crave, and I’m selfish. I want to give in.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say, you have to keep yourself from laughing. You couldn’t imagine there was a person on earth more suited to have all the power he would inherit.

“You are not selfish. You are kind, and giving, and no one would be more suited to the role you’ve been given,” you say. He drops his arms to his side as you continue. “I’m happy. I’m happy now and I’ll be happy when you marry and I’ll be happy when you become King. I’ll be proud to have known you and happy that my life and everyone around me will be made better because of you.”

He narrows the space between you a little more. “I am selfish, little dove,” he says, his hushed tone is too intimate. You take a step back. He follows. “I don’t want to do it without you.”

“Will I be… let go?” you question, confused. “When you marry?”

He shakes his head.

“Then I’ll be here. I don’t plan on leaving.”

“I want you beside me.”

“Beside… you?”

He hums, fingers reaching out to play with the frills on your apron. You don’t understand where this conversation has led. You’d assumed he was gloomy because of the girl he loved, the secret courtship he’d mentioned a few weeks ago and the interference his arranged betrothal had caused. What did you have to do with any of this?

“Beside me, little dove. Doing it with me.”

“I don’t understand.”

His fingers trace the neckline of your apron, up to the straps over your shoulder. His eyes track his fingers, like there is something fascinating about the simple fabric that makes up your uniform.

“Have I ever touched you?” he mumbles as his finger brushes the skin at your neck, where your dress ends. A shiver runs up your spine. You’re sure he must notice. “I haven’t,” he says. “I would remember.”

You take a large step backwards, suddenly completely overwhelmed. “I have other duties. I should—I should go,” you say, curtseying quickly and escaping without looking back.

—

You replay it in your head that night, everything he’d said, the feeling of his fingers on your skin. You can’t make sense of it; why he was suddenly touching you, speaking to you about desire, like he—

You sit up suddenly, your bedsheets pooling around your hips. He loved someone. You were sure that was why he was upset, and then he’d started making it about you, asking you strange questions and touching your skin. It couldn’t be you. It didn’t make sense. Your heart races as you throw your legs over the side of your bed. Sliding your feet into your slippers, you stand and reach for your small oil lamp. Your fingers shake as you light it and you freeze as you knock your hairbrush onto the hard floor, silently praying no one was still walking the halls. Silence.

The path to his room is ingrained into your mind, you could make it there with your eyes closed tight. The guards outside his room don’t question you. They merely give you an odd look at your state of attire. You’d visited his room late previously, to stoke a fire in the dead of winter or deliver materials he might need when he was writing late.

You freeze when the door closes gently behind you, suddenly completely unsure what you were doing. The revelation you’d thought you had seems ridiculous now, standing here in his room, the crown prince sleeping soundly in his bed. Why would he love you? You were nothing. You press your hand over your heart. He’s not for you.

You turn just as his soft, sleep laden voice breaks the heavy silence. “Little dove?” he questions. “What’s wrong?”

You turn slowly, grateful the darkness might shield some of your shame. “Nothing is wrong, your highness.”

He huffs out a laugh, pulling himself up from the bed and swinging his legs over the side to stand. “Your highness?” he questions, amusement clear in his tone. He takes a few steps towards you before stopping suddenly, eyes dropping down your figure and then flicking back to your face. “What are you wearing?”

“I—”

“Has something happened?” he interrupts urgently.

You shake your head quickly. “I wanted to ask you about this morning.”

He sighs, shoulders sagging as he switches from panic to dejection. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you, I was…. overwhelmed. This week has—”

“I didn’t come here for an apology.”

Interrupting the crown prince. You imagine your mother knowing. She’d likely drop dead from shock.

“I owe you one anyway,” he says.

“If you are going to start apologising for crossing boundaries, you have two years of talking to me like I’m not your servant to make up for.”

“Oh, I’m not sorry for that,” he says quickly, straightening a little.

“No, I didn’t think you were,” you murmur, smiling softly. Your kind prince.

“What are you here for, then? If not an apology,” he says, taking a step towards you.

You suck in a deep breath, preparing yourself. You were in his room in your nightgown. If you turned around and left now you’d toss and turn and get no sleep. Then tomorrow would be tortuous. You were exhausted enough on a normal day. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s how you force the question from your lips.

“What did you mean by ‘beside you’? You’ll be moving to another wing of the castle when you marry. I assume you mean you want me to come with you and if that’s the case it’s already decided that your staff will—” you cut yourself off, distracted by the amused smirk on his face. “What?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well for heaven’s sake would you just say what you mean?!” you blurt out.

He grins at your outburst. You’d officially shouted at the crown prince, at the man who would one day have absolute rule over you and everyone you knew. This was the danger of it all, of his treatment of you. You were too comfortable.

“I think you know what I mean, little dove. You came to me in the middle of the night, in your nightdress, to ask me. I think if you truly had no idea, this could have waited until morning.”

You want to hit him, to stomp across the room and beat against his chest. Could he not see he was hurting you? Dangling you on a string when you were so much less powerful than him, when he had all the power. It was for him to say. He had less to lose.

“You said you were prepared to be hurt, for this person you love to hurt you,” you say after calming yourself a little.

He frowns. “Yes.”

“What about her? Have you considered how you may hurt her? If she’s prepared?”

“Yes. It’s why I’ve tried my best to… resist her.”

Speak plainly! you want to scream. Break me out of this foolish delusion.

“What did you mean? Tell me what you meant. It’s cruel to play games with me, you know it is. I’m no one, I can’t afford to play games,” you plead.

“No one?” he laughs, taking another small step towards you. Then he smiles, a lopsided smile that doesn’t prepare you at all for what he says next. “I want you to be my Queen.”

He catches you by the wrist when you stagger back, taking the oil lamp from you before you can drop it. You were sure he’d have a reasonable explanation, anything but this. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t—

“Look at me,” he says, voice soothing and calm. Your eyes are fixed on where his fingers wrap around your wrist. “My love, look at me.”

Your eyes snap to his. His face is lit by the soft glow of the lamp he holds, brown eyes wide with worry and… something else. My love, my love, my love, your heart chants. “Love?” you whisper.

He nods. “Don’t hurt me,” he whispers.

You suck in a deep breath, suddenly feeling starved of oxygen. “You can’t,” you blurt out, pulling your wrist from his grip and taking a step backwards. “It’s not right.”

“I’ll make it right,” he says, taking your hand in his again. “I’ll refuse the marriage. They can’t force me down the aisle. We’ll wait until I’m King, until I can make any choice I like.”

You pull your hand from his again, backing up until your back hits the door. He takes one step towards you and then stops, letting his arm drop to his side. “You don’t want me?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter what I—”

“It—” he interrupts.

“Listen to me,” you demand. “Just listen.”

He presses his lips together and nods reluctantly.

“I’m no one. You can argue with me about it for the rest of the night but it doesn’t change the fact that if anyone found out the way I spoke to you, the things you’ve just said to me, I’d be thrown out. I’d have nowhere to go and no way to make money and I’d be quickly, desperately hopeless. Everyone would know I’d been thrown out of the palace with no reference and I’d have to leave… somewhere far away. Do you understand?”

“I wouldn’t—

“Do you understand what I just said?” you interrupt. “This is less for you… this means less. You have nothing to lose.”

He closes the distance between you quickly and presses his hands to the wood either side of your head, caging you in. He’s quiet for a moment as he studies your face in the dim light, the oil lamp he’d placed on the small table beside the door the only illumination besides the fireplace. “Nothing to lose?” he whispers. “I could lose you.”

“I could lose everything.”

“Same thing,” he says easily.

“It’s not!” you shout as your eyes well with tears, shoving his chest until he’s forced to take a step away. “It’s not the same,” you repeat, lowering your voice.

“You think I don’t know that? I know that. I know what this means for you, how dangerous it is. Why do you think I’ve kept away.”

“Kept away?” you laugh. “I’m a servant, I’m your servant and you speak to me like I’m—”

“Yeah, well… I’m not a saint,” he interrupts. “I told you, I’m selfish. I did the best I could.”

When you say nothing in return he presses his hand to the wood again, the other lifting your chin to direct your eyes to his. “Tell me you love me, little dove,” he pleads, desperation leaking from his hushed tone.

You sigh, suddenly feeling incredibly drained. “What good would it do?”

“For me? A world of it.”

“Are you sure?” you whisper. “Are you sure it won’t…make it all worse.”

“Please,” he whispers.

You sigh again. He’s quiet as you cup his cheek with your palm, as you brush your thumb across his soft skin. You wonder if he’d smell like your soap, if you were to lean forward and press your nose to the crook of his neck. “Of course I love you,” you confess.

You can’t help matching the grin that spreads across his face, overwhelmed by the beauty of it. Then he’s pressing his lips to your forehead, a slow, drawn out kiss that he only pulls away from just when you think he might have attached himself to you permanently.

The spell breaks as he pulls away, reality crashing down onto your shoulders. “Not that it matters,” you mutter, dropping your eyes to the floor.

Then he’s laughing and you find yourself spinning around, feet dangling against his legs. He spins you around, his laughter vibrating through your chest. When he sets you on your feet he’s practically breathless and you find yourself unwilling to say anything at all, not when his eyes are so full of joy and his cheeks pink from laughter.

“Doesn’t matter?” he says, through the remnants of his laughter. “It changes everything, little dove. I didn’t realise… I didn’t realise how much until you said it. I’m going to keep you safe, I’m going to have you. I can.”

You frown, wondering if maybe he’d bumped his head at some point. Perhaps when he was catching you as you’d stumbled?

“It changes nothing,” you correct, stepping back out of his arms. “You will be getting married soon and I will stay your maidservant and that’s the way it was always going to be.”

“Have a little faith in me, dove? Hm?”

“I have faith in you. It’s everyone else, your parents, the court… you think they’ll let you back out of the arrangement they’ve agreed to?” you question. “You really think they’ll let you marry… me?”

“I won’t give them a choice.”

“It’s not up to you!” you cry, suddenly overwhelmed again. It’s all.. So much. So much. A tortuous sliver of hope in a world that had only ever been cruel to you. “Please—Please, just stop. It’s not—”

He steps towards you, taking each of your hands in his. “Give me a chance… give me a chance to try?”

When you say nothing he drops to his knees at your feet. You swear your heart skips a beat. You look to the door, imagining anyone walking in and seeing the crown prince kneeling at the feet of a servant; of someone who he shouldn’t even acknowledge.

“I have a chance… you’ve given me a chance at having everything I’ve ever wanted… I can taste it, I—” he pauses, pulling one of your palms to his lips and pressing a kiss to your skin. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear it. Let me try?”

It’s silly, childish, it’s everything you thought you werent, but seeing him there—gazing up at you like he might actually… love you—it feels like your knees are knocked out from under you as you collapse to the floor with him.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

He tugs you forward into his arms, wrapping you up tightly. Your nightdress is thin enough that the warmth from his bare chest easily radiates through to your skin. You sigh, dropping your face to the crook of his neck. He smells like your soap.

“You’ve taken care of me for so long… every day… let me take care of you now, hm?”

You want to say yes, to give in to him. Your heart thumps hard in your chest, like it’s begging you to give in, banging his fists against your ribs and screaming ‘Let me out! Let me have him!’. It would be foolish to trust someone with so much power, especially when you had none. You should walk away now, ideally find employment somewhere far away from him, before you can be hurt. It’s too late, a small voice reminds you. You’ll be hurt either way now.

“Do you promise?”

He lifts your face from his neck, warm hands cradling your face. You feel exposed, even in the dim light of the room. When he says nothing and merely trails his eyes over your features, you’re not sure what he’s looking for. There’s nothing interesting or unique about your face. You’d always thought you were well suited to a job where you were supposed to blend in.

“I’ve got you, little dove. I promise,” he whispers. He kisses your forehead again. “You should get some sleep,” he says before helping you to your feet. You expect him to drop your hand once you’re up, but he doesn’t. He stares down at where your hands join for a moment. It’s a comfortable silence. You were always comfortable with him, you realise.

When he finally releases you, it’s with a whispered goodnight and one last press of his lips to your forehead. You find yourself making your way back through the palace to the servants' wing on autopilot. You’re completely spaced out, trying to process what has just happened, how your life has changed. When you crawl into bed, you find yourself shaking. You roll onto your back and close your eyes, concentrating on the rise and fall of your chest as you inhale and exhale. He… loves you. You’d never even let yourself consider the idea before tonight and now you had his whispered promises bouncing around your head.

—

You’re pressed up to a wall the next morning, gathering yourself before you have to round the corner and enter his room to begin your morning routine. You had done the same thing almost every day for the past two years but never hours after he’d confessed… to loving you.

He’s still sleeping when you creep into the room. Usually you’d pull the curtains aside without hesitation, waking him with the bright morning sunlight, but not today. You creep around the room, completing all of your tasks as quickly and quietly as possible. He mumbles at one point and you freeze, fearing for a moment he’s awake. But his mumbling is incoherent and when he falls silent again, he doesn’t move. It isn’t long until you’re forced to face the task you’d been avoiding: the curtains. He’ll wake when you open them, he always did. You consider the distance to the doors, how long it will take you to reach them if you run. You suck in a deep breath. Be brave. You pull them open.

He stirs as you’re tying the first curtain aside. He mumbles something you don’t make out as you’re tying the second.

“Good morning,” he says as you turn to face him. He’s grinning, hair messed and flopping over his forehead. The sunlight streaming into the room lights his face. It’s blinding.

You head for the door.

“You’re leaving?” he asks. You pause.

“I’ve finished in here.”

He stands and makes his way towards you slowly. “Are you alright?” he questions.

“I have lots of work today. Do you need anything else?”

He frowns. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Have you?” you ask in return.

He smiles, closing the distance between you. His fingers play with the frills on your uniform, a new habit. You know the second the words leave your lips it's a stupid question. He didn’t make decisions lightly, not important ones. He’d spent the last two years chatting to you like you were a close friend and not someone employed to lay his clothes out and make his baths. You knew how long he spent thinking things through, how sure he had to be about someone before he trusted them. You remember when he started talking to you about things you’re sure he wasn’t supposed to. It felt like a shift. You sensed he trusted you, even if you weren’t sure what you’d done to warrant it.

“Do you trust me, little dove?” he asks.

You nod without hesitation. Whether it was foolish or not, you did trust him in return. A year into your time here you’d received news your brother had passed. You’d thought you could handle it, that working a normal day would take your mind off it. It had only taken him minutes to pick up on your mood. The second he’d questioned you, you’d broken into heavy sobs. He’d insisted you go to your family, that he’d cover for your absence. You’d thanked him meekly when you returned and he’d brushed it off, asking instead if there was anything else he could do. You trusted him. He was reliable and sure.

“I won’t change. I don’t make decisions until I know and I know this more than anything: I love you,” he says.

“Is my soap that nice?” you offer in return, unused to simple compliments let alone declarations of love.

He huffs out a laugh. “Mm,” he hums. “I simply can’t live without it.”

“You don’t have to wed me to get more soap.”

“Yes, but you could leave at any time.”

“Ah, so you have to entrap me into a marriage…”

He nods, failing to keep his lopsided grin at bay.

“For my soap,” you finish.

“For your soap,” he agrees.

—

You do your best to continue on as normal, to trust him to work on getting out of his betrothal. You were powerless and with everyday that passed (and with his increasing frustration) you were only evermore aware of that fact.

Then he falls. You’re just sitting down to a late lunch in the servants hall when everyone is suddenly rushing around, panicked commands and chaos throwing the entire servants wing into disarray. A pile of fresh linen is shoved in your hands with a quick, “Take these to the prince’s rooms.”

Your heart drops.

“What’s happened?!” you shout at her turned back.

“He’s injured,” she says impatiently. “Now will you go. Strip his bed. There may be blood.”

You stagger back a step, suddenly dizzy. Then someone shoves you from behind and you’re running. You expect the worst, for him to be dying. It’s not right, it’s not right. You crash into a body as you round a corner, struggling to keep the linens from falling onto the floor. You imagine never waking him again, never seeing the way the rays of morning sun would light his skin and deep brown eyes.

The room is full when you arrive, other servants scurrying around to light the fire and strip the bed of the expensive embroidered covers. You find yourself standing there, holding the pile of white linen in your arms, motionless.

Then he arrives.

You find yourself backed up into the wall as a swarm of bodies move into the room. All you can make out of your prince is a limp hand, dangling off the side of the makeshift stretcher he’s lying upon. Someone snatches the linens from your arms. Your eyes don’t shift from that hand, watching until it’s out of your sight, swallowed by the swarm of bodies.

“Go get more water!” someone shouts, and it’s only when a hand wraps around your arm that you realise they’re addressing you. “Water. Go.”

You obey, stumbling from the room.

—

You stare at the ceiling late that night. You hadn’t been allowed back in again. All you knew, all anyone knew, was that he was alive. You’ve talked yourself out of trying to see him over, and over, and over. Your uniform lays at the end of the bed from where you’d started dressing yourself and then undressing again. He’d be watched overnight; supervised. You couldn’t see him, not until morning.

Only, you find after a sleepless night that you can’t see him at all. No one is allowed to enter his room apart from a select few staff. Your superiors, longer serving and more trusted. You go about your days attempting to gather as much information about his progressing condition as possible. It isn’t suspicious to be curious about the wellbeing of the heir. No one questions your persistent enquiries. He’d fallen from his horse, thrown off. You couldn’t picture it, him being hurt. Vulnerable was the last word you’d ever associate with him. He was always strong, self-assured, calm. Him being anything but strong and healthy was wrong, unnatural.

You give in on the fourth night. The news had spread through the palace at lunch time that he was conscious; that he’d live. It’s too much to bear, to spend another night tossing and turning and having the last image of him in your mind be his limp muddy hand. So you dress as you prepare a speech for if he is still being supervised and you’re questioned. It’s risky to disobey clear orders. But you’d given into risk and danger the night he’d confessed.

To your surprise, the guards let you through. They recognise you and clearly assume you have permission to be here. You smile politely as you pass, pushing his doors open. You’re prepared to face an interrogation by his supervisor. He’s alone. It’s a good sign. He’s improved enough that there’s no fear of him worsening through the night. You approach slowly, reminding yourself you don’t know the extent of his injuries, to be prepared. He looks like himself, his expression peaceful and face free from any scars or bruises. You sigh, pressing your hand over your chest. A sense of calm falls over you for the first time in days. You can replace the image of his limp hand in your mind with his peaceful face, unmarred by injury.

You lean down to gently press your lips to his forehead. He doesn’t stir and you watch his chest rise and fall steadily for a minute or so before turning to leave. He was alive. You’d seen it. Now you can rest.

Three days after that you’re instructed to continue on as normal, to wake him and prepare him for the day as you had for the past two years. It seems too soon. But you have no power, so you say nothing. You hesitate at the door, sucking in one final deep breath.

You go for the curtains first this time, selfishly perhaps. You want to speak to him, to hear his voice, to have as much time with him as you can before you’re forced to continue on with your day. The first hum of his voice as he stirs is too much to resist. You rush to his bedside before you’ve finished tying the curtains aside.

He blinks up at you, eyes adjusting to the sunlight. Then he smiles. It takes your breath away.

“Good morning, little dove.”

You throw yourself over him, pressing your face into his neck and breathing him in. His short breath of laughter tickles your skin.

“I missed you,” he mumbles.

“You were unconscious for half of it,” you point out, lifting yourself off him. “Are you feeling okay? I don’t know why they’re letting me back in so soon. You should rest.”

He grins, tilting his head a little. Ah.

“You talked them into this?” you question, already knowing the answer.

His eyes sparkle with mischief. “Like I said, I missed you.”

“You’re not getting up.”

“I’m not?” he asks, smiling up at you.

“No.”

“Are you ordering me around, little dove?”

“Yes.”

“I like it.”

—

He agrees to rest three more days and then he’s done. You know it the moment you enter. The curtains are drawn and he’s pacing by the fireplace.

“There you are,” he says, marching towards you. You were no later than every other day. He takes your hands and pulls you towards the window seat, a long bench that fills the window alcove. “I’m leaving,” he announces once you’re both seated. “Today.”

Be calm, you self instruct. He’s alive.

“Leaving?”

He lifts your wrist to his mouth and brushes his lips lightly back and forth against your skin.

“Father is sending me to Draemore. He says if I want to back out of the arrangement, I have to negotiate a deal myself.”

The arrangement for his marriage. He was to marry Draemore’s princess, to unite the two powerful kingdoms. It was a long journey.

“You can’t go anywhere, you’re hurt,” you insist, sensing a panic rising in your chest.

“I’m fine.”

“You—”

“Trust me,” he says. “Let me do this. Please?”

“You can do what you like,” you say, attempting not to clench your jaw. Powerless.

“Tell me it’s okay. That I can go.”

A shameful part of you wants to tell him it isn’t okay. That you’re afraid he might be hurt again and leave you forever. An even more shameful part is even afraid he might meet Draemore’s princess and be tempted by her beauty. That he might realise she’s the better option, that you aren’t worth it. You aren’t ready to be parted from him. Each night you resist the temptation to visit him, to tell him you struggle to spend any time away from him at all.

“Is it… what you want?” you ask.

“I want to get out of this betrothal. I want to be free of it.”

You fiddle with his fingers. You’d always thought he had beautiful hands. “How long will you be gone?” you murmur.

“I don’t know. As long as I need to be.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll be gone as long as I need to be so that when I come back I’m yours,” he says, voice soft and soothing.

Mine, mine, mine, mine, your heart thrums. “I’ll miss you,” you whisper.

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Mm? How much?”

“Only a little.”

“Ah, only a little…”

“Don’t fall off another horse,” you mumble, adjusting his collar. “Please.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, no falling,” he says, smile containing a hint of sorrow. “Can I ask something of you in return?”

“Is it more soap? Because you’ve got all I’ve made recently.”

“No.”

“Go on, then.”

“Kiss me goodbye,” he whispers.

You look to the door, reminding yourself that no one ever came in at this time of day besides you. It was always a risk, nonetheless. Everything you were doing with him was.

He has a soft smile on his face as he waits for you to decide. His thumb brushes the inside of your wrist where your hand rests in his lap. If he does decide while away that you aren’t worth the hassle, that he can see something in her that he can come to love, you want to have this one moment to keep. To know that at one point he wanted to be yours. You know now that he could slip away at any moment, either because of a princess or an accident.

You watch the corner of his mouth lift slightly as you lean forward. Then you’re brushing his lips with yours, barely touching, sharing his breath. His hand lifts to the back of your head and then you’re joined. Your heart leaps. Finally, it rejoices as you get your fill of him. Don’t forget, you beg. Remember this, remember having him. His lips move over yours like he’s doing the same, savouring you.

You think about how his plush lips had felt on yours all day, up until you’re lined up with the rest of the staff to see him off. That’s the only moment that is more important, watching him climb into the carriage and disappear from your sight for the foreseeable future. You press your hand to your chest.

—

The first time you find yourself standing in front of his bedroom doors, he’s only been gone a week. There’s no guards. They have no one to guard. Minho isn’t here. Still, here you are.

You push the doors open and close them quietly behind you, not that there’s anyone around to hear. The room is dark, cold, and empty. Your small oil lamp is the only light and heat provided now that he’s gone.

You look at the door one last time before placing the lamp on the small table beside his bed and crawling onto the mattress. It’s a world away from the thin mattress on your own bed. You sink into it, resisting the urge to pull the covers back and fully envelop yourself.

It reminds of sneaking into your aunt and uncle's room with your brother while they were at the market. Of climbing into the bed with your dirty clothes and giggling as your brother bounced on the mattress at your feet. You’d spent some time with your cousins as a child, when your parents were struggling to feed you and your siblings. As the two oldest, you and your brother were sent away. You were just grateful to not be alone.

—

You spend some time at his bookshelves on some nights, perusing his personal library. You pick a new one out each time and crawl back into his bed. The words weren’t his, but he’d chosen them, decided to keep them in his room. You scour the pages as if he’d written them himself.

You save one book until last, he’d made you read it to him on one of the days he’d spent in bed. “Don’t stop,” he’d ordered. “Even if I fall asleep.”

He’d nearly died. He’d nearly left you and just as you’d been settled in the fact he was okay, he left you for real.

—

Any news you hear of him or his return is passed through a chain of whispers so long the information is entirely unreliable by the time it reaches you. Still, you grasp onto the whispers, they are all you have. No one knows the purpose of his visit. The assumption you hear passed around is that he’s simply gone to visit his soon to be bride, to get to know her, to fall in love with her.

“Perhaps he’ll be bringing her back,” someone comments from across the table as you shovel porridge into your mouth.

“I doubt it. It’s a long journey to have to do twice. She’ll come for the wedding in a few months,” someone else chimes in.

“What if he isn’t back until then? It’s been four months, what’s a few more?”

You stand abruptly, stool scraping along the floorboards. You feel a few eyes on you as you leave the room. Your appetite still hasn’t returned by supper.

—

You stab your finger with your sewing needle as the door slams open. You stick your bleeding finger in your mouth as the only person here (aside from Minho) you consider a friend rushes into the room and slams her hands on your small desk.

“He’s back,” she gasps, clearly out of breath.

You pull your finger from your mouth with a pop.

“What?”

“They’re having a dinner for his return and no one is prepared. It’s chaos out there.”

“He’s back?” you whisper.

She nods.

Chaos is an understatement. No one is prepared for his arrival. You’re one of many forced to help the cooks as they scramble to put together the celebratory meal. You narrowly miss cutting your fingers as you chop vegetables, distracted by the gossip surrounding you. No one knew if he’d arrived alone, if she was with him.

You’re reminded again how powerless you are, how little you are, when you realise there is no way you’ll be allowed anywhere near him the rest of the day. He’ll be surrounded by the members of the court, by his family, and you’re no one. You aren’t even allowed to be in the dining hall when dinner is served, too low on the staff pecking order for it to be considered appropriate. At least you discover he’d returned alone. He hadn’t brought her.

Late that night, when you’re finally released from cleaning, it’s the knowledge that he hadn’t returned with her that pushes you out of bed and towards his room. Whether he had failed in his mission to free himself from the arrangement hardly concerned you after months away from him. You needed to see him, hear his voice.

You don’t hesitate as you pass the guards, doing nothing to disguise your eagerness as you burst through the doors. Minho stands at the end of his bed with a book in hand, clearly taken off guard by your dramatic entrance.

It’s a protracted moment of silence that follows. You aren’t sure how long it lasts, too preoccupied with taking him in. After running your eyes over him for any obvious sign of injury, you do a more thorough inspection. His hair is longer, soft dark locks falling into his eyes as stares right back at you. You desperately want to brush it from his eyes, to run your fingers through it, to grasp a handful and hold him against you so he can’t leave you again.

“You’re back,” you finally breathe, disturbing the heavy silence.

“Ran out of soap.”

You burst into tears.

His warmth envelops you almost immediately as he wraps himself around you and tucks your face into the junction of his neck and shoulder. He’s quiet as you collect yourself, basking in the feeling of his body against yours. You snake your hands up around his neck to thread your fingers into his hair, the long strands giving you plenty to grasp onto. He hums when you begin pressing open mouthed kisses to his neck, trailing up to a small mole near his jaw.

“You missed me then?” he asks.

He attempts to pull back from you slightly when you don’t reply but your desperate grip around his neck prevents him. It’s enough to pull a breathy laugh from his lips.

“Don’t you want to know how I did?” he asks.

“Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin.

“You don’t wanna know if I’m yours?”

“You are. You’re mine. I don’t care what any of them say… you’re mine.”

He lifts you off your feet and falls back onto his bed, pulling you down onto him. Your leg slots between his and your dress bunches up at your thighs. He huffs out a small laugh at the squeak that escapes you at the sudden fall.

“Is that right?” he grins.

You lift yourself onto your elbows to take him in properly. He blinks and shakes his head a little, attempting to dislodge some hair from his eye. You brush it away for him, tucking it behind his ear gently.

“You’re mine, Minho.”

The smile drops from his face, a few slow blinks following. “Say it again,” he whispers.

“You’re mine.”

“Say my name.”

Ah. You suppose that’s the first time you’d ever addressed him by his name, the first time you’d ever spoken it aloud at all. You can’t help laughing a little at the idea of it, at anyone you worked with knowing you’d addressed him by his given name, while lying across his half naked form. Then you find yourself on your back, the heir to the throne hovering above you.

“Say it,” he commands again.

“Promise you won’t leave me again.”

“Hm?” he hums.

“Just…. promise you won’t leave me alone again. Promise me.”

“Did you miss me that much, little dove?” he asks, tone soft and gentle.

“Desperately.”

His lips curve into a sad smile. “I won’t leave you again.”

“Promise.”

“God himself will have to drag me from you, I promise.”

“No, not even that.”

“Alright, not even that. I’ll die a natural death many, many years from now.”

You nod, satisfied. “Can I stay with you?” you ask, feeling brave. His absence had unlocked something in you. Your fear of rejection seemed inconsequential compared to being parted from him.

“Stay… here?”

“I’ve… gotten used to your bed.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Have you been slipping between my sheets while I’ve been away, little dove?”

“I read most of your books, too.”

“I like it, the idea of you making yourself at home in my space. Our little nest, hm?”

“So I can stay?”

“If you ask nicely.”

You roll your eyes and reach up to tug at his earlobe. “Please, can I stay with you?”

His nose scrunches. “Nicer.”

Nicer than—Oh.

“Please, Minho? Please can I sleep here with you?”

He hums. “Anytime, my love,” he whispers, brushing his lips over yours. You lift your head slightly, attempting to kiss him properly. He lets you have one taste, one taste of his upper lip and then he’s pulling you to your feet and detaching himself from you. It’s incredibly upsetting. Before you can announce your displeasure his fingers slip into the neckline of your uniform, barely ghosting over your skin.

“Are you going to sleep in your uniform?” he whispers.

“It’s clean. I—”

“Doesn’t look comfortable.”

“I’m okay,” you assure him.

“Get in,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and nudging you gently towards the bed. You don’t hesitate, crawling up the huge mattress to settle under the covers.

It’s not until you’ve pulled the heavy blankets up to your chin that you notice what he’s doing: stoking the fire. You sit up to watch, unable to resist watching him do something so simple and yet entirely new. He smiles a little when he turns to see you staring.

“Warm enough?” he asks.

You nod eagerly. “I’m used to no fire at all.”

He frowns, halting where he’s climbing into the bed. “You don’t have a fire?”

“Downstairs? We have fires. I just—I didn’t want to risk lighting yours… while you were away.”

He crawls in beside you and you lower your head to the luxurious pillow to face him.

“It’s been freezing for weeks,” he mutters, shuffling closer. “You really slept in here with no fire at all?”

“You have lots of blankets.”

He grumbles something under his breath and then he’s tugging you towards him. He’s quiet once you’re settled against him, breathing even.

“These frills are scratchy,” he whines just when you think he’s fallen asleep.

You huff out a small laugh as you pull away from him. “Fine, since you want me unclothed that badly.”

“My intentions are pure. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Your highness?” he huffs, offended.

You grin at him as you untie your apron and carefully fold it. His eyes don’t leave you as you work at removing your dress as well. You’re forced to look away first. When your flowy chemise is the only thing remaining, you crawl back in, avoiding his gaze. He tugs you towards him again, warmth seeping quickly through the single layer of fabric separating you.

“Better,” he hums.

He’s quiet again for a while, but you are never fooled twice and you’re prepared when he speaks up again. “I negotiated a new arrangement. I had to correspond back and forth with my father to figure out the details. That’s why I… was away longer than I would have liked.”

A new arrangement… one where he didn’t have to marry her?

“You’re… free?”

“Mm, little dove. I’m yours.”

You cling to him, wrapping your leg around his hip. “I want to be yours, too.”

“Hm? Who says you aren’t?”

“I’m no one,” you mumble.

“Says who?”

“Everyone except you. I’m invisible.”

“Well I say you’re everything,” he says softly. “I say you’re mine. Whose opinion matters more to you?”

“Yours,” you whisper.

“Mm, good girl,” he says, kissing your forehead. “Get some sleep.”

“Minho?” you whisper after a moment of silence.

“Mm?”

“Can I ask something of you?”

“If you’re going to say my name like that, anything.”

“Goodnight kiss?”

“That’s a big ask,” he says, clearly teasing. “Do I get something in return?”

“What do you want?”

“One tomorrow night.”

“Then I get one the night after that.”

“Then I—”

You cut him off with your lips.

—

You wake before him, used to a much earlier start. You can’t resist watching him for a while, taking in his longer hair and parted lips.

Then you get dressed, pulling your uniform on and tying yourself into it like you do any other morning. The guards should have changed shifts only a half hour ago, hopefully enough time to assume you’d simply started on your duties early—rather than… spent the night with your limbs wrapped around the crown prince. It was ridiculous to be paranoid at all, you tell yourself. You’re invisible.

When you return an hour later, Minho is still asleep. He’s rolled over, spread out across your side of the bed, like he’d been reaching out for you in his sleep. Your heart jumps a little at the idea of it.

He’s ready for you when you return that night, perched in bed with a book he wants to read with you. It’s a new one. You hadn’t found it on his shelves.

The night after that he kisses your neck, rolling over you and slipping your chemise off your shoulder a little to give him more skin to work with. It leaves you breathless.

A week later you wake to him pressed up against you, hardness grinding into you as he mumbles in his sleep. You kiss him awake, playing with his ear and asking him if he’d been dreaming. He pulls you into his chest, hiding his face from you.

Two nighters after that, he watches you prepare his bath. He’s been quiet all day, mind somewhere far away. You’d hoped he’d open up, trust you enough to share whatever was bothering him. He’d offered nothing.

“It’s ready,” you announce, placing a new bar of soap from your newest batch on the small stool beside the tub.

He says nothing, unmoving from his perch at the side of his mattress.

“Do you need help with your cuffs?”

He looks up at you, brows furrowed. “You should have it,” he says.

“The bath? Are you saying I smell?”

He laughs, the first laugh you’d seen from him today. “I just want you to have it. You’re always putting so much care into it, I—I don’t imagine you take as much care when you’re preparing your own.”

“Not usually, no.”

“I'll make sure no one disturbs you,” he says as he stands.

“I—”

“I’m not using it. Don’t let it go to waste,” he says, marching for the door and leaving you there, dumbstruck.

It’s the nicest bath you’ve had in your life. You can’t remember the last time you’d bothered to heat the water, let alone soak for an entire hour.

When he wraps himself around you later that night, you whisper a thank you into his neck. “Don’t thank me, little dove. I’ve done nothing.”

—

“Remember when I said I was selfish?” he murmurs in between open mouthed kisses to your neck.

“Mm,” you hum, only partially listening.

“I’m greedy too, and impatient, and—”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want you, little dove. I want you so badly.”

“I’m yours.”

“I want to taste you, I want to feel you, I want to bury myself inside you and hear my name on your lips.”

“I-I want that too.”

He groans. “Don’t… don’t say that. It’s not—”

“Right?” you finish. “According to everyone else, we’re not right at all..”

“I shouldn’t be letting you sleep here, I should wait. You deserve—”

He was royalty, tradition and formality was baked into his blood. He believed in virtue and consummation on the night of a wedding and everything proper.

“You think I care about any of that nonsense?”

“But I do. The fact we’ve been sharing a bed together before—”

“We’re married?” you grin.

When he doesn’t return your smile, you know he’s serious.

“We can wait,” you soothe, playing with the hair that hangs down between you. “If it’s what you want.”

“I want to strip you bare and bury myself inside you.”

“Alright,” you grin. “If that’s what you want.”

He rolls off you with a groan before grumbling a goodnight, keeping his distance until he falls asleep. He reaches towards you a little while later, mumbling something incomprehensible into your hair as he drapes himself over you.

—

“I was wondering… if maybe I could bathe in here again?” you ask from the end of his bed.

You suppose it’s cruel to tease him. But it’s fun. You haven’t had much time for fun in your life, nor opportunity for it. It makes you feel powerful, seeing the way he clenches his jaw and drops his eyes down your legs each time you step out of your dress. You weren’t used to power either.

“It’s… late. You want to… now?”

“Please?”

“I—Yeah, if that’s what you’d like.”

“I’d like it.”

He throws the covers back. “I’ll be in the library if—”

“You can stay,” you interrupt.

He stumbles over nothing and whips his head over to you. It’s so comical you can’t hold back the tiny huff of laughter that escapes your lips.

His eyes darken at the sound. “Are you teasing me, little dove?”

“I’d like you to stay.”

A switch back to timidity. “You want me to… stay as you…”

“Bathe, yes.”

He sits at the edge of the mattress as you prepare the bath, standing only to take full buckets of water from you when you enter the room. He’d taken to doing things like that, take up some of the tasks that fell under your job description. You’d even found the bed made up one morning. You’d had to redo it, it was a sincere effort, but not quite up to standard. He’d noticed of course and the next morning he’d asked if you could teach him to do it properly.

He blinks at you from the side of his bed as you walk towards him. Then he holds his hand up, palm facing you. The universal symbol for stop. You do.

“I can’t—I—”

“You don’t have to touch me,” you whisper. “Is it wrong if you don’t touch me?”

“Yes.”

“It’s also wrong to want to marry me though, isn’t it? You’re ignoring that rule.”

He’s quiet as you undress… apron… dress… stockings… His eyes fix on the piece of ribbon tied together at your chemise’s neckline. It’s the only thing keeping the fabric from slipping off your shoulders and falling to your ankles, leaving you entirely bare.

“No touching?” he whispers.

“No touching.”

His hand drops to his lap. You tug the ribbon free, keeping your eyes on him as the fabric slips off one of your shoulders. This was as much as he’d seen up until now, as much as he’d dared to explore when he presses kisses down your neck at night.

You shrug the other shoulder off, then let the flimsy fabric drop down to your ankles. It should be scary, being this vulnerable, completely bare. His eyes rake over you. It’s the way he looks at you, like he was starved and you were something he desperately craved. How could you possibly be afraid when he looked at you like that?

When you move closer, he leans slightly back, like you’re a threat. “Are you okay?” you whisper as you reach him.

He doesn’t look up from your breasts and when he speaks, his warm breath ghosts over your nipples. “No touching,” he breathes.

“Good boy,” you whisper.

You’re tempted to close the distance, to feel the brush of his plush lips against you. You resist. He stands as you take a few steps away from him, following you as if there’s an invisible line of string attaching him to you. Power.

When you nudge the small stool by the side of the tub with your calf, the sound of the wood bumping against the tub snaps him from his haze. He pauses, hands limp at his sides as you climb over the side and into the warm water. It’s heaven, the tub curving perfectly around your spine and neck, offering a relaxing headrest. You drop your head back and close your eyes, aware of the silent prince watching from the sidelines.

“The stool might be more comfortable,” you mutter after a moment of silence. “Unless you prefer to stand.”

You blink your eyes open when he doesn’t answer to find him still standing, looking completely lost.

“Minho?”

He blinks slowly, then tugs his eyes up to yours.

“You can sit on the stool,” you repeat.

He nods slightly then clumsily positions himself on the small wooden stool at the side of the tub. Clumsy wasn’t a word you’d found yourself associating with him. He was poised, talented with a sword. He’d dance around his opponent like it was no effort at all. He was in control, always, even of his own body.

“Could you pass me the soap?” you ask after a moment.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles, reaching for the soap without pulling his eyes from you. He passes it to you absentmindedly, like his fulfilment of your request was entirely subconscious.

“Says who?”

He smiles, catching on quickly. He was quick, your prince. Witty and smart and kind.

“Everyone except you.”

“And whose opinion matters more?”

“Yours, my love.”

“Good boy.”

He grins.

He looks forlorn as you slip back into your chemise when you’re done. You can’t help laughing a little at his sad eyes and pouty bottom lip. He suggests you take another bath the following night.

—

Your encounters with the rest of the royal family were few and far between. You were assigned to the prince’s wing, that was where you spent most of your days. So when you’re summoned to the Queen’s rooms, your heart drops into your stomach. You’ve been found out, it screams. They’ll take him from you. Or more accurately, take you from him. It’s all that races through your mind as you climb the stairs with shaky legs. You wonder if you’ll even get a chance to say goodbye, to tell him you don’t regret it. That the only thing you regret is not having him completely, just once.

She doesn’t look up as you enter, preoccupied with something on her dresser. You stand patiently, attempting to calm your breathing.

When she eventually stands and turns to face you, a tiny sliver of hope creeps its way into your chest at her lack of apparent anger. She doesn’t look like she’s about to scream at you to leave the palace and never return for threat of imprisonment. Her eyes trail up and down your form, inspecting you. She knows.

“I want my son to be happy,” she says finally. “I want it more than anything else. You will understand that feeling one day, I’m sure.”

You’re quiet, waiting for permission to speak. She doesn’t give it.

“He has been distracted for a long while,” she continues, taking a few slow steps towards you. “It became evident to me why, when he expressed how displeased he was at his betrothal. He was in love.”

She closes the distance between you and lifts her hand to adjust the apron strap over your shoulder. It feels entirely different to the way Minho does it.

“I want my son to be happy but I also want him to be a good King, a glorious King. A king who puts his people above his own wants and desires. I’m sure you understand.”

You understood, you understood completely. You were his ‘wants and desires’ and clearly he was putting you above what was best for everyone else. Remove yourself, she was saying.

“Do you think he will make a good King, child?”

“Yes, your grace. I—I know he will.”

“I do not blame you for loving him, he is easy to love. But you cannot encourage him any longer. You have intelligent eyes, I’ve learned over these many years to understand people very soon after I make their acquaintance. You are not foolish. My son would not love a fool. You must know it’s unreasonable to expect him to make you Queen.”

“I—”

“I imagine he’ll be just as happy to have you by his side as his concubine.”

“His… concubine?”

“It is not unheard of for concubines to come from common families, my dear. I hope you… can understand my position. I do not consider myself a cruel or unreasonable woman. I want my son to be happy and the kingdom to thrive. This is for the good of all, you understand.”

“I—I understand.”

“Good. As long as you remain discreet, and you make him understand the importance of him marrying for the good of the kingdom, then we shall put this behind us.”

“Me?”

“You must make him understand. I’m afraid, my dear, you have found yourself in a position of great influence over him.”

“I… can’t make him do anything.”

“Are you sure of that?”

—

You hardly sleep that night, shaken from your encounter with Minho’s mother—the Queen—and unused to sleeping alone. It makes the next morning even harder as you trudge up the many stairs and hallways to his room. You’re not prepared, but you have no choice. This is your role.

You’re not surprised when you find him pacing, curtains drawn and bed made. If you weren’t so consumed with anxiety you’d find it amusing, how you had the crown prince trained.

He marches towards you, placing each hand on your shoulder and running his eyes over you. “Has something happened?” he questions, panic evident in his voice. “You didn’t come. Are you ill?”

“I’m well,” you answer simply.

He drops his arms and takes a small step back. “You didn’t come.”

“Must I sleep here every night?”

He frowns. “I—I suppose not. I just thought—”

“The Queen summoned me to her rooms.”

“What?”

“She knows.”

Panic flickers across his face before he can mask it. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Minho.”

“They won’t take you from me,” he continues. “It’s not—”

“She wants me to convince you to make me your concubine, when you become King. To convince you to choose a Queen who is… right for the kingdom.”

“I have. You are right.”

“Be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious. I’m not making you—” he pauses, sucking in a deep breath and drawing his hands down his face. “I will not demean you by giving you a position in my life less than anyone else. You’ll be my Queen, you’ll be beside me and below no one. That’s it.”

“She knows, Minho. If you…refuse. I think she’ll take it into her own hands.”

“She won’t take you from me. I’ll make it clear I’ll never forgive her if she tries.”

You sigh, tempted to drop to the floor where you stand. You’ve been in denial, blissful denial, and so—clearly—was he. He steps into you, lifting your chin with his fingers.

“I will have you, little dove. I’ve decided. I decided long ago,” he says, brown eyes swirling with emotion. “Have faith in me. That’s all you have to do.”

You offer him a sad smile and a small nod. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms so tightly around you, you almost can’t breathe. You bask in it.

“Come to me tonight. Please,” he pleads. “Tell me you’ll come.”

“Okay.”

—

He’s quieter than usual in the following days, offering little conversation and simply wrapping himself around you when you come to him at night. It hurts, seeing him anything but full of joy. You have no power, you’re reminded yet again. You want to have power over everyone and everything that dares to make him feel anything but joy.

Then he’s angry, you feel it the minute you enter his room. He’s hunched over his desk and doesn’t look up at you when you enter. He doesn’t yell, he doesn’t even grumble, he just radiates anger. It’s not directed at you, you know that. He drapes his leg over you and presses his lips to your neck when he finally crawls into bed with you.

When his mood still hasn’t lifted the following night, you’ve had enough. You roll over him, pressing his hands into the bed beside his head. “Tell me,” you command. “Tell me what’s bothering you. I want to help you.”

“You help me every night.”

“I want to be more than a warm body. You’ve… stopped telling me things.”

“Let me handle it. You don’t need to be upset by them.”

“Beside you, you told me you wanted me beside you, not behind you.”

His lips curve into a small smile. “Will you release me first? Please?”

You lift your weight from his hands, letting him stroke the hair from your face.

“She’s threatening to tell my father. He… won’t be as agreeable as my mother was. I don’t know what he’ll do if—”

“She wants you to agree to another marriage?”

“She wants me to promise I’ll consider someone else, that I’ll consider making you—”

“Agree to it, then,” you interrupt.

“What?” he frowns, hand dropping from where he’d been idly playing with your hair.

“Tell her you won’t marry until you’re King, that you’ll consider making me a concubine but you won’t marry anyone else until then.”

He frowns. “It would be a lie.”

“She wants you to be happy, Minho. She loves you and if she can see hope for having what she believes to be best for you, she’ll take it.”

“I’ll think about it,” he mumbles, pulling you into his chest again.

You trace over his chest with your finger, something you often did when lying in his arms this way. You want him stress free. He doesn’t react at first when you snake you arm up over his hip to fiddle with the waistband of his linen pants. It’s not until your fingers slip beneath the fabric that he jolts, practically jumping away from you.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

“I want to feel you.”

“We can’t.”

“You don’t want to?”

“You know that’s not why.”

“Let me feel you, Minho. Please? It’s just touching, it’s not—”

He lips are on yours before you finish. He tugs you over him, slipping his hand up from your waist to hold the back of your head as he takes his fill of you. You imagine pulling your chemise over your head, feeling his skin against yours properly for the first time. Just the thought of it pulls a small noise from your throat. He hums into your mouth, fingers tightening their desperate grip in your hair.

It’s all the encouragement you need to slip your hand down between you and into his pants. He gasps into your mouth as you wrap your fingers around him, smooth, and warm, and only for you.

“Is that nice?” you whisper against his lips.

He squeezes his eyes shut, plush lips brushing yours as he takes deep uneven breaths.

There’s no going back, you realise. Now you’ve seen the way his pretty features transform with pleasure. The way you touch him is not based on knowledge or experience, you’re guided by his reactions. The way his hips jump off the mattress or the small noises he releases into your mouth.

Then he’s over you, consuming you, hips rolling into your thigh. “Just touching,” he gasps as he tears and claws at your chemise, practically ripping it off your shoulders. He pauses his frantic exploration when your nipples are freed, that same trance falling over him from the first time you’d bathed in his presence.

His hand hovers over your breasts as you watch the way his lips press together and part again, wet from kisses. “Just touching,” he breathes again, still hovering. You reach up to take his hand, pressing lightly until his warm palm cups you. His thumb moves back and forth instantly, brushing over your nipple as he squeezes a little. Then he sits back, readjusting himself over you so he can do the same with the other.

You lie there under him, chemise pulled down under your breasts as he palms them, eyes glazed and lips parted. The way he looks at you has always made up for the way others don’t. When you aren’t with him you are nothing, unseen and unimportant. But your prince? He sees you when you speak and he sees you when you don’t, he sees you and he looks at you like no one more important has ever lived.

“More,” you whisper. “Touch me more.”

His eyes flick up to yours and at first you think he might be about to cry. They’re almost watery and so full of emotion, it takes your breath away.

He leans forward, lips brushing over yours and then pressing firm. It’s almost punishing before he melts, leaving messy, lazy kisses across your mouth.

When he begins kissing a trail from your lips down to your neck you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him to you. His ear is perfectly positioned at your mouth. You can’t resist tugging his earlobe between your teeth. “Touch me, Minho,” you whisper into his ear.

“Shouldn’t,” he mumbles into your neck.

You entangle your fingers in his hair and tug his face from your shoulder, forcing him to look at you.

“You’re going to marry me?”

“Yes,” he answers simply.

“I trust you,” you whisper. “I want you to touch me. I’m yours now. I’m yours—”

He kisses the words from your lips, desperate and consuming. It’s been months, months of tangling your limbs around each other and being pinned beneath him when you roll your hips one too many times against him. He’d bite into your shoulder, a gentle reprimand for teasing, for seeking more when he thought he couldn’t. It’s been months of desperately wishing he’d venture below your neckline, or up your thighs.

He leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck, laving his tongue across your skin until he reaches your breasts. You throw your head back as he tears at the fabric still covering your lower half, like after months and months of restraint he can’t bear to wait another second. He tugs it down your legs and tosses it aside before covering you again, pressing his bare torso down over you. Skin to skin, finally.

He’s warm… and heavy… and safe… and yours. You inhale deeply as he drops his face to your neck again, the smell of your handmade soap seeping out of him. It felt a little like a mark, like leaving a trace of you on him he could carry around with him throughout the day. Mine, it said. Mine.

“Just touching,” he mumbles into your neck again, like he’s attempting to remind himself of his own rule.

You tug at his hair, forcing him up onto his elbows. It gives you the space you need to reach down between your bodies and tug a little at his waistband. He squeezes his eyes shut again.

“Just touching,” you breathe.

His eyes flutter open. He blinks down at you for a moment, then you see it, the decision being formed. His jaw clenches and he leans down, tugging his linen pants down his legs. You tug him back down before he finishes, desperate to feel all of him against you. He fits against you perfectly, one of his thick thighs slotting between your legs.

You can also feel him pressing against your lower stomach, hard and warm and leaking a little wetness onto your skin. You wonder for a moment if anyone else has had him like this, pressed up against them, skin to skin. He hasn’t mentioned anyone else, never showed interest.

“So soft,” he mutters against your temple, wet lips brushing your skin. “My love, my heart, my little do—”

“Yours,” you gasp, clawing at his shoulders like he can’t possibly ever be close enough. Inside, inside, you want him inside you, as close as it’s conceivable to be. There’s an emptiness inside you, one that throbs between your legs, one that begs to be filled.

You’re completely pinned beneath him, unable to lift your hips even a little despite your desperation. You find yourself whimpering instead.

“What is it, hm? Need me to touch you?”

He lifts off you a little so he can move down your body and press kisses between your breasts, slow and soft, so soft they almost tickle.

“Say my name.”

“Mi-Min—”

He latches onto your breast, sucking the soft skin into his mouth. You tangle your fingers into his hair as he works, a slow methodical marking across your chest that only relents when he spends a few minutes at each nipple. His tongue flicks out across each one, leaving them wet.

“You can’t take these from me now, little dove. I’ve tasted you.”

“Won’t,” you gasp. “Yours.”

Then he’s wrapping his lips around one and sucking hard, tongue lapping over it once he frees you, like he’s trying to apologise, to soothe you. But then he does the same to the other, roughly sucking your nipple into his mouth and trapping you in a state of bliss.

You can feel him against your thigh, heavy and thick. He finally detaches from you with a groan when you roll a little against him.

He lifts off you. Your heart leaps at the loss.

But then he’s between your legs. You rise onto your elbows to watch him. He keeps his eyes closed as he kisses the inside of your thighs, trailing his way towards your centre. Hurry, you want to whine. Kick your legs and beg him to go faster like an insolent child.

He doesn’t.

He takes his time, practically worshipping the soft skin between your legs so leisurely you start to doubt he ever intends to stop.

“Minho,” you gasp eventually.

He looks up from between your legs, hair flopping down into his eyes. You snake your hand down your stomach, fingers slipping down to your folds. “Here,” you breathe.

He blinks slowly, then you watch as his eyes fall to where you want him most. He mutters something under his breath, something you can’t make out. Then he lifts his finger and lightly traces it down to your opening, collecting your wetness as he goes. You watch him part his lips as he presses slightly, not enough to enter, just a slight pressure, like he’s testing you. Then he pulls away and presses his finger between his lips up to his knuckle, sucking you from his skin.

He crawls up your body and hovers over you, mouth hovering over yours so closely they brush you when he speaks. “Sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’ve been starved of you all my life.”

You can’t help laughing as he kisses you, struggling to return the way his lips caress yours.

“Are you laughing at me, little dove?” he says, amusement clear in his tone. He lifts himself off you a little, giving you a clear view of his smile.

“I want you inside me.”

His smile drops.

You watch as he gets shy, as he avoids your eyes. This was one of your favourite things about him, his gentle core, the way he could be in line to be the most powerful person in the kingdom and still get shy. The first time you’d seen his ears tinge red you’d only been working here a little over two months. He’d been quietly reading when you’d snagged your stocking on a loose nail in the floorboards. The tearing had been audible. His eyes had dropped down your legs, to the skin that was now newly bare.

“Are you… alright?” he’d asked.

“Just some ruined stockings,” you’d shyly smiled back, still unused to a member of the royal family paying any attention to you at all.

You flicked your eyes over to him once he’d settled back down with his book, noticing the way the tips of his ears had clearly darkened to a pretty red. It was a reaction you’d become familiar with over the next two years.

“Are you getting shy on me, my love?” you whisper now, cupping his cheek with your hand and drawing his attention back to you.

“We can’t—”

“I have five younger siblings. I know the risks.”

“I can’t be… inside you until we’re—I won’t risk you—”

“Just a little… please. I need you,” you plead, lifting your head a little to taste his swollen lips. “I’m so empty.”

His brow furrows as he hums into your mouth, almost a pained sound. Then he’s moving back down your body to trace his fingers through your folds again. “Empty,” he mutters. His finger presses into you, a gradual, almost hesitant, exploration into your tight heat. It’s enough to have you squeezing your eyes shut, having him inside you even in this way. “So hot…” he mutters, breath brushing over you. “You’re so warm here…”

“You’re warm,” you mutter.

He pulls out of you, lifting his head to look up at you.

“What was that?”

“You’re warm,” you repeat a little clearer, stronger. “You’re so warm.”

“Am I?” he asks, a little amusement leaking into his tone.

“Mm, warm and kind and—”

“Have you gone and fallen in love with me, little dove? You sound hopelessly in love.”

“Love? That sounds horribly embarrassing.”

“Horribly,” he agrees, crawling up to cover you with his body again. “It makes me want to do foolish things.”

“Wha—”

You’re interrupted by the feeling of his heavy cock slipping through your thighs and through your folds.

“Like this, little dove. I want to be foolish, I want to feel your heat around me. Tell me not to, tell me—”

“Please,” you whine, rolling your hips against him.

He lifts off you before you can grab at him, hands reaching out at his retreating form. Then he’s grasping at your thighs, tugging you down the bed a little and settling himself between your legs. He drapes your thighs over his, using them to spread you open for him. “Not inside,” he says, more to himself than anything.

Then he lays his heavy cock over your cunt. It’s too much, too close. You plant your feet on the bed so you can lift your hips to milk any friction you can.

One of his hands grips your thigh, the other wraps around his cock, guiding it through your folds as you roll your hips. You’re whimpering at this point, desperate little sounds that do more than any words to convey your craving. You keep your eyes open as much as you can, entranced by the way he gazes down at your core.

“Can’t be inside,” he mutters, reminding himself.

The way you roll your hips makes it dangerous, twisting and writhing against the head of his cock. It nudges at your entrance occasionally, but then he takes control, readjusting himself before you can fuck down onto him.

“Minho,” you whimper. “Minho, please. So empty…” you practically sob.

His eyes flick up to yours. You plead with your eyes, one small tear leaking out and rolling down your cheek. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Just a little,” you beg. “I’m warm, I promise, I’m so warm for you.”

With his eyes fixed between your legs again, you rub your hungry cunt against him, languorous rolls of your hips. This time, when he nudges your entrance, he doesn’t pull back. There’s a slight nudge of resistance, and then his tip is inside you, warm walls gripping him. You freeze, watching your gentle prince pant as his brows draw together.

“Gonna have you,” he mutters breathlessly. “Gonna keep you… beside me… have you like this every night. I will.”

You nod, even knowing he can’t see you, eyes still squeezed shut. He pulls back a little as they flutter open. Then he moves forward, drooling cockhead pressing back into you before you can beg him not to stop. He fucks you like this, just pressing the fat tip into you again and again. It's a risk, you both know it. He knows it well. He was always so responsible, thinking everything he did through and weighing the pros and cons. You’ve corrupted him. If he didn’t feel so delicious pressing into you right now, you might work up a little guilt about it.

Your cunt throbs at the feeling of him pressing into you and retreating, pushing and retreating. You clench down over him when he pushes inside, a small part of you hoping he’ll be tempted to venture further. You’d be so full, so close to him. He’d stretch you so perfectly, you know it. He’d make pretty noises and you’d bask in this one small way you could give. Power to give him joy.

Then he gasps your name and falls over you, lips attaching to your neck. He grinds against you, cock throbbing against your sensitive cunt. You’re leaking wetness onto the sheets now. You can feel it on your thighs. “I’ll have you properly,” he mumbles into your skin. “I’ll—”

He cuts himself off with a low groan, reaching down to tug his cock from between your legs and up your body. He rolls against your stomach, one, two, three, four times, then he’s releasing—warm cum spilling over you. He continues grinding into you, only falling limp after one final whimper.

It clicks in your head as you bask in the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, of his heavy breath against your neck. If someone tried to take him from you, you’d fight them with your bare hands. You were no one, but he was everything, and he was yours.

please don’t forget to leave feedback, it took me lots of time and effort and hearing your thoughts is what makes me want to write more. thank you.

#lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #kpop smut #stray kids smut #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #minho smut #minho x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #x reader

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vixstarria · 5 months

Text

Down by the river

Stand-alone, but takes place immediately after Mark me as yours

Astarion and Tav spend a night by the river, away from camp

Astarion x f!Tav, Astarion x f!Reader

18+ but I wouldn't call it smut, fluff and humour until you get smacked in the face with some trauma I guess, banter, pining, sexual references, oral sex

TW: trauma

I couldn't decide on a POV so I alternate Tav and Astarion in each section. "But Vix, why didn't you just write in 3rd person?" you might ask. Well, because I like really getting into their heads, and because shut up, that's why. It's pretty obvious which section is whose. You got this.

Approx. 2,000 words

“Come see me later tonight, there’s something I want to show you,” Astarion murmured to you as he passed by, lightly brushing your hip with his hand.

You thought you’d already seen all he had to show by then. Still, you were curious.

It turned out to be a ‘where’, not a ‘what’.

“Stay here,” he told you, at the edge of the bank. “Don’t turn around until I tell you to.”

He then disappeared somewhere in the trees behind you. Or so you assumed. He could be eerily silent when he wanted to be.

You were a bit perplexed, truth be told. Astarion had turned out to be all talk and no show when it came to any kind of romantic gestures that didn’t directly involve sex. It couldn’t be that. Were you supposed to see something out on the water? It looked perfectly ordinary. Some kind of ridiculous prank, perhaps..? That would be right up his alley.

You were starting to feel a bit stupid standing by yourself at the edge of the bank. Did he just walk away..?

“Astarion, if you’re about to make another dramatic shirtless appearance from behind a tree, I swear-”

It was dramatic alright. You didn’t hear him until he was a step behind you, flying towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind mid-sprint and sweeping you sideways into the river along with him. He’d taken the time to take his own clothes off, of course, and yours were now drenched. The prick.

“You asshole, what if I didn’t know how to swim?!” you spat as you resurfaced next to him

He just laughed.

“Why I’d swiftly come to your rescue, darling.”

Realization hit you.

“...Shouldn’t you be melting..? Or disintegrating, or whatever it is that happens to your kind in running water?” Another gleeful toothy grin. “...Tadpole?”

“Tadpole,” he nodded, making his way towards a spot shallow enough for your feet to touch the riverbed, as you followed. “I only discovered this earlier today.”

“Awww... And you immediately had to find me and go ‘Mom, mom, look what I can do!’”

You dove again just as he went to splash you in the face.

“Adorable,” she smiled, once she re-emerged in front of you.

“What is?”

“You in moments when you look genuinely happy,” she said, removing her clothes and throwing them onto the bank. “Fangs peeking out from behind your lips, all murder and mischief.”

You found yourself at a brief loss for words as she finished taking her clothes off and turned back to you, throwing her arms around your neck and wrapping her legs around your hips, clutching on to you weightlessly in the water.

“I like seeing you happy...”

Something in your chest clenched.

No, no, no, no, no, this is not how this is supposed to work.

Your body followed its instincts and you drew her into a kiss, hands roaming her thighs and hips under the water.

“You know, you really didn’t need to go through all that trouble, getting my clothes soaked through, to get me to take them off,” she murmured as your lips broke away from hers to trace her jaw.

“Oh I know...” you purred. “I didn’t need to throw you into the river to get you soaked, either.”

You kissed her mouth again, grinning, to muffle the sounds of her annoyed protest.

Your usual script, all your usual lines had been rolling off her like, well, water. Frankly it was a breath of fresh air. She picked apart your words, expressed exaggerated dismay or tried to one-up you, turning it into a game – but still, she did exactly what you needed her to do. All that mattered was the end result, no? And if you could have fun with it, all the better, you thought. Even if it was... different.

You hand slipped further, between her legs, teasing her exposed slit as she gasped and clung to you tighter.

Yes, you thought. This was familiar. This you knew what to do with.

“Let’s get out of the water,” you murmured to him.

Sex in lakes, rivers and hot springs was much more appealing on paper than it was in reality.

Apparently Astarion had taken the time to prepare a few things this time, including some sheets and blankets that laid next to a prearranged campfire.

‘Ignis!’ He lit it, immediately setting it ablaze. Warmth at last, you thought, wiping yourself off.

“Thoughtful of you to get some blankets this time,” you said, sinking down next to him, close to the fire, letting him pull you against him.

“...Is this about the night at the clearing again?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

“What else?”

“I’ll have you know, I am civilised and had a whole spread all of five meters away from where we ended up! We could’ve moved there if you’d only stopped being a complete animal for a few seconds,” he said with a mixture of amusement and indignation.

“No, no you didn’t... Did you? Oh gods... Why didn’t say anything?!” You burst into laughter, sinking against his chest.

“The way you were carrying on, I figured you must have been half wood elf and enjoyed having needles stuck in your ass!”

Unbelievable... How bloody absurd.

You lifted your head once you’d finally regained your composure, grinning at him. The way he looked back at you was so full of tenderness that you were momentarily taken aback. But it couldn’t be. Not with him.

“Tsk... ‘Civilised’,” you murmured. “Who wants that?”

You caught his lips in a kiss, then dipped lower, starting to slowly trail open-mouthed kisses down his neck and past his collarbone, leaving gentle teasing bites on your way down. His breath hitched as he sank with his back down onto the blankets, his fingers tensing on your back.

You ran your tongue between the ridges of his muscles as you went lower, idly wondering what kind of magistrate kept in this kind of shape, if this really was the way he looked before he was turned. His skin felt like silk over the hardness of his muscles.

“What are you doing, you naughty thing..?” he breathed, hoarsely.

“What do you think I’m doing?” you purred. “Or is it that you don’t like it..?” He was already hard for you. You teased his cock with just your fingertips before taking it into your hand, continuing to slowly kiss and lick your way down. “But I think you do.”

“Oh you have no idea...” he whispered.

It’s not that you haven’t been on the receiving end of this before. It’s that when you were, it was usually some slobbering drunk that reeked of piss, whom you wouldn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole, much less have any body part inside of, disgusting and unpredictable, or when you were ordered to participate in some deranged bacchanalia you wanted no part of, with all its abasement and humiliation and having to act, always having to act, always the pretty boy, pretty 200 year old boy being passed around like some kind of doll, or the time with the-

Oh for fuck’s sake, I just want to enjoy this!

No one was forcing you to do this, this was your choice.

‘...I like seeing you happy...’

It was her hand, it was her mouth, this was your choice.

She wanted to pleasure you. She would never hurt you.

‘...I like seeing you happy...’

Just fucking enjoy it, why can’t you just fucking enjoy it?!

“Look at me, darling...” you reached down to touch her cheek with your fingertips.

Anchor me...

Astarion watched you for a while through his lashes, holding eye contact as you worked his cock with your mouth, before ultimately falling back and shutting his eyes. His hand moved to your hair, gripping it tightly.

His whole body was wound up tight like a coil. You started to get the impression that he might push you away at any moment. Was he just over-sensitive..? You eased up the intensity of your motions – you would have stopped entirely, only he started to buck his hips, fucking your mouth as he groaned, the hand in your hair pushing and pulling on your head.

Alright then, maybe not...

You followed his lead until he started whispering something incoherent, jerking his hips more erratically. Before long, his grip on your hair tightened further, and he gasped your name several times, before finally spilling in your mouth.

Never before has anyone made it seem like they were fighting for their life through what you thought was just a routine blowjob. You knew you weren’t that bad. Nor that good.

Something told you you should call it a night.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, pulling you back up, his hands wandering down before you stopped them. “No..?”

He looked dazed.

“Another time,” you said, kissing him lightly, before lying down in his embrace.

“If that’s what you want,” he drawled.

Nature got you there in the end, but the whole act was tainted, no matter how much you wanted to want it. You couldn’t ignore it or pretend you were unaffected anymore. Free, relatively safe, walking in the sun, leagues away from Baldur’s Gate, and still you were in a chokehold.

You wanted to want it, gods how you wanted to... Maybe next time would be better? There would have to be a next time, wouldn’t there?

You also wanted to scream. You hugged her tighter against you instead.

Now put all this behind you and act normal, you wretch.

You laid on his chest, gazing into the fire, edge of the blanket folded over the two of you. It was cozy and peaceful, and you could almost pretend that there was a semblance of normalcy to your life, and that you were just having a pleasant night with a lover. And that maybe you’d just imagined anything was off earlier.

"You’re awfully quiet, what’s on your mind?” he asked, lightly tracing circles on your back.

“Just contemplating the fact that blowing a vampire isn’t even the strangest thing I’ve done today,” you lied.

Close enough.

“We should head back I suppose, I doubt it’s safe out here in the open,” you said, reluctantly.

“Darling, I assure you, I am the most dangerous creature to stalk the night in these parts,” he said in his usual flippant manner.

“Yes, yes, you are a vicious, deadly beast,” you smiled.

“Rawr,” he said matter-of-factly, as you buried your face in his neck in silent laughter.

You slowly made your way back to the camp.

You didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to lie awake, alone with nothing but your thoughts. She was contagious with her levity in her sweet ignorance, you didn’t want to part from her.

“Did you end up fixing that teddy bear?” she asked.

“Of course I did, did you think me incapable of mending a stuffed animal?”

“Ah right, that’s why Karlach was chasing you around, threatening to hug you...”

You chuckled. You’d never admit it, but you were actually growing fond of the hellish tiefling. She at least didn’t give you a wide berth like the others.

“Can you do us all a favour and not leave me in camp wasting time on things like that all day again? I’m sure my skills would be more useful elsewhere.”

I missed you.

“Yes, Wyll and Gale did mention you were completely useless, if not downright destructive,” she smiled.

You reached the camp and stood in front of your tent. Hers was further along.

“I better go get some sleep,” she said.

You gently pulled her against you by her waist, kissing her.

Please just come in, stay with me, please...

“Good night then,” your mouth said.

“Night,” she whispered, before placing another soft kiss on your lips and walking away.

Why didn’t I just pull her in after me..? Wretched idiot.

Should’ve just made myself at home... Sigh. Fucking idiot...

~~~~~

PS Astarion saying "rawr" is canon and I will stick it wherever I please.

Next in series - Something real

This work is part of a series - here is the master list

AO3

Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny

Pst, anyone else - feel free to leave a comment if you'd like to be added to a tag list

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #astarion x reader #astarion romance #bg3 fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion POV

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yeollie-plz · 6 months

Text

Turtle Dove

Day 2 of Pedromas! | Masterlist

dbf! Joel Miller x Innocent! F! Reader

Synopsis: Being raised in the outbreak there wasn't much room for sexual exploration, until Joel came around.

Genre: smut

Warnings: 18+ smut, loss of virginity, p in v sex, age gap (reader is mid twenties, Joel is 50 something), kissing, oral f! and m! receiving, daddy kink, reader is innocent but also not so innocent, fingering, unprotected sex

Gif credits to owners!

You were young when the outbreak happened, so you missed out on a lot of milestones. No awkward middle school phase. No prom. No normal teenager relationships.

Sure, there were always boys your age, but they never wanted more than just sex. You knew it was a bit cliché but you wanted your first time to be special. No reason an outbreak should stop your romantic fantasies.

Now you were in your mid twenties and you had yet to even kiss someone. Its not like you were really trying, but it was still a little disappointing. Not to mention your dad was a bit overprotective. You wanted that knight in shining armor to just come in and sweep you off your feet.

Well, that knight did show up. But instead of being in shining armor, he was your dad's best friend, Joel. He was much older than you but that didn't stop you fantasizing about him. Its not like it was ever going to ever happen anyways.

That was until you were pushed into a bathroom by Joel at a party one night. His lips were pushed onto yours. He was like a starving man when he kissed you. It was like he had been waiting for this for a while.

"Can't take the way you look at me anymore. Need to teach you a lesson." He mutters into your mouth, massaging your breast in his hands.

You whimper out his name, as he trails his hands down to your thighs. He hikes your dress up.

"Let me take care of you baby, just need you to be quiet for me. Can you do that?" You nod enthusiastically.

Then he gets down on his knees and eats you out until you are writhing mess under his firm grasp.

That was a week ago and you haven't stopped thinking about it since. And Joel hasn't stopped eye fucking since. One week ago and you hadn't even had your first kiss. Now you were sneaking around stealing glances and kisses with your dad's best friend. He trusted him and now he was all but fucking his little girl.

One night your dad comes to you, telling you that he is leaving for a few days. Without a second thought, he decides to have Joel watch over you in the time being, not suspecting anything to be going. But you smile knowingly. Excited at the prospect of spending alone time with Joel.

The night your dad leaves, you put on your best lingerie, which isn't the best since you are in an apocalypse after all! But it will do, really your main draw will be letting Joel fully have you. Isn't it all guy's fantasy to take a girl's virginity? Well, you're hoping its Joel's fantasy at least.

You find Joel in the living room, reading some book. You silently walk over and grab the book from his hand, closing it you place it onto the table next to you. He cocks his head at you, eyes taking in your half naked form.

"Baby, what are you doing?" He asks in amusement, knowing damn well what you are doing.

"Joel, we are alone. I thought that maybe daddy could help me with something." You had found out one day when the two of you had snuck away into a closet, that Joel enjoyed being called daddy. So, you were now using it to your advantage.

His eyes darken, "What do you need daddy to help with, baby girl?"

"I feel funny down here," you let your fingers tease you swollen clit, "I need daddy to make it feel better."

He grabs your wrist, pulling it away from your panties. He stands, now towering over you, he takes your hand and places it on his crotch so you can feel him already hardening.

"Do you think you can help daddy too?" Letting go of your wrist he now reaches behind your neck. His fingers run up the back of your head, brushing through your hair, before he pushes you down onto your knees.

"I want to help daddy." You confirm after you are sure you are balanced on your knees.

"Good girl, why don't you help daddy out of his pants then?" Fingers start at the buckle of his belt, undoing it quickly and pulling it from his belt loops. Then you start with the button, slowly pulling it and the zipper apart. That's when Joel grabs your head again. He uses his other hand to grab his cock out from his underwear.

"Put it in your mouth before I do it for you." He tugs your head forward, urging you to take his dick. You oblige, running your tongue down the underside of his member before wrapping your lips around it. The hand that is in your hair guides your head into a steady pace. Not too far to choke you but enough that he feels good.

This continues for a few minutes, before he can't take it anymore. Either the pace needed to change or he needed to be inside of you. But he wasn't sure you were ready for that. So he slowly pulled you off of him. You look up at him in confusion. Doe eyes making him almost finish right then and there.

"What exactly do you want daddy to do for you?"

"I want all of you, daddy." Shit, apparently you were ready for that.

"Stand up." He orders, you do. "I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me what you want."

Your eyes lock onto his, "I want you inside of me. I want daddy to take care of me." A flicker of mischief flashes behind your eyes, Joel catches it.

He grabs your waist and throws you over his shoulder. Joel carries you down the hall and into your room. Throwing you onto the bed he hovers over you, smirking at you before going down between your legs.

A finger makes contact lightly with the rapidly soaking material of your underwear. He teases you lightly before slipping his finger into the waistband, pulling them down your legs. Now feeling your full wetness, he lets a finger slip pass your entrance. He pumps in and out of you slowly, causing you to wriggle under his grasp.

He lowers his head down and gives a light lick to your clit before pulling back to gauge your reaction. Eyes closed, back arched, your face is already contorting in extreme pleasure.

Deciding that he can't wait any longer, Joel pulls his finger out of you, gaining a whimper from you. He sits up and pulls his shirt up over his head.

"Baby, I need you to look at me." You do. "I'm gonna put my dick inside you now so I need you to look at me." A nod.

Slowly he presses the tip of his dick to your entrance, easing it in just a bit. He feels you clench in anticipation, pushing him out. Your hand reaches up to grab his hip in shock. He takes your hand in his.

"Relax, baby, let it happen. Let daddy take care of you." At his words, you breathe out trying to relax yourself. It works and he pushes fully inside of you.

Your hand grips his, hard. He waits to let you adjust to the stretch. Your hand starts to loosen, he takes this as a sign to pull slowly out of you. You whine at the movement.

"Are you, okay?" He questions after your sound.

You nod, "Yeah, it was just a bit painful at first."

"Do you want me to stop?" The hand in yours squeezes slightly to keep your attention on his. The other one strokes your hip, the callouses on his fingers send a shiver through your spine.

You shake your head, "No, please, I want this."

He nods, "The pain will fade in a minute." A peck to your lips.

His pace is slow as he thrusts back into you, head tossing back at the feeling of your walls wrapping around him. As he pulls out again, he lets out a groan.

"Fuck, so tight around me." He thrusts fully into you while he speaks. You moan as he bottoms out.

He keeps the rhythm slow and steady, letting you get used to and start to enjoy the new feeling. On instinct your hips buck you to meet his. Then all of a sudden he stops. He drops your hand and grabs your hips tight, keeping you still.

“Hold still or I won’t be able to hold back.” He says through gritted teeth, while concentrating on holding back his orgasm.

His breathing slows again before he speaks, “Sorry baby, but I’m not as young as I used to be.” His fingers tap your hips as he starts to move again. His thrusts continue to be slow, but now they seem a bit more careful.

"Daddy, please, I want to see you cum because of me." You admit, trying to show that you didn't mind if he couldn't hold it off for much longer. He grunts at your words.

"Fuck, you can't say those things to me. You're too good to me, baby doll." His pace now quickens with the memory of your words swimming around in his head.

He gets sloppier as he gets quicker, now seeming to be chasing that peak. Joel reaches down between your thighs and rubs your clit.

"Want you to cum with me, baby. Do you think you can do that for daddy?" You nod in response.

He works your clit in circles, quickly getting you to your own peak. Just as your orgasm is about to wash over you, his hips stutter a bit. He recovers quickly and works your clit faster. You clench onto his cock.

A few more thrusts before you are to your edge again, your walls clench onto him again. One more circle on your clit and you are thrown over the edge, spasming around his member. You writhe with the intense feeling of your orgasm.

The intensity of your orgasm seems to also throw him over the edge as he quickly pulls out of you. Working his cock in a fast motion, before cumming all over your stomach and tits. He groans while working himself through his high.

Joel slumps onto the bed next to you, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you into him. His warmth radiates around you, letting sleep overcome you quickly. Just as your breaths even out, Joel places a kiss onto the crown of your head.

"Goodnight, my little dove."

<- Previous Day | Next Day ->

Taglist:

@britlord @kittenlittle24 @godlypresley

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grugruel · 5 months

Text

Movement

Pairings: mob!bucky x undercover!f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: Working undercover wasn't what you had expected. Dancing at events was, privately entertaining the boss wasn't. Your story climaxes tonight, leaving Bucky cuffed to a bed and you bent over a windowsill.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: pinv sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism ish?, choking, edging, creampie, thigh-riding ish, fingering.

AN: Not edited yet! Got a dirty dancing vibe from nowhere, so I ran with it. Yall will notice. Please do comment your thoughts! It really motivates me :)

I look around me, gaze drifting over the crowd. My eyes meeting a particular set, catching him staring. I turn my head away, and all of a sudden. Everything, was for him.

Every move, every sway, every sweep of my arms and rock of my hips. I did to his liking, for his approval.

The music blurred around me, so lost in the moment. . .

A soft purple light shone down upon me, giving everything an intimate glow. Illuminating my body and making my long dark dress sparkle, while casting shadows around me. Bulging and dipping, the candlelit chandelier had the darkness join me in dance. So private, yet so open. The hundreds of people slowly whirling over the dancefloor disappeared from my mind, and in its stead, only he was left. My eyes locked with his as a slim path cleared between us, the bodies of couples molding to eachother incidentally moved out of the way.

I smiled, daring him. Curling my finger, motioning for him to join me. Like a bird of paradise, I moved to impress. I moved with the rhythm of the music, brushing my knuckles over my abdomen, trailing all the way up along my torso, over the tip of my breasts and dip of my neck. My fingers messily burrying themselves in my hair, running along my scalp, hair matching the movement of my body.

Hungry eyes devouvered me, but his was the only ones I cared for. Transfixed, he moved forward, pushing people out of the way. Shouldering them to the side as he walked toward the stage, toward me. Theres was no time for curtesy, no time for clients or associates stopping to shake his hand. He waved them away, eyes never leaving me.

This had been our routine since he hired me a few months back, and unfortunately. I'd lie if I said I didn't like it, it had become personal. Even though I told myself it was just for the mission.

But this was not a game I'd let him win. Stepping off of the stage, I dove into the masses. Blending in, and dissapearing.

I, along with some other girls were the entertainment for the night. A ball James hosted every year, in attendance was only the richest and dirtiest.

Static crackled on my ear, 'Back-up on standby. .' The voice spoke as I walked toward the bar.

I was about to answer, when somebody grabbed me–

A yelp esacped me as a hand enveloped my bicep. Gripping it tightly, immidietly pulling me backward. I didnt have to look to know who it was. He'd caught me, but I couldn't avoid those beautiful blues. My eyes meet with the familiarity, they smile, and I mimic.

'Just say the word. . .' The voice came stressed, their eyes on the unfolding scene.

But I carefully raised my shoulder to my ear, playing it off as a scratch, and turned the device off. In the same moment, the music swithces from classical to something more intimate, and the room heats. Couples move from swaying together to moving against eachother, grinding smoothly to the body of the other.

With a smile, his hand slides from my bicep into my own and he pulls me back onto the grand, marbled dance floor. In a flurry of bodies, he yanks me against him. I collide with his chest and throw my arms around his shoulders in the motion. We match our movements to the others as his thigh slides between my legs, supporting me as I grind onto him. The slit in my dress exposing my thinly clothed core to his thick thigh, I bite my lip at the feeling.

Our acts disguised as nothing more than intimate dance.

The music thumps lowly, the vibrations caressing my skin deliciously as he ruts his hips against my own. My hands intertwine behind his neck and our faces come an inch apart, our heavy breaths symphonising with eachother. 'Missed you. . .' He murmurs against me.

I hum, biting my lip as a smile tugs on the corner of my mouth, 'Prove it to me, James.' And a particularly good grind treats me well, making a whimper leave me.

He grunts, capturing my bottom lip in a bite, gently tugging on it.Then speaks through clenched teeth, 'It'd be my pleasure doll.' And grabs my hand again, pulling me into the massive halls of his manor.

A few minuters later, after following dimly lit, large wood paneled walls, we arrive at his room. Like so may times before, his guards stop by the door, standing by.

Kissing we stumbled inside, the guards didnt even bat an eye, so used to this by now. The music from the ballroom dampened as the door slammed shut behind us and Buckys dark, big bedroom welcomed us. His hand glide from my hand to my waist, holding me as he backed up toward the bed. Falling back, he circled his arms around my back. Pulling me closer, he rested his chin against my abdomen, never taking his eyes from mine, big and wanting. He kissed me up my stumache to center of my chest, I sighed happily as my knuckles caressed his cheek. Eventually coming to rest in his hair, combing through it gently. Appreciatively, he hummed, kissing me more. I leaned down, met his lips– and pushed him backward.

With a swift thud and the sound of springing feathers, he hit the mattress, his body shifting back and up against the headboard. Prowling, I crawled on top of him. Stradeling his lap, I unbuttoned his blazer and shirt while sitting on his hard member. I took his hands in mine and led them to the headboard. Meanwhile, I leaned into him, my lips brushing over his. A millisecond before they met, my hands slid to his wrists and–

Doubble "Click"s sounded out.

Opening his eyes, 'Tell me this is a part of it.' He whispered against my lips, the slightest growl to the voice. I shook my head, and sat back on his lap before he lunged for me. But as predicted- he didnt get far. Hands locked in cuffs around two bars of his headboard. I laughed, 'I could lie, but it wouldn't be the first time.' And rocked my hips against his clothed member, humming from the friction his pants and my dress created. He hissed, eyes boring into mine, filled with a burning hatred as his breathing turned heavy, burdened with a long-standing lust.

Sighing mournfully, 'We could continue this thing of ours you know, still have some fun.' I hummed, taking his chin between my fingers to look at him. But he jerked his face from my grup, hands straining against the cuffs, rattling them, then lunged forward again.

I pulled back, 'Ooh-' and mocked, pretence fear lining my body language as I crawled backward and slipped to my feet at the foot of the bed. 'I can still take care of that for ya'.' I nodded toward his erection, a huge hill bulging in his pants.

He huffed and looked away.

I cocked an eyebrow and turned around, walking toward his desk, 'You underestimate me James, I've had you fooled for a long time.'

Chuckling, he answered 'Fooled? I've had you on your knees for just as long, doll.' He worked the cuffs, testing the strength of the bars.

Annoyance bubbled up inside me, 'And what about all the times you've begged me for a taste? Its laughable.'

'Yeah?' He laughed, 'And you begging me to fuck you isnt?'

My cheeks burned hot, needles of irritation pricking my skin. When I got an idea, something to. . . Give back, or get back. Whichever. 'We both knew this wouldnt last.' I said curtly, walking around his desk, riffling through it.

He nodded slowly, 'Didn't think you'd have the stumache to turn me in, still think you don't.'

I huffed, 'Yeah?' Pulling out a particular set of documents, the ones I needed to put him in his place, and held them up for him to see.

'Yeah.' His eyes narrowed on the papers.

I browsed through it, then met his eyes with a smirk, 'Fascinating.' I jerked my eyebrows upward in challenge.

'You wouldnt.'

'I would.' And nudged my earpiece again, 'I got them.'

He shook his head, dissapointment ruining his beautiful features. It stung, It really did. I didn't want to hurt him. Fuck, I really did care for him.

Static, 'Copy, extraction team will meet you at the edge of the property.' At that I turned it off again, everything wasn't for them to hear.

I walked up to him, his gaze followed my every step. Although mad, he didnt want to forget me. Furiously, he studied my curves, intent on not forgetting.

'How come you've not called your guards?' I asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him, tracing a finger along his abs, observing the way his skin grew goosebumps.

'I wouldnt stoop that low.' He jabbed, the pain in my chest might as well have come from the tip of a knife, his knife.

I cleared my throat, 'Well. . . As I said–' my hand slipped downward, '–I could do you a kindness, and take care of this for you.' I whispered, cupping his bulge, 'Maybe set a start to my making up to you.'

'Fuck.' He groaned, bucking into my touch. Closing his eyes, he shook his head again.

'No?' I retracted my hand, my dress strap slipping as I did so. Revealing a tad more of my chest, his eyes opened, and stared. I quirked an eyebrow, and he met my eyes. Pleading. Silently, we understood eachother. We felt what we could not say because of who we were.

I smiled, working my shoulder to let the strap slip further. Revealing my breast, nipple turning hard from the cool air. He sighed, eyes turning soft with adoration. I stood and backed up, and he leaned forward to follow me. But cuffs yanked him back, resteaining him. A glint of annoyance sparked in his admiring eyes. At this, I smiled again. Wicked this time. I walked over to the desk, jumping up on it with a hop and crossing my legs.

'How often will you think back on our memories together?' I ask coyly, a finger trailing up my leg through the slit of my dress.

'More than I do now.' He answered, voice gruff. Pain and lust adorning it.

His response pleased me deeply, I uncrossed my legs and spread them wider. Wide enough to catch a glimpse of my lingerie. At the sight, he yanked the cuffs, desperation taking hold of him. His breathing turning heavy, his eyes on the prize. My fingers slide under the skirt of my dress, folding it over my other leg. Hands moving toward my core. He grunts, spurring me on. The sight of him making my core ache, cuffed, animalistic and depraved. For a second, I toyed with the thought of releasing him. Closing my eyes, I imagined the way he would make my body ache in all the ways it craved. I hummed as a finger reached my panties, sliding up and down my clothed slit. All the while Bucky huffed and puffed, only contributing to my illusions. His member was probably straining uncomfortably against his pants by now. I bit my lip, a finger slipping under the fabric, into my core. Instantly drenched in my juices, I heard a whimper, and opened my eyes.

On the bed infront of me, he'd managed to get onto his knees, arms extended behind him, held by the cuffs, keeping him from falling face first. His mouth agape, panting desperatley as he watched me.

I pushed another finger inside, then another. He bit his lip to muffle another whimper, licking them furiously.

Thrusting gently, I curled them into my special spot. Moaning, as his whimpers spurred me on. Pushing me over the edge in a few short moments, I hummed. Trying to stay relatively quiet.

'Gonna beg me for a taste again?' I asked, and he nodded enthusiastically, 'I could sit on your face for you.' And at that, his eyes filled with hope, but my wicked smile returned, letting him know he would't get that lucky.

I stood, dress falling back into place, breast still exposed. Sautering over to him, then got on my kneeson the bed infront of him. Holding my fingers out to him, slick with my arousal. Greedily, he took them into his mouth, lapping and sucking at every ounce of my juice, hungrily moaning all the while. I pulled my fingers back, and he whimpered at the loss. Seding pulses through my body, his eyes roamed over me as I kneeled infront of him, gaze landing on my breast, 'Can I? Please?' He asked, eyebrows furrowing. I nodded, and in a second his mouth closed around my breast, sucking it into his mouth. Humming, I sighed, enjoying it while it lasted. With one hand holding the folder, I ran the other through his hair, scratching his scalp, 'Such a good boy.' I whispered, and he moaned a hot breath against me, 'The great James Barnes, falling apart by a woman's–' I began, but suddenly, he bit my nipple, making me yelp and pull back.

'Youre not just any woman.' He said, a devilish quirk to his lips.

I sighed, but the lip of my corner tugged as I turned around. Pulling my strap up, I made my way toward the fogged up window and opened it. Cool, damp air flooded inside, chilling me pleasantly as I wathched the view overlooking the gardens.

Before I could make my escape, I turned around to look at him one last time. However, not liking what I was met with.

Pulling himself back, he wrapped his hands around the bars and yanked–

To my horror, one of the two came loose with a worrying clang, making him fall forward.

I'd teased him to much for my own good. 'James, lets just-' I began, and his eyes snapped to mine, then he began yanking on the other. Hunger melting together with anger in his features.

A chill ran down my spine as I threw one leg over the windowsill in a hurried motion, then the sound of a second clang rang out.

Terror grabbed hold of me as I threw my other leg over the sill and jumped–

Bit his hands grabbed my waist, lifting me back inside and pulling me to his chest. The warmth against my back contrasting the cool of my front, horror and excitement washed over me, anticipation leading.

One arm squeezed me as the other slid downward, then he leveled his head with mine, his nose nuzzling my temple, and lips gracing my cheekbone as he spoke, 'How about we make a new memory?' He breathed, I could hear the smile shaping his lips. The hand headed downward slipped through the slit of my dress and cupped my cunt, making a pained moan escape me.

He kissed my cheekbone and bit my earlobe, tugging on it slightly. Then put pressure on my mound with a harsh yank, pulling me even closer against him. A mix of a hiss and a whimper leave my lips as my ass tucks snuggly into his crotch, his hard member pressing up against me. His mouth slips to my neck, 'Your fault.' voice muffled by skin, 'You fix it.'

A shattered hum in agreement came from my lips as he began rubbing his hand up and down in rough movements, the warmth from the friction was enough to send pulses of heat through every nerve in my body. He walked us forward as his fingers coverd every inch of my cunt, teasing my core, digits sliding between my slits, and palm rubbing into my clit, his hand getting more and more slick by the second. As if locked in dance, our hips move together, matching rythms. I grind against his hand as he ruts his crotch against my ass, the very hard member recieving long anticipated friction.

We collpase as he slips to his knees, pulling me down with him.

Suddenly, two of his fingers slip inside of me, setting a quick thrusting pace. He sinks his teeth into my neck, biting and sucking, and a scream threaten me as the coil tightens in the pit of my stumache. His other hand move to my back and bends me over the windowsill.

I rest my forearms against the hard wood for support, and just as the blinding pleasure is about to unfold, his fingers retreat. Pulling out of me with a slick sound, I release a painful groan as my walls ache and clench around nothing. 'Fuck you.' I hiss, shutting my watering eyes tightly against the pain of his absence.

I heard movement behind me, then feel his hands pull my dress straps down, making my dress fall to the floor. His touch leaves me again, then I hear a zipper, Thats right.' He said, pulling my panties to the side, 'Fuck me.' And he rams his member into me. All air expells out of my body, my breath lost somewhere to the cool summer night. My fingers curl around the sill, gripling it tightly as the stinging, filling sensation settles in my bones.

He hums and leans over my back as he gathers my hair in one hand, and his mouth levels with my ear, 'You wont be walking out of here with those papers doll, In fact, I doubt you'll be walking at all.' He chuckles, and lays his cheek against mine, looking out through the window. 'So tell those men of yours that they'll have to carry you once the show is over.' And nods toward the edge of his property before leaning back.

I follow his gaze, and a slight movement catches my eye.

The back-up. . . No doubt watching the scene unfold.

But before I got to much time to ponder, his left hand grabbed my right hip, and his other hand gathered a fistful of my hair.

Then, he pulls. Yanking me upward so that my arms stretch, and my hands support me against the sill instead. My entire, naked body on full display to the outside. Asshole.

He begins thrusting, gruesome, hard thrusts. The hand fisting my hair let's go, and circles around my torso instead, folding over my chest, and grabbing the breast furthest away to knead and squeeze. Covering me up in the process.

Apparently, he didnt want them to see it all. Some was just for him.

He rests his forehead against my shoulder, planting sweet, soft kisses against the blade of it, 'Sorry.' He whispers, all the while his thrusts rock my body into oblivion. 'Needed to teach them a lesson.' He says between panting.

The coil began tightening once again, and I smile. Feeling this good, I honestly couldnt care less. Even so, my team had seen me naked before. We shower together, share rooms even, and they know im in it to win it. My only wish was that they'd have the decency to look away, but knowing they're men, It'd be too high a wish.

Nothing could be heard but the muffled music, slapping skin, laboring vocal cords, and the nature at night. Bird song and nocturnal insects filled the calm night, ever so rudely disturbed by our moaning, and– static?

Oh. . .

'Agent, I repeat– "Do you need extraction?"' The voice was uncertain, uncomfortable even.

Fuck, it must've clicked on when he yanked me by the hair. Embaressment filled me, they'd heard much more than they should've. But even so, irritation took the lead. Annoyed that they were interrupting me, I rolled my eyes, 'I'm fine, I'll be right there.' I stuttered out, doing my best to hide my moans. The slapping however, could not be hindered. I reached for my earpiece, the stuttering of his hips against my body gave me great difficulty. But managed to grab it despite being violently rocked back and forth, and threw it far into the gardens.

'Finally alone?' He breathed against me, warming my shoulder, temporarily keeping the goosebumps at bay.

'Define alone.' I scoffed, biting back a whimper. The pressure in me building to a climax, the sounds of nature and our loving dulled. Replaced by a ringing as my vision grows spotty and a faint feeling comes over me. 'Close, so– So, close.' I manage, my words stumbling out of me. He hums, moaning in my ear as his thrusts frenzies. The hand kneading my breast moves upward, grabbing my throat, squeezing lightly as we tumble into our orgasm. Collapsing onto the windowsill.

'Fuck. . .' He breathes, pulling out off me with a wet plop. His seed seaping out off my entrance now that nothing stood in its way. He rolled off of me and leaned against the sill, elbow supporting him as he observed me intently.

I pull my dress back on, then cross my arms on the sill, resting my chin upon them, 'What now?'

'You'll see me again.'

I huff, 'Yeah? How?'

He shrugs, 'Tell them we have a deal, or that I think were involved. Tell them your cover wasn't broken.'

'Think that'd work?' I ask, unconvinced. However, wishing desperately it would.

'It might, if it doesn't. You come right back here and start over with me. I'll protect you.'

I nod, 'Go to bed, so I at least can pretend to slip out.' And smile, believing him.

Not protesting, he kisses my cheek. 'Good night.' He whisperes.

I stay for a few more minutes, then grab my heels and jump out of the window. Closing it behind me. Silently, in the bright blue night, I walk barefoot in dew covered grass.

Eventually met by familiar voices, 'Not a word I say.' Interrupting them before they can comment, 'He thinks I want him.' I raise my brows and chuckle, the team snickers.

'Sure sounded like it.' One of them jokes, and they all abrupt into laughter.

I roll my eyes, 'Ha, ha. Very funny. Dont pretend you werent watching us half hard, palming yourself.' I bite back. Causing "oooohs" to abrupt, and the guy going pale.

At least they seem to believe it.

I gift myself a hopeful smile, I'll be seeing him again. One way or another.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #mob!bucky #mob!bucky smut #bucky imagine #bucky fanfiction

764 notes · View notes

queenimmadolla · 1 year

Note

Eddie. Rage. Humorous

𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 (𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐭), 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

The sound of items being thrown carelessly around the room mixed with Eddie’s fast paced grumbling made for an amusing soundtrack to your predicament.

You were on your side, jaw in your hands as you lay in his bed, nude body covered with a sheet while you watched him tear apart his room.

“WHERE IS IT!? I SWEAR TO GOD IT WAS HERE!”

Eddie was seething, butt naked and crouched near the bottom drawers of his dresser. The top drawers were all empty and flung across the floor along with most of his clothing.

When the bottom drawer proved no different it got the same treatment.

Then Eddie moved his attention back to the top of his other dresser. The Knick knacks and random shit he’d accumulated were strewn about from already having been thoroughly searched earlier and still he went through them again, sweeping everything off the top when it proved futile.

Eddie stood there, arms crossed and breathing hard as he scowled. You could see his raging erection, dick bouncing up near his belly button so the whole thing was amusing.

“Of course this would happen to me. No—‘cause it would!” He sounded delirious now, scoffing as he laughed without humor which had you biting back your own laughter, “I’ve got the love of of my life in my bed, naked and ready to go at it, and the entire box of condoms I’ve never gotten to actually use before is suddenly missing. Not a single condom in sight. Did a condom goblin move in?! ‘Cause the only other person who could’ve used them is my Uncle and he doesn’t—unless—oh, god…”

You couldn’t help it, you burst out laughing and his head darted around to glare at you, brown mane a mess from your fingers having raked through it so many times.

“This isn’t funny! I’m being forced to keep my virginity!”

Eddie pouted, glancing down at his dick with a pitiful expression, “I’m so sorry, buddy…”

It made you laugh harder and you pressed your face into the sheets below you.

“Sure, go ahead and laugh it up, hot stuff. But I would have rocked your world. Probably.”

You turned onto your back, hand over your mouth as you tried to calm yourself and Eddie watched you with a mixture of amusement and adoration. He twitched.

“THERE’S GOTTA BE ONE AROUND HERE!” Eddie went back to tearing up the room, clothes flying in the air just to land on the ground again as he frantically searched the floor of his bedroom, glancing under the bed for the millionth time. And then again immediately after he already checked.

Finally, you stopped laughing and pushed yourself up on one arm to regard him, “I hate to interrupt your little rage episode, but a condom isn’t just going to appear out of thin air. Ever heard of the after pill?”

You screamed as Eddie dove onto you, tearing the sheets off your body before he pressed you back into the mattress.

#vivi's baby blurbs #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine

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moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

Hi! I love your works but the poly!marauders have my heart and soul. This is literally my first request ever but could we have poly!marauders as emts, where they are already in a relationship with the reader and reader keeps getting dizzy and passing out without a clear reason. Or literally anything established relationship and hurt/comfort with them.

I’m so bad at communicating and I hope you know and trust that people sincerely think you are amazing and believe in your talents even if we don’t know you in real life.

Much love and happiness for the new year <3

You're so sweet omg, thank you!! I slightly varied your dizzy/passing out idea but I hope this scratches the hurt/comfort itch <3

cw: severe dizziness, vomiting (this actually happened to me as a kid and I still have no idea what it was but it was ROUGH)

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You wake with a whine already tearing from your throat. The room is dark, and yet somehow it’s spinning. You know this more by feeling than by sight.

You breathe heavily, patting the bed next to you until you find something that’s not sheet. You’re holding your head as motionless as you can. You think it’s slowing.

“Hm?” Remus grunts.

“Help.” Your voice is scratchy, choked with panic. “I don’t—I’m so dizzy.”

“What?” He shifts on the bed, and your plan to keep still is instantly foiled. The slight movement of your pillow sends your head rolling again. Terror claws up your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you stress. “I just woke up and it’s like I’m spinning, Rem, I can’t see and—”

“Okay, shh, shh. Calm down.” You feel his spindly hand set down on top of yours.

The sheets whisper as the other boys rouse, and then a light turns on. It’s instantly better and worse. You can make out vaguely that you’re in bed, but everything in front of you whirls. At least now you can detect movement as a brownish shape enters your field of vision.

“What’s going on?” James’ voice is groggy. His hand stretches across your clavicle. “Why’re you looking up like that?”

“She says she’s dizzy.” Remus lifts his head above yours, or you think he does, a smear of pale skin and brown hair. “Is everything still spinning, dove?”

You try to hum in affirmation, but it comes out a bit like a whimper. “It hasn’t stopped, but it gets worse anytime I move my head.”

“Sounds like vertigo,” Sirius says. You recall he’d fallen asleep on Remus’ other side, but you don’t know if he’s moved since then. It’s odd speaking to them like this, disembodied voices you can touch but not see.

A warm hand lays across your forehead. “No fever,” James murmurs. “Is it getting better when you’re still like that, angel?”

You swallow. Maybe it’s because you’re in a vulnerable state, but his concerned tone is making your sinuses hurt.

“A little. Not enough to see or anything.”

You feel the bed dip, and then someone’s knees are digging into the sides of your hips. “Alright, gorgeous,” Sirius says, “let’s sit you up.”

“That sounds not fun,” you voice your concern hastily.

He coos, enfolding you in a hug that presses you securely against his chest. “I know, baby, but it could help us figure out what’s going on with you, okay?” He starts leaning back slowly, pulling you upright with him. “There, good girl.”

You recognize the feel of James’ hand as it splays on your back, drawing big, sweeping circles. You feel like you could be sick. You close your eyes, but can’t decide if that helps. Everything is worse. There’s no escaping it.

Remus’ bony knuckles brush your forehead, rechecking your temperature. “Can you hear us alright? Are your ears ringing at all?”

“I don’t think so.” It’s hard to tell when everything else is already so disorienting. Could it be a quiet ringing? You’re not sure you’d know it if you heard it. “I can hear you fine.”

He hums. James’ hand leaves your back and the mattress shifts as he gets out of bed. You turn your head on instinct to see where he’s going. It’s the worst idea of your life. You groan as the spinning intensifies, dragging you along on a tilt-a-whorl you’d never agreed to. It’s the feeling of the drunkest you’ve ever been times a thousand.

Before you know it’s coming, bile rushes up your throat and spews out onto the bed.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

One pair of hands grips you by the shoulders, keeping you from pitching forward into your own sick, while another gathers your hair away from your face. You whimper as saliva strings from your mouth. Someone wipes it away with their sleeve.

“I’m sorry.” Your throat hurts, your voice flagrant evidence of how close you are to tears. Your hair is secured behind your head with a ponytail. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, darling, it’s not your fault,” Remus shushes you, using that tone he does when he’s trying to cover his own worry and soothe someone else’s at the same time. You once heard him talk this way to a kitten he was trying to coax out of the road. “Do you feel any better now?”

A sob catches in your throat. “No,” you confess.

If anything, the feeling has gotten worse. It’s like you’re swimming in your own head. You grope blindly for something to hold, and a cool hand presses itself into yours. Sirius.

“I’m really scared,” you choke out.

His fingers squeeze yours. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, baby, I know it has to be terrifying.”

He presses his lips ardently to your forehead. Wetness drips from your nose, and you grip his hand hard. It’s horrifically disconcerting not to be able to see your boyfriends, to be robbed of your sense of place, but their touches are grounding. The contact makes everything feel a bit more solid.

“James is getting some things ready to go to the hospital,” Remus says softly, and you realize they must have been having one of your silent eye conversations while you couldn’t see. Stupidly, you feel a bit left out.

“You can't help me here?” You’re pleading, your voice raw and wretched. You don’t want to make them feel bad, but what good is it to have three medically-trained professionals for boyfriends if they can’t utilize their expertise here at home?

“I’m sorry, dovey.” Remus’ thumbs stroke your shoulders. “Vertigo this severe is probably an ear infection, but it could also be something more serious. Either way, we can’t get you antibiotics without a doctor.”

“The quicker we go, the quicker you could be feeling better,” James says, signaling his return. “Here, honey, I brought this to clean you up.” He doesn’t tell you what this is, but a second later a warm cloth swipes across your mouth and over your chin, wiping away the vomit there.

“Thanks,” you say weakly.

You can hear the smile in his voice well enough to picture it, small and sympathetic. “My pleasure, angel. Do you think you’ll be sick again?”

“No.” You can say it with moderate certainty. Your head is still roiling, but it’s no longer taking your stomach with it.

“Okie dokie,” he goes on with his usual determined cheer. “I’ve got a change of clothes for you in the car, so I think we’re all ready to go. Hold your head here for me?” He presses it gently to what you suppose must be his chest, the neckline of his pajama shirt rough against your cheek. “I’ll try to keep as still as I can.”

Remus and Sirius let you go as James’ arms wrap around your shoulders and under your knees, lifting you off the bed. You push your face into his collar, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. Your vision swirls.

“Fuck,” you mumble.

“I’ve got you, my love.” James’ lips come down on your forehead, warm and sweet. “We’re gonna take such great care of you, I promise.”

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thelastsequence · 1 month

Text

Taking on the school bully Pt. 2

Sub M!Reader x G!P ITZY Yeji

Part 1 | Part 2

The bell rang, signalling the end of the school day. As usual, I packed my things and walked over to Yeji’s desk, waiting patiently for her to be done. It had become my daily ritual; I would follow Yeji home every day after class and she would fuck my throat. Of course, sometimes there would be some studying involved, but it would mostly end up with her cock in my mouth anyway.

Yeji grabbed my hand and we walked out of class together. There had been some rumours spreading, with people noticing how much Yeji was together with me nowadays. Some students thought we were a couple now while some had more… wild ideas. It did feel a little uneasy to suddenly be the center of attention, but I tried my best to focus on my assignments.

Once again, Felix picked us up from school and we went up to Yeji’s room again. She grumbled and sat on the bed with a sigh.

“Class was sooo boring today, wasn’t it? I’m surprised I didn’t fall asleep.”

“Yeah, I mean, Ms Taeyeon’s classes are usually like that, aren’t they?”

She shrugged her shoulders and lay down, leaving me staring at her awkwardly. Her perky breasts strained against her white uniform top, her chest heaving softly as she scrolled on her phone. With a small motion, her delicate slender fingers beckoned me and I moved closer to her.

“Today, we’re gonna do something different okay? I hope you’re ready, Hyung-soo.”

“Wh-what is it?”

“I’ll tell you later, now… time to get to work.”

I nodded and got onto the bed, lying next to her. She immediately dove in and gave me an aggressive kiss, her tongue furiously intertwining with mine. I moaned softly as she began holding onto me with her left hand, fondling my nipples at the same time with her right. She began to get messier with her tongue, leaving trails of spit around my mouth and on my chin.

When she tapped my waist twice, it was her signal for me to go down on her. Obediently, I got up and knelt in front of her, my hands unzipping her skirt again. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of her shaft, I shuddered as I savoured the enjoyable fragrance. Her pink tip was already leaking glistening precum which I quickly lapped up.

Yeji moaned lustily as my tongue met her flesh. I continued to lick at her cockhead, coating it in saliva as I tried to coax more precum out.

“Does it taste good, Hyung-soo?” She whispered while patting my head.

“Yeah… it always does, Yeji…” I continued devouring her cock, giving long sweeping licks along her shaft. I also didn’t forget to pay attention to her balls, sucking them one by one in my mouth before releasing them with a lewd pop sound.

“F-fuck… Hyung-soo, you’re getting better and better…” I smiled contentedly at her, with a string of spit connecting her tip to my lips. Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth wide and took her entire length into my mouth. I was getting used to deepthroating her with practice and I could now fit her whole shaft without much difficulty. With the spit that was flowing down her cock, I used it to lube her balls and massage them with my hands.

By now, Yeji was hurling expletives loudly across the room, bucking her hips and thrusting deeper into my mouth. Based on her actions, it felt like she was going to ruin my throat again.

All of a sudden, she pulled out of my mouth and gave me a wet kiss, tasting her cock on my lips. I was a little surprised, as she would usually facefuck me until she dumped a load down my throat. I guess today was different.

“I’ve been wanting to try something with you, Hyung-soo… Get on the bed and lie on your back, okay?” Yeji said to me. There was a glint of pure lust in her eyes, a slight shakiness in her voice that threatened to give away her desire. I nodded nervously and did as she said, still unsure about where she was going with this.

I felt her smooth delicate hands pull down my trousers, following a cheeky slap of my ass. I grunted, feeling a slight stinging sensation on my skin.

“Yeji, what are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry baby, just relax…”

I heard her open the drawer on her pink bedside table and take something out. One of her hands began massaging my bottom, when there was a sudden cold liquid trickling onto my exposed hole. I gasped in surprise, with Yeji coating my butthole with the cold fluid.

“Yeji, is that…”

“Yes, it’s lube, baby…”

Oh god. I hadn’t expected this when I stepped into her house today. Maybe one part of me knew this was going to come some day, but not this soon.

Yeji was going to fuck me.

I felt a solitary finger slowly inch its way into my rear, eliciting a muffled moan from me. The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, as my walls immediately clenched around her intruding finger.

“Ooh, so tight, Hyung-soo… What a cute little virgin ass.” Yeji muttered with a giggle. She continued gently fingering me and getting my asshole to get used to this new feeling. I kept moaning uncontrollably, my body reacting to this newfound pleasure.

After a while, she applied more lube and stuck a second finger inside, beginning to finger me with more force. This time, it hurt a little which made me grip her bedsheets tightly. Seeing my reaction, Yeji slowed her pace down and patted my head.

“Come on, baby, be a good boy…” I nodded and let her increase her speed. I felt her fingers go deeper and deeper with each thrust, almost reaching my prostate. She suddenly stopped, leaving her two delicate fingers inside my ass. I involuntarily started grinding on her fingers, and fucking myself on them. I didn’t even realise it, I guess my body wanted it that badly.

“Wow… you’re moving your ass on your own, I guess you’re ready for the real thing, Hyung-soo…” she whispered sultrily in my ear.

“Yes, Yeji… please…” I could only moan out weakly.

She slapped her majestic cock on my bare ass cheeks a couple of times, before finally easing the tip into my tight hole. I couldn’t control myself as I moaned loudly, the pain and pleasure coalescing into a new experience for my body. I clenched tightly around Yeji’s shaft as she slowly penetrated deeper into me.

A contented sigh escaped her lips, her hand grabbing onto my bare ass. She sighed contently as she bottomed out inside of me.

“Yeji… it’s so biiiig…” I felt my voice reach a pitch higher than normal, whining as Yeji started thrusting into me at a slow rhythm. I could feel her shaft getting harder inside me, as it kept hitting my prostate. She poured more lube into my crack and started pounding me with more speed.

This new sensation of being filled up by a large cock was overwhelming, my brain spinning wildly. I was unable to form coherent thoughts as Yeji plowed deeper and deeper into me. All I could focus on was how good her dick felt inside me and how I wanted to milk her heavy balls.

Yeji’s hands had an iron grip around my waist, I could only squirm in futile protest to her invading shaft. My moans contrasted with her grunts, an erotic symphony filling her room. Soon I felt her thrusts become more erratic and forceful and her nails dug into my skin.

“I’m close Hyung-soo… Take my cum, bitchboy…” I could feel her cock throb inside me, a sign that she was about to release her seed inside me.

“I’m cumming, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum inside you…” Yeji’s moans grew louder and louder, until her cock went all the way inside me. I felt her warm liquid gush into my tight hole, coating my walls in her sticky cum.

“Oh my… Yeji… that’s so much…”

She pulled her cock out which made my stomach churn for a split second. Now that there was nothing plugging my hole, her cum flowed out freely, a creamy stain of how Yeji had used my ass.

“I can’t believe I just took your virginity, baby boy… You’re so fucking tight.” Yeji smiled devilishly before kissing my cheek. She moved closer to me, her dripping cock a few inches in front of my face. Without a second thought, I licked her shaft clean of cum, making sure to swallow every last salty drop. Yeji moaned again while gently stroking my hair.

“You’re getting better at this Hyung-soo… I didn’t know you would be so tight for me.” She said as she sat next to me, holding onto my arm.

“Thanks Yeji, I’m glad you enjoyed it…” I whispered contentedly to her.

“So… are we gonna study or what?

----

Hi everyone! Thanks for the support on my first fic <3 I hope you enjoy Part 2 as well! Sorry if it feels a little rushed 😭😭 I had some stuff going on and there's about to be a major milestone in my life soon which I'm preparing for. For my upcoming fics, I'm still undecided if I want to keep them in the same setting or a different one, so let me know your thoughts.

Cheers, Ren

#thelastsequence #itzy smut #kpop smut #yeji smut #kpop girl group smut #kpop male reader smut

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boxofbonesfic · 11 months

Text

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [5]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why.

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 3,761

A/N: i cannot wait to see what you all think of this latest development! please drop by my ask with thoughts or comments, and as always, thanks everyone for your patience! ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

To your absolute horror, Lloyd doesn’t stop. You’re dizzy, both from the realization and the even, steady grind of his hips. It’s terribly familiar, the way he touches you—like it’s not the first time. Your stomach rolls as an anguished wail tears from your lips at the thought, because it’s the same one you’ve been shoving down, burying underneath every single other thing you can think of, because it couldn’t be true. Ransom wouldn’t do that you, he wouldn’t—

But he has.

Lloyd clucks his tongue at you, and reaches forward to cup your face. “You can scream, Princess.” He grins. “I know you can’t keep quiet anyway.” His words turn your stomach. Your arms, previously paralyzed at your sides, come up to push frantically at his face and chest as you curse.

“Get the fuck off me, Lloyd!” You scream, but he doesn’t move—doesn’t even falter as he continues to rut into your shamefully wet cunt. He doesn’t budge, like your blows don’t even hurt. It makes you even more panicked, your eyes growing wide as you sob. Frantically, you scream for your husband, your voice swallowed by the crashing surf.

“Ransom—! Ran—” Lloyd silences you with a kiss, swallowing your fear as he presses his lips to yours. Your shock allows him entry, sweeping his tongue into your mouth as you squirm beneath him. Lloyd catches your arms easily, forcing them back against the rock behind you.

“What’s the worst part, Princess?” He asks mockingly, his amused chuckle puffing against your lips. “That it’s me? Or that you liked it? That you always liked it?” You don’t want it to be true, shaking your head as you stare at him with tear-filled eyes. He nods in response, as slow and deliberate as his thrusts. Your stomach churns with the combination of this forbidden knowledge and the unwanted pleasure that creeps up your spine.

He knows your body, that much is obvious. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before, a hundred thousand puzzle pieces falling perfectly into place as your life crumbles around them. Lloyd holds you like Ransom, kisses you like Ransom—

Or does Ransom kiss you like Lloyd?

He plays your body perfectly, like you’re an instrument he’s already mastered. Even as your head swims, the thick weight of his cock drawing pleasure from you even as you fight against it. You can hear it, how wet you are, how much your traitorous body is enjoying Lloyd. It’s maddening, the way you clench and quake beneath him, struggling ineffectually against pleasure you don’t want. He transfers both your wrists to one hand, using the other to cup your chin.

“It’s really not as bad as you think,” he coos, dragging his thumb through your tears. He kisses you again, painfully softly. “I know what you like.” Lloyd’s fingers taste like the sea as he draws them across your trembling lips. “I know what you hate.” He traces circles around your puffy nipples, before painting stripes of salt-water down your belly. He spreads your lips wider with two fingers and draws those same circles around your clit.

“I hate you!” You grit through clenched teeth, through your furious, shameful tears. Lloyd clucks his tongue, before leaning down to nose at the skin of your throat.

“No you don’t, Princess. You love Ransom—so you love me. We’re the same, baby-doll.” He leans up, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Don’t you get that yet?” You don’t want it to be true, it can’t be, they’re so different—but even as you think it, you know he’s not lying. You’re reeling, the stretch-burn, the raw pleasure of him inside you, the knowledge that he’s been there before—

You wail as you cum, staring unseeingly at the sky. Lloyd doesn’t even give you the courtesy of slowing down, instead fucking you steadily through it with his cock and fingers buried in your cunt. He carries you, unwilling, from one height to the next, twitching and pleading. When he finally pulls his fingers from your soaked folds, he sucks them clean.

“Love you so much, Princess,” he groans, rocking his hips steadily into yours as you mewl miserably. “I can wait for you to know you love me too.” His fingers press the skin of your hips like Ransom’s. Lloyd sucks your bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth with a growl. He holds you still while he empties into you. As he pants against your mouth, he grins.

“Feels good not to have to pretend.”

“Get off me.” You hiss at him, glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes. This time, he listens. He pulls out of you with an appreciative hum, stopping briefly to admire the slick, sticky mess he’s made. You pull your swimsuit down roughly, tugging your shirt tightly around yourself like a shield while you grab your now soaked shorts from the water, and begin to struggle into them.

“Let me—”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You shriek, jumping further backwards into the surf. You slip on the rocks, barely remaining upright as you scramble away. “Y-you don’t touch me!” You brandish a slick rock in your hand as threateningly as you can. “I—I’m going to tell Ransom, an-and—”

The look he gives you is almost pitying. “Oh Princess. Go on and tell him.” He nods at you with a sick smile. “Tell me what he says.” Lloyd holds his hands up as you retreat, giving him as wide a berth as you an as you circle back to shore. He doesn’t follow you, watching as you stumble across the sand. You head into the trees and underbrush ringing the beach, fleeing your brother-in-law’s gaze. You know the general direction of the hotel, and you head that way, opting not to go back to the party.

The party. Your stomach turns as you think of it now, Linda’s words holding fresh meaning now. Did she know? Did Ransom? The entire idea was so ludicrous you could scarcely believe it was really happening—but it was. It had. The evidence of Lloyd’s transgression was smeared between your salt-stained thighs. You want to vomit, and so you do, leaning against a tree as you heave into the sand.

“Sweetheart?”

You look up, your eyes wild. It’s Ransom—or Lloyd. You don’t know, now, torn between wanting to rush into his arms, or turn and run. You simply stare at him distrustfully, mirroring his step forward with one back, maintaining the distance between you with careful precision.

“Baby, what’s wrong? You just wandered off, and—”

“Are you Lloyd?” You ask sharply, swallowing the desire to respond to his concern. You can’t trust your own eyes now, not anymore, and you don’t want to get close enough to verify.

Ransom stares at you confusedly.

“No? Why would you ask me that? Did something happen?” He takes another step closer, his arms outstretched placatingly. There’s true worry on his face as he takes in your wretched state, your open shirt and wet shorts, dirty feet and missing shoes. “Baby, did something happen?” He asks again, slower and more deliberate. You want to believe him, this man wearing your husband’s wedding ring, staring at you with the same eyes as the man you’d run away from.

“Tell me something about the fountain.”

“The what?”

“The fountain!” You shrill hoarsely. “The fountain, from—”

“The one in the village,” Ransom finishes. “With the messed up tiles.”

This time, you can’t stop yourself from rushing into his arms, sobbing.

“I—Lloyd, he—” The words won’t come out between your hiccoughing sobs, and you settle for burying your face in his chest as Ransom wraps his arms around you. He holds you tightly, pressing you to his body as you wail. The truth sticks in your throat like taffy as you tangle your fingers in his shirt, tears soaking into the expensive fabric.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart.” His voice is soothing. “I’m here. I got you, okay? I got you.” He doesn’t rush you, waiting until the tears slow to press a kiss into your hair. “You don’t have to talk right now. Let’s get you back to the room, okay?”

Ransom practically carries you through the underbrush, emerging near the long stairwell up from the beach. Your family—and his—are still down at the party, but you barely spare them a glance as you stagger up the sandy concrete steps. Before long, the ringing in your ears blocks out the music anyway, and all you can think about is Lloyd’s response to your threat.

Go on and tell him. Tell me what he says.

Lloyd is nowhere to be seen as you enter the villa, and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You didn’t even realize you’d been watching for him, waiting for him to appear like he always did—but he doesn’t. You’re relieved as Ransom leads you back into the bedroom and closes the door behind you. For a moment, you’re not sure what to do with yourself, standing blankly by the door while Ransom watches you helplessly.

“Sweetheart… can you tell me?” He asks, resting his hands on your shoulders. You flinch at his touch instead of leaning into it, and pain flashes briefly across your face. Somehow, you are hesitant to name the shape of the monster that haunts you even now, like Lloyd had cursed your jaw to stick. With difficulty, your force it open.

“He—he pretended… he was you. And… we… I didn’t know, Ran, I didn’t know it wasn’t you,” you babble, tears forming in your red, glassy eyes. You’re expecting to see his face crease with disgust at the part you won’t say out loud, but it doesn’t. Ransom’s silent, his face scrunching first with disappointment and then anger. You can tell he’s looking for an outlet, and he settles on routine.

“Did you take your vitamins, Sweetheart?” He replies, a worried hand on your belly. “Does anything… hurt?” You shake your head.

“N-no.” Ransom turns to the dresser, grabbing the bottles and shaking out your pills one by one. You take them, shuffling into the suite’s bathroom. You a cup cool water from the faucet and bring it to your lips, swallowing them down with a grimace.

“Let’s get you a bath, Baby.”

You nod wordlessly.

Ransom helps you get undressed, and you watch his jaw tic at Lloyd’s drying cum on your thighs. He fills the whirlpool tub with hot water, and you shift uncomfortably from foot to foot as you watch him. When it’s full, he helps you into it before splashing into the water himself. He sits on the back side of the tub with you between his knees, reaching down to hold you as you sink into the water.

You lean back against your husband, fresh tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. I want to wake up now. There’s little you wouldn’t give to open your eyes and find yourself on the beach, this terrible nightmare broken. But when you do open your eyes, you’re still in the bathroom, your husband’s hands rubbing soothing circles into your skin as you wash away the evidence of his brother’s sin.

“Oh Sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I… I don’t know what to say.” He strokes your hair as he speaks to you softly, gently, like he’s soothing an animal. “Lloyd’s a lot of things. Impatient, being chiefest among them.” You freeze, the air seeming to flow right out of your lungs—out of the whole room. The dripping of the faucet is as loud as thunder.

“W-what?”

“I didn’t want you to find out like this, Sweetheart, believe me.” You wrench yourself away from him, water sloshing over the sides of the tub as you stare at your husband in disbelief. It feels like reality is crumbling to nothing as you watch, bleached into dust by the brightness of his sad smile. It’s all you can see.

“N-no, no no no no—” He reaches for you, and you slap his had away, tripping as you scramble out of the tub. “You knew.” You moan, bile rising in your throat as you wrap a towel around yourself. “You—you always knew.” Ransom rises from the lip of the tub and steps out onto the tile. You want to vomit, but there’s nothing left to bring up as you dry-heave into the sink.

“Sweetheart, I need you to calm down, this stress isn’t good for the baby.”

“The baby—” You let out a despairing little laugh. “How long, Ransom?” You ask him hoarsely. “How long have you been letting this happen?” Finally, your husband has the decency to look ashamed.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” You scream, pounding a fist against the counter. “Yes it fucking matters!”

“I think before New Years, last year.”

“A—a year?” You choke out the words as you clutch your belly with a shaking hand. The baby—you don’t even know if it’s Ransom’s. You feel dirty, despite having bathed. Deeper than your skin, like something inside is tainted, rotten. You want to crawl out of it, leave it behind like a shell. Perhaps then you might be able to draw enough air into your tight lungs to be able to do more than sputter your husband’s words back at him in abject disbelief.

You don’t want to relive the last year and a half but you can’t help it, flipping through the moments like flash cards as you try to pinpoint every transgression, every lie. For every possible memory that feels wrong, there are dozens of blank spaces, empty places where recollection should be. Your husband had poked his finger through the thin saran wrap of your memories, and you hadn’t even realized it was happening.

Ransom reaches forward to rest a hand on your back and you shove him so hard he stumbles, your eyes wild.

“Don’t touch me. You—you will never touch me again.” You hiss, the words ragged. Ransom scowls at you as you storm out of the bathroom, the towel still clutched against your heaving chest. You can barely hear anything over the sound of your own ragged breathing and the thundering of your heart. They’d been switching off for over a year, and you hadn’t even noticed. Sickness and shame twine in your gut as you snatch the clothes in the closet off their hangers, throwing them into your open suitcase without bothering to fold them.

“Sweetheart, don’t be rash. The baby—”

“Will not even know your name.” You don’t look at Ransom—you can’t. You feel like you don’t even know him, and you can’t help but wonder if you ever did. He’d known—hell, maybe he’d even participated in Lloyd’s sick games. The man you’d thought you married would never have stood for that. You grit your teeth as Ransom scoffs amusedly behind you.

“You’re just going to pack your suitcase and go, is that it?” There’s a cruel edge to his voice you don’t recognize—it makes him sound like Lloyd. “Baby I’m just trying to give you what you want.” You glare at him over your shoulder before returning to packing, refusing to even entertain the discussion. You push past him to get to the dresser, pulling out the rest of your things.

“You’re not thinking clearly, and I think if you really stopped and gave it some thought, you’d realize you’re making a mistake.”

“Oh, I’m the one making the mistake?” You can’t help but turn to spit venom over your shoulder. “You and your brother took turns on me like a fucking carnival ride, but I’m making a mistake?”

“You wanted a big family, a stable family. One nobody could touch—”

“You’re sick.” You swallow against the bitter acid in your throat. “How can you try to make this okay? I—I never want to see you again. Ever. I—I really, truly mean that.” The needle inside you continues to swing between rage and abject horror as you dress yourself, practically shoving your limbs into the most convenient pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Your head buzzes with the turmoil of it all, practically full to bursting. Your passport is still in the bedside table, and you make sure you grab it, shoving it into your pocket before throwing open the bedroom door.

It’s hard to breathe around the ache in your chest as you drag your heavy suitcase down the hallway, trying to ignore the sound of your husband behind you. You’re bordering on hysteria, frantic tears and snot running down your face as you flee your husband’s placating words. That’s probably the most maddening part of it—how he continues to parse out the words slowly, patiently, like he’s waiting for you to realize how sensible he’s being. You’re about ten seconds away from clapping your hands over your ears like a child, so you don’t have to hear him anymore

“Sweetheart, let’s talk about this.” Ransom calls after you. You stagger against the wall as your knees tremble, but you force yourself through it. Your heart is beating wildly, your palms clammy as you look back at your husband. You don’t expect to see him smiling. “You’re not being rational, baby.”

You don’t even know how to respond. The only words that seem to come to mind are insults, curses; the violent ills you’re currently wishing on your husband and his family. You can’t listen to him—it’s only going to make you more enraged. You already feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest, as you gulp down ragged breaths, your vision swimming. You rest a hand against the kitchen island, your whole body throbbing hotly with your pulse.

“Shut the fuck up, Ransom,” you pant. “You can’t spin this.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He ignores your acid glare, leaning forward to curl a lock of your hair around his finger. You push him away, but the movement is clumsy, your hand swinging bonelessly at the end of your arm. “You know how persuasive I can be.”

“You’re really just like him.” It slips out before you can stop it as you shake your head in astonishment.

“Oh what, you just figure that out?” Ransom’s voice is mockingly soft. “It took you long enough.”

You slap him.

The sound of it is loud and sharp, and Ransom’s head actually turns with the force of it, your husband stumbling back a few steps. It was his surprise that had allowed it—you and Ransom had never struck each other, not counting the playful smacks he delivered in the bedroom. For a moment he stays like that, frozen, before slowly turning to look at you. Your wedding ring had split his lip, and you watch as he draws his thumb across it smearing the bright line of crimson across his mouth.

“You’re starting to piss me off, Sweetheart.” His hand clamps so tightly around your wrist that it hurts, and you yelp, pushing uselessly at his chest. Ransom had never been violent with you, never even given you reason to suspect he would raise a hand to you, but as he bends you over the kitchen island, you feel fear. Your husband twists your arms behind your back, ignoring your pained whimper when he squeezes too tight.

This—this isn’t happening. It’s not. My family is here, my, my father—

You wail, the sound muffled by the marble countertop and your tears, salt and snot running onto the counter beneath your cheek.

“Just let me go, Ransom—”

“Oh Baby we are way past that.” The kiss he presses into your hair makes nausea churn in your belly, and you let out another sob. “I put a ring on that—where’s your finger, baby, let me see—ah! There it is.” Ransom holds your hand up, his fingers digging into the meat of your palm. “On that finger,” he continues, tapping the diamond with his fingernail. “Till death do us part, Sweetheart, that’s what we said. That’s what you promised me—and Lloyd.”

“You’re crazy—” The words stick in your throat as your vision tunnels. I feel sick. You do, your stomach churning as your heartbeat thunders in your ringing ears.

“Wha-you do’t me?” The words are like bubblegum in your mouth as your husband chuckles softly.

“You didn’t really think those were all vitamins, did you?” Your eyes widen with horror as you begin to struggle again, flailing your uncoordinated limbs as you try to force Ransom off of you. “Now don’t worry, it’s nothing that could hurt the baby,” he says reassuringly, as if that is your only cause for concern.

“Noo,” you moan, wriggling feebly beneath him as you feel yourself recede further and further into your body. “Don’ wannit.”

“I know, Sweetheart. But what you want isn’t good for the family,” he says, stroking a gentle finger over the curve of your cheek. “You want to run, too run from what we’re trying to build with you. For you,” Ransom releases you as the sound of nearby voices reach your buzzing ears. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

He steps away from you as Nathalie bursts through the door, holding a champagne bottle by the neck as she dances to music blaring from her phone speakers.

“There you are, chica, we were looking—mom! Dad! She’s in here! I thought you—are you okay?” She sets the bottle down on the small table to the right of the sliding door. She rushes over to you, looping one limp arm around your shoulders as concern sets into the lines of her face. “Jesus, I—Ransom! What’s wrong with her?!”

Your husband appears in your tunnel-vision, carding a worried hand through his hair.

“Thank fucking Christ, Nathalie—I was just going to text you. I think she’s having a reaction to something, I don’t know—”

“Nn-Nat don-bel—eev ‘m,” your warning slurs together into an unintelligible soup as your head lolls. Nathalie tries to stand you up against the counter, and dimly you are aware of her calling for your parents, her voice muffled like she’s talking underwater.

Lloyd—or is it Ransom?—lays you down on the countertop, his grinning face looming over you as your vision narrows down to a pinprick, the concern in his voice at complete odds with the grin on his face.

“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.”

to be continued…

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