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belladonnadawn · 2 days

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Memento Mori

Going against Dontis' wishes, you found yourself in the labyrinth with one thing in mind only: to save him. CW: Blood, gore, and death.

Dontis x Reader

The streets of New Orleans were filled with colors and loud celebratory music, it was lively and festive– a contrast to your current state. Your mind was clouded with doubt and anxiety; you could only think about him and him only. The world felt like a different place with no one to be alone with.

You have contemplated everything, there’s not a day when his words slipped through your mind. Dontis’ compassion and faith never ceased to amaze you. But you know how trimedian works– there’s no fair fight in their ideology. When it’s time to strike, they strike. When it’s time to kill, they kill. There’s no mercy between two sides, it will all end in death.

Driving down near the lake, took a deep breath as you reached your destination. You turned off the engine faced by silence. The weight of the situation continues to trouble you. You could turn back and hold on to that vow, or you could hold on to that conviction and assure yourself that he’d be alive and well.

It took you minutes– you chose the latter. If you can capture Dontis and lock him in your basement, what more can others do knowing that it’s a raging war?

You took a deep breath, your decision as strong as ever. Gathering your belongings, you prepare yourself for what might you encounter.

Descending down the labyrinth, you could feel your heart beat out of your chest. Your footsteps light as you reach the base, careful not to attract any unwanted attention. The place was dark and damp, the ambiance only added to your fear.

As you went down the labyrinth you could see corpses– supernatural or human. It was a disturbing sight, one that would haunt you until the day you die.

You went deeper, exploring every corner carefully. The place was strangely quiet, you never liked silence, it made you listen to your own heartbeat. And you understood from a very young age that if you can hear it, they do too.

Taking the corner, your heart stopped as a hand suddenly grabbed you. You didn't hesitate to immediately draw your weapon. Pointing it to them, your eyes widened as you finally faced him.

"What did I say about getting involved?!" Dontis whispered angrily, pulling you closer to him. You felt a wave of relief, seeing him alive and well– but still, you can’t help but feel guilty for going against his wishes.

You shake yourself out of his grasp, "You may be mad at me, but I can't let you die here."

"By making yourself an enemy? A target? You know that I am more than capable– we are more than capable." Irritation seeped through his voice, almost unrecognisable from the sweet and gentle Dontis you knew.

"I know that you're angry, but I just can't watch knowing what might happen." Your voice cracked, looking at him with concern. “I can’t lose someone again. I can’t lose you.”

Dontis' eyes softened, "I understand, but there are risks you can't just blindly take. You're safer than dealing with these once more.”

“I know, but please understand–”

“It’s over.” You both turned to see a blonde man walking towards both of you, interrupting your discussion. Your eyes landed on the unconscious person that he was carrying from his back, and landed back to his face. Blood stained their clothes as they wore the same weary expression, exhausted and pained from what the battle had brought them.

Dontis nodded, wearing the same empathetic face. “We need to get in contact with others and see their situation. Both of you need to go back and rest, Xanthus. We’ll handle the others.”

You nodded as you heard his name. Xanthus, the vampire with the bond. Dontis mentioned him to you multiple times, but seeing him personally in this setting felt surreal.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Xanthus asked, his face filled with concern.

“We can. I’m not alone anymore, remember?” Dontis gave him a reassuring smile.

Xanthus glanced at you before turning back to Dontis, he nodded. “Take care. And don’t hesitate to contact me.” He said firmly.

“I will.”

And with that, he departed leaving both of you alone together. Dontis handed you a device to help you communicate with others. “Don't worry, that's an extra.” He gave you a small smile.

“Where shall we begin?”

“Finally, we thought we're done for.” A woman sighed, holding someone and herself up as her wounds continued to bleed. “Those bastards. Never thought that they'd hide their place here.” She groaned.

“At least we're able to find you, imagine our shock when we saw your location.” Dontis sighed.

“Well, imagine my shock when I found out their location after they dragged me under the lake.”

Dontis turned to you, “This is Fran and that one's Samia.” He introduced.

You gave them a nod, as you tried to help them up.

“We'd like an introduction right now, but I don't think it's the right time.” Fran groaned as she carried Samia.

“We need to get out of here while we still can.” They all nodded, walking outside the place as fast as you can.

After twists and turns, you were finally able to find the path that led outside. All of you hurried towards the exit with Fran and Samia in front of you as you both guided them to the exit. You and Dontis held the heavy door open from each side, letting them escape first.

As you were about to leave, a loud deafening sound filled the room followed by a thud. You turned to see Dontis, falling to his knees while clutching his chest. Everything happened too quick, it didn't register until you saw a gun pointed in his direction, smoke billowing from the barrel. A small gasp escaped your lips as you saw the person behind it– Audric, that bastard survived!

Rage filled your body, you quickly drew your weapon beating down the already beaten man. His eyes widened, finally noticing you. Before he could retaliate, you lunged at him and sliced his neck. You saw his head roll on the floor, this time it was finally over.

Running towards Dontis, you pulled him closer. Your eyes widened as you examined his wound. The bullet from the shotgun left a hole on his chest, making him bleed quicker than you expected.

"[name]..." Dontis croaked out weakly.

“No, no– you can do this. You can regenerate!” You held him close, frantically doing whatever you can to save him.

The sight of his gaping wound as blood continues to flow from it was maddening. You tried to patch it up, hoping that pressure would help his case. But as his warm blood flows from your hand, hope slipped away with it.

You removed your jacket, wrapping the wound with it. Your hand reached for the radio, calling for immediate back up. And with all your might, you tried to drag him outside.

Painful groans escaped his lips as you dragged his body, “[name], w-wait.”

You stopped, not wanting to hurt him further. Kneeling, you cupped his face, “Come on, few more steps and we're out. We can do this!” You spoke, trying to convince him– or yourself. You tried to ignore the amount of blood that continued to stain the floor.

As you looked at him, the lessons about creatures like him replayed in your mind. He was immortal, but he was not invincible. Back then, you would've exploited it, but now witnessing his limit was torturous. You fell to your knees, sobbing your heart out. “I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.”

Dontis gave you a weak smile, his hand gently wiped your tears. You held the back of his hand, not wanting to let go. Even though he was the one hurting, he still found a will to comfort you.

“I… understand what I signed up for… I accept my fate.” His voice was weak compared to the lively and joyous one you used to hear.

“I don't, so you better hold on until they come back for us!” You tried to be strong, but how could you when the source of that strength was slowly fading away from your grasp.

Dontis nodded and he chuckled weakly, “You're remarkable… that's what… I love about you…”

“Don't you dare close your eyes, Dontis, or I'm going to be so mad at you!” You applied more pressure to his wound, trying to prevent him from bleeding out. It was no use, he was getting more pale as he lost more blood.

He looked at you once again, his eyes filled with love; a gaze that you'll always long for. Dontis’ hand caressed your cheek. His warm touches are now weak. “[name], the sky was a… shade of purple yesterday.”

Your heart dropped, feeling the heartbreak physically. At that point your world slowly crumbles as the reality of the situation hits you. You shook your head, still in denial of what was currently unfolding. You wanted to scream, to wail, to stop the time or rewind it so you're able to save him. But you knew it was impossible. Death is inevitable.

“Dontis…” You tried to speak without your voice shaking, but you failed. “T-The clouds rolled in orange hues…”

A small smile formed on his lips, his body slowly resigned. You watched as he succumbed to his fate, holding his hand that once held yours. “I love you.” You whispered, kissing his cheek for the last time.

For a moment, everything crashed down. The reality that you won't be able to see his smile, hear his voice, or hold him close was maddening. All you have was his cold body that you continued to cradle in your arms. What a cruel fate, for they have taken what you truly cherished once again.

Pattern banner from Cafekitsune.

#zsakuva #sakuverse #dontis #xanthus claiborne

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flymmsy · 2 months

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*coughs* *taps mic*

The DAO Morrigan friendship route was the most influential video game relationship of all time.

*drops mic*

#Garrus vakarian may have my heart but Morrigan has my soul #I’m prepared to fight over this but I can assure you #you do not want to even start #‘live gloriously’ like as if I wasn’t already enough of an emotional wreck #dragon age origins #morrigan

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shu-porang-porang · 3 months

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Cat In Heat

You got him a little surprise!

(sequel: Bunny In Heat)

Pairs: Lee Minho (Lee Know) / fem!reader

Rating: Very Explicit!

Theme: Smut, 18+ NO MINORS.

Warnings: oral, fingering, butt plug, spanking, unprotected sex (do not try at home!), (I think that's enough! let's keep some elements of surprise!)

Word count: 2.8 k

You received a text from Minho: “Hey baby, I’m gonna hit the gym and grab a bite with Jisung next.”

He arrived at 4 a.m. so you didn’t expect him to go to the gym first thing when he woke up, but apparently that’s what he’s gonna do. He was away for only 3 days but you missed him so much it was gnawing at your every fiber. Last night you only noticed his arrival when the mattress dipped next to you and then he spooned you. You tried to fight your sleep weary eyes and wake up to greet him properly but his warmth and the comfort of his presence lulled you back to sleep seconds later. When you woke up this morning, leaving the bed was the hardest thing, you just wanted to stay tangled up with his limbs but you had to leave for work. You slowly slipped out the bed, trying to not wake him up in the process, then placed the softest kiss on his temple, you couldn’t wait to get back and feast on his lips later.

You can’t wait for this work day to be over. Your mind is somewhere else entirely, you’re thinking of the little gift you prepared for him. Two days ago was Valentines Day and he was away. Since it was your first valentine together, you were bummed that you couldn’t spend it with him, but you knew what you got yourself into when you started dating a very busy idol, so you put up a front and did your best to assure him it didn’t matter and you weren’t upset. There’s no point in making a fuss about it anyway, it’s not like they would cancel their plans because you wanted to be with your boyfriend. He said he’d make it up to you later and you decided you can plan a belated valentine when he’s back. Little did he know, you’ve been preparing something for him for weeks. You just can’t decide on the right time to give it to him.

You’re done for the day and there’s nothing else for you to do at work, you ask your boss if you could leave earlier and he says yes. So, you rush to your shared apartment. You have some time before he’s home so you decide to unpack his suitcase. As you’re going through his stuff, you find a box of chocolate, you can’t read the Japanese written all over it, but there’s no doubt it’s chocolate. He always brings you some souvenir so without giving it much thought, you open the box and try one. Well, it’s nothing special, just descent chocolate. Not every souvenir has to be something unique, right? You place it on the drawer and go back to your task at hand.

As time passes by, you start to feel impatient and on edge. It’s like when you have lots of caffein and you get jittery, except that it’s more of a warm feeling, it settles deep in your stomach. It’s not exactly uncomfortable but you’re not sure what’s causing it so you decide to distract yourself by checking the little surprise you got for Minho. You take out the stuff you hid in the back of your bottom drawer and sprawl them out on the bed. It’s an outfit you’ve put together. White and pink lingerie, stockings, garters, a chocker, and few other accessories, but the most exciting parts of the ensemble are the fluffy cat ears and tail. You pick up the tail, feel the weight of the plug attached to it. It was the last item you got and you haven’t come around to try it yet. Suddenly you worry you won’t be able to wear it. What if you can’t get used to it and have to take it off? You don’t know when you’re gonna give him his gift, but you decide to try it now that you’re alone and see if you can handle it.

You take your pants and panties off, hold the tail in your hand, not sure how to go about it. You poke the tip of the shiny plug to your hole but you stop as you can’t get it in even the slightest. Idiot! You need to prepare with lube first! Your hands fidget through the drawer with excitement in search for the lube you bought. You picked a very specific flavor, caramel, hoping it would taste similar to pudding! Too bad they didn’t have a pudding flavor! You lather a finger up and try again. It’s really uncomfortable but you wanna do it for him and you will do it. It’s a weird feeling, having a finger up your butt, and you think there’s no way it’s gonna get loose enough for the plug to fit in but you don’t give up. The warm feeling in your stomach from earlier encourages you to keep going. You move that finger around till you feel less resistance, then you take it out to lube up two fingers this time. You don’t wanna get too loose or the plug will fall out? Is that even a thing? You don’t know, so you decide to give the plug a try. You carefully pour lube on the plug, you don’t wanna ruin the fur, then you push it in and it fits perfectly! You clench and unclench your sphincter a few times, testing how it feels, then you stand up and check yourself in the mirror.

Watching the tail dangling from between your butt cheeks turns you on instantly. You immediately rid yourself of the rest of your clothes to put all the parts of the ensemble on. You pose in front of the mirror. You spend some time putting on a light cute makeup while enjoying a second piece of chocolate, then take another look at your entire outfit. Wow! You look so fuckable!! If only Minho got home sooner. You take a photo of your thigh hugged tightly by the stockings and the garter and send it to him along with: “Are you really gonna hang out with that stupid Ji while I’m waiting for you like this?”

A few seconds later you receive a text from him: “On my way, be there in 10 minutes”

He finally gets home. He’s heart been racing since he laid eyes on that photo and he’s been sporting a semi-hard cock all along. Good thing his oversized hoodie covered it up. He opens the door to the apartment to find you stretched out on the couch, practically humping a cushion.

“Holy fuck! What’s gotten into you today?” He says as he approaches you in disbelief. His eyes scanning your outfit and becoming wide in shock as he notices the tail poking from under the mini skirt covering your ass.

“I’m just being hot for my boyfriend, is that wrong?” You say, stretching like a cat and raising your ass in the air. The skirt rides up and he sees that the tail isn’t a strap on or attached to the skirt.

He kneels next to the couch, running a hand up your thigh till it reaches where the tail inserts your body. He gives the plug an experimental push that draws a whimper from you.

“Kitty’s in heat, huh? What a naughty lil kitty. I’ll take care of you, pussy cat.” His hand comes in contact with your drenching pussy as he says the last word. You mewl in need. Your skin is on fire and his touch feels too good to be true. You can’t think straight, all you know is that you need him next to you, on you, in you, you just want him to take you right then and there.

He picks you up effortlessly and carries you to the bedroom, plops you on the bed and causes the plug to go a bit deeper, drawing a hiss from you. You sit up and get on your knees, reaching for his hand to drag him to bed.

“Easy baby, what’s the rush?” He says as his free hand is unbuttoning his shirt. Despite your needy erratic movements, he’s so calm, mostly just enjoying the view of your eagerness.

As soon as he gets on the bed, you reach to unbuckle his belt. He watches you in silence, the way your dainty fingers struggle with the belt and his waistband. You pull his pants and boxers down and he eases out of them. His cock springs free and you don’t hesitate to attach your lips to it. Usually it’s not how things go, you haven’t even kissed him once since he arrived, but your head is filled with carnal desires and you don’t need foreplay to get in the mood.

He leans back on his elbows as your head bobs up and down on his member, bringing it to life fast. You lick a fat stripe from the base to the top, your tongue teases the head with playful licks, his low grunts are melody to your ears. Precum pearls on the tip and you collect it all with your tongue. You wrap your lips around the tip again and give it a few sucks. He sits back up to stop you.

“I won��t last long if you keep that up.” he lifts your chin up, and fixes your cat ear headpiece “Aigoo! What a dirty little kitty.” He coos at you with his eyes fixed on your lips, all swollen and red, so kissable. You get the cue and move closer, clashing your lips. Kissing him after days feels like you’ve been deprived of oxygen and you can finally breathe. You straddle him, your fingers in his soft locks, his hands around your shoulders, your chests heave against one another. You push him on his back as you deepen the kiss, you hungrily suck on his tongue and pull his lips between your teeth. You only stop when your lungs are burning. You hide your face in his neck as you’re gasping for air, your core finding a rhyme to ride his thigh. You moan out his name at the new found friction. You’re not wearing any panties; you thought it wouldn’t be practical with a plug up your butt. Your slick coats his muscular thigh.

“Is kitty having a good time?”

“…mmh” you can’t form words, your brain already signed off and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You suck a spot under his ear while his hand reaches down to squeeze your butt cheek under the skirt.

“Then do me a favor and sit that pretty pussy down on my face.”

You don’t hesitate to follow his order. His tongue skillfully laps at your wet core, his nose nudges your clit. You try not to move but you have no control over your body anymore. Your hips move on their own, riding his face, so he gives your ass a slap as a warning. A loud squeak escapes your lips. You do your best to behave but how can you when now he’s sucking on your clit, while hooking a finger inside you and toying with the plug at the same time. He stops all stimulations at once when he realizes your close.

“…Min…… please”

“Naughty kitties don’t get to come so easily. Now get on fours”

You comply, what else would you do? You’d jump off a cliff if he told you so. You wiggle your ass to his face as he’s closely observing where the plug disappears inside you. Your outfit’s still intact but it’s not gonna last long. He pulls the plug out without warning and replaces it with his tongue. Instantly you hear his satisfied groan, he’s probably enjoying your choice of lubricant. You push back on his face, needing more friction. He brings a hand to rub around your clit while his teeth graze your rim. Your arousal drips shamelessly on the sheets, it’s like a leaky faucet, that’s how good he’s having you now. You never even imagined having your asshole eaten would feel good, something’s really gotten into you. He stops his ministrations just as you’re starting to feel the orgasm build up for the second time. He steps back to admire the view before shoving the plug back in and give you new instructions.

“Close your thighs and press them tight for me princess.”

You look back and see him aligning his oozing cock.

“Just… fuck me… already”

“Too soon…” he forcefully shoves his cock in the small gap between your thighs “…ughhh….for that”

After a few thrusts, he’s fully covered in your juices so he picks up the pace as it slides easier. His member rubs on your clit with every thrust but it’s nowhere near enough to get you off. He gives you a slap that makes you press your thighs harder, so he gives you another, and another, and another. You press your head to the pillow to muffle your yelps. You think you might be reaching a climax this time but no. He takes the plug out and flips you around. This time you don’t just complain with words, but tears are running down your face. You’re a mess.

“Oh little kitty, why the tears? Was I too harsh with my sweet angel?” he says as he towers over you and leans to kiss your tears away.

“No…. just….wanna cum”

“You will baby. You will”

He kisses your face some more and moves down to your neck and chest. He yanks your frilly chocker with his teeth and throws it on the bed, so he can properly kiss and mark your neck. Then he unhooks the lacy matching bra and discards it somewhere else in the room. His hands come in contact with your soft breasts, his thumbs rub your nipples simultaneously and your lips part in a whimper.

“My gorgeous lil kitty” he admires as he continues to knead your breasts and then dips to take one pebbled nipple between his teeth. His tongue twirls around it and he closes his lips on it to suck. His hand travels south to slip between your folds and find your entrance. He has two fingers inside you, with his thumb pressing down on your clit. You buck your hips up to his touch. He lets go of your nipple and comes back up to kiss your lips with his fingers still inside you. You’re so lost in the hot sloppy kiss that before you know it, his dick takes the place of his fingers in you. Fucking finally!

You bite his shoulder as he bottoms out in one go and the stretch overwhelms you. He moans in your ear from your delicious tightness.

“Please….Move baby” you plead and he obeys. Caging you between his hands on either side of your head, he takes his sweet time with slow thrusts. He pushes your thighs to your chest and throws your legs over his shoulders. With this new angle he reaches deep inside, hitting your cervix with every single thrust. It doesn’t take you long to feel the knot in your stomach again for the… you don’t even know how many times he got you there and left you unfulfilled. You tightly hold onto him as his thrusts get faster.

“ugh… gonna…. c..cum…”

“Cum for me… angel” he kisses your parted lips, muffling your moans, as your orgasm finally washes over you. He reaches a hand down to pinch your clit, your entire body jolts with each pinch as you’re riding out your orgasm. It’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had, well, you’d say that about every orgasm with him, but this one really hits different. Your fluttering walls around him milk him dry and a string of curses leaves his lips as he joins you. He rides his climax, still thrusting into you until your mixed cum forms a ring around his base.

He pulls out and falls on top of you, you don’t mind the weight, you’re too tired to care anyway and he feels like a heavy blanket, you don’t even care about your sticky bodies or sheets. You think you could die happy at this moment but he gets up to clean you before you drift off to sleep. He takes a good look at your fucked out state “Gosh! Baby you’re so hot. I love you so much”. You smile with your eyes closed “love you too”. You’re almost entering dreamland when he startles you:

“Fuck! Baby you ate these chocolates?” He found the open box of chocolates you left on the drawer.

“..mhmm”

“Did you know these were aphrodisiacs?”

“WHAT?” suddenly you’re fully awake, your eyes darting towards his direction.

“I wanted to try them together.” He says with an evident pout on his face.

“There’s still plenty left bunny boy.”

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houserautha · 1 month

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These Destined Ends

Part 6

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: (I’m kind of rusty about appropriate warnings so let me know if there’s something I need to add or correct) You dose yourself with poison, he cuts his arm with a knife, you drink his blood, knife play, oral sex female receiving, dirty talk, p in v, some light praise, dubious consent, inappropriate use of a dagger/anal, he fucks you and the dagger essentially fucks him, breeding/pregnancy kink, unprotected sex, creampie, black cum ofc, no aftercare

A/N: Alright this chapter is…a lot. The knife scenario I read a few years ago in “Den of Vipers” by K.A Knight and it completely changed my brain chemistry. It inspired me to include a similar situation because it’s so Feyd coded😂😭

Also credits to @sansaorgana for mentioning how Harkonnen blood would be thick and effected by Giedi Prime’s environment and pollution. I love discussing Feyd’s body fluids

Weeks pass before Feyd-Rautha corners you in one of the Baron’s sparse gardens. Garden being a slight exaggeration — really, it’s more of a barren courtyard with a bench. Until your fearsome betrothed strode in, your only company was a few scraggly bushes and the fledgling pilingtam tree keeping you in the shade.

Feyd-Rautha hooks his finger in your book and pulls it away. “Come with me.”

You glare balefully at him. “I was reading that.” It’s the only Harkonnen novel you’ve found that you can stomach. “You can’t just beckon me whenever. Or — and this is blasphemy, I know — you could just ask me if I want to go with you.”

Feyd-Rautha closes the book. “No.”

“You lost my page,” you say with a pout. You debate teaching manners to him again, briefly, before sensing that you’re fighting a losing battle. So instead you snatch the book from his hands.

“Two hundred and thirty eight. Now,” he fixes you with a stern look, “let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

Frankly, you don’t care where he’s taking you. Since the Crucible, you’ve been anxiously waiting for something to do besides answering questions about your upcoming nuptials. Your body aches for purpose. Movement. You also realize, with mixed feelings, that you would probably follow Feyd-Rautha wherever he asked you.

What did that say about your state of mind?

“It’s time for training,” he says.

You trail after him, vaguely disappointed that you weren’t going to finish your book. You tuck it under your arm. How bad could poison training be? Maybe you’d have time to flip through a few pages. Feyd-Rautha eyes you as if he can tell what you’re thinking, but doesn’t comment on it.

The fortress is in full swing for the wedding, which looms only a month and a half away. You would think that’s plenty of time to prepare. But servants are hanging decorations, comparing tasks, and cleaning everything in sight. They quiet as you and Feyd-Rautha stroll past them, and you search their faces for Asha.

She’s been just as busy as everyone else. Everyone but you, of course, who, despite your prominent involvement in the wedding, has been left to your own devices. You weren’t exactly thrilled to dose yourself with poison, but at least it gave you something to look forward to.

“How did you first go about this?” You ask the na-Baron. It’s a strange comfort to be in the presence of someone so unperturbed, confident and assured to a fault, sure, but you knew what to expect from him. He was an asshole, but he would be one regardless.

“Poison tolerance?” He asks.

“No, long walks through the fortress.”

Feyd-Rautha ignores you. “It’s a precaution, mostly. Poison-snoopers can be faulty or influenced. It also gives me an…edge…over others.”

“The others being…?”

“Political allies. Enemies.” You catch the hint of a grin on his lips. “It cuts a formidable image when your guest has no concern for poison.”

“As if you don’t already,” you retort.

“You flatter me.”

“Oh, like you’re not aware.” You roll your eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“Somewhere private,” he says.

You raise your brows. Feyd-Rautha pushes his shoulder suddenly against what you thought until that point was a wall, but it swings open on an invisible seam. “Not like that,” he says, amusement coloring his tone. “Although I could never refuse you, wife.”

The room he leads you into is mostly bare except for a few maps on the walls and a table in the center. You recognize the surface of the table as the topography of Giedi Prime, the vast plains and tiny boxes representing the plethora of factories. You ghost your fingers over it. “What is this place?”

“My strategy room.” When you glance at him imploringly, he sighs and adds in a resigned tone, “Sometimes I find working with the other nobles tedious. I spend my time alone if possible.”

“Hm.” You sit down at the table and try to imagine Feyd-Rautha presiding over it, testing out battle strategies and war maneuvers.

You must sink too far into your own thoughts because it startles you when he sets down a small glass in front of you, nestled in the space between two miniature factories. “We need to start small,” he tells you.

“What is this?”

“Poison.”

You shoot him an annoyed look. “It would just be nice to know what poison I’m ingesting, is all.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He plants his hands on the table and assumes a position that you have a hard time believing he doesn’t know stirs something dark within you. “I’m going to be giving you small doses of poisons most typically used throughout the Known Universe.”

“You’re so kind,” you mutter.

He nudges the glass closer to you. “This is the weakest one of them all. We can work our way up, gauge their effects on you.”

“Like what?” You think back to the day in the arena with Ze’ev, how the flip-dart hidden in his clothing quickly incapacitated you, turning your thoughts to sludge.

“Fatigue. Nausea. Potential fevers, chills, heart palpitations.”

“Oh,” you say miserably, “is that all?”

“No, actually,” he replies, oblivious to your fear, “but sometimes it’s better not to know. Drink.”

Your stomach twists with nerves. But he’s watching you in that anxiety-inducing way he tends to, so you tip the contents of the glass down your throat. He smiles.

Poison training is hell.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it’s not this — constantly being gripped by fatigue and nausea, your body battling persistently against the poisons.

The beginning was the worst. You had never thrown up so much in your life. Feyd-Rautha assured you that you were tolerating the poison better than most, but you highly doubted that. You were couch-ridden for days on end, too weak to move or do much more than eat the food he forced you to. But, slowly, you adjusted to the poison, and Feyd-Rautha gave you higher doses, stronger strains.

A week away from your wedding, he declares that he won’t give you anything new. “But you must continue to take the poisons from before,” he tells you. “Or your body will lose the tolerance and also go through withdrawals.”

Today, however, is one of the worst days you’ve had. You did everything right, but for some reason you were rendered completely helpless, body racked by intense shivers. You are huddled in the corner of the couch in the antechamber when Feyd-Rautha finds you, stopping him in his tracks.

“H-H-Hi,” you sputter.

He crosses the room in a single stride, ripping off your blanket and assessing your shuddering form. “You used too much,” he says accusingly.

“I-I-I did what you-you told me,” you protest, albeit weakly.

His frown pierces you. You’re afraid he’s going to reprimand you, but instead he takes a step backward. “Go to the bed.”

“I-I’m f-f-fine. I can s-stay here.”

He looses a sigh then, effortlessly, sweeps you off the couch and over his shoulder. You want to fight against him but it’s taking all of your strength not to shiver and let him know just how poorly you are.

“Put me d-down,” you try your best to say, but with your face buried in his back, it comes out muffled.

Feyd-Rautha resists your pitiful attempts of subterfuge, and carries you into the bedroom like you weigh nothing. It’s your first time actually being on the bed, and his faintly medicinal scent pervades your senses. Had you ever even seen him sleep in here before? How did it smell so strongly of him?

He props you up against the pillows. You attempt to pull up the bedding to ward off your chill, but he stops you, which requires little effort on his part. You blink. In reply, he reaches into the top drawer of his bedside table and takes out a blunt-looking dagger.

“W-What are y-you doing?”

Feyd-Rautha presses the blade of the dagger against his forearm, cuts a thin line that weeps with a thick, dark liquid that you realize is his blood. You feel dizzy.

“Wh-What —”

“Just stop talking,” Feyd-Rautha growls. “We clot quickly. Drink.”

Drink? You're not entirely sure how well your emotions are coming across in your current state, but he must know how insane he sounds. Well, more insane than usual.

"I-I'm not —" Before your eyes, his dark-colored blood ceases. He utters something under his breath and then puts the dagger to his skin again, cutting it back open like slotting an envelope.

He captures a drop of it on his thumb and pushes it between your lips.

It doesn’t taste quite as bitterly sweet as his cum, you decide, but possesses the same sharp bite. It sears slightly as it dances on your tongue, down your throat.

“More,” he says. He sits down at the edge of the bed and raises his forearm to your mouth.

With no other choices, you obey.

The blood is thicker here, his skin warm beneath your mouth as you lick at the shallow wound. Any strangeness you felt at his request vanishes as the potency of his blood hits you. You hungrily take your fill, and by the time the wound closes again, it’s chased away your chills and the murkiness evading your mind.

“There,” he rasps. He sets the dagger down on the bed, still sporting a trace of his blood.

“Why…why?”

Feyd-Rautha’s lips twitch. “Harkonnen blood is its own sort of poison, courtesy of our planet’s pollution and smog. I suspected it would be enough to counterbalance the poison already in your system.”

You fixate on the wound, how the blood has already congealed. “It stopped,” you say stupidly. But how could you be expected to think properly — you had just drank from his arm, from his blood, to stave off poison that you’d willing ingested.

Feyd-Rautha nods. “Another benefit.”

“Anywhere on your body? It does that?”

He indicates the dagger. “See for yourself.”

A chill runs through you, but now for an entirely different reason. You inch closer to him, tucking your legs under you. He’s agonizingly close, his dark gaze flickering across your face as you take the dagger and touch the tip of the blade to his chin.

“Is that just a ploy so that I’ll cut you?” You ask, heart pounding furiously. You discover with a sickening twist that you do want to cut him, want to slide the blade across his smooth skin and watch the way the blood rises to greet you.

Feyd-Rautha breathes, “Perhaps.”

You’ve never seen him so transfixed, so compliant. Eager. And with his very blood in your veins, emboldening you, issuing a high like you’ve never felt before — you press the blade into his skin. Blood trickles out, and you use your tongue to lick it up, the metallic taste of the blade mingling with the sharpness of his blood.

Next you take the dagger across his jaw, down the column of his throat to the divot that flutters with his pulse. And then down down down to his chest, shearing his shirt with a single slice.

Feyd-Rautha has an infuriatingly perfect chest — muscled, small, tight nipples that you tease with the edge of the blade. He inhales sharply.

“You’re disgusting,” you say without conviction, your free hand gliding down his toned stomach.

He tilts his face up to you. The gesture is so vulnerable, his expression so devastatingly beautiful, that you climb into his lap. His cock, straining against his pants, nudges your center.

“I hate you,” you tell him.

He whispers, “I know.”

There’s no telling who kisses who first — an impasse to your game of trading punishments. His hands are on you in an instant, over your body and in your hair, clamoring to touch you as if you might disappear at any moment. You’re equally as fervent, notching your thumbs by his jaw on either side and holding him to you, mouths open and hungry. His tongue dances over your lips, behind your teeth.

Feyd-Rautha is his own kind of poison, infiltrating you slowly and feasting on your insides. And you take him in like his kisses are the anecdote, the touch of his hands soothing the ache that his particular brand of poison causes.

Though, if he is poison, you can never imagine adapting to this — his passionate, consuming touch, the whine of his desperation, how he embraces you like it’s everything he’s ever wanted. No, if he is poison, you never want to learn to tolerate him.

His fingers work deftly at your clothes. The air rushes to caress your breast, hardening your nipples. Feyd-Rautha closes his lips on one as he palms his hand over the other, and the wet warmth of his mouth sends you to the edge. Your back bows in response, urging him closer. He bites down at your nipple, tugs on it, swipes his tongue over it like a soothing balm, then repeats the process on the other side.

As soon as your mind clears enough to form a rational thought, you fumble to unbuckle his pants. He helps you — one hand on your ass for support as he lifts up his hips and you wriggle his pants down over them.

His cock, liberated from his pants, slaps against his stomach. He fists the base and indulges in a series of lazy strokes.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” you say aloud.

Feyd-Rautha, returning his mouth to yours, smirks against you. “Your turn.”

He flips you over onto your back in a seamless maneuver, securing your legs around his waist. Feyd-Rautha lingers above you. His dark gaze roams your form as you shimmy out of your dress, leaving you only in your panties. Sometime before he grabbed the dagger, and now uses it to trace a line from between your breasts to your navel.

You gasp. Pain radiates from the thin cut he made, a terrible, delicious heat.

It’s his turn to tend to you now, hands coasting your body as he licks a stripe up your wound and back down, your blood blanketing his tongue. He pauses at your panties, uses both hands to seize you by the hips and drag you to the very edge of the bed, then kneels before you.

You’re already slick with desire and you want to be ashamed but you can’t, not when he ghosts his mouth over your center and you cry out in need.

“So wet for me, wife,” Feyd-Rautha growls. “You want this cock inside you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. You claw at the bedding, pulling it taunt around you.

“Oh, but I’ve been waiting for this. To taste you. God, you don’t know how hard it’s been knowing that you’re always just on the other side of that door.” Feyd-Rautha replaces his mouth with the dagger’s blade and you clench in anticipation. The tip of it traces the edges of your panties, your lips, nudges against your entrance. “You infuriate me. I cannot stop thinking of you.”

You’re too overwhelmed to make sense of his admission, but it sends a ripple of delight through you nonetheless. You buck your hips, desperate for the friction that only his mouth can provide.

“Please,” you beg.

The blade of the dagger stills. “Please what?”

“Please.”

You can’t think of anything else to say.

He urges, “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I want your mouth on my —”

Feyd-Rautha impatiently cuts away your panties, effectively silencing you. His mouth encloses on your clit. Your words turn into a wail of surprise, of pleasure when he applies pressure with his tongue and then sucks.

Ecstasy spirals through you.

It shouldn’t be a shock that he’s skillful at pleasuring you, at lapping between your lungs like your cunt is the sweetest dessert, yet it still resonates — how he knows exactly when and where to lick, to suckle, to coax more pleading moans from you with his tongue.

And when you come you unravel completely.

“So greedy,” he murmurs as you rise your hips back up to him, beckoning him to continue. “You try to rebel against the idea but you want this cock buried deep inside you, coating you with my cum. Is that right?”

“Yes —”

He slams himself up to the hilt inside you. You cry out in equal parts agony and desire, back bowing, walls stretching to accommodate him. Feyd-Rautha doesn’t wait for you to adjust, drawing out and back in with feverish vigor. His hands pin you to the bed to keep you from arching away, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips.

“You feel incredible,” he says, your name falling from your lips like a prayer. “So nice and tight.”

You clench around him. Feyd-Rautha mumbles his appreciation, slows his movements. “I won’t be able to last if you keep doing that,” he tells you, “you feel so good. So fucking good.”

You put up a protest as he withdraws, leaving you feeling horribly empty. Feyd-Rautha turns you onto your belly, ensures that your knees are at the edge of the bed, ass up. A mortifying heat surges through you — completely exposed, vulnerable to his wandering gaze. He runs his hand over your ass, drifts to your soaked cunt.

“I want to possess you wholly.”

You whimper in response. You hear movement from behind, and, in the absence of his attention, dip your hand down to your cunt to alleviate the mounting pressure, but you’re declined the pleasure.

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself.”

He lines himself with your entrance. This time when he seats himself inside you it’s painfully slow, deliberate, every inch driving you closer to another orgasm. Feyd-Rautha starts a slow pace, pulling his cock out till his swollen head brushes past your lips, then back in. Eventually he increases his speed until he’s snapping his hips against you, penetrating you deeply, fully, invoking breathless sounds from both of you.

Feyd-Rautha pursues his pleasure the same way he fights — violent, ruthless in its execution. You’re aware, somewhere in the recesses of your mind, that you’re going to be a quivering mess tomorrow. But in the moment you can only immerse yourself in this man: Feyd-Rautha, the na-Baron, a monster in his own right.

In a burst of bright light, an orgasm cleaves you in half, Feyd-Rautha pumping into you until it surrenders to his darkness. Before you can even recover, you feel the familiar coldness of the dagger’s blade biting into your back, down your spine, circling your ass.

He brushes his thumb over your ass. “Have you ever been taken here before?”

Your breath hitches. “Once.”

Feyd-Rautha emits a satisfied hum. From your peripheral you watch him reach into the bedside table again, this time to fish out a cloth to wipe down the dagger. Your walls clench.

“I want to see this dagger in that pretty ass of yours.”

Feyd-Rautha traces your cunt, gathering your wetness on his fingers to coat the handle of the dagger. He spits on your ass, rubs it over you. “You have to relax,” he rasps. The handle of the dagger pushes against you and you instinctively flex as the first ridge enters you. “Relax, wife.“

You oblige, and he’s able to ease the rest of it inside. It’s tight, full, uncomfortable, but not unbearable. When you feel Feyd-Rautha notch himself at your entrance, alarm seizes you. “What are you —?”

He plunges himself inside you.

And as he does, the blade of the knife punctures his skin with a soft squelch.

You gasp. A growl rumbles through his chest. You can’t see, but you can hear the blade pierce him with each ministration of his hips. You can’t believe him, what he’s doing, but the sounds he makes as he enters you and the dagger enters him at the same time are inescapable, intoxicating. And with the added fullness of his cock and the handle of the dagger, you build towards your orgasm, toes curling.

Feyd-Rautha sinks into you again and again, dagger piercing his side. It prompts a steady stream of his blood that joins with your slickness. His breath quickens. “You take my cock so well. Look at you, so full, so beautiful.”

He slows to remove the dagger from you, taking his time as not to harm you. You shudder. The dagger is tossed to the side still covered in his blood.

“I get to fuck this pretty pussy as much as I want,” he rasps, more to himself than you. “Fill you with my seed, over and over until it takes, then fuck you when you’re pregnant and round with my child. Fuck. I want to see you. I want to see your face as I cum inside you for the first time.”

The image he paints has you gasping for breath. Eager to please, you turn onto your back and present yourself to him. Feyd-Rautha is a god of war, of wrath, wreathed in shadows, and he buries himself into you like he’s seeking redemption. You cry out as he nears his own orgasm, tears blurring your eyes — he sheathes himself fully one final time then spills his seed in your cunt.

Your walls pulse, clamping down around him. He holds you close as he finishes, warm breath fanning your skin, jolting slightly. It’s only when he removes himself, bites playfully at your breast, that you realize the wetness you feel dripping onto your belly is his blood.

“Feyd — what, what were you thinking?” You shove him off you.

He stands, naked form on display, blood dribbling down from the wound in his stomach. It’s distracting, frankly, and it just reminds you of how it had gotten there.

“I wasn’t,” he says simply.

You open your mouth to say something else, reprimand him, maybe, but then he runs his fingers along your thigh and scoops up the cum that’s escaped from inside you. He pushes it back into your cunt, which is still beating with the memory of his cock, blissfully sore.

Feyd-Rautha says, “Don’t worry about me, wife. I will heal. You worry about keeping me inside you.”

He stands to walk away and as he does, you mutter to no one, “I wasn’t worried” although you were. You tilt your hips up. Getting pregnant isn’t exactly your top priority right now, but the alternative is having his cum dribble down your thighs, and the black fluid is a little concerning to see smeared across your skin.

What child could be born from such a substance?

You angle your head to see Feyd-Rautha. He stands at the threshold of the bathroom, back turned to you. You admire his physique. For all of his misgivings — his psychotic tendencies, the murder, the way he plays his games with you — he’s irritatingly attractive. You close your eyes and let your head thump onto the bed.

You open them again when you hear the bedroom door swing open. “Are you leaving?” You ask, exasperated.

“Yes,” Feyd-Rautha says. He’s dressed, sadly. “I have other business to tend to.”

You scowl at the implication of being business.

“I’ll be back before the wedding. Keep up with your tolerance. Just know that I won’t fuck you every time you over dose,” he tells you. A million questions jump to mind — and quite a few curses — but he’s gone before you can say any of them.

Spent and still reeling from your recent fucking, you collapse back onto the bed and throw your arm over your eyes. What were you doing?

You were going to marry him.

Part 7

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Text

Dead Disco / Chapter 4

Dead Disco Masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.3k words - AO3 18+ Minors DNI, no smut but mentions of sex, eating issues, feelings of anxiety, depression, sadness. Relationship issues. Established throuple. Conversations.

It’s possible you’ve had a stroke.

One minute, you’re alone in the hotel room, half asleep on crisp white sheets, and the next, you’re in the apartment, your small bag slung over your shoulder, Simon’s knuckles white around the handles of your suitcase, Johnny standing in front of you with a hand outstretched like you’re a deer he might startle. You must have had a stroke, because how else did that happen so fast? Maybe you’d been knocked unconscious or tripped and hit your head. Or you’re stuck in some sick nightmare that’s pretending to be dream, because-

“Darling?” Johnny pulls your attention easily, hand closing over yours, it’s warmth a safe and comforting thing that you thought you might really never feel again. He looks at you expectantly, and you take in the door frame that you’re standing just on the other side of, your body not quite across the threshold yet.

Were you really doing this? Going back?

You wanted to leave… didn’t you?

Did you? Did you truly want to leave?

Or was it easier to leave, then be left. Was it easier to leave, so you could be found.

When you look at them, something burns in your chest. They look exhausted, and an entire new layer of guilt lays upon you, knowing that they’ve already been back for hours, but haven’t been able to rest.

Simon says your name, quietly, but his voice carries the warning of a promise he made two hours ago, the assurance that no matter where you went, he’d always bring you back. That he and Johnny would never give up, they’d never let the ugly things that live inside your head win. That he’d remind you, again and again, until you don’t remember anything else. Until you only recognize the truth.

You want to fight them. A part of you, the desperate part, the violent sliver that blackens a piece of your heart, says you will. You want to scream and yell and throw something. Break something, damage something other than yourself. It’s not that easy, you want to tell them, you don’t understand. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest. What if you’re making a mistake? It was always them, and then you… wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? You gulp, and you know it’s audible, because Simon shifts his weight, tensing, like he’s preparing to dart out into the hall after you. Is it real? Could it really be, the three of you… and not them then you?

Johnny’s thumb rubs a gentle pattern across your knuckles, and it draws you in, your body naturally seeking his, your feet moving on their own until your curling into his chest, face buried in his shirt, fingers clutched in the fabric like it’s your only lifeline. A bag drops, a door clicks shut, a trio of locks slide into place, and then Simon is on you both, heavy arms pressing your bodies together, a mouth mussing along your freshly washed hair.

“Let’s go to bed.” Simon suggests, stroking a pattern up and down your spine. “We can talk more when we’re up, how does that sound?” You murmur non-committal nonsense into Johnny, who turns you in the direction of the bedroom, and you walk one step in front of them until you’re folding onto the mattress, sinking into the too familiar comfort of the big bed. Tomorrow, you promise yourself sleepily, tomorrow you’ll get your head sorted out.

“I’m confused.” Your phone is squeezed between your ear and your shoulder while you probe a mango that looks awfully green, and Johnny sighs on the other end of the line.

“Dinner. Dinnae tell me you’ve got plans?”

“What? No… I don’t. Are you… are you inviting me over to like, eat dinner?” A meal? Like actual food? And not just you spread out on the dining table like last weekend?

“Aye, love.” The mango flexes in your grasp, the soft points of its flesh surrendering under the pressure of your fingertips.

“Tonight?” There’s a pause, swift silence and the phone goes dead quiet, like the line has been muted. A few seconds pass, and you discard the mango carelessly in frustration before he comes back on.

“No, tomorrow?”

“O-okay. Sure. Dinner, tomorrow.” Dinner. You’re going to have dinner with them. You steady your breathing to try to get a grip. It’s not like you haven’t shared meals before. The three of you have eaten takeaway in bed at least twice, and you’ve all eaten out together, or had breakfast in the morning together.

But this sounded… it felt like something else.

“Our place, nineteen hundred.”

“What time is that?”

“Seven. See you then, yeah?”

“Um. Yeah.”

Your stomach is thrashing when you stand in front of their door the next day. Your confusion about the invite for dinner has blossomed into a full-fledged panic, and you’re mostly convinced that this is the goodbye dinner, that they’re going to cut you lose now, sever the connection that’s been brewing between the three of you without a second thought.

These thoughts, this spiral has forced you into a new realization, a terrifying one, a truth that sits uncomfortably in your belly, its reality forcing you to swallow your nerves while your finger hovers over the doorbell.

You like them. You don’t want them to cut you lose. You want to stay. You want… more.

You’ve already told yourself; you won’t beg them. You won’t plead, you won’t try to convince them to keep you. It’s pretty clear they’re happy together, your intermission in their life probably something they’ll wipe their hands of as soon as you’re out the door tonight.

Still, something in you burns for them. Pulls you towards them, like they’ve got their claws in you and won’t let go.

You smooth the front of your dress and ring the doorbell. You try not to fidget, try not to touch the black fabric that sits just a little snug, that outlines your body in all the right ways, and your fingers are wrapped around themselves when the door swings open wide to reveal Simon on the other side. He looks you up and down indulgently, and something flares in his eyes, a heat that you can practically feel while his jaw flexes behind the mask.

“Hi.” You want it to sound confident, comfortable, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

“Darling.”

It’s the heat that wakes you. Your body is pinned between them, the three of you easily falling into the usual sleeping position, you on your side, Simon at your back, Johnny half sprawled, your face on his diaphragm so he can stretch his arm above your head. Usually, he falls asleep scratching his nails into Simon’s scalp, and you fall asleep with your hips pressed back and a flat palm on Johnny’s rib cage.

Today, you’ve woken up exactly the same, except Simon’s cock is flush with the curve of your ass, and you can feel the heavy hardness of it when you shift. A delicious daydream forms in your mind, and you think about reaching behind you to free him from his briefs when Johnny grumbles, his eyes blinking open with a disgruntled mmph. He stuns you, still, with how beautiful he is. How perfect he is, how even when he’s just waking up, he still manages to look like something etched by a god. Your heart swells when you look at him, the overflowing feeling nearly smothering you beneath it's pressure, and you resist the urge to stroke your fingers along his jaw. Love. It's love, it's love, how could it ever have been anything other than love?

“Good morning.” You whisper, even though you know it’s well into the afternoon. He rolls completely, tucking you into his body closer, and you feel his hand card over Simon’s side.

“How did you sleep?” He croons above your ear, accent still thick with sleep, and you shrug.

“Fine, I guess.” You trying to make the shush motion with a finger against your lips, but Johnny just smiles. A big hand, not Johnny’s, pats your hip.

“Breakfast?” Simon mumbles in your hair and you nod.

“Breakfast sounds good.”

Johnny makes pancakes. You assume it’s because he knows they’re your favorite, and because there are no fresh groceries in the apartment, no eggs or fruit or anything else.

“I could go down to the supermarket, if we want? Grab some-“

“No.” Simon pours a mug of black coffee and points to the counter stool. “Sit.” He’s still in his briefs and nothing else, the cut of his hips on display just above the waistband, and your eyes trace his form briefly. A magnet that's settled behind your heart springs alive, trying to pull you towards him, trying to push you right up against him. The feeling intensifies as you watch him, and your stomach flips. It's love, the thrall, the pull, the power of what you feel. The intoxication of your adoration, the connection you have with him. It threatens to end you, right there on the stool and you cast your eyes down to break the spell. He sets the coffee in front of you and turns to where Johnny stands at the stove, placing a kiss on his shoulder before getting himself his own cup and sitting down next to you, a thigh just barely touching yours.

“How’re you feeling?” Johnny probes, and you gnaw on your bottom lip and look down into your lap. Get your shit together. Get your head together.

“I’m okay.” You shrug, and Simon scoffs into his mug. Johnny stands with a hand on his hip across the countertop, looking back and forth between your plate of pancakes and your face expectantly. Just eat. Make him happy. You love pancakes. Discomfort settles your bones. The edge of the fork bites into the skin of your palm. “I am feeling a lot.” You disclose it cautiously, staring down at your plate, watching the syrup ooze around the contents of your breakfast.

“Will you tell us? What it is you’re feeling?” Simon persuades, his hand just hovering in your line of sight. Not touching you, but close enough. In case you need him. You draw a deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can manage before letting it out in a whoosh.

“When you’re gone… and even sometimes when you’re here, it’s too easy to feel like this isn’t real. It feels like... you could never come back, because you don’t have to. It’s not like you need me.”

“What’s making you think that?” you notice the way Johnny’s gripping the countertop, fingers wrapped around the edge like he’s trying to snap the slab free, knuckles white, forearms tense. Tension runs through him from head to toe, and you feel the urge to reach out and comfort him, to mold your body into his, feel him against you. You’re hurting them. You’ve hurt them. Is this really what you wanted?

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Yer not eating?” You swallow the dry fear in the back of your throat and try to give Johnny a smile.

“I did.” He raises an eyebrow. “Eat some.” You clarify and shift nervously. “It was good, you did great as usual.” You give him a cheeky smile and he returns it, but it slips from his lips easily, and he returns to folding his hands in his lap.

It’s something he does when he’s nervous, you’ve noticed. When he’s anticipating something. He’s been jumpy since you got here, and it’s done nothing to alleviate your fears and everything to confirm them.

They’re giving you the boot. You can already tell.

You try to keep it together, try to focus on having a good time and enjoying their company, but you can’t stomach the reality of the situation… or your food. It’s a bad habit, something you’ve picked up over the years, the eating thing. It’s not something you’re proud of, of but also something you can’t shake. It plagues you, and you-

“We want to discuss something with you.” Johnny says, and you give them both a polite smile, forcing yourself to not to stand up and bolt in that very second.

It’s going to be fine. It’s just like getting dumped, which you’re fairly good at. You can do this.

“Okay.”

“We’ve really liked having you around,” Your mind strays, zoning out for a moment while you think about how much you’ll miss them. How it’ll be different, not waking up between them or spending long nights in their apartment with them. How you’ll miss the way Johnny rubs your back, the way Simon soothes you with a simple, gentle touch. How- “and we don’t want you to get the wrong idea about us, we-“

“What he means to say is…” Simon interrupts, and then pauses like he needs to collect his thoughts. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, the three of us.” Your heart goes from fast to superspeed, it’s pulse thundering in your ears. You fight to steady yourself, your head, your heart, anything to get control of your own mind and not break down at the table. “And we enjoy it. Enjoy… you.”

“Not just the sex.” Johnny cuts in, and you nod.

“We’ve had a lot of fun.” You agree and Simon frowns, something like disappointment, or sadness, casting a shadow across his face before it clears and he’s reaching across the table for your hand. His touch calms you, and when you look up into his eyes, there’s something there that surprises you. Something tender, and soft. Something like adoration.

“’S not just fun, darling. You’re precious to us.” Your head feels light, and you look at them both with wide eyes. They’re holding hands, and Johnny looks like he’s grasping onto Simon for dear life in this moment.

“I don’t understand... you two are… in love. I thought, we were just… having sex?” your mouth feels like cotton, and you grope blindly across the table for your wine glass without taking your eyes from them. When you find it, you down the dark red liquid without a second thought, gulping loudly.

“Aye, but… we want to spend more time with you. If you’d like that.”

“More time…”

“Dating.” Johnny smiles at you, his gorgeous, easy way of it settling a wild flare that’s gone off inside your heart.

“You… want to date… me?” You nearly laugh at the absurdity, but hold it back, not wanting to insult them and the serious expressions they’re wearing.

“You’ve given us something…” Simon trails off, lost somewhere before he comes back, eyes clear and focused on you. “You’ve given us something we didn’t know we could have. Didn’t think we had a capacity for, and now… we don’t want to be without you. We miss you when you’re not with us.” The room suddenly feels incredibly hot, like someone’s turned the heat on high, and even though you’ve just finished your wine, your mouth is completely dry.

They want you. They don’t want to get rid of you… they actually want you. Something dark and sharp twists in your mind, something full of doubt and loathing, something that tells you to run away. They won’t want you anymore once they get to know you. Truly get to know you. They won’t keep you. Don’t get confused.

Johnny politely clears his throat, and then drags his chair until he’s right next to you, soft gaze peering down with wonderment, like you’re some magical… unicorn.

“We wan’ be with you, love. The three of us, together.”

The blackout curtains make the bedroom effectively dark, the only light a small one, and you bury your face in the pillow when you feel weight shifting, the heap of blankets you buried yourself under being tossed around until you feel the heat of a body next to yours. You reach for it instinctively, the ridges of scar tissue in very specific spots signifying who it is. You feel his lips above your ear, and then he’s pulling you into him, cradling your head with the back of his hand. He pulls the blankets back up overtop the two of you, enclosing you both underneath, shutting out the light. You had managed to slip away from breakfast unscathed, but it didn’t matter. They’d always find you.

“When I first fell in love with Johnny, I pushed him away, I hurt him intentionally in hopes he would grow to hate me.” Simon’s voice is low, nearly a whisper, and you close your eyes and fall into it. “I was… scared. Of him, of what he made me feel. I was afraid that once he knew me, knew who I was, he’d be gone.” He strokes a hand up and down your spine, and your fingers tighten in the blankets that you’re holding. “He made me feel out of control, and I was terrified of being abandoned by him. Every time he went out in the field, I convinced myself he wasn’t coming back. And then when he did, I treated him harshly.” Oh, Si. You bury yourself farther into him, placing a soft kiss where his neck meets his shoulder. Cool air slips in an opening and the mattress dips again, Johnny’s body molding to your back, his embrace pulling the three of you tighter together under the blankets.

“Simon…” you whisper, but he continues on.

“I had treated him poorly because I was enraged by my fear. My fear of losing him, my fear of being alone again, my fear of being abandoned by him.” He pauses, chest expanding with a deep breath. “I can’t tell you I know exactly how you’re feelin’ but I do know what it’s like to be afraid to lose. I know what it’s like to be a captive of your head, your own thoughts.”

“I…”

“Like I said last night, as long as you want us, we’ll never give up on you. We’ll drag you back to us every time. I know, we know, that deep down, you know the truth. You know we love you, darling. And even though you lose yourself sometimes, we will always take care of you. We will always be here for you.”

“You’re never on the outside with us, but I understand how you might feel that way sometimes.” Johnny offers, and you nod silently. “Simon and I spend a lot of time together when we’re away. I know it hasn’t been easy, being the one always left behind.” Tears roll down your face now, and a thumb wipes across your cheekbone. “But we miss you every second, think about you every second. It’s hard because we can’t call, can’t text, but when we’re not with you, we feel like we’re missing a piece of ourselves.”

“And maybe we haven’t done a good enough job, communicating that with you, making you feel safe and secure.” Simon murmurs, and you shake your head.

“No.” you choke. “N-no it’s not your fault. I- I’m supposed to tell you…when I feel bad.” How can you explain? “I don’t know how to explain it, I… just… ran away. Instead of talking to you.”

“You ran away because you thought you were being abandoned.” Simon kisses you gently on the forehead, and Johnny presses his lips to your shoulder. You try to say yes, say no, say you’re sorry, but nothing comes out but a choked sob.

“But… we need to know if you still want this, love. If you do, we’ll list the flat tomorrow and start looking for a new one together.” Johnny’s voice wavers, and you feel his grip tightening. “If you don’t think this… us, is something you want anymore, you have to tell us. You have to decide what you want.”

The room falls silent except for the sound of your lungs heaving, your breaths wet and syrupy from crying, your heart breaking wide open. Do you really want to be without them? Do you really want to be left feeling like you do when they’re gone? You love them, do you actually want to give them up?

Do you want this?

981 notes · View notes

sapphire-writes · 9 months

Text

Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 8 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: The Kingsroad Country Club hosts its annual gala and auction. An unwelcome guest causes trouble for you and the gang.

word count: 6.2k

rating: Mature/Explicit/18+

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, fighting, and mentions of violence, slight exhibitionism, oral (male-receiving, ball play), reader domming a lil bit, dirty talk, praise, cum eating, kissing

note: went a lil crazy with this one pls forgive my feral nature

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected ❤️

“Torture,” Helaena says, her lips in a deep pout, “This is actual torture.”

You glance over at her as you all exit the car that dropped you off at the Kingsroad Country Club. It had just been you, Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena; Alicent had been driven separately several hours earlier to help prepare.

Helaena smoothes the silver blue dress, looking rather uncomfortable yet stunning. You can’t imagine any of the Targaryens looking bad ever; they’re all blessed with angelic good looks. But Helaena is clearly out of her element in the silk dress and heels. You’d helped her with her makeup, though it was hard to get her to sit still.

You’d gotten ready with Helaena, as Baela was summoned to Dragonstone earlier in the day. The whole family was arriving together, to make an entrance.

Aegon and Aemond are dressed similarly in suits and ties; the boys truly had it easiest. Though Aemond wore a black tie whereas Aegon wore a deep green one.

You smooth your own dress, feeling a little self-conscious around the Targaryens. You’d chosen a silky black dress when you’d gone shopping a few weeks ago; it hugs every curve, falling to the middle of your thighs. You’d paired it with some hoops and a layered necklace (borrowed from Helaena).

“You look incredible, Hel,” you assured her, and she rolled her eyes.

“I mean, I know,” she tells you, “I’m a hot person. You too! Very sexy chic,” she teases, grabbing your hand and twirling you.

Aemond smirks, watching the display. Your cheeks warm as you focus on not tripping in your heels. Helaena stops spinning you, pulling your back against her front.

“Careful, Aemond,” she teases, “I just might steal your girl.”

“Alright, enough,” Aemond says, reaching forward and taking your hand, pulling you from Helaena’s embrace.

She laughs as Aemond pulls you close before closing the car door. Aegon has propped himself against the hood of the car, attempting to light a cigarette. Helaena moves past him, smacking him on the back of the head. The cigarette falls to the ground and Aegon groans.

“Bitch,” he mutters.

“Watch it,” Helaena warns, heading up the steps, “Let’s go find Mom.”

Aegon trails behind her, flicking his lighter shut and shoving it into his pocket.

Aemond’s fingers are still intertwined with yours as he moves to follow his siblings; you can feel the coolness of the rings that adorn his slender fingers. He stops just at the front of the car, leaning against it until he’s face to face with you. He holds your hand the whole time, pulling you forward gently.

“Shouldn’t we head in?” you ask, now standing between his legs. He drags your hand up, letting it go when it rests on his shoulder.

“In a minute,” he murmurs, bringing his hands to your waist, “First I want to tell you how beautiful you look.”

Your face warms and you blink rapidly, eyes downcast. For someone you originally thought was just a fuckboy, Aemond Targaryen was turning out to be quite the romantic. He somehow knew all the things to say that would send your heart fluttering in your chest, and turn your legs to jelly.

Aemond watches your reaction, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. You wet your lips, looking up at him.

“Tell me then,” you tease, and he gently tugs you forward capturing your lips in a kiss.

It’s slow and passionate; heat curls in your belly along with a desperate ache between your legs. It trickles through your veins, flooding your entire body with euphoria. You’ve never felt this feeling before; this almost painful need for another person. Aemond deepens the kiss, letting his tongue slip into your waiting mouth. He tastes of spearmint, and something spicy; the rum Aegon had insisted you all try before heading over.

Aemond pulls away, the slight smile still on his face as he rubs circles on your hips with his thumbs.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you, so close you can feel his lips moving with the words he speaks.

You smile at his words, tilting your head to bump the tip of your nose against his. Aemond releases a breath as you do so, cupping your cheek with one large hand and pressing a softer kiss to your lips.

“Let’s go,” he tells you, and you head inside.

The Kingsroad Country Club is nothing short of extravagant when you make your way into the main ballroom. You’d deposited your coat in a room down the hall for safekeeping. Your eyes are wide as saucers as you take in the gorgeous arrangement of colorful flowers throughout the room, and cream-colored silk streamers that hang from the ceiling.

Ice sculptures of various mythical creatures are scattered throughout the room, several of them dragons you can’t help but notice. Everyone is dressed to the nines; you’ve never been to such a fancy event. You spot Sara, clad in a deep purple dress and she waves at you, nudging Cregan who stands beside her. He gives you a friendly wave as well.

Floris is here; you spot her helping explain something to an older woman. She smiles at you brightly and mouths talk later, before returning to her task. Your chest warms as you scout the crowd for Baela and Rhaena. You know they’d arrived before you as you received a frantic text from Baela as you were getting ready. Help me, followed by a skull emoji.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Aemond murmurs, leaning down to speak in your ear. You nod, continuing to look for the twins, and he walks over to the bar.

Helaena’s silver head comes into view; she’s standing next to Alicent who is speaking rapidly. Helaena’s expression is pained and she tugs her shoulder away from her mother’s reaching hand. The dynamics of this family are throwing you through loops.

You hear a familiar voice call your name, and turn to see Will Tyrell accompanied by someone you don’t recognize. You give him a friendly smile as he approaches. Will had been more than understanding when you’d reached out to him earlier in the week; you’d told him while you had a lovely time, you thought it would be best to remain friends.

Will, being the total sweetheart he is, agreed without hesitation. He makes his way over to you, wearing a white button-down shirt with an open dark navy jacket with matching slacks. His brown curls are slicked back against his skull. His friend is dressed similarly; clad in a deep maroon jacket and slacks.

His features are sharp, almost fox-like. You notice he has rather large ears, hidden behind strawberry-blonde curls and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Good to see you,” you tell Will, pulling him into a friendly hug. You glance awkwardly at his friend, waiting to be introduced when Aegon joins you.

“Hughie!” Aegon says, pulling in the stranger with his hand and clasping him on the shoulder, “Been a while man.”

“Yeah, good to see you,” he answers with a grin, “Been in Highgarden for most of the summer.”

His eyes drift over to you, “Hugh Florent.”

He holds his hand out which you shake, and smiles politely. Hugh’s eyebrow raises as you tell him your name, gaze flickering to Will who is lost in conversation with Aegon. Something about sharks from what you can hear.

“You’ve been hanging with Will this summer, yeah?” Hugh asks, lips curving into a slight smirk.

“We’ve been out a couple of times, yeah,” you tell him, as Aemond returns to your side. You feel him slide an arm around your waist, gently tugging you closer to his warm body.

Hugh’s eyes flicker between you both as Aemond hands you a glass of champagne. You thank him, taking a small sip; the bubbles leave a tingling sensation on your tongue.

“Aemond,” Hugh says with a grin, “You’ve decided to make an appearance.”

“My mother organized the gala and auction,” Aemond answers, his voice rather cold, “Important to support her.”

“Are you bidding on anything?” Hugh asks, placing his hands in his pockets.

“If something catches my eye,” Aemond answers, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

Hugh’s eyes slide over to you once more.

“Seems like something already did,” Hugh comments, as Will hands him a beer, “Thanks, man.”

You feel Aemond’s arm tighten around you, and he gives Hugh a tight smile, eye narrowing slightly. You glance up at him, feeling the tension rolling off his lean, muscular form. Aemond tilts down to your height, his lips beside your ear.

“Have you seen Baela yet?” he asks softly, and you shake your head, “I saw her while I was getting your drink; I’ll take you to her.”

And with that, Aemond leads you away from Hugh, giving him a polite nod as you exit. Aemond keeps his arm around you as you move through the crowd and onto the large patio where some guests have begun mingling.

“Who is he?” you ask, keeping your voice low.

“One of Aegon’s fraternity brothers,” Aemond answers, jaw clenched, “Best to stay away from him.”

You couldn’t agree more. The uneasy feeling in your stomach from the interaction with Hugh doesn’t last long, as you spot Baela and Rhaena, along with Daemon and Rhaenyra. Luke is seated next to his mother fiddling with his tie. Rhaenyra scolds him before running her hand over the back of his head.

Baela tilts her wine glass upwards, finishing the dregs before abandoning the glass on the table. Her eyes widen as she sees you and she uses the moment to pull away from her father and stepmother. Daemon makes a face but you watch Rhaenyra slide her hand into his, shaking her head gently.

Baela’s arms sling around your shoulders pulling you into a tight hug. She smells like the perfume you got her for her last birthday; light and floral.

“Holy shit you smoke show!” she comments, admiring your look, “Damn Aemond, you’re a lucky guy.”

“Insanely,” Aemond agrees.

“You look stunning Baela, holy fuck,” you tell her. Baela is a goddess in her aquamarine-colored dress that clings to every curve.

Some of her curls are pulled back from her face by silver pins adorned with seahorses with pale blue gemstones for eyes. The rest of her curls hang freely down her back. Glitter shimmers on her chest and arms, matching the highlighter atop her cheekbones. Baela looks the part of a sea enchantress, ready to drag those who cross her to a watery grave.

Rhaena’s dress is similar, though a shade of pale pink. She waves at you, but stays close to her father’s side, standing between him and Rhaenyra. Her locs hang freely and you can see gemstones sparkling around her eyes.

Baela preens at your praise, giving you a little twirl.

“I mean, it was nothing really,” she says, “Thank god you’re here though, it’s been so boring.”

“How’s your dad?” you ask.

“Fine, I guess,” she says with a sigh, “He got what he wanted. The happy little family all together.” She crosses her arms in front of her.

“No Jace?”

“He said he didn’t think he’d be back in time,” she reminds you, “Regatta is still 2 weeks away, he’ll be back for Luke.”

“That’s good,” you tell her. Luke looks lost without his brother. Smaller.

Baela sighs, looking back at her family. Rhaena jerks her chin, motioning for Baela to rejoin.

“Gods,” Baela grumbles, “Probably another picture. I had to take one with Rhaenyra earlier.”

“Sorry,” you tell her, wincing.

“It’s whatever at this point,” Baela says, rolling her eyes, “Catch you in a bit? The fireworks are supposed to be really cool this year.”

You nod, giving her hand a squeeze.

“You got this,” you tell her and she smiles, her eyes sad.

“Thank you,” she says, turning to Aemond, “Take care of my girl.”

“Will do,” Aemond promises.

Baela turns back suddenly.

“Shoot, will you do me a favor?” she asks, and you quickly nod, “Grab my phone? It's in the coat room. It’s my black one with the seahorse buttons.”

“Of course,” you tell her as Rhaena calls her name, “Go, go I’ll grab it and be right back.”

Baela thanks you again, heading back over to Rhaena and the others. You glance up at Aemond, handing him your glass.

“I’ll be right back,” you tell him.

“Want me to come with you?” he asks.

“It’s alright, I’ll only be a moment,” you assure him, “Besides, maybe check on Hel? She looks like she’s in pain.”

Aemond chuckles slightly but agrees as you head out of the ballroom and down the hall. The music dies as you make your way further to the uninhabited side of the country club, pushing open the glass doors that lead to the smaller room where all the coats have been kept.

There are other things present as well, some auction items to be revealed later in the night. You make your way to the women’s coats, fingering through them for Baela’s. It’s easy to spot with the buttons and you grab her phone, sliding it between your breasts. You remove your phone, as that’s where you’d been stashing it, and check your notifications.

“Hiding from someone?” a voice calls and you turn around, startled.

Your phone drops from your hand, landing on the ground with a loud thump. Hugh Florent winces apologetically, leaning forward to grab it. He holds it out to you.

“Thanks,” you tell him, taking your phone with a tight smile.

“No problem,” he says, moving deeper into the room before throwing himself down onto a nearby chaise lounge, “I always try to escape these things too, they’re terribly boring.”

He pulls out a cigarette from his suit pocket, placing it between his lips before lighting it. The sweet smell of smoke fills the air, making your nose wrinkle.

“You’re not hiding from Will, I hope?” he asks, before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“I’m not hiding from anyone,” you tell him, “I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke in here.”

A smile forms on his face around the cigarette that dangles from his lips.

“Our little secret then,” he says, causing the hair on your arms to stand on edge, “Want one?”

“No,” you tell him, “I should be getting back.”

“Stay a minute,” he insists.

“I really-”

“Stay,” he says, his tone more commanding this time, “Keep me company. Don’t be rude.”

Your face warms, the hair on the back of your neck stands up, and a lump begins to form in your throat. You hate feeling like this. Like you want to tell him to go fuck himself and leave the room. But your feet are glued to the floor and you stand, frozen in place.

Hugh smiles at his victory and your obvious discomfort. You just need a minute, then you’ll go. C’mon, leave the room. Aemond is waiting.

“You getting on with Will then?” he asks, and your stomach lurches.

“We’ve gone out,” you tell him.

“But you’re with Targaryen now?” Hugh clarifies and you nod.

If it's one thing men respect, it's another man having some sort of claim to you. The thought sours your stomach and causes tears to prickle in the back of your eyes. Your heart is beating against your ribs like a rabbit’s foot.

You don’t suppose men ever feel this way. Like prey.

“Well, if one-eye gets boring,” he drones, and you flinch at the cruel nickname, “You’re welcome to my bed anytime.”

Your lips curl in disgust.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just down the way a bit,” he says with a shrug, “Since you’re keen to give it up for King’s Landing residents.”

Your jaw drops at his insult, and suddenly adrenaline floods through you, your feet unstuck. The fear that was trickling through your veins moments ago is replaced with white-hot anger.

“Go fuck yourself,” you tell him, through gritted teeth.

Hugh leaps from the chaise as you go to leave, reaching out and grabbing your forearm, holding you in place.

“Just teasing, that’s all,” he insists, tightening his grip as you attempt to pull away.

“Get off me!” you yell, turning and slapping Hugh across the face.

“Hey!” a deep voice echoes through the room and the pressure disappears from your forearm. A few tears slip past your lower lids as you meet the eyes of Cregan Stark.

He walks forward into the room, his eyes locked on Hugh, who has backed up several paces.

“Everything's al-”

“Shut the fuck up man,” Cregan snaps at him, before turning to face you.

You release a shaky breath, wiping your hands over your cheeks, drying the tears that escaped.

“Are you alright?” Cregan asks, ducking to meet your height. He places one hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles on your flesh.

You nod, struggling to find the words to thank him.

“Yeah….I’m okay…just a little shaken up,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady. Hugh straightens up, dusting his dress pants and running a hand over his gelled hair.

“Let’s get you back to the party,” Cregan says softly, using his body to shield you from Hugh’s view.

You let Cregan lead you toward the door, stopping briefly to whisper, “Please don’t say anything; I don’t want to make this a thing.”

Cregan’s expression is pained but he gives you a curt nod as the door opens.

“You guys find any coolers in here?” Aegon asks, trying to squeeze by, “Waiters aren’t filling me up fast enough and the bar cut me off-”

Aegon’s sentence dies as he looks at you, his eyebrows concaving together in confusion. You watch as the gears whirl in his head as his eyes flicker between you and Hugh; your tear-stained cheeks, his tense posture, Cregan’s protective stance.

“Aegon don’t-”

Cregan’s words fall on deaf ears as Aegon pushes by you both and slams his hands into Hugh Florent’s chest.

“AEGON!” you call.

“The fuck you think you’re doing, huh?” Aegon growls, grabbing Hugh by his shirt, “That’s my brother’s girl you’re messing with.”

“Relax bro,” Hugh says, that sly smirk still plastered on his face, “We were just talking, she didn’t have to get all upset-”

“I’m sure Aemond will love to hear that,” Aegon says roughly, “Go be a sleazeball somewhere else- not at my family’s fucking club.” Aegon releases him with a shove, straightening up and looking at you.

“You alright?” he asks, and you nod, lips parted in shock. You’d hardly expected Aegon of all people to come to your defense.

He moves forward ushering you and Cregan back down the hallways towards the main ballroom.

“Let’s not mention this to Aemond right now,” Aegon says, on the opposite side of you, “I don’t think that-”

A whistle comes from behind you, as you’re heading out of the ballroom and onto the lit porch where most of the patrons have retired to watch the fireworks. You catch Aemond’s eye from across the sea of people, watching the corner of his mouth twitch into his familiar smirk. Your heart leaps into your throat, eyes wide. Aemond reads your upset expression instantly and begins moving forward toward you.

You turn as Hugh enters, his tongue held between his teeth. It seems he’s not eager to end this.

“You’re one to fucking talk, Egg,” Hugh says through a laugh.

“Hugh, I swear to-”

“I didn’t know she was spoken for,” Hugh continues, “Must be a real ego boost for your bro, to be hitting Tyrell’s sloppy seconds.”

Aegon surges forward, but Cregan blocks him with his chest. You raise your eyebrows, cheeks hot with humiliation. Will has overheard and makes his way over to you as well.

“Is this guy for real?” you ask, not believing what you’re hearing, “Aegon just leave it!”

Aegon gives an exasperated chuckle, holding both hands out in front of him. Will frowns, shaking his head at his friend. Several guests have started to watch the scene unfold.

“Not cool dude,” he says, eyebrows furrowed.

“Just standing up for you, bro,” Hugh insists.

“Well don’t,” Will says, before turning and giving you an apologetic look.

Aemond is weaving his way closer, still moving through the crowd as Aegon insists to Cregan he’s fine. Cregan reluctantly steps in front of you and Aegon, pushing open the glass doors leading outside. He holds them open for you both, standing on the deck letting in the warm night air and music that plays from the live band.

You think you’re in the clear as Aemond squeezes by Cregan into the room. His hands find yours and you press yourself closer to him. He releases one of your hands to cup your cheek, violet eye flickering over your face taking in every inch. He holds your cheek carefully, as though you may shatter in his palm.

“What happened?” he murmurs, gaze moving to rest on Hugh. You cover his hand with your own.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you assure him, feeling your anxiety calm in his presence.

“If she’s not putting out, maybe Helaena is,” Hugh calls to Aegon, “She’s been looking pretty hot lately-”

Everything happens very fast after that. Will tells Hugh off, pushing his shoulder lightly as Aegon lurches forward once more. This time, he’s quicker than Cregan and he sends Hugh Florent tumbling to the ground.

“Asshole!” you yell at Hugh, just as Aegon collides with him, “Oh shit, shit shit!”

“Aegon!” Aemond calls, pulling his brother from Hugh.

“Keep my family’s name out of your fucking mouth!” Aegon snarls as Aemond drags him backward through the door and onto the outdoor space.

The scuffle has been noticed at this point, with several people leaning over one another to see what all the ruckus is. Hugh laughs from behind you, wiping some blood that trickles from the corner of his mouth.

“Still fiery as ever, Egg,” Hugh teases, eyes alight with mischief, “Wondered where that went.”

It’s Aemond who turns to him now, his gaze cold as ice. He doesn’t say anything, just stares him down until Hugh swallows, and breaks away from his gaze. Hugh coughs, before heading back inside, finally retreating.

“I’m good, I’m good!” Aegon says to Cregan who is still attempting to corral him.

Helaena pushes through the crowd, a concerned expression on her face.

“What the fuck happened?” Helaena asks, but Aegon shakes his head.

“He’s a prick, he deserved to be called out that’s all.”

“Now? You think now was the best time to do that?” Helaena growls, raising a brow.

Aegon clicks his tongue, sharply inhaling through his nose. He could tell her what Hugh said, but he stays quiet instead.

“Great,” Hel says, exasperated, “Mom is going to skin us alive.”

She’s probably right. If you’ve learned anything about Alicent Hightower-Tarageyn, it’s that events like these are important to her. Image is everything. Aegon shrugs, but you can tell the thought of his mother being angry with him makes him anxious; his hands have begun to tremble.

“Mr. Targaryen,” a security guard says approaching, “My apologies sir but we’ve received several complaints and are going to have to escort you from the party-”

“What?” you ask incredulously, “He didn’t do anything.”

“Ma’am-”

“He was helping me, you can’t kick him out,” you tell them, “If anything Hugh should leave!”

“It’s all good, no no, I’ll go,” Aegon assures them, reaching into the ice bucket on top of the outdoor bar and grabbing a bottle of champagne, “Party’s getting lame anyway.”

He begins walking down the steps and onto the grass that extends off into the golf courses in the distance.

“Hel? You got a j with you? Wanna blow this place?” he calls, looking back with a lopsided grin.

Helaena smiles at her brother, rolling her eyes.

“Night’s going to hell anyway,” she says with a sigh, “Fuck it I guess.”

She hurries after Aegon, down the steps.

“C’mon Aem! Live a little!” Aegon calls, walking backward toward the golf course.

Aemond glances at you and you slip your hand into his, tugging him forward.

“Let’s go,” you tell him, grinning.

You turn suddenly, spotting Baela with Rhaena. Daemon stands behind her, observing the scene along with Rhaenyra who sits beside him. His hand rests on her shoulder as she strokes her protruding pregnant belly.

“Bae!” you call, motioning to her.

Her eyes are sad and she wets her lips looking back at her father.

“C’mon Baela!” Aegon calls, echoed by Helaena.

You can see Daemon’s brows knit together, see him mouthing to Baela trying to get her to stay. But Baela rushes forward with a smile on her face, holding her skirts as she runs down the steps and across the field. You hold your arms open as she barrels into you, embracing you in a spinning hug as you continue further away from the party.

“Jackpot!” Aegon says, finding a row of golf carts. He jumps in the driver's seat and Helaena sits beside him. Aegon reaches back to pat the backseat, “My lady,” he says motioning for Baela to sit.

She does with a laugh, just as Rhaena tumbles down the hill, with Sara in tow; their fingers laced together.

They grab the next one just as Aegon revs the engine, taking off down the green hills. You can hear Helaena cheering as you watch them bob and weave through the grassy hills. Rhaena and Sara take off moments later.

You and Aemond start the next one, driving it slower than the rest at a more leisurely pace. You lean your head back, looking up at the stairs, and letting the warm summer night air pass over you.

You can hear the laughter of your friends growing louder as the sounds of the gala begin to die in the distance.

You trail behind them for a while, before taking a detour down a more secluded part of the golf course. Aemond throws the golf cart in park, looking over at you. You reach in between your boobs, pulling out Baela’s phone and placing it on the dashboard with your own on top of it.

“What happened?” Aemond asks, his fingers stroking your arm.

“Nothing important,” you assure him, “Just Hugh being a douchebag. Aegon really helped me out, I’ll have to thank him.”

Aemond hums to acknowledge your comment.

“Aegon’s nothing if not loyal,” Aemond agrees, “Like a golden retriever.”

You snort at the comparison.

“It was really nice,” you tell him, “How do you get asked to leave your own club?”

“Our family is just one of many donors,” Aemond tells you, “It’s not like we truly own the place.”

You nod, turning in the seat to face him.

“Where have they gone?” you ask, listening closely for the sound of your friends.

They must have gone pretty far ahead, all you can hear is the crickets chirping and the gentle sounds of waves crashing against the rocks in the distance.

“Don’t know,” Aemond comments, “Here, let's sit here,” He motions to the rather spacious backward-facing rear seats, “Bet we can see the bay.”

You exit, sitting down on the rear seats. Sure enough, you can just make out Blackwater Bay in the distance. You lean into Aemond as he sits beside you.

You reach forward, placing your hand on his upper thigh beginning to stroke smooth circles. You mean it innocently enough to begin with; just wanting to be touching him in some capacity. But his breathing turns shallow, and you can soon feel his cock hardening, straining through his slacks.

You move your hand over his bulge, squeezing gently, before letting your hands fiddle with the zipper. Aemond remains very still beside you.

“Can I?” you ask, heart, pounding with anticipation as you glance up at him.

“Fuck, of course, you can,” he tells you as you continue to palm his bulge, “Anything you want.”

You ease the zipper down and dip your hands in to remove his half-hard cock from his slacks; running your hand up and down at a leisurely pace. Aemond hisses as you squeeze him; you can feel him pulsating in your palm. It sends warmth pooling in between your thighs and you wet your lips in anticipation.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask, innocently tilting your head to the side.

“Don’t tease me,” he says through gritted teeth.

You slide off the seat, positioning yourself in the space between his legs. He widens his stance, letting his knees fall open. Kneeling in front of him you give his cock a tug.

“I don’t really think you’re not in a position to make demands,” you tease, ignoring his command.

Aemond releases a throaty moan as you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the swollen head. You hum in appreciation, looking up at him through your lashes as you suckle at the tip.

“Fuck,” he whispers, as you widen your mouth letting your tongue taste the underside of his shaft, paying special attention to the vein that travels up his length.

You drag your tongue up slowly, removing your lips and letting your tongue slide over his slit gathering the precum that leaks from it.

You swallow what your tongue collected, pumping him a few more times with just your hand. He’s so big. The perfect girth where your fingers struggle to touch each other when your hand is wrapped around him.

Long, hard, and heavy; always demandingly pressed against you, eager to be buried inside you in whichever way you preferred. Such a pretty cock Aemond has it drives you fucking insane. You haven’t had the time yet to appreciate it the way you’d like to. But now is your opportunity.

“You’re so pretty,” you comment, eyes wide as you watch your hand engulf him.

Aemond lets out a breathy laugh.

“Stop it,” he begs, his voice breaking into a slight whine; it makes you smile.

You lean forward, engulfing him fully in your mouth- at least as much as you can before you’re forced to pump the rest with your hand. Aemond’s hand flies to the back of your head keeping your mouth securely on him. You begin to move, dragging your mouth up and down along his length, and swirling your tongue around him.

You hum at the feeling of his hand tightening on the back of your head as you continue.

“Gods,” he groans, “So fucking perfect.”

Your lips tug upwards in what you can manage of a smile with his cock stuffed to the hilt down your throat. You gag slightly as he rocks his hips, pressing further down your throat. Aemond’s head tilts back, his chest rising and falling with his uneven, shaky breath.

You hollow your cheeks creating more suction as you try to take him deeper in your throat. Your heart is pounding and you try to even your breathing through your nose as you focus on not gagging on his thick length.

“Fucking hell,” he whines, “Oh gods--- fuck that mouth.” His hips lurch forward and you moan around him, drool dribbling out the corner of your mouth and onto your chin.

Aemond’s hand grips the back of your head, holding on for dear life as your hand joins your mouth in its efforts. Lewd, wet noises fill the summer air and you pull off him with a gasp.

“Seven hells,” he whimpers, as you lean forward, mouthing at his balls.

You eagerly press your tongue against them, rolling them against your mouth as you continue to jerk him off with your hand. Aemond’s a mess, head falling back, eye squeezing shut in pleasure. You suckle at the soft skin between his balls, alternating your attention between the pair of them.

“You like that baby?” you murmur, kissing up his shaft, “Like when I play with your balls?”

“Fuck yes,” he whimpers, “Oh fuck, feels so good-” his sentence ends in a desperate whimper as you take him fully in your mouth once more.

You bring your hand to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you suck him off. You love the feeling of having Aemond at your mercy; pride sears through your veins like fire at the messy state of him. The hand that isn’t on your head clutches the back of the seat, digging into the soft tan leather.

You release him with a pop, tapping the head of his cock on your outstretched tongue. Aemond watches you, eye wide, as you kiss the swollen head of his cock, before smiling up at him.

“Are you gonna cum?” you ask, as innocently as you can, eyes wide, “Want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Holy fucking--,” Aemond whines, as you suckle at the tip before dragging your lips down the side of his shaft, “Fuck yes, yes I’m gonna cum-” You lick a path up his shaft, engulfing him in your mouth once more.

You know he’s close, you can feel him pulsating in your mouth, but you want to drag this out as long as you can. You know from experience that Aemond isn’t usually the submissive type, and having him like this is a real treat.

“Fuck, gods you’re such a good girl,” Aemond praises as you move your head faster, “Shit..I fucking love this…like you so much..” Your cheeks warm at his praise, and pleasant butterflies flutter in your belly.

You release him one final time, pumping him with your hand. You’re a drooling mess, hand and face covered in saliva as you grin up at him.

“Let me taste your cum,” you tell him, “Please, give it to me, I want it so bad.”

“Fucking, yeah fuck I’ll give it to you,” Aemond whines, “So good, so fucking good, oh fuuuck.” His words die with a whimper as his dick twitches in your mouth and his warm, salty release hits the back of your throat.

You moan, taking it all, making sure to keep some in your mouth as you pull off of him. Aemond’s hand finds your chin, angling it upwards.

“Show me,” he asks, and you present your tongue to him before swallowing, “Such a fucking good girl.”

He drags you upwards onto his lap, kissing you harshly tasting his release on your tongue. He moans into your mouth and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“My good girl,” he murmurs between kisses, “Gods you’re perfect. My girl is so perfect.”

You’re preening at his praise, moaning happily against him as he continues to kiss you, moving to press his lips against your neck.

His fingers move beneath your dress, just as the sound of tires can be heard in the distance, along with yelling. Aemond growls, biting down against your shoulder causing you to cry out at the mixture of pleasure and pain. You lift your hips as Aemond moves his semi-hard cock back into his pants, zipping them.

“This isn’t finished,” he promises, cupping his hand around the back of your neck and kissing you once more, “Don’t think I’m letting you get away with that.”

Anticipation tingles down your spine and you giggle against his mouth.

“What’re you going to do?”

“Oh just you fucking wait,” he murmurs, hands grabbing the meat of your ass. You can feel his smile against your mouth as he kisses you.

“Yo! Lovebirds! Yoo-hoo!” Aegon calls, bringing the golf cart to a screeching stop beside you.

Helaena lurches forward as it stops, giggling maniacally. You can smell the weed from here, and laugh, pulling yourself from Aemond’s lap.

Aegon dramatically frowns, leaning against the steering wheel, as Sara and Rhaena pull up beside them. His eyes narrow.

“Are we interrupting something?” Aegon asks, tapping his finger against his chin.

“No,” you answer.

“Yes,” Aemond says, not missing a beat.

You slap him playfully on the chest.

“Too bad, we missed you losers,” Helaena sneers, but she gives you a happy smile.

“Dude, look at the moon!” Rhaena says, stepping out of the cart and laying on the grass. Sara joins her, laying beside her.

Baela gets out as well, and soon you’re all lying down facing the clear night sky. Sara points out different constellations, which Aegon struggles to identify until Sara is practically holding his hand, pointing to each star.

Suddenly some sprinklers begin to go off in the distance and Baela chuckles, mentioning you’ll have to leave soon to avoid getting soaked. Aemond’s arm is draped underneath your head, and you curl into him, listening to the sound of his heart beating.

“Come back to mine?” Aemond asks, his voice a low murmur.

You hum, nuzzling against him.

“What about no sleepovers?” you tease and he pulls you closer.

“The rules are null and void,” he says firmly, pressing his lips against your forehead. Warmth floods through you and your chest swells with emotion.

As you listen to the sound of crickets echoing around you a sharp pain pierces your chest. The month of August has always felt melancholic to you.

A month of endings.

The music of the sprinklers and the crickets suddenly changes into the sound of summer coming to an inevitable end.

Of you and Aemond coming to an end.

You pull him closer, throwing your leg over his and tucking your head deeper into the crook of his neck. Breathing in his cologne, relishing the feeling of the kiss he places on the top of your head.

You don’t want to think about that now. August is here, but it’s not over yet.

This moment here in this field, wrapped up in his arms, is endless.

note: thank you so much for reading!! we've got 2 parts left besties!!

OLS Taglist 1: @talesofoldandnew, @aemondslefteyeball, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @castellomargot, @high-on-darren-criss, @diosademuerte, @padfooteyes, @tempo-rary-fix, @amirawritespoorly, @chainsawsangel, @toodlesxcuddles, @tssf-imagines, @malfoytargaryen, @nina2697, @glame, @joliettes, @yentroucnagol

@grungegrrrl, @melsunshine, @helaenaluvr

bold means tumblr would not let me tag!

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wjhik · 9 months

Note

Hellooo <3

can I request a dad!Jude fic where him and the reader invite his family over for dinner but your son is just restless , the kids don't stop screaming and hitting everybody looking for attention, trying to throw plates on the floor even Mark Jobe's games that usually keeps him busy don't work anymore.

-also the reader is like heavily pregnant with her second child so she can't do much to help

I WANNA SEE SOME STRICT DAD JUDE

thank you😻

Attention (Jude Bellingham)

A/N: daddy jude in this 😜 (literally. he is a father.)

Y/N’s POV:

“Noah, please put that down.” I tell my very rowdy 5 year old who is insisting on playing with our crystal bowl. I smell something burning and quickly leave the pot on the stove to open the oven. My meatloaf is slightly burned on the top, but I can just cut it off. I grab my oven mitts and take the dish out of the oven. I place it on the stove top and look up after hearing a crash followed by crying. “I didn’t do anything!” Noah says, throwing his hands up. I see his twin sister on the floor, crying. I walk over to her and crouch down. “What happened, Nora?” I ask her. “Noah pushed me!” She screams in between sniffles, pointing at her brother. “I did not! She tripped over the couch! I didn’t do anything!” Noah screams, defending himself. “Stop yelling. Mama’s very tired.” I say, shushing them both. I finally got myself situated after a fit of nausea came over me. I’m just about to be 8 months pregnant. Jude and I never expected to have a baby so young, let alone twins. We decided to get married two years ago, and eventually we wanted another baby. We knew having another baby would be hard, but I never thought it would be this hard. Jude not being around as much is only adding to how hard it is.

Jude’s parents have decided to pay us a visit, so I’m attempting to prepare dinner. “Noah, please. I’m not blaming you. It’s okay, just stop screaming.” After Nora blamed him for pushing her, he fell into hysterics, trying to prove that he’s not to blame. He’s been screaming how it’s not his fault for what feels like hours. Nora has already got up and started playing again after some ice was put on her hurt knee. I grab Noah and pull him into my chest to give him a hug. I assure him that I’m not angry and that it’s not his fault. Just as he starts to calm down, I hear Nora fall once more. She was always the clumsy one.

I finally got dinner ready, and I’ve started on dessert. Nora has decided to help me bake a carrot cake while her brother watches some cartoons in the living room. (its one of those american style kitchens that look into the living room with an island and shit. My dream kitchen. Were not leaving a 5 year old unattended) “Okay, now we put 3 eggs.” I turn around to where Nora should be sitting peacefully. “Oh my god.” I say, covering my face. There she sits, covered in flour. I stutter some sounds of frustration before she says that she’ll go so in the living room with her brother to watch with him. “NO! No, don’t do that.” I say, grabbing her. “Just sit her for 5 minutes, honey.” I tell her, handing her my phone to play games on.

I wipe my hands on my apron after closing the oven door and putting a 45 minute timer for my cake. I lift Nora off the kitchen counter and place her on the floor. I take my phone out of her hand. “Bath time!” I say to the twins. “No!!” Nora yells, her game being interrupted. I hear some grunts of disapproval from her brother. “Please? I have one bath bomb for you guys.” I attempt to compromise with them. They love the way the colors fill the bathtub. They immediately race up the stairs to the bathroom, knowing there’s only one available. In reality, I had 2, but the second one was very fancy and expensive and I was saving it for some moment Jude and I get some time alone.

I walk into the bathroom to see the twins fighting over who get to use the bath bomb. I remove their clothes as they continue to bicker. I wrap them in their hooded towels and have them sit on the edge of the tub as it fills up with warm water. Once it’s filled, I take off their towels and put them both in the tub together. They eventually stop fighting and start playfully splashing each other with water. I giggle, happy to see them not trying to rip each other’s vocal chords out. I open the drawer under the sink and unwrap the bath bomb from its plastic. “Mama, I want to put it in!” Noah yells! “No! I want to!” Nora replies. I keep quiet, in an attempt to stay calm. They start splashing each other and end up wetting me in the process. They shut their mouths and look at me, covered in bath water. “I’m putting it in!” I say putting a stop to their argument. I drop it into the tub. The kids are in awe of the colors and glitter floating around in the water.

Once they finally exited the tub, I got them both dressed. I took them downstairs and turned on the T.V. just in time to take out my cake from the oven. I leave it on the stove for it to cool down when I hear jingling at the door. I look up to see my husband walking through the door. The kids jump up from the couch to greet their father at the door. Jude’s legs are attacked by two little kids hugging him. He crouches down and gives his two kids two hugs with his two arms. He leaves a few kisses and their faces before getting up. They walk back to the couch and continue watching their show. He walks over to me and pulls me into his side. I feel butterflies fly around in my stomach as he kisses my forehead. “Missed ya. How’s my baby?” He asks, rubbing my very pregnant belly. “Very active. Footballer’s genetics, for sure.” I say, referencing the very painful kicks to my ribs. “Whatever you made smells amazing.” He says. “Hmm. You, however, do not smell amazing. Please, go shower.” I tell him, kissing his lips and patting his chest. In my defense, ‘straight out of training in the summer’ is not the most appealing scent. He rushes upstairs to take a shower. Finally, I don’t have to deal with these kids alone.

“Mama, please!?” Nora begs. “Nora, please. You’re giving me a headache. We cannot get a dog, because I will be the one taking care of it.” I try to explain to my daughter, my head in my hands. Where is Jude when I need him? “Yeah, and you’re too useless to help.” Noah adds. “Hey!” Nora yells. “Noah! That is not nice!” I tell him. “It’s true!” He says, expecting me to agree with him. “Is not!” Nora screams. “Is too!” Noah yells back. Nora jumps off of her place on the couch, onto her brother on the floor. A full blown bar brawl breaks out on my living room floor between my 5 year olds. “Hey! Stop it!!” I yell, trying to pull them apart. “Jude!!!”

“Hey! Where were you!?” I scold my husband. “Hmm?” He groans, his face in a pillow. He looked so tired when he got in, so I assume he went to sleep. “I needed you!” I tell him. “Hmm… I’m sorry. Come cuddle with me.” I grumbles, grabbing my hand. “No!” I yell pulling my hand away. I look at the clock on the wall. It reads 6:00. Only an hour and a half until Jude’s family arrives. I make my way downstairs and finish icing my, now cooled, carrot cake with a cream cheese icing. I do some cleaning around the house before his family gets here.

“It’s so nice to see you guys! Jude’ll be down in a second. He’s just freshening up.” I say to my in-laws. I guide them to the table and sit them down. I have all the food laid out in a line in front of them. “Everything smells amazing, Y/N.” Denise says. “You really outdid yourself again.” Mark adds. “Uncle Jobe!” The twins come running into the room, and hug their uncle. “Well, what about us?” Their grandfather asks, holding his arms open for a hug. They run to their grandparents and hug them. “Sit down, kids.” I tell them. After a few arguments and a stern look from my side, they finally sit down.

“Mum, dad! It’s so nice to see you!” Jude says, coming down the stairs. He hugs his brother and father then kisses his mum’s forehead. He sits down at his designated spot at our dining table. I serve everyone their first plate of food. I grab the kid’s plastic plates and put some food on it for them. “Mum, I don’t want veggies!” Noah says. “Me neither!” Nora adds. I look up at Jude who is too busy in conversation with Jobe to parent his kids. After some convincing and the promise of cake, I get them to eat all their food. At this point, the kids have argued with everything I’ve told them. Anything they could make difficult, they made difficult. I can see that Jude has taken notice of his kids’ behaviors. He hasn’t said anything yet, but I can see it brewing.

“Y/N, this cake is amazing!” Jobe says with his mouth full. “Thank you. I had a little helper in the kitchen.” I say, poking Nora’s side. “I helped too!” Noah shouts. “I’m sure you did, Noah. Don’t yell.” Jude chimes in. “No, you didn’t!” Nora shouts louder. I let out a sigh. “Yes, I did!” The kids start bickering back and forth again. Jude looks at me then to his kids. Before he can say anything, I speak up. “You don’t have to argue, Nora. You both helped.” After a few stern looks from Jude, the twins quiet down.

“How’s the baby?” Denise asks me. “She’s been okay. Very active. Very painful.” I say. “Mama, can we go play??” Noah asks, itching to get away from the adult conversation. “Sure, honey. Just stay out of the kitchen and the garden.” I tell him. I don’t want them playing anywhere near glass or knives, and the garden is too far for us to monitor them. Jude and I get caught in conversation after eating my carrot cake before we hear a crash and break. Jude quickly stands up, much faster than me, and makes his way to where the sound came from. Mark puts his hand on my back for support while I stand up. I waddle to where now Jude and the kids stand. He’s ushering them away from where I see my favorite mug broken. It’s the mug that Jude got me when I gave birth to the twins. I feel tears well in my eyes, a mix of pregnancy hormones and sentiment hitting me. Jude’s family senses my sadness and Jude’s anger. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.” Denise jokes. Jude subtly agrees and hugs his family, indicating to them that they should leave. Mark gives me a tight hug to tell me that it’ll be okay and they leave.

Once they’re gone, I feel tears running down my face. Jude walks up to me and gives me a hug. He kisses my head. “So, who wants to explain WHY YOU WERE IN THE KITCHEN AFTER WE TOLD YOU NOT TO BE!?” Jude says loudly. He looks down at our kids who have their heads down. “You two have been nothing but trouble today. Am I right!?” He says. “Yes, dad…” The twins say in unison. “Your mum has been so tired lately, and you two have only contributed to that.” I look at Nora’s face to see her nearly breaking a tear. She’s not used to being yelled at by her daddy. “Jude-” I say, but am quickly interrupted. “No, these two need to face the consequences.” He says to me. He turns his attention back to his kids. “Go to your room. Now. And if we hear any fighting or bickering in there, you will NEVER hear the end of it. Now go.” He says, firmly. The kids stomp their way up the stairs and enter their shared bedroom.

“I’m so sorry, love. I haven’t been there for you lately. I can’t even imagine how much trouble these two have been giving you. I love you.” Jude says, sitting me down on the couch. He picks up the large pieces of glass and then pulls out the vacuum. He starts vacuuming the hazardous pieces of glass on the floor. Once it’s all clean he cleans up the table and does the dishes.

He comes back to the couch and sits down next to me. We discuss our kids' punishments and then he helps me up. He takes me up the stairs and into their bedroom. Both Nora and Noah are sitting on their respective beds quietly. “So, your mother and I have decided no T.V. for a week.” Jude breaks the news to our kids. “A week!?” “But that’s not fair!” The kids interject. “No ‘but’s. It’s not up for discussion.” I say. “Honey, go to bed. I’ll be there in a second.” Jude says. “I love you two.” I say, unable to resist. I waddle my way into my bedroom and sit on our bed. I swing my legs onto the bed. “I want you two to get up and apologize to mama.” I hear faintly before the door is swung open. The kids crawl up onto the bed and give me a hug. “We’re so sorry, mama.” Nora says. “We love you.” Noah adds. I pull both of them into a hug and kiss their foreheads. “I love you too. And it’s okay, honey. I forgive you. Now, go sleep. It’s late.” I tell them. They hug their dad on their way out and go to sleep.

Jude quickly grabs me and carries me bridal style. “Whoa! What are you doing?” I ask my husband. He carries me to our large and luxurious bathroom. He places me on the floor and starts removing both mine as his clothes. He takes my hand and helps me step into our hot tub, already filled with warm water, and turns on the jets. He opens our cabinet and takes out our expensive bath bomb and drops it into the water. I watch it fizz away as he gets in behind me. He places his hands on my baby bump and kisses my neck. “I haven’t been giving you much attention lately, have I?” I smirks as his hands move lower and lower.

Wattpad: funkyfishfeet

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#football x reader #footballer x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham drabble #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader

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dem-obscure-imagines · 2 months

Text

Nice to Meet You

Jaime Reyes x Reader

Fandom: DCEU

Summary: You and Jaime have been kicking ass together for years, but you’ve never seen his face before. Hell, you don’t even know his name. That changes one night when he shows up on your doorstep, injured.

Notes: So I had a dream last night that I was in a Miraculous Ladybug situation with Jaime, so have this fic hahaha. Also I have never seen Miraculous so…idek where it came from.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries

Word Count: 1.3k

Reader is: Female, Apollo’s champion

Being a superhero and a normal person with a normal-ish life was not for the faint of heart. You spent your days working in the local history museum, your afternoons getting whatever sleep you could, and your nights sitting by the police scanner, waiting for news of some rogue giant robot or guy with a freeze gun. As it was, you were in no position to expose your identity. Not even to your partner.

Your mission partner, that was, the Blue Beetle.

You’d been fighting crime with him for the past three years, a few times every week. It had started as an accident. He’d show up to the same crime scenes you did, helping evacuate people out of burning buildings, stopping rampaging mutants from the questionable labs popping up around town, redirecting a plane with a broken propeller. It was admirable. He was admirable.

You’d never seen his face. You didn’t even know his first name. You knew his power came from the scarab in his back, an alien symbiote that was bonded to his body. It talked to him sometimes, like a computer, analyzing things. It also served as body armor and a built in artillery of weapons.

The scarab saved his ass a lot, basically. And yours, too. You couldn’t count the amount of times he’d saved you from blows you’d never seen coming.

Which is why you were so surprised to hear a knock on your door, Beetle’s voice on the other side of it sounding…worried.

“Suncatcher? Are you home? I…I…I need some help!”

You were surprised to hear it at all, actually. You didn’t think he knew where you lived.

Also, you weren’t in costume, just in a cropped tee and some sweats, hair pulled back and face bare. Not that your mask covered a lot of your face, but it gave you anonymity. Or at least, you thought it did.

You pushed the thoughts aside when you heard him knock again, preparing for the very real possibility that someone had cloned his voice and was using your public-ish friendship against you.

You lit your fist with power and crept towards the door of your townhouse, peering through the peephole to find…nothing. You pulled the door open slowly and looked around. Sitting on the cement outside your door was a guy with luscious black curls, and, more importantly, a giant gaping wound on his stomach.

“S-Suncatcher?” He asked, meeting your eyes, tears brimming in his own.

“Oh my God.” You dropped to your knees, looking over him. “What happened?”

“Y-you’re…?”

“It’s me. It’s me. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know where else to go…” He confessed.

“It’s okay, hey, can you stand? Where’s Khaji?”

“Offline.” He groaned as you helped him off the ground. It was clear he’d lost a lot of blood. You closed the door behind the two of you and locked it, lowering him onto the couch.

“How long have you been out there?” You asked, assessing the injury.

“Not long.” He assured you, moving to support the wound.

You took a breath, grounding yourself before tapping deeper into your powers, sunlight lit in your palms, creeping up your arms. “Alright Blue, I need to get in there.”

“Jaime. My name is Jaime.” He told you, pain etched across his handsome features. “Nice to finally meet you, sunshine. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” You replied, too preoccupied to offer your name in return. You gently lifted the fabric from his battered torso, revealing the wound. It was pretty bad, but it wouldn’t be for long. Using the power from your patron, you extended your hand, your glowing sunlight working to close the wound with warmth and precision.

Jaime watched, his eyes wide. He stared at you as you set to work. It tingled, the spot in his abdomen, where he’d been stabbed repeatedly by a guy with a glowing green sword. But it didn’t hurt anymore. And less than a minute later, it wasn’t there at all, completely smoothed over without so much as a scar.

You turned your attention to his face, where there was a cut across his nose, a purpled bruise on his chin.

If Khaji was online, he was sure she’d tell him about his increased heartrate due to your proximity, that focused look in your eye as you soothed his pain away. But she wasn’t. That was a problem he’d have to solve later.

The glow in your palms dimmed and you met his eyes, looking relieved. “Any other injuries I should know about?”

“Nah, I think that about covers it.” He replied, still staring at you. Maybe he’d never stop. “How did you…?”

“My patron, Apollo. The god of…well, lots of stuff, but healing is one of them. I’ll leave him an offering later.” You explained. “He’s pretty chill, as far as deities go. Met him when I got my job at the museum and, well, the rest is history.”

“That’s really cool.” He said, sitting up without trouble. “I didn’t know that.”

“I guess it never came up.” You shrugged. “My name is (Y/N), by the way. Would have introduced myself earlier if I wasn’t so busy trying to prevent you from bleeding out in my apartment.”

“Thanks for that, by the way.”

You smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

He took in your face, seeing most of it for the first time. He smiled, eyes soft and sparkling, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re really pretty, (Y/N).”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Jaime.” You looked him over, taking him in for the first time. Warm brown eyes, a handsome face, fluffy black curls, toned build. “Can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this under that suit of yours.”

He laughed, sheepish. “We should have done this sooner.”

“Way sooner.” You agreed. “Not the fatal wound part, of course, but…we could have gotten coffee or something.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” He murmured, leaning closer. “If I’m moving too fast, stop me.”

“You’re not.” You replied, a hand cupping his face as you pressed your lips to his. He melted at the contact, arm settling around your waist and tugging you closer to him. “I’ve been waiting to do this for…so long.”

He rested his forehead against yours. “That makes two of us.”

***

At the museum, a few weeks later, you sat at the guide desk in the center of the lobby, typing away on your laptop, researching an ancient relic Apollo was interested in, a necklace he’d gifted to the Oracle of Delphi that had gotten into the wrong hands.

Someone cleared their throat. You looked up to find Jaime there, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Is this where I find the pretty tour guide? If she’s not too busy, that is.”

“Jaime!” You leapt to your feet, walking around the edge of the desk and straight into his arms.

“Hey, sunshine. Thought I’d come brighten up your day.”

“My day has been brightened.” You assured him, pressing a long kiss to his soft lips.

“Khaji, not now.” He murmured, cheeks burning red.

“Hi, Khaji.” You whispered.

He chuckled. “She says hi.”

“This must be Jaime. I’m (Y/N)’s coworker, Jess.” Your favorite coworker introduced. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. Is it alright if I steal her for a bit? I’m excited to finally see the place.”

“Oh, of course. You two have fun. I’ll put those in water for you.” Jess said, taking the flowers with a careful hand and a knowing smile.

Jaime took your hand and you led him proudly through your workplace. You loved getting to know the real him, without a mask in the way. Finally, your two lives had combined into one and you couldn’t be happier.

#jaime reyes x reader #jaime reyes #jaime reyes imagine #blue beetle #blue beetle x reader #dc

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navybrat817 · 1 year

Text

Epinephrine

Summary: Bucky races to win as you watch with anticipation.

Pairing: Motocross!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Nerves, K-I-S-S-I-NG, swearing, POV switch, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @saradika. Bucky edit by Nix. Moodboard by yours truly. A/N: My third Connect 4 (C4007 - Square 3) / Into an Alternate Juneiverse for @buckybarnesevents! Set in my Dialed In AU, but can be read as a standalone. Apologies for any inaccuracies, but I'm human and still had fun writing this.❤️ Thank you @targaryenvampireslayer for the POV switch suggestion! Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Epinephrine. Both a hormone and a neurotransmitter, the chemical messenger transmits nerve signals to prepare your body for fight or flight. Most call it adrenaline. Some liken it to pre-race jitters.

Bucky considered it his own personal fuel.

Just breathe.

It amazed him how so many wrote off motocross as just another sport without considering the physical and mental training they put into it or how dangerous it was. Position, weight distribution, and correct form on the bike were all things to consider when practicing and racing. Not to mention no two tracks are alike, the conditions constantly changing. You had to take the hills, jumps, turns, and distance for your own safety and those around you.

He mentally wished Steve and the others a safe race, even Rumlow. Prick or not, he didn’t want the guy to get hurt. He sure as hell didn't want to lose to him either.

"For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t hit him. Because he would have won and guys like him don’t deserve to win."

No, he doesn't.

His heart raced a little faster, his right palm starting to sweat as the nerves and excitement clashed in his chest. The knot in his stomach settled as he waited for the race to start, his focus on the path in front of him. The rough terrain ahead called to him, urging him to unleash whatever anger, fear, joy, and anything he had built up inside. He would go all out, leaving no regrets in his path.

All leading to you after he crossed the finish line.

"Good luck."

Gave me all the luck I need, Spitfire.

With your voice in his mind, it quieted any doubt that lingered. He knew his strengths and even his limits when it came to the sport. Getting back on the bike after his accident already proved that he was a winner. He didn't need to prove himself to anyone else.

But he hoped you would see his worth.

And as the gate dropped, he smiled behind his helmet.

You grabbed Natasha's arm as the riders took off, keeping an eye out for Bucky. She didn't pull away or make a comment when you dug your nails in. You appreciated her a bit more because of that. You also didn't understand why you were nervous when you weren't the one on the track.

I've seen plenty of races, but I didn't have anything at stake before.

"Sorry," you muttered as you let the redhead go.

"It's okay. He's got this," she assured you.

You nodded, doing your best to give her a smile. A mile and a half long course and likely a twenty to thirty minute race and extra lap, you knew it was standard. But watching the dirt fly as you focused on Bucky's helmet, your heart felt like it was in your throat. You didn't just want him to win, you wanted him safe.

Just breathe. He knows what he's doing.

"If he gets hurt, I'm kicking his ass," you said, sucking in a breath as another rider got close to his back wheel.

"And nurse him back to health," Natasha teased.

"Yeah. With a uniform and all," you teased, actually kind of into the idea.

Down girl.

You got uncharacteristically quiet after that, your stomach dropping when Maddox gained on Bucky. He was still in a good position, his friend, Steve, up there with him. It was almost like witnessing a roller coaster ride, the ups and downs, the twists and drops. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you could only imagine how the guys out there felt actually experiencing it.

Exhilarating.

As the riders got close to the final lap, you jumped up. You somehow stayed on your feet when your head spun, but you weren't going to miss this. Bucky and Maddox were almost neck-in-neck, but Maddox probably thought he had it in the bag. That kind of cockiness didn't always pay off.

You sure as hell didn’t want it to pay off today.

"Come on, Hothead," you whispered.

While Maddox turned his head to look at Bucky, the latter kept his head facing forward and elbows up. As if he didn't care that his competition was there. He raced smarter, not harder, as you watched with bated breath. He kept his lead toward the finish line as you couldn’t help but smile.

Bucky Barnes won the race.

He won. He fucking won.

"Fuck yes!" you shouted, uncaring of your language as Bucky took first, his left fist pumping in the air. The way everyone else cheered, they probably didn't notice. But you finally felt like you could take a proper breath, the mental ride coming to a stop. "For the record, I'm just happy he made it across the finish line. This has nothing to do with the date."

I can actually smell my own bullshit.

"Wow. You managed to say that with a straight face. Impressive," Natasha said, nodding toward the course as the race wrapped up. "Come on. Let's go congratulate him. And by we I mean you."

"He raced a good race. It was very exciting," you said evenly, but you eagerly pulled her along to get out of the stands and through the crowd.

You weren’t sure if you were actually allowed to go up to greet him, but people moved to let you through. Was it your strut or Natasha’s subtle stare that made everyone jump out of the way? As you got closer to Bucky and the other riders, you felt like your heart was going to race out of your chest when you stopped at the edge of the course. Especially when took off his helmet, a light sheen of sweat on his face as he shook his hair out.

Fuck me in the dirt, please.

“Go,” Natasha encouraged after some of the guys congratulated Bucky, except for Maddox who stood feet away with a glare on his face.

Sore loser doesn’t look good on him, but he’s not why I’m here.

Holding your head high, you locked eyes with Bucky when he looked your way. Seemingly forgetting the others around him, he walked toward you to meet you halfway when you stepped in the dirt. The two of you stood there for a long moment before he smirked. A slight one, but still a smirk.

“Looks like I won,” he said, his voice rough.

“You did. Congratulations,” you said, stepping back to hold out your hand. “And it looks like you get to go out with me, so double congratulations,” you simpered, previous annoyance that he bet a date with you completely forgotten.

“Are we shaking on it?” he chuckled, his gloved hand reaching for yours. A spark of electricity moved up your arm once he took it and you refused to deny your attraction at that moment.

“You could say that,” you smirked, yanking him close. “But I prefer to seal it with a kiss.”

You took a moment to appreciate how soft and warm his lips felt when you initiated the kiss this time. You allowed his tongue to slip inside and explore when you parted your lips, feeling the beat of his heart as he pressed his chest against your body. It wasn’t hard or urgent, but excitement and passion consumed you. It didn’t matter if he got your clothes dirty. Or that a few of the riders whistled and cheered at the display.

He smiled against your lips when you had to take a breath. “I thought you said you weren’t a prize.”

“And I thought you said your ass was all mine after you win,” you reminded him, almost wishing you reached around to squeeze it. Even dirty and sweaty, he still looked and smelled amazing. It was a phenomenon.

“I did and I meant it,” he said, sneaking in another kiss before he had to pull away. “You sticking around?”

“I’ll be with Nat. Go do what you have to,” you said, turning away to back to your friend. She had a smile on her face. You had one on yours, too.

“I still have to get your number, so don’t go anywhere!” Bucky called after you.

“Who said I was giving you my number?” you asked over your shoulder. “I never agreed to that.”

“How am I supposed to take you on a date without it?” he asked.

“You seem like a smart guy. You’ll figure it out, Hothead,” you teased, egging him on just a little.

“Want me to get on my knees, Spitfire?”

Yes and split me open with that talented tongue of yours.

“She’ll give you her number,” Natasha said, waving Bucky on as you laughed. You may have checked his ass out again because he did say it was yours. And he no doubt checked yours out as you walked away. “You are giving him your number before we leave.”

“I will,” you promised, giving her a small smile. “I’m glad you introduced me to him,” you added gently, looking forward to getting to know him more.

“And I’m glad you put a smile back on his face.”

Hearing that felt like a victory.

I guess we’re both winners today, Hothead.

Yay! He won! Was there ever any doubt? More to come. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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magics-neptunes-things · 4 months

Text

Hand On You (Woso Prompt)

22. I won't let anyone lay an hand on you with Laia Aleixandri.

This one is short, but enjoy :)

TW : Angst, Creepy guy.

______________________________________________________________

It’s only when the library supervisor asks you to leave that you realize what time it is. You are in full preparation for your exams and you haven't seen the hours passed, which is rather embarrassing since you are supposed to go home with public transport and you hate it, especially at night.

After you gather your things, you get your coat and find the fresh air of Manchester. The good news is that it wakes you up a little, after spending so much time locked up it feels good to breath some fresh air. Your apartment being far away, you have to take two different buses. Luckily the first one arrives quite quickly and you manage to find a free place at the bottom.

A few stops later, a man comes to sit next to you, which is not strange considering that it's public transport. What is a little more strange is that you feel his look on you and that he absolutely doesn't hide it.

When you apologize to him for letting you through so you can get down, his smile gives you chills. You swallow and hurry to reach the exit door of the bus, finding with relief the fresh air. But your relief doesn't last long since you realize while standing in front of the stop for your correspondence that it also came down.

He's looking everywhere, upset and evil. It doesn’t take you long to understand that what he’s looking for is you.

Luckily, he didn’t see you. And for it to continue this way, you move quickly to hide behind the bus shelter, hoping he will quickly drop the case. In your maneuver, you shoved a young woman a little too abruptly.

"I’m sorry" you mumble a low-pitched apology.

You don’t hear her answer though, preferring to look over your shoulder to see if you’ve been spotted. You feel the panic seizing you when you notice that the man has disappeared and you expect to see him reappear at any time at your side.

"Hello?" says the brunette you shoved earlier, drawing your attention back to her. "All right?"

"Yes, I-"

But you shut up suddenly, eyes wide open with terror. The face of the man is only ten meters away from you and he saw you. His predatory smile gives you shivers again. One of the two young women in the trio of people who are together follows your gaze.

"Do you know him?"

"No. I think he’s following me."

The three young people react quickly and it takes you out of your torpor. The brunette and the man, also with brown hair, turn in the direction of the man who is making his way towards you, while the blonde passes her arm around your shoulders to train you a little further.

"Everything will be fine" she assures you with an accent you can’t recognize. "My name is Laia, and the others are Leila and Moise"

Laia makes you sit on the bus shelter bench, glued against the ads, which makes you see nothing at the scene that takes place a few meters from you.

"Maybe I’m getting the wrong idea, but he was really weird"

You hope you’re not provoking a fight or argument for nothing. But the blonde is smiling nicely.

"If you didn’t feel safe, it’s enough to ask for help"

You look up at her and give her a little smile, grateful for her understanding. When she leans slightly to see beyond the bus shelter, you hurry to question her.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, don’t worry. I won't let anyone lay an hand on you."

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #laia aleixandri x reader #laia aleixandri imagine #laia aleixandri

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missmeinyourbones · 1 year

Note

dabi + mutual pining 👁️👁️?

…

when dabi returns from the bar without an old-fashioned in hand, your interest is piqued.

you can't help but smile at his sulking shoulders and sullen eyes, "why are you drinkless?"

"don’t ask," he waves you off before slumping into the booth beside you.

after a moment of feeling your beady little eyes focused on his through his peripheral vision, he eventually caves.

"forgot my wallet, so i tried flirting with the bartender for a free drink and—"

his voice trails off, admitting defeat as he uses his open palms to gesture to the empty table before him, the one that represents his failure of negotiation (and smooth talking) skills.

and you would be laughing at his misery if it wasn't for the gears busy turning in your head at a tiny detail of his sentence.

"you know how to flirt?"

dabi’s jaw physically drops in disbelief, "and what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"nothing, i don't know!" you're quick to put out the fire, so you sip your drink and brush off the comment. “i just didn't think it was something you did."

dabi grimaces at your amusement of the whole scenario, so he picks the dry skin from his lips with a defensive sigh.

"i mean, it's not something i do frequently, or to just anyone," he assures, doing his best to keep his voice level. “it's… selective."

"so what i'm hearing is that you're picky."

he looks over to you, and you're enjoying this. cheeks slightly flushed from both the alcohol and the laughter you bite back, you're clearly getting a kick out of his borderline pathetic demise.

he scoffs before turning his head away from you, not wanting to look you in the eye when he bares his next confession.

"i’ll have you know, i flirted with you the first time we met,” he wraps his knuckles on the table to busy his drinkless hands, “y'know, before i got to know you and became repulsed by you."

from the corner of his eye, dabi can see you giggle behind your drink, fiddling with the straw between your lips.

you swirl the ice around in the glass. "the first time we met, you said i had a stupid laugh," you knowingly remind him.

and you expect him to fight the accusation, to defend his flirting skills and recall the memory differently; but when he turns to you with a shrug and tight-lipped smile, everything begins to click for you.

"that's your flirting?” you practically gawk in surprise and he’s tsking away from you once more.

you’re not satisfied though, now giddy with the realization that not only was he bad at flirting, but he’d willingly admitted that he was flirting with you. your smile is blinding, and he would be content with letting it beam, if it wasn’t at his disadvantage in the first place.

“oh god it's worse than i thought. no wonder no one wants to fuck you."

“it's not my flirting that's bad,” he holds a defensive finger to the air, “it's the fact that the person i usually flirt with is a fucking idiot. that’s why i’m not fucking anyone.”

his confession brings a wave of heat to your cheeks, and whatever alcohol was buzzing through your veins seems weak compared to the affect of a few passing words from him.

you clear your throat before shaking your head, "well, maybe you should learn to flirt better. y’know, maybe don't make fun of their laugh within two minutes of meeting them.”

"well, i don't see you coming up with any suggestions," he passes the ball right back to your court.

and you plan to not answer him, prepare to scoff at his silly tease and change the subject. but the more you think about it, the more you let your curiosity get the best of you.

"compliment them," your voice speaks up after a few moments.

dabi’s eyes light up with a mixture of surprise and pride, "on what?"

"anything you like about them," you shrug casually, as if it’s a simple thing you do all the time. as if you’re constantly bathing him in the knowledge of how much you love his expressive eyes, his quick comebacks, his frowns and smiles and everything in between.

and it's not until he laughs under his breath that you realize you've been staring at him for a bit too long. that he’s been returning the eye contact and the two of you have been admiring one another for what should be an uncomfortable amount of time. but it feels relatively natural, like admiring how the moon seems to follow your car window on a midnight drive.

you decide to break the tension and stand with a playful scoff, "it's not that hard.”

dabi’s furrowed brow silently questions your sudden absence, but when you grab your wallet and gesture to the bar, he lights up with realization.

"you owe me one," you mumble while standing.

he smiles and nods in appreciation, and when you're walking away from the table, he calls out to you.

"hey," you turn on your heel to be met with his lazy smirk and a look of mischief glowing in his eyes.

naturally, he grins, "i like your stupid laugh."

#LOVE U FAYE #i couldn’t do this trope without him being a little shit #not edited & requests are closed if anyone even reads these LIL #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi fic #dabi blurb #dabi drabble #dabi fluff #touya x you #touya x reader #touya fic

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teymars · 8 months

Note

Imagine reader giving birth to twins boys

they become 14YO, and they are famous in the clan as troublemakers and Neteyam and reader have to deal with them ..

Ah isn’t that CUTE!!!

THIS IS SUCH A CUTESIE IDEA !!

-no warnings, just some fluff, family dynamics & sweet Dad(dy)!Neteyam (also mentions of bullying + fights if that counts??)

Loud caterwauling blasted throughout the camp, reaching you and Neteyam from within your family-hut. You glanced at your mate, resisting the incredible urge to roll your eyes, there were only two possible candidates for the source of that noise.

“Pshh, I’ll go sort it out, again.” Neteyam sighed, chucking his hands up in defeat. He quickly rose from his spot next to you and hightailed it to the awaiting ‘crime’ scene. For the past few weeks, your twin 14 year-old sons had been causing fights consistently amongst the clan’s young trainees.

You crouched for a moment, subconsciously counting down the moments before your lover’s deep, authoritative voice boomed over the ruckus outside. “BOYS, GET OVER HERE!!” The scolding your two son’s were now receiving increased in volume as Neteyam dragged them both by the neck, back into your hut.

“Ma ‘Teyam-” he cut you off swiftly “How many times do I have to repeat myself to you two?? You can’t just go around fighting people!” Neteyam bellowed, his tail thrashing angrily behind him.

“Sorry, Sir. It was my fault.” Tsyalu, the youngest twin, piped up bashfully. He tried hard to avoid his fathers menacing gaze. “That’s bullsh- ugf’ come on bro, you and I both know Rahaylo deserved it!” The eldest, Myerìn, blurted without shame, barely managing to dodge using ‘foul language’ infront of both his parents.

“Enough, I don’t care wether it was ‘deserved’. Tsy, you have to stop taking the heat for this skxawng! And YOU-” Neteyam gestured to a smirking Myerìn “-need to quit causing trouble, you read me??” Both boys nodded silently before stalking off to different parts of the hut.

You had observed the scolding, originally aiming to hold back a chuckle of amusement, until something in Tsy’s gaze and the way he spoke left you irked. You sat quietly beside him, assisting in preparing the fruits for dinner. Thankfully neither him nor his brother had been injured in the skirmish, you noted.

“What is the matter, sweet child?” You cooed, stroking the side of his cheek as slight tears swelled in his defeated eyes. “It’s nothing, mama..” the boy assured you, trying to hide his face. “Don’t be silly Tsyalu, you can tell me what’s wrong.” You encouraged, faintly aware of your husband’s ears flicking in interest at your conversation, as he watched from his place by the fire-pit.

“Well, we only keep fighting-” he broke off in a quiet sob “-be-because Rahaylo has been bullying me..” Both you and Neteyam fell stock-still at his words, feeling an onslaught of guilt overcome you. “Yea, and Dad told us to stick up for ourselves, so we did.” Myerìn informed, rather nonchalantly. Neteyam looked almost shell-shocked, having realised the poor communication that led to all this.

He moved closer to where you and both your sons were now crouched, reaching down to rest a hand on each boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry, boy. I had no idea.. why didn’t you say anything about this though? Violence is not a good way to solve these issues.” Neteyam offered, sounding solemn. “I- we didn’t want you to think we are weak, we thought you’d be proud of us, because we are brave like you.”

“Oh, Tsy..” you whispered, feeling ashamed that your children ever had to feel that way. “I am proud of you, both of you. So is your mother.. we just don’t want to see you both fighting all the time.” Your mate assured them, providing both with a warm embrace. “It is okay to come to us when somebody causes you trouble, we will help you, I promise.” He continued, allowing you to curl up at his side, joining the family hug. They both hummed in understanding.

“We are pretty brave though, right Dad?” Tsyalu whispered. “Just like you?” Myerìn added, hopefully. “Of course you are! You’re the bravest little warriors this clan has ever seen.” You and Neteyam chirped, nuzzling both boy’s foreheads affectionately. The twins smiled contentedly, feeling relieved as they relished within their father’s hard-earned approval.

“Sooo, who won?” Neteyam mused, smirking at his sons pridefully. “Neteyam!” You chided, smacking the back of his head playfully.

“Oel ngati kameie, my sons.”

Sorry this is a little short, I hope it lives up to what you had in mind! 🤍

Neteyam be getting some insane flashbacks 😭

#neteyam sully #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar #atwow #neteyam #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #atwow fanfiction #avatar2 #neteyam x you #dad!neteyam #neteyam x reader

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drakoneve · 1 year

Text

The Wolf Amongst Dragons

request: Can you pretty please do a daemon X reader where it's his niece who teases him about being super smitten with the reader BC she is a headstrong stark and makes a fool out of the court because she can. Perhaps she gets quite hurt in a battle that the king sends her and others out to fix. Basically it just ends up being fluffy where the reader knows his feelings and just soaks up the complete love he has. Like this boy has been knocked off his feet and he hates to admit it hehe

pairing: daemon targaryen x y/n stark

word count: 1k

warnings: canon typical violence, injured reader, blood

a/n: i tweaked this a little, hope you don’t mind!

You made a promise to yourself the day your older brother, Cregan, loaded you and your belongings into a carriage headed for the capital. Until this point you’d never stepped foot out of Winterfell, let alone were you prepared to move to the other side of the continent. Yet you had no choice. When the King of the Seven Kingdoms requests a Northern representative for the royal court, the Lord of Winterfell had no choice but to send his little sister.

When you finally arrived at the Red Keep you were meet with by King Viserys, his wife Queen Aemma, their daughter Princess Rhaenyra, and the king’s brother Prince Daemon. The Kingsguard stood tall in gleaming armor in full force surrounding the royal family, who was also accompanied by their personal staff.

“Lady Stark!” King Viserys cheers as he opens his arms in greeting. “We are honored to welcome you to the Red Keep! I hope your travels went smoothly?”

“Thank you, your Grace,” you answered as you bowed respectively. “The Kingsroad is fine, your Grace. It’s more the climate that’s concerning me. i’m not yet used to such... conditions, to say the least.”

Queen Aemma steps forward, “I’m sure you’ll adjust before you know it. Please, allow me to show you to your chambers.”

The queen was gracious enough to accompany you not only to your chambers, but she then took you on a tour of the palace. She began with the throne room, then took you out to the royal gardens where she took you to the Godswood. Having a weirwood tree right here in the Red Keep made you breath easier. At least this place had some trace of the North. Being so far from home unnerved you deeply, but in this place you could feel a connection to home.

Over the next few days you attended Small Council meetings where you watched from the sidelines. King Viserys assured you would have a seat on the council soon enough, but others suggested you have an ‘adjustment period’ of sorts. You scoffed at the idea but still took your seat outside the council table.

Being separated from the council, however, was not enough to restrain you from calling Otto Hightower a ‘spoiled southern cunt’ for suggesting Daemon send members of the City Watch into Flea Bottom to reprimand those who are already fighting to survive. During these meetings you happened to catch the violet eyes of the rogue prince, who had yet to make your acquaintance.

Not long after your arrival in Winterfell, King Viserys announced that Queen Aemma is with child once more, and the palace went into a mode of celebrations. A feast had been prepared and the throne room transformed into a dining hall with room for dancing.

Most everyone had finished their meals and began mingling and dancing their way around the room, but your attention focused mainly on the many molten swords of the Iron Throne. You had to admit the sight of the royal seat of Westeros was quite an intimidating sight.

Something inside told you to take a step towards the throne, and so you did. You stopped when you approached the first line of molten swords and reached out to trail your fingers lightly across the hilt.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Daemon advised teasingly as he came up on your right side. “My brother does not take kindly to those who yearn for his precious throne.”

“I merely grazed the hilt of one measly sword,” you refuted. “I did not sit my arse upon it and call myself the queen. Nor do I want to.”

“Truthfully?” he inquires, a look of curiosity upon his face. You take the moment to take in the sight of him, and you cannot deny he’s an incredibly handsome man. Like the rest of his Targaryen ancestors, Daemon is beautifully crafted by the Gods of Old Valyria— blessed with silver blond hair and lilac eyes.

You nod and look back up to the throne. “I could think of nothing worse,” you admit. “To live my life upon this ghastly thing and have to sit through endless bore-me-to-death Small Council meetings? Sounds miserable to me.”

With that you excuse yourself respectively to retire for the evening. You make quick rounds to the other members of the royal family to excuse yourself for the night totally unaware of how Daemon’s eyes are following you the whole time. He watches as you begin with his brother and sister in law, before finding Rhaenyra (who’s in the middle of the dancefloor with Alicent) and saying goodnight to her, too.

He laughs to himself when Rhaenyra and Alicent each take one of your hands and pulls you around in circles with them, as if trying to convince you to stay with them just a bit longer. He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but his heart beats harder at the sight of your dark gray satin skirts flow around you while you twirl, at the smile on your face as you laugh with his niece and her friend.

Eventually you pull away from the girls before officially making your way out of the throne room and away from the chaos.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Several months had passed since the death of Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon, and war had begun in the Stepstones just as Corlys Velaryon warned King Viserys and the eternity of the Small Council. Still Viserys refused to step in as king and help the Lord of Driftmark defeat the Triarchy once and for all. After the king rejected Corlys’ offer of Laena’s hand in marriage and instead married Alicent Hightower, the seasnake took off to fight in the Stepstones. It wasn’t long after that that Daemon joined Corlys in his war efforts.

You stayed in the Keep for awhile, trying to convince Viserys to aid Corlys and Daemon in their efforts of holding the Stepstones to no avail. Viserys had allowed you to take a seat on the council while Corlys and Daemon were gone, and each time you tried to plead with the king to see reason Otto Hightower would weasel his way in the king’s ear against you.

So you decided to go to the Stepstones yourself, naturally. You recruited Ser Harwin Strong to accompany you once he swore on his honor he would not say a word of your plan to anyone until his safe return to King’s Landing.

You and Harwin arrived on the shores of the Stepstones in time to rush to Daemon’s side as he was overrun by members of the Triarchy. You wore the armor your father had gifted you after many years of insisting on joining your brother Cregan on the battlefield with the Stark bannermen.

Vaemond Velaryon scoffed at your arrival and insisted Corlys send you away. Daemon stepped forward, piercing Vaemond with his furious lilac gaze.

“Put your cocks away, boys,” you tease, unimpressed. “We’ve a war to win, do we not?”

You joined the war torn men around the large table set up with the maps of the battlefields. Conversation continued back and forth as the lot of you tried to come up with a plan to take down the Crab Feeder and Triarchy. Laenor’s plan of sending Daemon to the Crab Feeder as a scapegoat of false hope only for both Caraxes and Seasmoke to burn the Triarchy men alive.

For the most part everything went as planned, until you jained Daemon’s side as he was ambushed, unarmed, by a circle of the enemy. You’d jumped into the fight, effectively taking out several Triarchy soldiers before tossing a sword Daemon’s way. He showed his thanks by slaying the rest of the men with you, but not before one of them slashed you in the side, leaving a bloody gash on the side of your thigh.

“Fuck!” you yell as you clutch your leg, losing your balance and hitting the ground. Blood streamed down your leg in a slow, but steady, flow. Daemon joined your side in a flash, ripping the white flag he’d had to feign surrenderance to tie the cloth as tight as he could above the gash in your thigh.

The battle continued around you though for the most part Caraxes’ and Seasmoke’s flame had discouraged most of what was left of the Triarchy. With Daemon’s aid you were able to safely make it back to the shore where you’d first arrived to be treated by the healers available.

Daemon stayed by your side through the stitching and even went as far as to hold your hand and offer sweet words as comfort. You were grateful for him, this way you had something else to focus on other than the pain. And if you needed an alternative to keep your mind busy, there was no better pick than Daemon.

His silvery white hair fell around his face perfectly despite being slightly matted with sweat and blood. He’d always been handsome, that you couldn’t deny, but seeing this softer side to him made him even more so in your eyes. It’s no secret Daemon is a troublemaker, and you should probably keep your distance, but after this how could you?

Long after the battle was over Daemon was crowned King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. He’d cut his infamous long hair short, and it suited him. Sometimes little wisps of silver hair would fall down into his face and you had to remind yourself to breathe at the sight.

Your relationship with Daemon changed after the war in the Stepstones. Whereas before the war you would avoid Daemon in court, you now sought him out. Not that you had too, because he often would join your side in Small Council meetings or invite you out to the training yards.

Tonight however, you opted to stay in your chambers.

You’d already stripped down to your nightclothes when a knock came from the other side of your chamber doors.

“Come in.” you called.

The doors open and Daemon entered, dismissing your guards. They looked to you before leaving once they had your reassurance.

Daemon didn’t hesitate to step right up to you. “Forgive me for the hour, my lady, but I’ve found myself in a situation I am quite unfamiliar with and it seems you are the only one who can help me.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, trying to ignore the fluttering of your heart. “How am I supposed to be of aid?”

“Be mine,” he responds quickly with confidence. “I must confess from the day you arrived here in the Keep I’ve been quite taken with you. And the day you rode onto the shores of the Stepstones, I knew I could not live without you by my side—”

You reached your hands out to cup either side of his face. “Daemon, do not jest. I’m afraid my heart could not take it.”

A genuine smile breaks out across his lips. “I would never,” Daemon insists. “I’ve felt this way for a long time, my little wolf.”

Daemon’s hands fall to your waist as he pulls you into his body, leaning down to kiss you firmly. You pulled away and kissed his forehead before resting your own against his.

“Come to bed, Daemon,” you purr and pull away towards the bed.

He laughs and smiles down at you. “As you wish, little wolf.”

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underdark-dreams · 6 months

Note

yooo i love ur writings sm dude! thank u for providing the MUCH needed and appreciated rolan n dammon food ! if ur still accepting and willing to write for a more masc reader, would u do hcs with rolan (and/or dammon, idc :>) with a top/dom inclined reader? :]

BLESS your patience, anon! I got lost in writing a smut fic for this request this week. But you asked for headcanons, so it doesn't feel fair to make you keep waiting! In thanks, please expect a Rolan x m!Tav oneshot soon. 🖤

Rolan x top/dom M!Reader: Relationship Headcanons

[SFW + NSFW both under the cut]

SFW

This wizard has a serious case of oldest sibling disorder

Rolan can be downright bossy, because a lot of his self identity rests on feeling powerful and in control of things

On a deeper level, Rolan is just used to being the one taking care of the people he loves. Having the scenario flipped—being taken care of for once—it throws him off balance

Falling for a guy who takes the lead and takes initiative might honestly cause Rolan a mild identity crisis without him realizing. He’ll deny the feelings for a week or two, stewing and blushing and unintentionally broadcasting his crush to anyone around him

This was not the plan. So why does he keep daydreaming about you picking him up princess style and tossing him down onto your bed

Inside Rolan’s dying to get swept off his feet and lavished, he just doesn’t know it yet

Maybe it finally clicks for him the first time you pull Rolan close and murmur all your appreciation into his pointed ear

Rolan is so weak for praise and so, so hungry for it, especially from you

He can’t help but melt inside when you tell him how good he is, how clever and competent, how much he deserves to feel incredible and how much you’d enjoy being the one to make him feel that way

Kiss him afterward and feel Rolan whimper softly against your mouth as he goes a bit limp in your arms. He’s entirely yours

He’s not only falling in love with you, he’s discovering a whole side of himself he never gave himself time or permission to explore

But you? You make him feel loved and completely safe

Rolan will occasionally come to you to pout or complain about trivial things, just to get a kiss and hear you assure him you’ll take care of it for your sweet little mage

He’s still flustered by how much he enjoys it at first, even more so when he feels himself flush and stiffen under his robes

Rolan also becomes addicted to the feeling of being wrapped up in your arms

Your arm draped on his shoulder: your hands looped around his waist to keep him tucked in close while you’re kissing: and especially your forearms caging him in against the wall while you grind against each other

Rolan’s still proud, so it’s not easy for him to admit or ask for these things out loud unless you’re alone

But even in a public setting, he will sometimes appear close beside your shoulder and glance over at you with a wordless request that means please hold me a bit, I’m tired/lonely/needy for you

If you don’t notice fast enough, Rolan might softly brush your hand or loop his tail low around your calf to get your attention. You’re the one who awakened these feelings in him, and by the hells he’s not going to be ignored now

Face it: you have unleashed needy sub Rolan upon yourself, you’ll just have to dom up and deal with the consequences

NSFW:

When you’re fucking him, Rolan can be somehow vulnerable and teasing/demanding all at the same time

Old habits die hard…so might Rolan if you don’t give him what he needs

Rolan knows the right word from you or the right gesture pinning his wrist or thigh can get him dangerously close to losing it, and some nights that makes him feel rebellious

He has a smart mouth even in bed, and provoking you excites him sometimes

‘Gods, I bet I can finish myself before you do—’ Rolan’s grip closes around his own hard cock as your slickened fingers gently and slowly prepare him

Other nights he has absolutely zero fight in him. Just a soft pile of Tiefling clinging to the man he loves as he kisses across your shoulders, asking you to take him while you tell him that he’s more than good enough

Rolan may try to hide it (that or he’ll make zero effort), but he’s weak for any time you order him around or direct him

‘Get on your hands and knees’ ‘Spread for me like a good boy, Rolan’ ‘Stop biting your lip or I’ll bite it for you—go on and let everyone hear who makes you feel this good, that’s it—’

It all gets him so needy for your cock that he can’t say no to any of it until you’re filling him

His favorite positions are usually the ones that let him hold onto you for even more closeness—missionary, against his desk in the Tower, etc.

Of course, those don't give him a chance to hide his reactions from you, so you’ll occasionally see him blush dark or squeeze his eyes shut or bite back the sounds you coax out of him

Alternatively: just tell Rolan he thinks too much and fuck him into his mattress so hard he can’t think about anything else at all including his own ego

The way he clutches your shoulders for dear life and pants your name will let you know how much Rolan loves it (and you)

#smut #nsft #rolan bg3 #bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan x reader #bg3 rolan x reader #if there is other interest for dammon i am open!#bg3 spoilers #bg3 headcanons #bg3 smut #bg3 fic

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someplayfuldreams · 2 months

Text

hidden shadow

pairing: rafayel x mc

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 2.6k

summary: what i imagined while listening to the secret times "hidden shadow"

A/N: the majority of Rafayel's lines are straight from the audio, which is not my own writing, but everything else is from my delusional mind; this man and his secret times has me in a chokehold, so i had to write this out

also on ao3 under the user playfuldreams

enjoy!~

The loud sound of blades clashing against each other reverberated through the air. As soon as you block his swing, you jump back to prepare for the next blow. You adjust your grip on the handle, hoping it wouldn’t slip out due to the sweat.

Before you can finish catching your breath, Rafayel rushes forward, swinging his dagger up diagonally.

Your body tenses. Thankfully, your reflexes kick in time and you are able bring up your dagger to block the attack. But since you couldn’t get into the proper position, the force of the slash pushes you off balance on the sand and end up falling on your butt.

“Ah..,” you let out a soft yelp before looking up to see a dagger pointing at you. You glance back at the holder, making eye contact with burning purple eyes.

He spins the dagger, sheathing it, then holds out his hand.

“Let’s stop here for today,” He says. “A sandstorm approaches. We must return to our tent.”

You take his hand and get up. Handing him your dagger, you dust the sand off your pants and hands.

We start walking to the tent we had set up prior to the training session. Only the sound of sand shuffling beneath is heard, accompanying your thoughts about your bodyguard’s hidden past.

You look up to see him gazing over the horizon clearly in deep thought.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you speak up.

“I thought a skilled guard like you was invincible. Are you saying a sandstorm is enough to beat you?” You ask, teasingly.

“Huh? I’m not completely unaffected by the harsh environment” Rafayel responds.

Just as you are about to say another sassy remark, you watch as he walks closer to you. He stops right in front of you, leaning close enough you can see the pink highlights in his eyes.

“But a competent assassin can still fight despite the sand,” he whispers.

You blink a few times before looking down, unable to hold his strong gaze any longer. He steps back and you can almost see the smirk on his face. You clench your fists. If you had just kept eye contact a little longer, you would be the one smirking not him.

You give a little huff, stomping forward.

You feel Rafayel’s gaze on you, but you refuse to give in and turn around. After a few more steps, Rafayel grabs your wrist, pulling you to a stop.

He walks around to stand in front of you. This time you hold your head high, meeting his gaze straight on.

He tilts his head, giving a sly smile.

“Would Your Highness like to try? With your determination, let’s do it,” Rafayel proposes.

He unties one of the black ribbons tied to his arm, pulling it taut. As he walks closer, your heart skips a beat and feel yourself warm.

“Close your eyes and hold still,” He says softly.

You obediently listen to him. With your eyes now closed, your nerves are amplified.

His hot breath sweeps over your ears causing you to shiver. You hear him chuckle lightly. You bit your lip and resist the impulse of swinging at him.

You flinch when you feel something close to your face.

“It’s just the ribbon. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” Rafayel assures you.

The smooth silk is cool over your heated skin. It slides over your eyelids and cheekbones before stopping in what seems to be the right place.

He carefully ties the ends behind your head, making sure not to get your hair in the knot.

Even after the ribbon is tied, you can still sense his warmth in front of you

“Now, Your Highness’s eyes are covered. How is it?” He asks.

With your eyes blindfolded, you are unable to read Rafayel’s face. You shift your weight and feel a little startled when the ground feels more unsteady than usual.

“It’s fine when I’m standing still, but I don’t know if I can move around like this. What if I..”

“Stay calm.” You hear him say.

Warm hands slowly hold your shoulders, comforting you.

“When sight cannot be relied on, the other senses must be utilized.” Rafayel advises.

He runs his hands down your arms, taking your hands in his. He gives a small squeeze before letting go.

You hear the sand shuffling in front of you and no longer sense Rafayel. He must have stepped away from you. You begin to feel more uncertain now that Rafayel isn’t there to support you.

“Try and catch me,” Rafayel says. And then, you hear nothing.

You stand in place, hesitating. How are you supposed to find him blindfolded?

Taking a deep breathe, you use your other senses like he told you to.

You feel the warm breeze along with the small pinpricks of occasional sand grains flying over you. The only sounds you can hear are those of sand swirling on the wind. Not knowing where to even go, you start walking in a random direction.

It takes a lot more concentration to walk on sand blindfolded. It felt like you would fall with one wrong step.

A noise to your right catches your attention. You change your direction towards it. After a few more careful steps, you hear more sand moving to your left. You spin around towards the new sound.

Then all of a sudden, there’s the sound of footsteps behind you.

You quickly turn around, trying to focus on pinpointing the exact location.

You begin to get frustrated, but take another breath to calm yourself.

You’re the one who asked Rafayel to train you so you could protect yourself better. You would follow through with it.

More footsteps are heard all over the place. Focusing in, you decide to take a leap of faith and begin confidently walking straight towards the last sound you heard, reaching your hands out to hopefully feel the rough cotton of Rafayel’s tunic.

After about 10 steps, the sounds disappear again, but this time you catch a light scent of the sea breeze that reminds you of home. You immediately turn around, swinging your arms in front of you.

Your hands hit something solid, causing you to lose your balance. You frantically move your hands trying to grab onto something to stabilize you.

You feel strong arms come around you as your hands grip the fabric of his shirt.

Rafayel moves his arm over your head as you both tumble to the ground, rolling twice down the dune. You feel yourself land on top of him, raising your head, wishing you could see if he was okay.

“Not bad… But it was only a matter of luck.” You hear him say below you.

You let out a sigh. Does he really have to say it like that?

You feel his abdominal muscles tense as he sits up. You shakily get off him, kneeling on the sand. Being unable to see and trying to be stable on shifting sand was not easy.

You feel his rough hand take yours as he helps you stand up. He dusts off the sand on your back as you shake your head, trying to get the sand out of your hair.

He laughs, clearly entertained at the sight.

“Instead of laughing, you could lend a hand,” you say.

“Apologies Your Highness, allow me to assist,” he says, before gently running his fingers through your hair, ridding it of any leftover sand.

“Alright, it’s gotten late. We should head inside now.” Rafayel says.

You expect him to untie the blindfold, but instead, you feel his hand entwine with yours.

“Are you not going to remove the ribbon?” you ask.

He chuckles, before saying, “Trust me, Your Highness. I will get you back safe and sound.”

Hand in hand, he leads you the rest of the way.

You hear the tent flap open as he leads you in. He lets go of your hand, and you hear what you suppose is him tying the entrance closed. You just stand in place, not wanting to trip over anything while blindfolded. You don’t remember if you both managed to clean up the place before going out to train.

Footsteps come up from behind you. You tense, unsure what would happen next.

Rafayel just takes your hand again, leading you further in the tent.

“Sit down,” he says. “Don’t remove the blindfold just yet,” he adds for good measure.

You let him guide you to sit on the bed. He lightly presses on your shoulder, telling you to move further back. The sheets ruffle from the movement.

You feel the bed dip down lower and assume Rafayel sat on it as well. Hearing the sheets rustle, you can tell Rafayel is getting closer. The movement stops once you feel his knee touch your thigh.

You suddenly feel his breath grazing your lips. Your caught between your desire to move forward to get a taste or backward to let yourself think more clearly. But before you can make your decision, you hear him speak.

“Even in darkness, one must be able to pinpoint an enemy’s vital points with ease,” Rafayel says.

He grabs your hand and places something cold in it. You grip the object. It’s smooth and relatively light. It seems the lesson was going to continue.

“With a weapon, only some strength is needed to wound the stomach.”

He must have handed you a dagger. Not knowing if it was sheathed or not, you carefully bring the hand with the weapon back to your side. Shifting your position so that you were kneeling before him, you hesitantly bring your other hand to lay over his body. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel his muscles ripple beneath your hand.

You have a fleeting thought of regret that there was fabric between your hand and his skin.

He said to wound the stomach, but you aren’t sure what part of him you’re touching.

“The chest?” Rafayel kindly gives you an answer.

You move your hand side to side trying to get your bearings. His chest was so wide you couldn’t tell if you were on the side or in the middle of it.

You hear him gasp and feel his muscles tense as you run your hands over a bump on his chest.

“Not there. Your Highness needs to go lower. It will be a fatal blow if you stab there.”

You reflexively tighten your grip, memories of Rafayel bleeding from his chest flooding your head.

“It ensures one’s victory.” He continues.

His warm hand covers yours, giving it a light squeeze before letting go, as if telling you to continue.

You slowly move your hand up, feeling the border of his tunic turn into smooth skin.

You hear him inhale deeply when your skins connect.

As if mesmerized, you forget the goal of the lesson and continue moving your hand up. Over his shoulders, his collarbone, and ending up over his adam’s apple.

You lightly feel his pulse beating beneath your hand. Telling you he is alive. No longer stuck between life and death due to your careless mistake. You mindlessly press your fingers further into his skin, hoping to feel his pulse more clearly.

“The throat is also a vulnerable area.”

His voice startles you. Realizing you might have put too much force in your grip, you loosen your hand but keep it hovering over his skin.

“Scared?” He asks.

You’re unable to say anything back. You try to fight any conjured up images of him being hurt.

Just as you try to think of something to distract yourself, you feel his hand cover yours once more.

“Never mind, Your Highness’s hand is slightly cold.” He says worryingly. He gently rubs his thumb on the back of your hand.

“Try to do what I just said.”

You let out a small breath, banishing the unnecessary thoughts. What were you supposed to find again? Right, the stomach.

You move your hand downward, going back over the rough fabric.

You hear him exhale right by your ear as you slide your hand further down. His muscles tense and untense, creating a rhythm with his breathes, following the trail of your gliding hand.

You get to a point where you can feel light grooves partitioning several muscles. You stop your hand, hesitating on your next move.

“It’s the correct spot, but Your Highness’s hand still hasn’t moved,” Rafayel says.

“An assassin wouldn’t be this slow.” He teases.

You rolled your eyes underneath the blindfolded. You adjust your grip on the dagger and move the hand a bit closer. But you still hesitate to make the final move.

Instead of bringing the dagger up, you move the hand on him, trying to find the best spot. However, you get lost in the feeling of his abdomen expanding with each breath.

Rafayel waits patiently and quietly, which is a first for him.

“Carelessness leads to an assassin’s death,” Rafayel says.

You clearly spoke too soon.

If that’s how he was going to play it, you decide to tease him back.

You move your hand to the side slowly. You feel the heat from his abdomen transfer to your palm. As you keep moving to the left, you start to feel a curve, stopping once your palm is at his hip.

“No, that is not it either,” He says, unaware of your purpose.

You give a coquettish squeeze, reveling in the movement of the muscles beneath.

Rafayel sighs loudly. You tense when you feel something tickle your ear. It’s almost feathery. His breathes are more clear as he has gotten closer to you.

You decide to get more bold and slide your hand back down

He gasps in your ear. Your desire to see more of his reactions builds your confidence, but before you can go any further, your playful touch is halted.

“Um… stop right there.” Rafayel grabs your hand tightly.

He chuckles, breathless.

“As a rookie, Your Highness’s courage is commendable.”

You can’t help but smirk at his remark.

“Yet does a simple blindfold excuse a person’s brazenness?” Rafayel says, his voice getting closer with every word, until he’s speaking right into your ear.

Startled, you move back to sit on the balls of your feet with your knees still on the bed.

“Your Highness didn’t do it on purpose?” he asks teasingly, still holding your hand in place.

“Of course not. All I did was listen to my teacher’s instructions,” you say innocently.

He lightly huffed in amusement.

“Your Highness’s acting is lackluster when it comes to being clueless,” Rafayel says.

He finally lets go of your hand allowing you to sit more comfortably.

You hear some shuffling on the bed, but can’t tell what Rafayel was doing.

You flinch when you suddenly feel a touch on your other hand. The dagger is taken away from you. He probably is putting it away.

You guess the “lesson” is over. But just when you’re about to ask for him to remove the blindfold, you hear him speak.

“It’s fine,” he says.

You tilt your head towards his voice. A hand comes up to your shoulder and before you realize what’s going on, you feel your back coming into contact with the bed.

The sheets rustle around you and you feel a presence over you.

“I forgot to mention. A good assassin must be able to counterattack.” Rafayel says laughing.

Shocked, you lie there for a second processing what just happened.

Then you start fighting back.

“Rafayel, you!”

You raise your hands and they immediately make contact with Rafayel’s chest. You put pressure on him hoping to take control of the situation.

He laughs as your weak attempts to push him off. Instead of getting off, he draws even closer.

“Is Your Highness prepared for the next lesson?” He whispers in your ear.

You swallow at his words, finding yourself heating up at the thought of what was to come next.

#rafayel #love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel l&ds #l&ds fanfic #l&ds #secret times #hidden shadow l&ds #rafayel x mc #rafayel x y/n

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