Distracted
Distracted
Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader
Summary: Locked in a room with the boy who has the relic you've been hunting, you try whatever you can to get it back.
Content: fight scene, flirting and making out, a bit suggestive but nothing explicit
A/N: requested by @superpositvecloudshipper - hope you like it! Also can you tell it's my day off with the way this is my third fic in less than 12 hours lol
Word count: 1.9k
As yet another auction came to an abrupt end, the crowded room filling with screams and alarms, Lockwood began to wonder if he was developing a track record.
He was there for a book, written at the very beginning of the Problem, which George insisted would be invaluable in the case they'd just accepted and which DEPRAC were determined to put into secure storage. Nobody had seen it for years, but a week ago it had been listed as the star item at Fothergills Auction House. It wasn't anything as serious as the Bone Glass, but the team had still had to blag their way into the auction with a pocket of tricks each and an unofficial nod from Barnes to do whatever was necessary to prevent the book from winding up on the black market.
So it was that Lockwood found himself surging through the throng of panicked auction-goers, scrambling to escape Lucy's recently detonated smoke bomb. He could barely see through the mass of bodies, made worse by the cloud of dark grey fumes and the pulsing red light of the alarm system. It was only a matter of time before the sprinklers activated. He had to get the book before then.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted an unusual movement - another figure fighting against the tide of bodies. Probably a relic man with more greed than sense, but at least they'd thought to put their hood up and draw a scarf across their mouth to protect against the smoke. Lockwood pressed forward with increasing urgency.
He reached the podium seconds before the mysterious figure, snatching the book and giving in to the urge to throw his pursuer a triumphant grin. They swore, drowned out by the alarm as it shifted in pitch to indicate the activation of the water sprinklers. Lockwood tucked the book into his coat and bolted for the nearest door, the other person hot on his heels.
Overhead, an automated voice alternated with the alarms.
"Defence alert. Room cleared. Initiating lockdown procedure."
Oh no.
—
You forced your way through the crowd, eyes trained on the book. It would fetch you a pretty penny and give you an advantage over a group of relic men who were giving you grief. As you reached the podium, you stumbled to a halt at the sight of a scrawny dark-haired boy clutching the book. Your book. You scowled, expression deepening as he gave you a bright victory smirk. Well, that was that. No way were you letting him leave here without getting the book. As he sprinted for the door on the left, you followed.
Too late, you realised the door the boy ahead had chosen was not the one for the offices, but for a storage cupboard which would usually have held the items for auction but now was almost bare. Too late, you noticed there were no other doors or windows, just the one that had now sealed behind you.
"I swear," he growled, hand on his rapier, "don’t come any closer. There's nowhere to go and I've fought enough relic men that if you want to get out of here alive you'll keep your distance."
You scoffed, a higher sound than Lockwood was expecting.
"Excuse you, relic man? Presumptuous much?" As you spoke, your scarf shifted to reveal plump red lips, and in one smooth movement you tugged down your hood, scooping the mane of windswept hair it concealed into a messy ponytail.
Lockwood froze for a second before switching on his trademark charisma. No sense in making enemies straight away, besides the more he looked the more he realised there was little room to use his rapier without risking self-injury.
"I meant no offence, I thought Flo Bones was the only relic woman."
You'd heard of Flo, of course, but didn't run in the same circles. She was a one-man, well, one-woman band, except for whoever this guy was it seemed. You tended to keep to yourself, but occasionally took advantage of the more simpering relic men who were so desperate for a woman to look their way that they'd give you anything, making you the leather-clad rogue to Flo's knitted outcast.
"Easy mistake to make, darling, but it won't happen again." You returned his charm with your own, thinly veiling the threat behind your words. "Just give me the book and we can both go on our merry ways."
"I don't think so." He dropped the act in a flash, gripping the book.
Your scowl returned. "Fine. That door's not budging, so I've got time to change your mind."
Without warning, you lunged, catching him off-guard enough that he almost lost his footing. To your dismay, he recovered quickly, pushing you back to give him time to adopt a defensive stance. He was trained, then. Probably from agent work, judging by the rapier. By the book, though. Time to see if he fought dirty.
A scroll of paper was about the only thing left on the shelf beside you, but it would have to do. With a grunt, you tossed it past his shoulder, and as he watched it sail past (no doubt questioning your aim, as you'd planned), you used his distraction to slip closer and force him backwards into a shelf. He cried out as the metal bit into his back and for a moment you hesitated. The boy was only young, he looked about your age, and he wasn't bad looking at that. You could have been in his place in another life, or he in yours. Or both of you on the same team, fighting off some other scoundrel. Unknowingly, you eased off the pressure on his shoulders.
Big mistake.
Lockwood shoved you once more, finally deciding to bring the fight to him and reaching for his rapier. You couldn't allow that, but you were running out of ideas. So you did the only thing you could think of: whipped off your jacket and hurled it directly at his face. The boy was quick, though, you had to give him credit, as he batted it away like a pesky fly. Suddenly he was in your space, hands locking around your now bare wrists and foot snaking out to knock your feet from under you. You fell, unable to stop yourself, but with his grip still on you he lowered you almost gently to the floor, arms pinned above your head and his weight straddling your thighs to keep you from lashing out. He did fight dirty. Interesting.
Your breath was heavy, both from the fight and from finding yourself in such close quarters with the young man. With nowhere to turn, you finally got a proper look at your rival. His dark eyes were trained on you, filled with a mixture of anger, respect and something else. His previously coiffed hair now fell haphazardly across his forehead, and his face was flushed. Still had that insufferable smirk, though.
"I think," you paused to catch your breath, "we got off on the wrong foot. Care to start again?" Your hands were still pinned, hanging loosely against the cold stone floor, but you brought one up in as close to a handshake as circumstances would allow. He didn't take it.
"Who are you?" he asked bluntly.
"Does it matter?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"What you want with the book."
"Let's call it personal insurance."
"I see."
"Do you, darling?" You'd met his type before - rich, cocky, scornful of anyone who'd fallen into the relic hunter lifestyle to keep themselves alive. Then again, he seemed to know that other girl Flo well enough, and he hadn't given any indication he disliked you beyond having the same target, and really it was very hard to form any other opinions of him when his pelvis was practically on top of yours.
He leaned a little closer, pressing your wrists more. "I'm not your darling, darling." The last word came out low and husky, and you resisted the urge to squirm beneath him. It wouldn't do to give him any more of an upper hand just yet, not that there was much more he could get.
"You could be, if you wanted, the position you're in." You'd been watching him through your lashes, but with those words you allowed your gaze to slide down to his lips as your own parted slightly.
Lockwood took the hint.
His kiss was passionate, almost frantic, and you returned it equally. To get low enough to reach your lips, his hips had bucked into yours, and as you gasped at the sensation his tongue darted in. He tasted like bergamot tea. One hand never left where he was keeping you pinned, but the other came round to support the small of your back as you arched into him. Eventually (it took him long enough, distracted as he was when you dragged your teeth across his lower lip), he realised he was supporting all his weight on your wrists, and he propped himself on his other hand and let go. With this newfound freedom, you pushed yourself off the ground, leaning into him until he was sitting back on his feet, your legs still under him but torsos upright and pressed together.
Now on a more even playing field, you were able to have a bit more fun. Not that you were going to complain about the original position, to be fair. It had certainly made things interesting. In the back of your mind you registered that the sirens outside had stopped, but you still had time to kill.
You slid your hands up his chest to the collar of his coat, sliding it down until it gathered around his remarkably firm biceps, then loosened his tie. All the while, your lips never left his, kissing him hungrily. He responded by reaching up and removing the tie from your hair. One hand travelled back down to your waist, the other twisted into your hair with a playful tug. You gasped against his mouth again, tugging his tie which brought him up off his heels. The pressure eased from your legs, and in one swift movement you pulled them through the gap.
As your legs disappeared from under him, Lockwood found himself leaning back with you taking position above. Your hair cascaded around your face, tickling his ears, and he broke the kiss for breath and to stare up at you in wonder. His hand left your hair to support himself, but you adjusted to balance yourself so your hands could slide into his coat and around his waist.
"Well, that's certainly not how I expected this auction to end, but I can't say I'm disappointed," he chuckled.
"Me neither." Behind you the door hissed as the automatic lock disengaged. Abruptly, Lockwood felt your hands retract from within his coat and he dropped painfully onto his elbows. You stood, brushing yourself off and retrieving your jacket, which you slung over your shoulder. At the same time as Lockwood realised his coat felt significantly lighter, he noticed the book tucked under your arm.
"This has been fun, we should do it again some time," you said with a wink as you stepped through the door.
Lockwood scrambled to his feet. By the time he made it to the doorway, the auction room was empty. You'd gone, and so had the book.
He didn't know which he was more disappointed about.
More Posts from Jestersasphodel and Others
Just thinking of an angst fic with the bridgerton boys and some duke (interpreted by Henry Cavill)
Fair warning, this is just me rambling, adding some dialogue. Not a fic... Just whatever happens in my weird little mind.
So bc I like angst and I like Henry Cavill, what if you had been friends with the Bridgertons since you were young and you and Anthony had _something_, everyone thought you'd end up together- Ben and Colin had crushes on you, and they had fantasized about the day you'd become a Bridgerton for real and ask their big brother to share his pretty wife. You are practically a Bridgerton, having tea with them everyday, staying for dinner and a lot of times even to sleep in their house.
But Anthony discovered the crush Ben had on you near your first season- Ben had drawn you over and over, written poetry about you and his crush looked more like love than Anthony had ever thought of so, despite his plans of asking you to court as soon as you were presented (he didn't thought he loved you, he just thought it was obvious and convenient), he decided he'd let Benedict court you and let you two have a love match. So your first season, he meets Sienna and he starts his relationship with her. You're named diamond of the season but you don't marry.
Next is Daphne's season and you spend it helping her and defending her tooth and nail, being her confidant and the only one who knows about the farce with Hastings and ultimately, her maid of honor. Violet gets antsy when your third season starts and Anthony claims he wants a viscountess, making his list of prospects but not including you
After his first afternoon of interviews, you come to bridgerton house for tea and ask him how he's faring (you're still under the impression that maybe he's doing this to make a show, to somehow make a grand romantic gesture, to basically tell the world that you're the best for him and he _knows_ bc he has interviewed all other debutantes) but he takes it as just friendly curiosity and he's honest about how he's not very hopeful and tells you all about his list (a list that is basically describing you) but before you can smile and tease him about how he seems to be describing you, he tells you he has his sights set on the new diamond, Edwina Sharma and he will visit her the next day. You tense and everyone in the drawing room seems to stop breathing, and calmly, you ask him if that's his only prospect and he says yes of course, none other could be worthy of the most eligible bachelor other than the diamond of the season. You excuse yourself shortly after, feeling betrayed and foolish, for you had wasted _your_ season waiting for him, and the following waiting for him and defending his family, only to be tossed aside like an used toy?
You don't attend the next ball and you miss the courting of miss Sharma and the viscount, instead, you are called by the queen, who is wholly disappointed in your failure on getting married. She asks you to be her honored guest in her next ball and there, you meet the Duke of Cornwall (Henry Cavill)- he had been to the war against Napoleon, but now he's back to London, looking for a wife. Unfortunately, despite his title not many women desire him bc not many is known about his wealth and he doesn't have the regular build of the gentleman, seeming more like a giant. He also doesn't dress exactly as the fashion of London dictates, so he's not well accepted by the ton. But you see potential (and you swoon to think of what's under that big coat and my, not many men can make you feel small and dainty but him? He does), so you talk to him and see friendly. You don't have much hope of him wanting to marry you (if Anthony, who knew you your whole life, didn't want you, why would a beautiful stranger want to?), but you think that you still have some sway on the ton, still being favored by the queen and keeping the title of diamond- so a couple of weeks of meeting him and his mother for tea, some suggestions on his wardrobe and he is officially the most handsome man and the most desirable gentleman of the ton.
He obviously falls head over heels for you. You're so kind and patient, explaining what was fashionable and what would suit him best, always complimenting him and his bravery, talking about all or nothing. He's not surprised you were named a diamond your first season, but he is surprised to know you're not married- the why is not something you talk about and he doesn't pressure you.
Imagine that you give him a suit tailored for him and his build- he insists on paying you back and you say no, bc if anything you're glad to have another friend and you'll love to parade around with him, at least the first dance of the next ball (you're assuming he will mingle among the debutantes to search for his future wife) and he's just... Moved to have someone being proud of showing him off- he would be your trophy husband any day of the year.
Anyways, he insists on having a dress commissioned for you in the same color as his suit (so you look married) and in the next ball, he escorts you in. You push him to mingle around, which he does (he thinks you want your husband to know more of the ton and he can do that), then he asks you for the vals and you accept, taking the time to ask him about his success. He tells you the men seem to dislike him even more now and you can't help but laugh.
"You're not searching to marry one of the men of the ton, your highness"
"True, but you asked about my success. I'm just regretfully informing you it wasn't so"
"I disagree. I didn't intend the men to like you, you can take care of that at the gentlemen's club in your own time. No no, balls are to be liked by the most important people of the ton: the women"
"Ah. Very well then... I guess they seemed more eager to dance with me. Miss Cowper even insinuated she could erase a gentleman from her card if I desired to take his place"
"Ugh, no, anyone but Cressida. Take your pick among some of her friends, I can excuse some of them but not her"
"That's good to know, but I didn't dance with her. I just conversed with her shortly"
"Well I'm not surprised. Your suit is expensive, I'm sure she is just chasing the money. She's not a good measurement for success. What about Penelope Featherington?"
"Miss Featherington was nice to me on my first event, that hasn't changed"
"Yes yes, I know she was polite. What I want to know is if she blushed when you talked to her"
"Pardon?"
"Blush, your highness. The redness in a woman's cheeks? Did she have that this time around?"
"I know what a blush is, little mouse" he had taken to call you mouse ever since he had seen you eat crackers with cheese instead of the god awful cucumber sandwiches people of the ton liked. "I would like to see one on your cheeks one day, but yes, you're right, she did blush"
"Aha! So we did have succes! Even someone not attracted to men could see your appeal. You can now have anyone you want from the ton... Well mostly, Eloise and Penelope, despite being on the market, are not really searching for anything."
"Interesting, how you know these things"
"I just do. Now, what are your options?"
"My options?"
"Yes. Does any lady tickle your fancy? Anyone beautiful and graceful enough to become the next royal duchess?"
"I think you know the answer to that. I have already chosen my wife"
"Ooh, do tell... Except if it's Cressida. If you choose her, I'm never speaking to you again"
"I wouldn't want to do anything to risk never listening your lovely voice again"
"Well then tell me, who is it? I must know her, I know everyone in the ton"
"Well, she's exceptionally kind and pretty. She has an impeccable fashion sense and is the prettiest jewel in this ball"
"... I don't think I know anyone like that... You did listen when I said Penelope is not available, right?"
"It's not Penelope"
"Okay then... I'm blank. Who is it?"
"You, obviously"
"...what"
"Why do you look so baffled?"
"I thought you were serious!"
"I am! Is this your rejection? If so, I don't accept it. I'm willing to have a very long courting if that what it takes, but I'm not giving up"
"Oh, come off it, you could do better. At this point you could ask miss Edwina Sharma to marry you and she'd say yes"
"The diamond of this season? She's already being courted by viscount Bridgerton, is she not?"
"Yeah well, she'd leave the viscount for a royal duke... I think. I don't know her all that well. Most women would anyways"
"I'm not interested in most women, I'm interest in you."
The seemingly unending waltz ends and you are about to genuflect and walk back to the edges of the ballroom but the duke does not let you go. He holds onto you for the next piece.
"Your highness," you call between gritted teeth. "Pray tell, what are you doing"
"Making my intentions clear to the ton. I shall call on you tomorrow. Hydrangeas are your favorite, are they not?"
"...they are."
"Very well. I'll be sure to purchase enough and bring some tools for your gardeners to plant them, wouldn't want your house to... What did you say? Reek of death in the next couple of days?"
"I was joking" you say, looking away with a blush. You weren't joking when you said that for all you loved to admire flowers, you hated when they dried and had the stink of death and decay-despite your servants diligence, your first season you had received three florist's worth of flowers for weeks and it was near impossible to hide the smell of them (the good and the bad).
"You weren't, but I appreciate your honesty just as much as your kindness. I shall endeavor to think of your comfort as I conquer your heart with grand gestures, worthy of the most precious diamond"
"You keep this up and I might start believing you"
"Good, that's all I want"
He dances with you four more times, knowing full well that more than three dances means courting (you told him that repeatedly and after your third dance you repeated and he just smirked while you glared).
Of course, the next day Lady Whistledown is already speculating on the date of your wedding and, to make matters worse, your house receives six carriages of hydrangeas- you're quite sure the whole of England is now in a shortage of the flower. There are so many that your servants have to put some out the windows, trying to seem as intentional decor instead of the last resort on where to put them.
When the responsible party comes to call on you, however, you're unable to keep your glaring at him (something your servants and father do for you). He's charming as always and even invites you to promenade and you can't quite refuse his boyish smile and his deep blue eyes. Not even a month ago, you didn't think there were other men aside from the Bridgertons, your heart only fluttering for the chocolate eyes of the eldest and summersaulting for the green and blue of the next in line.
He is perfect, his eyes never straying from you, making light conversation and genuinely complimenting you-you feel like Icarus, soaring rapidly to the sun and rapidly falling into the abyss that is love. But it feels as if this time, someone is ready to catch you. Not even ten minutes into your walk and you're already convinced you're a fool in love, even more convinced you must look the part, smiling stupidly broad, blushing and giggling. Not even in your first season did you feel so seen as in this very moment.
You pass the Bridgerton tent without even noticing, your eyes wholly focused on the man by your side. It's not until your mother calls for you that you turn, walking back with the duke in tow to greet your old time friends, greeting Lady Violet with affection (but much more formal than any other time before- before you were sure one day youd be her daughter, and now you know you won't), then turning to Eloise, hugging her and sheepishly taking her frown and thinly veiled interrogation as she inquires where you've been the last month.
"We were so worried. You just... Stopped coming by! A simple note the first day of your absence and then nothing! And in the balls, you never search for us and-"
"Ah, I believe I'm at fault for all of that" ~your~ the duke intervenes with a smile. "You see, miss Y/N was very kind to visit me and my mother this last month to teach me and guide me into the world of the ton- as part of the military, I've hardly had time to learn all that there is to know to be in polite society, despite my title. She was a godsent and I've been, quite unashamedly, hogging her time" he is humourous with his answer but his eyes are a bit hard, a bit serious- he's letting Eloise know he's taking the blame but by no means will he accept any disrespect to you- her tone had been whiny and almost accusatory, but it was all in good fun, after all you were practically siblings.
You smile apologetically, and take the duke's hand in yours, letting him know you're alright and have this situation in control.
"I'll be sure to visit you this week, Eloise, to make up for lost time" you say pleasantly
Eloise doesn't back down completely. She stares at the duke, wholly unimpressed before raising an eyebrow at you, almost as if asking "Really? Him?" And you just sigh, nodding. She shrugs, but still does t stop glaring at the duke as she tells you she will eagerly await for you at her house the next day.
When her gaze returns to her book, you think the war is over- but apparently, youve only won a battle.
Anthony is missing from Violet's entourage but Colin and Benedict are very much present and their glares at the duke and your hands intertwined are so intense, you're surprised they haven't intervened in some way.
Stay tuned for part 2 with how will Ben and Colin bring Anthony to his senses! And some Bridgerton shenanigans
Masterlist! <3
My Favourites♡ Full Stories (OC) 📖 NSFW* Requests 📝
You Can't Do Everything♡
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What Was I Made For?♡
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Good Evening
Birthday Plans*♡
You OK?♡
A Million Times Over
The Pleasure is All Mine*
Embarrassment*♡📝
Scheming♡📝 | Steps Towards♡
29th♡
The Taste of Champagne
Victory Tastes Damn Good*
Picture of Perfection♡📝
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Called You Again
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Live on Air
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It's Loud
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Whatever You Like♡
How They'd Come In Late After A Race (1)
Five Seconds Flat
— THE WAY I LOVED YOU
pairing: theodore nott x reader
summary: in which theodore nott will do anything to get you to go out with him, but you’re just as stubborn rejecting him
warnings: swearing, kissing, dangerous stunts and theo being stupid (ryan gosling in the notebook style), unedited since i wrote this in the middle of the night on no sleep again lol. enemies to lovers if you squint a bit
author’s note: since everyone loves theo i’ll pretend this isn’t just for my own selfish needs <3 (especially the notebook reference) also surprise surprise mc is a gryffindor as always, you’d never know i was a slytherin my bad guys… as always let me know what u think! enjoy, angels 💌
The first time Theodore Nott asks you out, you spill a pot of ink directly into his lap.
It’s not like you meant to do it. But when there’s a Transfiguration worksheet to be getting on with, the Slytherin boy seated next to you by Professor McGonagall asking you out would surely take anyone by surprise.
The second you twist in your seat to look at him in shock, your arm slides the pot right off the desk and directly onto his grey trousers, instantly staining them with the black liquid before you have a chance to speak.
Your hands fly to your mouth to stifle your gasp and you look up at him, anticipating an angry glare in return. Instead, he looks mildly surprised at the ever-growing stain on his crotch, but mostly… amused?
“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed, darling,” he says, raising an eyebrow and suppressing a smile.
You begin stuttering out an apology and scrambling for your wand to wave away the stain before you can do something stupid like attempting to rub it off with your sleeve. Your cheeks instantly heat up at the humiliating image now plaguing your mind and you barely contain a sigh of relief when you realise the lesson has finished.
It’s a miracle your shoes haven’t left scuff marks on the ground in a cartoonish trail with the speed at which you leave the classroom. Godric knows why Theo Nott of all people wants to ask you out, but since it can’t possibly be for any good reason, you’d rather not think about it too much. This, however, isn’t helped by Hermione pestering you about why you look so flustered for the entire walk to the Charms classroom.
Twenty minutes later, her attention is finally diverted. On the other hand, it’s because she’s berating you for accidentally burning the end of her left eyebrow off with a charm gone wrong.
The second time Theo asks you out, there are thankfully no ink pots around.
“Hey,” he whispers from behind you, making you jump within an inch of your life despite his low volume. You swivel in your chair to glare at him, incredulous. Seeing that he’s startled you, Theo grins. “Sorry. What are you doing?”
“Baking a cake,” you deadpan, once your heart has started beating at a normal pace again. Holding up your Potions book, you feel the annoyance start to seep in when Theo continues looking at you, undeterred. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Apparently unfazed by your sarcasm, he drags out the chair next to you and spins it around to sit on it backwards. Settling his arms on top of the backrest, Theo rests his chin on them to look at you. “You never did answer my question.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumble, eyes scanning the page in front of you but taking in nothing. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to study-”
“Are you going to make me ask you again?” he sighs. You panic a little at his bluntness and continue pretending to read, not knowing what else to do. Theo takes your silence as encouragement and shuffles his chair closer to your own. “Go out with me.”
The arrogance practically drips off his voice, and the pit of anxiety in your stomach immediately turns into irritation instead. “No,” you grit out, slamming your potions book shut to scowl at him. “And I don’t hear you asking anything.”
“Okay,” Theo says slowly, nodding as though he understands. It’s clear that he doesn’t though, because the next words out of his mouth have you stunned. “Please, oh please, will you do me the absolute greatest honour of going out with me?”
”Merlin,” you exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. Dropping your hands into your lap, you see no solution other than gathering your things to return to the common room. “You’re having me on…”
“I can assure you, I’m not,” Theo says quickly, stopping you from leaving by gently grabbing your elbow. You stop in your movements to catch him looking more unsure than you’ve ever seen, and you’ve never been more perplexed. “I’m completely serious right now. Go out with me?”
“Wh- I don’t even-” you sigh, cutting your senseless muttering off to cross your arms over your textbook. “Whatever happened to a simple ‘no’ sufficing, darling? Aren’t there a million other girls for you to go and pester? Godric knows you’ve got an entourage following you half the- What are you looking at?”
Amazingly, Theo’s expression has lost all trace of vulnerability and now displays a slightly faraway look, his signature lazy grin in full effect. “Sorry, I didn’t hear a word after you called me ‘darling’.”
Resisting the urge to hit him over the head with your textbook, you take a deep breath and grasp the potential weapon tighter in your hands before speaking. “As hard as it is for me to believe that girls actually fall for this rubbish, your history with them shows that they do. Don’t think for a second, I’m going to let you use me like they do.”
Theo considers your words for a few seconds, mulling them over as carefully as though he’s trying to solve a brain teaser. Eventually, he seems to come to a satisfying conclusion, because he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers and tilts his head. “So you need me to prove I’m serious about this… and then you’ll say yes?”
“Oh, for the love of-” Huffing, you turn on your heal without saying another word and storm out of the library. Theo doesn’t follow you, allowing you to clear your head and think about the incredibly odd interaction.
You’re climbing through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room when you realise you never actually refuted Theo and his theory to make you go out with him. Whether or not it was on purpose, you can’t quite decide.
Over the next few weeks, you start wishing you had stopped Theo before he could start trying to prove himself to you.
You can’t go a single day without the question of going out with him popping up. Much to your bewilderment, it isn’t always him asking. Sometimes it’s his friends, sometimes it’s students at the Gryffindor table who are sick of the multiple owls every morning flocking to your table with a note in their beaks. Sometimes it’s even your friends.
“I mean, really,” Hermione says at breakfast, huffy as always when reprimanding someone. “It’d be benefiting everyone if you just went out with him. Why don’t you, anyway?”
“He’s a Slytherin,” Ron butts in, talking to Hermione as though he’s explaining something to a child. He takes a gigantic bite of his toast before speaking, his next words coming out muffled. “Surely that’s reason enough.”
“No, that isn’t reason enough,” Hermione says sternly, furrowing her brows. “A good reason would have been all the girls he’s always with. Of course, that’s flown out the window recently. He’s also never given them as much attention now that I think about it.”
“He’s definitely not the worst of the group either,” Harry adds, leaning in as nosily as Ron. “Not like we’re talking about Malfoy…”
“Don’t you two have Quidditch tactics to be discussing?” you snap, exhausted by the subject already. The two boys hold up their hands in surrender, before shuffling down the bench. Whether that’s to be closer to the Quidditch team, or to get away from you before you start throwing hexes - you aren’t certain.
The fact you’re awake early in the morning on a Saturday isn’t helping your sour mood, and the Quidditch match being between Gryffindor and Slytherin only adds to this.
“We’d better go and get a good seat at the front, so we aren’t on our tiptoes for the whole game like last time,” Hermione says, already sliding off the bench. You give your cup of coffee one last longing look before you allow yourself to be dragged away.
You haven’t even made it onto the Quidditch pitch before you’re already wishing for that cup of coffee to give you strength, because you find none other than Theo standing outside the Great Hall in his green and silver Quidditch robes.
As soon as he spots you, Theo plasters on that charming smile of his and opens his mouth, no doubt to ask you if you could talk privately.
Hermione interjects before he gets the chance. “Don’t bother, I’m leaving.” She simply sighs when you look at her, betrayed. “He’d have convinced you anyway! I’ll save you a seat.”
You watch her leave, helplessly before turning to Theo and crossing your arms. “Yes?”
“I have a proposition for you,” he says simply, getting to the point. The proposition has, without a doubt, got something to do with you and him and a trip to Hogsmeade, but you gesture for him to continue nonetheless. You can’t deny it’s been entertaining watching Theo come up with new ways to ask you out these past few weeks. “I’ll throw the match and let your lot win if you go out with me.”
This startles a laugh out of you, something between a chortle and a gasp. “Oh, you cheeky bastard,” you exclaim, but you can’t help grinning. That was quite possibly the last thing you expected him to say. “First of all, I think my lot is perfectly capable of winning on their own. And secondly… as funny as it would be, I’d rather not have your death and Malfoy’s subsequent imprisonment in Azkaban be on my conscience.”
You only realise just how wide your smile is when it starts to fade under Theo’s unwavering gaze. His lips twitch up into a smile and you immediately frown as an automatic response. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re bantering with me,” Theo says, grinning as though he’s extremely pleased with himself. You realise with a jolt, that yes you were bantering. “One step closer to agreeing to go out with me.”
“That’s not happening,” you protest, but it sounds fairly weak, even to you. “Like I keep telling you, I’m not going to be one of those girls.”
Theo shrugs. “And I think you already know you’re not one of those girls. It’s fine, I can wait.”
The relaxed manner in which he says this has you flabbergasted to say the least. Truthfully, you aren’t completely sure why you haven’t just agreed at this point. No one in the whole school is used to witnessing such extravagant displays from Theodore Nott, so you’ve accepted the fact you’re an outlier in this particular subject area. You’re starting to think Hermione’s right, and it’s pure stubbornness that’s keeping you going.
“You’ll be waiting a long time then,” you say, giving Theo a bland smile.
“Nah,” is all he says, the smile still gracing his unperturbed face. “Keep an eye out for me in the Quidditch stands.”
Theo winks at you before walking away in the direction of the pitch and you linger in the castle for a good few minutes before snapping out of it and walking in the same direction.
You find Hermione quickly at the front of the Gryffindor stand and you’re about to ask how long until the game starts when Lee Jordan’s voice begins to boom from the commentator stand.
“Strong start for Gryffindor with Katie Bell taking the Quaffle and- nope, Vaisey’s taken it and passed it onto Urquhart, his fellow Chaser and the new Slytherin captain.” You’re thankful for Lee’s commentary as it’s easy to follow and you probably wouldn’t have a clue if it weren’t for him. Surprisingly, he keeps it professional enough for a while. “Ginny Weasley tries to take the Quaffle after a near hit there to Urquhart, thanks to new Gryffindor Beater Jimmy Peakes and that very solid Bludger over there. Unfortunately, he missed-”
“JORDAN.”
“Sorry, Professor McGonagall, I meant fortunately. Slytherin Chaser Mattheo Riddle now has the Quaffle and seems to be aiming to score and- oops! He’s missed, thanks to Gryffindor Keeper Ron Weasley. Good on you, Weasley,” Lee says, unable to be impartial as shown by McGonagall’s glare. “As for the Slytherin Keeper, Nott seems to be distracted by something in the Gryffindor stands. Or should I say someone.”
Laughter echoes in every stand, much to your utter humiliation and some people even start whooping and cheering in your direction. Theo’s antics are common knowledge at this point, but it doesn’t make the laughter any less embarrassing. You try and maintain a shred of dignity by standing still and glaring as hard as you can at Theo. Horrifyingly, he starts to fly in your direction.
Lee looks at McGonagall before speaking, but she merely shrugs helplessly, looking flustered herself. “Er, well it seems Slytherin are open for Gryffindor to score. No one seems to be taking advantage, however, as I think I can speak for everyone when I say we want to know what’s going on with Nott and Y/N.”
Glancing at the others, you realise Lee is right and all the players are hovering in place, making no move to continue the game. They look partly confused, but mostly nosy.
Theo stops just outside the Gryffindor stand, his attention focused wholly on you. You raise both eyebrows in question, waiting for him to speak. “Go out with me.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t quite hear what Nott is saying, but I think we can all guess he’s asking her out again,” Lee says, causing a few more cheers and even a couple groans. “Take the hint, mate.”
“Theo, get back to the game!” you hiss, wrapping your arms around you as if it’ll shield you from everyone’s eyes. “You’re embarrassing m- What the fuck are you doing!”
Theo swings a leg over the side of his broomstick so that he’s sitting completely facing you, legs dangling dangerously off one side. Lee sits up a little in his booth and McGonagall looks positively horrified. “For unknown reasons, Nott is balancing precariously in a position no Quidditch player wants to- Merlin, he’s hanging off his broomstick!”
Everyone in the crowd screams and shouts when Theo slips off his broomstick, but they quieten down and watch with fright when they see he’s still holding on with both hands. You think you’re going to faint.
“Theo,” you plead, with the same voice you’d use to coax a bloody kitten out of a tree. “Get back on your broomstick. Please.”
“Only if you go out with me,” Theo says, eyes determined despite breathing a little heavier. The broomstick is thin and despite his strength, it’d be hard for anyone to maintain a grip for long. “Say you’ll go out with me and I’ll get back on.”
“Just say it!” Hermione grabs you by the shoulder to shake you.
Professor McGonagall seems to have shaken out of her previous daze and begins scrambling around for her wand while Lee narrows his eyes to better assess the situation. “Godric, Y/N. Just say ‘yes’ and end everyone’s misery already.”
“But…” you trail off, hands shaking as you keep your eyes on Theo’s white knuckles still gripping the broom. “I don’t want to encourage this stupid behaviour.”
Theo rolls his eyes as though he can’t believe you’re still objecting. He shakes his head at you, though his chest is shaking with laughter. “Go out with me, and I swear I’ll never do anything stupid again. Fucking hell, I’ll quit Quidditch altogether if you want.”
You open your mouth to say something, you’re not sure what, but before you can get a word out, Seamus Finnigan pipes up from beside you. “Personally, I say let him fall off the bloody thing.”
Tutting, you turn to Theo just to find the idiot raising an eyebrow challengingly. His left hand begins to loosen on the broomstick, deliberately.
“Theo, don’t you dare.”
He drops his left hand completely and you scream, the noise drowned out by everyone else’s yells.
“OKAY!” you yelp, heart in throat as you watch Theo dangling from his broomstick with one hand, clearly struggling. “Okay, I’ll go out with you, you stubborn idiot!”
The Gryffindors that hear you, begin to cheer, setting off the other houses and once McGonagall sees Theo begin to pull himself up on his broomstick, she visibly relaxes, slumping in her seat as she clutches her chest. Lee soon gets the message. “Finally, after a good month of watching Nott pine pathetically, Y/N has agreed to go out with the poor bast- Er, beggar. Sorry, Professor. By the way Nott, you’ve got detention for a week.”
Now sitting normally on his broomstick, Theo grins at you like the cheeky bastard that he is, with elation clear as day on his face. You struggle to fight off your own grin and you can tell by his expression you’re not doing a very good job at it. “Pull something like that again and I’ll push you off your broomstick myself,” you warn him, though it lacks any real threat. You were more worried than angry, and it definitely shows. “Okay?”
“No more stupid behaviour,” Theo promises, sounding sincere as he nods, messy hair falling into his eyes. The wind blows it out of the way almost immediately and you find yourself wanting to do it with your fingers. “After this, though.”
You furrow your brows as Theo flies close enough to the Gryffindor stand to get off his broomstick and hop right into the crowd, landing next to you. Broomstick in hand, Theo doesn’t take his eyes off you when he holds it out to Hermione. “If you don’t mind, Granger.”
Clearly baffled, Hermione gingerly takes the broomstick from him and watches the two of you, as enraptured as the rest of the school.
You face Theo properly, looking up at his eyes to see them glittering with pride and achievement. You tilt your head in question, wondering why he hasn’t yet returned to the game.
Theo answers you by gripping your waist to pull you into a stupidly dramatic, dizzying, wonderful kiss. His lips are soft against your own and cold from the wind, but the shiver that runs down your spine has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way Theo is pressed against you.
You could go on forever, but the cheers and claps and hollering around you remind you that you’re surrounded by all your peers and, Godric, your teachers.
Pulling away, you clear your throat and attempt to gain back some of your dignity by keeping a serious face. Theo attempts nothing of the sort as he’s still wearing a silly grin. You try and avoid his eyes for the sake of your nerves and you mutter the first thing that comes to mind. “Erm, good luck then. I hope you win.”
This is the wrong thing to say surrounded by your fellow Gryffindors as a few of them boo at you.
Theo rolls his eyes at the dramatics, while you simply scowl, pointedly at Seamus who seems to have boo’ed the loudest. Hermione is beaming at you when she hands Theo back his broomstick, though she also gives a little frown directed at Seamus.
Getting back on his broomstick, Theo hovers near you outside the stand. You lower your voice to a whisper that only he can hear. “I still hope you win.”
Theo shrugs, looking more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him during a Quidditch game. “I’ve already won, darling.”
The Heavenly Ivory Touch of Your Hand
summary | The news of your husband's infidelity had driven you into Aegon's arms, your growing companionship tethering on the edge of decency.
pairing | aegon ii targaryen x aemond's wife!reader
tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, infidelity, slight angst, injury, post rook’s rest aegon
wordcount | 3.3k
song rec | Heavenly - Grant Lee Phillips (title is a lyric from the song)
note | been in an aegon mode after ep1 of the new season 🫦 idk why i had to include aemond somehow, that man has my brain in a chokehold unfortunately
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!
(divider by @zaldritzosrose)
What soft hands you had. Your touch was gentle, caring… loving. They were a welcome sensation on Aegon’s skin, a sweet reprieve from the aches that only ever grew by the day. He could feel himself sink deeper into the feathered mattress, your touch massaging the knots he bore from the agitated tension his shoulders carried. It was not right to have you like this, but the lines between propriety have long been blurred by chaos.
“It is not your place as my brother’s wife to tend to my wounds,” Aegon mumbled, though he wasn’t one to complain, not when the salve on your fingertips brought salvation to his marred flesh. You hummed, continuing to apply the healing balm diligently.
“Yes, but you had driven away half your staff, the other half you won’t let even a hair’s breadth within your space. Who else is there to do it for you, brother?”
Your words rang true. The pain brought about by the memory of Rook’s Rest left Aegon irritable, brash, growing quick to anger at anyone and anything that displeased him. His staff were frightened to treat their king when he was so, grabbing the first opportunity to leave him be when he demanded. The treachery he had faced at the hands of his own people left him wary of any and all that walked through his home, the pain of losing his heir haunting his every thought. He couldn’t afford another travesty when he had lost so much. His wife had grown hysterical from grief, driven even farther away from his grasp than she already was. His mother was never really here, her heart still chained in his half-sister’s grasp, seeking a false sense of power by riding Cole whenever she could before he marched off. Perhaps Aegon was like her in a way, desperate to make a window in their own prison.
You were just as lonely as he, where he was alone in the numbing pain of his wounds, you were in a different prison— the isolating humiliation of the failure they all called a marriage. The news of Aemond’s infidelity left you broken and riddled with heartache. Where you waited and waited for the beastly sight of Vhagar flying over King’s Landing to signal his return, your husband had taken another to bed. The memory of reading the letter dropped by a raven from Harrenhal was a gray fog, the utter appalment that had overtaken your proper thinking caused you to block its actuality from your mind. The letter had come unsigned, maybe it was a servant who sent it, or Cole, perhaps it was the bastard witch herself, though it mattered little. The truth of the matter could not be denied when Aemond had been gone for nearly three moons now, and the whispers and looks of pity thrown your way could no longer be ignored.
Aegon wasn’t quite sure how you ended up in his midst when it happened. He figured you would lock yourself in your chambers in isolation, just like Helaena did, or wept at the Seven’s feet for guidance, just like his mother did. Instead, you had come to him, with the intention of tending his wounds at first, then came a natural companionship with each other. You had gotten along well, much better than even before the war.
When his joints felt better on brighter days, you would help him out of bed to walk; his cane in one hand, the other holding onto you for dear life. Not anywhere far, just in the halls of the royal apartments, away from curious eyes. You had even helped him bathe a few times, rubbing him clean without so much a look of disgust at the sight of his burnt half. Aemond would have definitely strangled the elder to death if he were ever to know, but the twat was hardly the face of honor and decency at the moment, and the king could care less what he thought. If Aegon was still the man he once was, he would have taken advantage of such mercy for something carnal, but his wounded spirit had never known such kindness. You tended to him in a way so foreign, so selfless, expecting naught in return.
Tonight, something was different. You hadn’t greeted him with that sweet smile of yours, one that Aegon always looked forward to every time you stepped into his chambers. You took your place on the edge of his bed quietly, grabbing the jar of salve and unscrewing its top without so much a word. The king was in a better condition tonight, no poppy milk to mar his mind blurred. There was a crease between your brows, and Aegon had to stop himself from brushing the tension away with his thumb. You were displeased.
“You are troubled,” he spoke up. Your eyes flickered to him under your lashes, before returning to your work on applying the balm on his side. Aegon hissed when you pressed on the wound a bit too harshly, which made you stop and utter an apology. “Sister,” he tried again, grabbing your wrist to stop you. You weren’t looking at him, your gaze trained to his grip on your flesh. He squeezed your wrist underneath his larger palm before asking, “What is it?”
Your eyes stung almost immediately, causing you to look away. You grabbed a cloth from Aegon’s bedside to wipe your hand clean, tugging on your flesh in a matter so harsh that it made your king look at you in concern. You took deep breaths, trying your hardest to swallow the piercing lump in your throat.
“She is with child,” you finally said, eyelashes flattering when your tears threatened to fall. The king scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head in disappointment. You didn’t have to utter who; your good brother-by-law already knew. Aemond used to be beyond such depravity, or so Aegon thought. His heart ached at the pitiful sight of you, with the way you avoided his eyes, scratching the inside of your wrist in an anxious habit. Your nails dug painfully into your flesh, rendering the skin a dark red to distract you from the agonizing swell of your heart. For the second time, Aegon grabbed your wrist to keep you from harming yourself, taking your smaller palm into his.
“I am sorry, sister,” he whispered in sincerity. “A fool he is. He may have lost one eye, but he is equally blind in both to see what he has lost. You are not deserving of such a man.”
You nodded at his words aimlessly, sniffling. Your eyes looked at anywhere but him, furiously blinking away your tears. In the days you had spent together, Aegon had learned you were one to detach yourself from your troubles, adamant to live in ignorance to save yourself the suffering. He used to be the same, but he had learned in the harshest way possible that pain would still find its way to you.
“He told me he loved me,” you chuckled darkly, through the corners of your lips quivered. You bit your lip, tilting your head back in a feeble attempt to push your tears back, before sighing. “He used to say I was the light of his life, that he could never wish to part from me, and he would return. Such flowery words from a liar.”
“My brother could have been a poet if he wasn’t a warrior, though he would be just as cruel with a pen as with a sword.”
You looked to your king with a pained smile, one which he returned, but a sob soon broke out from deep within your chest. Your beautiful face crumpled into sadness, your traitorous tears finally escaping. They left their mark on your cheeks, causing Aegon to wipe them in haste. His heart broke to see you like this, to see you suffering from a pain you did not deserve. You were the kindest being that had ever graced his days. Aegon may not be a devout man, but he liked to believe you were molded by the Mother’s hands, formed from her own essence. You were good, you were pure, everything the Targaryens were not. You never should have fallen into Aemond’s darkness, into their fiery madness.
“Come,” he bided, urging you to lay on the vast space beside him. You settled on the space by his good side, letting him take you into his bare chest. Avoiding his wounded side, you buried your head into the crook of his neck. Hot, salty tears left his skin damp, but Aegon couldn't care less, nor for the implications of the fact that anyone could come in and witness the king holding his brother’s wife in his arms. You were his priority.
“My daughter… she searches for him,” you sobbed, nuzzling closer into Aegon’s chest as he pulled you in tighter. “I don’t know what to tell her. How can I let her hold out hope when I am void of it myself? How do I gain the will to face him if he ever returns?”
Aegon sighed, his lips planting a kiss on your hair before he could stop himself. You smelled of fresh lavender, a scent so enticing and sweet. He couldn’t help peppering another kiss to your head, then another, before leaning his cheek against you.
“You do not have to, princess,” he said, his hand lowering to rub your back comfortingly. The king imagined the pair of you must look like lovers laid up like so, like man and wife. He cursed himself for thinking such thoughts while you wept for another, but his heart could never be silenced. “If you have no wish to be by his side, you will have it so. Your own apartments, your own space away from him. He would be turned away from your door if you command it. I shall see it done.”
“What will everyone else think? My name and reputation have been tainted by this disgrace,” you seethed, pushing yourself to lean on your elbow to look at Aegon. He could feel your breath on his face, could see you in perfect detail like this. Your pretty lashes had clumped from your tears, and a subtle flush had settled across your cheeks.
By the Seven, you were beautiful.
“I shall cut off any tongue that dares to speak against you, I promise this to you,” the king vowed, sealing his oath with a kiss to the inside of your wrist. You merely stared at him, searching for any signs of insincerity. You couldn’t bear another lie, and with Aegon you found none.
“Thank you, my king, thank you,” you expressed, pressing a reverent kiss on his scarred hand. Aegon felt blessed to have been bestowed such a touch on his ugliness, and he could only wish to be granted more.
“You need not thank me, sister,” he responded. With a rush of boldness, he cupped your jaw, a fiery hope stoking in his veins when you leaned into his touch. “I would do anything for you… anything.”
His words made you look at him, eyes clouded in thought. Aegon could practically feel the gears of your mind working, and for a moment, he worried. He must have overstepped his bounds, had put your friendship into jeopardy when he let too much of his affection show. The elder Targaryen opened his lips to speak, to deflect, but you had stunned him when you pressed your lips against his.
You pulled away in an instant to gauge his reaction, tracing the tingling remnants of his plump lips on yours with your fingertips. A look of shock you both mirrored, but before you could apologize, Aegon grabbed your arm, tugging you closer.
“Do it again,” he urged, to which you obliged obediently. He kept his hand on your occiput to keep you close, his tongue splitting your lips to deepen the kiss. Aegon had found bliss, with the way your tongue danced against his, your moan reverberating against his lips when he sucked on your plush, bottom lip. Your leg had slithered halfway across his waist, your calf rubbing his hardening length through his undergarments. The king groaned, squeezing your plump rear through your robe.
The comfort you found in the time you spent together had you only clad in your robe and nightgown during your late-night visits, seeing no harm in being in a state of undress with the silver-haired man. Aegon, however, had to hide the evidence of how much you affected him under his blankets. It was worse when the nights were chilly, and your nipples pebbled under the thin fabrics of your garments. The self-control he willed himself to bear was almost too much, but now his efforts were coming to fruition.
You pulled away to untie your robe, shrugging it off in haste before returning yourself to Aegon’s arm. Under the dim light of his chambers, the king could see the darker rims of your nubs, the teasing sight so enticing, he almost started salivating. He attached his lips to your clothed nipple, a dampness growing on the cotton from his spit. You sighed in delight, a whine following when his fingertips pinched your other breast.
“Aegon,” you mewled, the sound so sweet to the king’s ears. Your hand traveled down his unscarred chest, and down to his bulge. You squeezed him through his trousers, rubbing his clothed tip with your thumb. Aegon shamelessly moaned against your chest, hips subtly bucking into your touch. A dampness on his front started to mirror the ones on your nightgown, an ache in his tip making him bite the supple underside of your bosom. His larger palm settled on your waist, urging you to straddle his lap. You hesitated, refusing to move in fear of putting him in pain.
“I will hurt you,” you said, to which the king only replied with a fervent shake of his head.
“You won’t, I promise. P-please…” he insisted. You lifted your other leg, caging him between your thighs. Lifting the hem of your nightgown, you pulled the sheer cotton off, baring yourself to your king.
The air in Aegon’s lungs was taken away from the sight of you. He was stunned, his eyes trailing down your tantalizing form as he committed the sight to memory. If he were to perish on the morrow, he would do it happily if it meant seeing this image of you before he took his last breath.
“You are perfect,” he breathed out, a smile rising on his cheeks when you blushed.
He knew why you were doing this. It was your act of rebellion, your bitter revenge on your husband. Perhaps he should feel hurt, refuse to be used like a pawn, but if he got to have you like this, he could hardly complain.
With bated breath, he let you untie his undergarments, pull out his cock, and stroke it in your palm. It had twitched when you bent to drop a dribble of spit to lubricate his length, and Aegon couldn’t help but imagine all of the times in the past you must have done the same to his brother. Though he figured it mattered little when you were with him in the present, and he vowed to treat you well, better than Aemond ever could, so he may have you again in the future.
His length was hot and heavy against your palm, his scent heady with musk. You had barely spared it a glance when you would urge Aegon to let you apply the soothing balm to the scars on his lower body, but now, it stood tall, commanding your attention. You bit back a moan when you ran his tip against your slit, though your king made no effort to hide his delight. You were growing deliciously wet, painting his tip with your arousal. He would have to taste you next time; perhaps make you ride his face. What a wonderful treat that would be.
Deeming yourself ready, you looked to Aegon. He held your cheek, urging you close for another kiss. It was deep, all-consuming, a silent vow from him to you.
I am yours.
Take me as you wish.
Pulling away, you grabbed his length once more, aligning his tip to your entrance. You both moaned in delight when you began to sink onto his cock, burying him to the hilt. It was a delicious stretch, bringing about a deep satisfaction in your chest after having gone untouched for so long. Aegon gripped your waist tight when you began to bounce up and down at a steady pace, seemingly eager to chase your release without needing the time to adjust.
You mounted him like a horse, your loyal steed. Expert hips moved with grace, your hand planting on Aegon’s stomach to steady yourself. You rode him with an air of desperation like you had a point to prove. You wanted to feel that you were still desirable as a woman, and you needed him to prove it true.
Aegon’s mind was in the heavens. Your walls swallowed him so deliciously, it rendered him witless. He moaned unabashedly, echoing your name into the night. In all his depravity and frivolities, nothing tasted better than fucking your brother’s wife. You were a sight to behold, with your glistening, bouncing breasts and head tilted back in delight. Your brows furrowed while your jaw fell slack, the sweet, sweet music of your pleasure filling his senses. Tears had started to streak down your cheeks; from pleasure or guilt, he knew naught.
Before him was no princess, no, you were a goddess divine.
The wounded king had started to buck his hips against yours, but his weakened body made it difficult to help you chase your release. Pain bloomed on his side, making him grit his teeth. You had slowed your movements from the momentary look of discomfort on his face, making you cup his face in return.
“My king–"
“No, no, keep going, please! Don’t stop,” he babbled, gripping your waist tight to make you continue your ministrations. You could hardly express your worry when his strong grip made you lean over with a yelp, holding onto the headboard above his head. From this position, your breasts dangled over Aegon’s face at a perfect angle. He took your teat into his mouth, suckling the plump mound. The air was starting to grow thick with the smell of sex. Sweat dribbled down your back, as it did on Aegon’s temples.
“I’m so close, gods!” Your thighs were starting to tremble under Aegon’s palms, and he could only hold onto your plump rear to guide you to your release. With a thumb drawing tight circles on your pearl, it took little time for your walls to start squeezing his cock, signaling the start of your release. You came with a cry of his name, your king following suit with a muffled grunt into your chest. His warm seed painted your walls, and he could only hope you would let it find its home in your womb.
Perhaps he could make you round with child, yes, that would surely cement his victory over his brother.
You had returned to his side, breathlessly plopping down onto the mattress. Burrowing yourself into his chest, you let out a delighted hum as your lover planted a kiss on your forehead. Tilting your head to look at him, you found his lips once more. In the dead of night, no other words had been exchanged, just your sighs of contentment.
It was then you heard the thunderous flap of a dragon’s wings over the city. Aegon was startled into defensive alertness, assuming it was their enemy, but the look of utter dread on your face when the dragon’s monstrous size blanketed the Keep in its shadow signified it was no foe.
Aemond had returned.
'STILL WAKES THE DEEP' AU | MASTERLIST
SOAP x READER
You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works.
Or: scenes from the 'Still Wakes the Deep' au
a collaboration between @bi-writes and @ceilidho
tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Deep Sea Creature, Eldritch Monster, Minor Character Death, AFAB reader, TBA
First Meeting Warning Signs
Extras
Initial posts (1, 2) Series moodboard
Continuation of this, go read every single fic of this lovely lovely writer ( ≧∀≦)
Summery: a young boy tries to steal things from your husband's room, you take him under your wing and get a personal knight in return.
Warnings: none!!!
Words: 1880
-----------------------------
It wasn't unusual for you to walk alone, especially in this household. While your husband is nice, he doesn't necessarily try to spend time with you. You've gotten used to the silence, being alone, the only sound being your heels meeting the floor.
But things are different now.
Trailing behind you is a young boy, no older than 12, he's admiring every single thing he sees and even takes a few things with him.
You caught him stealing from Johns office once, nothing important, just something he could sell for a bit of food. Since you didn't rat him out and instead helped him cover up his 'crime' he decided to stick close.
His walking speed picks up and he's dashing past you, towards a window. He looks out, mouth falling open at the sight. You fight the urge to smile, covering it up by looking away instead.
“It’s so big,” he murmurs, pressing his hands against the glass. His breath fogs up a small section, and he swipes at it with his sleeve. “Do you think they ever get tired of looking at it?”
You follow his gaze, even though you already know what he’s staring at. The city sprawls out before you, golden lights flickering like fireflies against the night. From up here, it all looks peaceful, untouchable. But you both know better.
“They don’t look at it,” you say simply. “Not like you do.”
He glances at you, brow furrowed. “Why not?”
You shrug. “When you have something your whole life, you stop seeing it. It just becomes… normal.”
He turns back to the window, mulling over your words. His fingers drum absently against the windowsill. You know that restless energy well—he’s already thinking about what else he could take, where else he could go.
“Hey,” you say, and he immediately straightens, wary. He still doesn’t trust you completely, not yet. “No stealing anything important.”
He grins, all teeth. “Define important.”
You sigh. “Nothing that will make John notice.”
"He won't notice this!" He calls out, rushing past you while showing something in his pocket. He passes by you and runs down the hallway, making a sharp turn to the left by the end of it. Hearing a small 'thump' makes you pick up your pace.
This was not what you expected to see.
The young boy was on the floor, rubbing his head slightly. While you would have checked on him your gaze was stuck on the person standing there.
Simon.
"Duchess." He mumbles, eyes moving from your face to the small boy starring up at him.
Like anyone would, the kid jumps to his feet, scrambling for cover. His safest option? You. He presses himself against your back, small hands clutching your dress, his head peeking out cautiously from behind you.
"Good evening..." You mumble, hand reaching behind you to pat the kids head.
...
Silence.
No words spoken, no sound besides soft breathing.
"What are you starring at?" The kid asks, glaring at the man in front of you. His words were definitely not a smart choice given the difference of their status but he still chose to say it. His glare could actually kill someone, if it wasn't for his shaky hands holding onto your dress.
"Excuse me?" Simon questions, raising a brow at the courage of this commoner.
"he didn't mean it like that!" You stutter out, pressing your hand over the childs mouth in case he wants to say something again. "Excuse us" You mumble and flash him a small forced smile.
Before Simon could speak again, you already turned around and hurried the kid away.
He just stares. Watching you disappear in the hall.
-----------
Two days later and you still have that memory in your head. You scolded the kid, Leo, for his bold cjoice of words.
His excuse?
He was protecting you.
You. From Simon.
With a sigh you place the book on the table, looking at the flowers in front of you instead. The flower garden is definitely your favorite place, people are rarely there. Leo is crouching by some flower, admiring them or something
You watch as Leo reaches out, running his fingers lightly over the petals. His expression is softer than usual, a rare moment where he isn’t scheming or watching his back. It almost makes you smile. Almost.
“You like flowers?” you ask, leaning back in your chair.
Leo startles slightly, as if he forgot you were there. He hesitates, then shrugs. “They’re nice, I guess.”
“You guess?”
He frowns, shifting his weight. “They don’t talk. They don’t take things from you. They just… stay.”
You don’t respond right away. You know better than to push him when he lets something slip. Instead, you glance at the flower he’s fixated on—a small, stubborn thing, growing slightly apart from the others.
“Seems like this one’s a bit of a troublemaker,” you muse, tilting your head.
Leo snorts. “Guess that’s why I like it.”
For a moment, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet you’ve started to enjoy since Leo’s been around. But then, the moment shatters.
A voice cuts through the stillness.
“There you are.”
John
Leo tenses immediately, his fingers twitching like he’s deciding whether to grab something or run. You don’t miss the way his eyes dart toward you first.
Protecting you. Again.
You inhale slowly, turning to face John, already bracing yourself.
"Good morning." You sigh and stand up, looking at your husband. Normally his eyes would be on you, watching - almost studying - you but not today, his eyes drift to Leo, whos holding the flowers so tight they might break.
"We need to talk..." He sighs and meets your eyes, after a short moment he continuous speaking. "...alone."
Leos eyes widen and he immediately jumps up and rushes over, hands reaching up to hold your hand tightly to his chest.
"No way!" he calls out, shaking his head. "You're not hurting her."
John freezes, looking at the kid with a confused expression. "Hurt her? Why would i hurt her?"
"You all do!" Leo accuses, cheeks turning red as his eyes start to water. "You all hurt her."
John blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to something unreadable. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he just stands there, staring at Leo like he's trying to make sense of the accusation.
You can feel Leo trembling beside you, his grip on your hand like a vice. You squeeze back, a silent reassurance, but your own heart is hammering against your ribs.
"Leo," you murmur, but he doesn’t back down.
“They whisper about it, the maids,” he continues, voice shaking. “They think I don’t hear, but I do. They say she’s a ghost in this house. That she doesn’t laugh, doesn’t speak unless spoken to. That she flinches when—”
"Enough." John's voice is sharp now, cutting through the air like a blade. Leo stiffens but doesn't let go of you.
John exhales, rubbing his temple before looking at you. “What the hell has he been hearing?”
You don’t answer. Not right away. Instead, you gently pull Leo closer, shielding him with your body. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed.
With a small sigh you pick up Leo, who immediately hides his face in your neck. "If you don't mind, i think it would be wise to continue this conversation some other time."
Not waiting for an answer you turn around and walk back inside, missing the way Leo stares down John with a tiny smile.
-----------------------------------
Leo needs to protect you, and apparently that also means when you're sleeping. It started of serious, him guarding your door while you read a book in your bead. Then he sat down on a neaby chair, eyes still on the door. And after about 15 minutes, he's in your arms asleep.
That's how you go to sleep and wake up.
The knock from outside and then the door opening made you groan slightly, Leo aswell. After you don't hear a voice or a sound, you force your eyes open.
Johnny and Kyle are in your room, both carrying a tray of what you think is breakfast.
"Good morning..?" You mumble and sit up, pulling the blanket slightly over your chest.
Kyle blinks and forces a small smile while stepping closer, putting the tray of fresh fruits on your bedside table.
Johnny sets his tray down on the other side, a plate of toast, eggs, and something that smells sweet—honey, maybe. His gaze flickers to Leo, still curled up beside you, his face buried against your arm.
Neither of them says anything about it, but the look they exchange speaks volumes.
“You don’t usually sleep in,” Johnny comments, crossing his arms.
You rub your eyes. “Didn’t exactly have much of a choice.”
At that, Leo stirs, letting out a small, disgruntled sound before blinking up at you sleepily. The moment he realizes you’re awake—and that you’re not alone—his drowsiness vanishes. He sits up fast, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his too-big shirt, before glaring at the two men like they were the ones who did something wrong.
“What do you want?” Leo mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.
Kyle raises an eyebrow but doesn’t take the bait. “We brought breakfast,” he says instead.
Leo eyes the food suspiciously, like it might be poisoned. You roll your eyes. “It’s just breakfast, Leo.”
He doesn’t look convinced but leans into your side anyway, watching as you pick up a piece of fruit. Only then does he grab a slice of toast from the tray, biting into it cautiously.
Johnny exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “John wants to see you.”
Your stomach twists, but you keep your expression neutral. “Now?”
Kyle shrugs. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Leo tenses beside you. “She’s not going.”
Johnny sighs. “Kid, it’s not up to you.”
“Yeah?” Leo challenges, sitting up straighter. “Well, it’s not up to you either.”
Kyle mutters something under his breath, clearly regretting being part of this conversation. Johnny just pinches the bridge of his nose.
You exhale slowly, placing a hand on Leo’s shoulder before he gets himself in trouble. “It’s fine, Leo.”
He snaps his head toward you, disbelief written all over his face. “No, it’s not.”
And the worst part is—you don’t know how to argue with that.
"Leo," You start and bring your hands to cup his face, his eyes soft as they look at yours. "John is still my husband..If he wants to talk, we talk."
He shakes his head before throwing himself into your arms, cheek pressed against your collarbone. "Then I'm going with!"
"Leo..." You sigh and press a kiss to the top of his head. "I'm sorry but no..but you can help me get ready?"
For a moment there's no answer, then he gets up and speed walks to your vanity. After a short moment he comes back, offering you a beautiful yet simple necklace.
"Thank you." You smile and put it on.
"Mama, you look pretty with that..." Leo mumbles as he takes another bite of his toast.
------------------------
Johnny and Kyle burst into Johns office, not surprised to see Simon already there.
At the same time the men speak, out of breath from running.
"He called her mama."
-------------------------
a/n: we're not gonna talk about the missing post from this weekend. take this silly thing and enjoy!! ヾ(≧▽≦)ヾlike always, not proofread!!!
no language should be mocked other than french
when you say you're unlucky do you mean like a "I lost hydraulics and crashed in the formation lap" or "I kept it clean at the start, went from p17 to 12 and then a tyre, as though sent from God, struck me down in a biblical, guided missile way"
Idk if you watched the movie Were the Millers?? But can you do imagine where reader never had a first kiss and charles and lando give her her first kiss ?? Like the scene with Jenn Anniston, will poulter, and Emma roberts ???
Grounded || LN4 & CL16
AN: Been a while since I watched it but this was fun to write ☺️ virgin!fem!reader
The backseat to Lando’s Range Rover was spacious and you stretched your legs out to settle in for the drive. A snow storm had grounded the planes in London and Lando had offered to put you both up for the night. As Charles assistant you had tried your best to find a hotel but with Christmas right around the corner everything decent was booked out.
Lando had said to call him if you ever needed anything, but you hadn’t been brave enough to use it until now.
“Are you sure it’s okay to drive in the snow?”
“It’s 4 wheel drive,” Lando replied as he looked at you in the rear view mirror and reassured you with a smile. “We’ll be fine, but if we get stuck at least we can huddle for warmth.”
Your eyes widened at the departing wink in the mirror and your cheeks could have melted all the snow within the greater London area. It would have been a service to the city worth a damehood by the King himself.
“Stop teasing my assistant, Lando,” Charles said with a laugh. “She accidentally deleted my calendar the last time you flirted with her.”
You wanted to argue but he had left you so frazzled you hit the wrong buttons on your iPad. It had been mortifying and the fact your boss was bringing it up again only made you slink lower in the leather seat. It was hard enough to work with such a handsome man, but the fact that his friends that he competed against were just as handsome made your life much harder. At least Charles paid you so there was a line of employee/employer relationship that kept things professional, but there was still the occasional comment that crossed that line - and you never knew how to handle it. Mostly, your brain just shut down.
Shoving your AirPods in, you started to open Spotify to find a distraction from your embarrassment and they both noticed it.
“I can’t help it, you cannot tell me that you don’t find the innocent vibe hot?”
Your fingers froze over the song you were about to play and realised they thought you were already listening to something.
“She’s my assistant.”
“That’s not a denial.” Lando was grinning from ear to ear. “I bet she’s still a virgin.”
You spluttered indignantly and both men looked at you, Charles over his shoulder and Lando in the mirror. Tugging the AirPods out you narrowed your eyes and lied, “I am not a vir-” you couldn’t even bring yourself to say it but you swallowed and took another attempt, “virgin.”
The weak lie caused a crack in the press of lips, until both men laughed outright. Huffing, you crossed your arms and looked out the window. “Does it really even matter?”
“Aren’t you even curious?” Lando shot back.
“I know all about sex, for Christ’s sake, I do read.”
“I’m not sure reading is quite the same as doing in this case,” Charles said, remembering the many times he caught you slamming a book closed at his entrance. He was even more intrigued about those thick volumes now.
“Reading doesn’t threaten to leave me disappointed as I have heard men tend to do.”
Lando scoffed and shook his head. “I haven’t had that complaint. Charles?”
“No, no complaints either.”
“I’m sure it’s less romantic than the books describe too, like kissing. What is so good about possibly chipping a tooth, or sharing saliva?”
The SUV screeched to a halt into a rest stop and Lando turned in his seat. “Wait. You’re telling me you’ve never been kissed?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Charles asked, before he turned and saw the telltales signs of your discomfort. “No, really? How? You are beautiful.”
Your mind went to that place of thoughtlessness, where every neurotransmitter misfired and your heart seemed to find itself beating in two places. “Uh…” you scrambled for an answer that they patiently waited for. “I don’t have any time to date so it just hasn’t come about.”
Charles certainly utilised your availability to be on call 24/7 but he hadn’t thought about the personal cost that took on you. He assumed you didn’t have or want a social life, not that he was the cause for it. Maybe that was why he next words slipped out without censoring, or so he told himself. “I will kiss you, right now.”
“Or I can, and I’m not your boss so there wouldn’t be anything wrong with it,” Lando countered, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Everyone deserves a perfect first kiss.”
You gripped the seatbelt across your chest as you tried to understand why they were both unbuckled and opening their doors. Cold air rushed in as both backdoors opened and they slipped in beside you, mist billowing from their breath before the warmth was sealed inside once more.
Your lips felt dry and they watched as the tip of your tongue peeked out between to wet them. Your fingers were gently pried off the belt until each hand was laced with theirs but you still stared ahead at the unhappy quiet road. “What if I don’t want to be kissed?”
Lando scoffed but Charles turned you to face him with one curled finger under your chin and a look that made breathing impossible. “Then tell me you don’t want to be kissed,” he whispered as his lips drew nearer, his breath fanning your cheek. The touch of his lips were chaste at best, a caress on cheek before trailing closer to the place where words failed. Your toes clenched in your boots and you trembled with anticipation until the air burst back into your burning lungs. Your lips parted with the intake and he struck.
Your stomach that had been knotted suddenly erupted in the explicable feeling you had only read about. Butterflies, chaotic and energetic, fluttered joyously around your insides and a foreign sound escaped your lips that danced with his.
“I think she likes that, Charles.” A hand on your throat stole you from the taste that you certainly wanted more of and when you opened your eyes you found the pair change from green to blue. “My turn, gorgeous.”
Lando didn’t tease. His hand squeezed and you gasped in response, a sound so similar to what Charles had drawn from you. He took the opening you gave him and devoured you with the hunger of a starving man. His tongue dominated yours as he tipped your head back and deepened the kiss further until you were certain you were going to be consumed by him.
You welcomed it.
You weren’t adept enough after two kisses to know whose was better, both left you yearning for more. But they were parked on the side of the road and you were all too well aware that losing your virginity in the back seat of a Ranger was not what you wanted. Even if your body screamed yes.
“How do you feel?” Charles asked as he eyed your swollen lips and your dilated pupils between your flustered blinks with pride.
“Uh…” You told yourself to think but it was nearly impossible, and the men chuckled with the knowledge they had kissed you stupid.
“Just think of what other ‘firsts’ we could be,” Lando offered as he ran a thumb along your bottom lip, wanting another taste. “We could be snowed in for a while.”
“Wait, what?” They cut through your mental haze with clarity and you sat up straighter. “No, the airport said tomorrow…”
Charles shrugged and your brows pinched. “The storm’s worsening, it might be a few days until the planes can take off.”
“It’s okay,” Lando assured you with a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll look after you.”
Baby, It’s Cold Outside
Pairing: Modern!Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader
Summary: When you find yourself with nowhere to live, your friend Alina offers you the perfect solution - her Uncle Aleksander’s empty townhouse. What you don’t know is that Aleksander’s security cameras watch your every move, and Aleksander himself is almost instantly captivated by you.
Warnings [18+]: smut, dom!Aleksander, reader is staying in Aleksander’s house (supposedly) without his knowledge, subtle mafia vibes, power play, voyeuristic vibes from Aleksander, unspecified age gap, reference to oral (fem receiving), slight cnc vibes (no verbal consent but a safeword is established), smidge of size kink, very subtle hints that Aleksander wants children, he’s quite intense but she’s into it.
A/N: happy christmas everyone!
My Masterlist
Aleksander receives an alert the moment his front door is opened. One glance at the screen of his phone reveals that Alina’s key card had deactivated the alarm system.
It isn’t unusual for her to invite herself into his townhouse in one of the affluent boroughs of the city. He rarely uses the space himself, preferring his smaller apartment in Central Os Alta due to the vicinity to his workplace. What is unusual, however, is that she has company today.
Aleksander has an extensive number of security cameras and microphones placed throughout his home. It helps to ease his paranoia and sate the need to control his surroundings. He doesn’t tend to check on Alina when she visits, leaving her to her own devices, but your presence has his interest piqued.
Alina doesn’t bother to take her shoes off, per usual. But you do. After dragging your feet over the doormat - twice, one foot after the other - you tug off your shoes, placing them neatly beside his shoe rack before hurrying to catch up to Alina as she heads towards the kitchen.
He’s proud of the townhouse, a space he had curated as a safe haven for himself and a currently non-existent significant other. Seeing you stare, lips parted as your eyes drink in the furniture and decor in what seems like awe, has a warmth gathering in his chest. He will admit, your admiration of his house is rather adorable.
Curious, he unmutes the sound on the security feed, just in time to hear your voice as you ask tentatively,
“You’re sure your uncle won’t mind?”
Alina opens up a cupboard, retrieving a bag of snacks which she examines with a small frown, before she rips the packaging open and begins to munch on the treats inside. She shrugs through a mouthful.
“He barely ever stays here.”
“But you did ask him… didn’t you?”
Aleksander vaguely remembers Alina mentioning a friend of hers that needed a place to stay. What he doesn’t remember is giving her permission to accommodate said friend in his house. But he watches Alina nod, scrunching up the bag as she finishes her snacks.
“He wants someone here to receive his parcels,” she says, tossing the crumpled wrapper towards the bin. She misses.
He doesn’t order anything to his house. All his parcels are delivered either to his work or his apartment. The townhouse is his hidden treasure, though strangely he doesn’t loathe the idea of letting you stay there. Perhaps he should place a few harmless orders, to aid Alina’s lie. Something inconspicuous, that you might enjoy, like a monthly flower subscription. He likes the thought of you assembling a cheerful bouquet in his living room.
“And you’re sure he doesn’t want any rent,” you say, picking up Alina’s rubbish and placing it in the bin. You’re already a perfect houseguest, though he hopes you might be able to feel comfortable enough to relax in his house.
Aleksander almost feels offended by your suggestion and is relieved when Alina shakes her head.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell him I’m the one staying here. Besides, you’re like my sister. What’s mine is yours.”
“Even your Uncle Sasha?” you ask with a shy smile and this tiny glimpse at your humour has Aleksander wanting to devour you.
Alina grins.
“Especially him.” She pushes away from where she’s been leaning on the kitchen counter. “I’ll give you the password to his grocery account. Order whatever you like.”
That nervous expression returns to your features.
“Are you sure?”
“He gives me an allowance that I never use. You can have it.” She opens one of the kitchen drawers, rummaging through the contents despite Aleksander’s meticulous organisation. It doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for. “Here’s a key card to disable the security alarms and the wifi password.”
Aleksander watches you take the objects slowly, holding them in the palm of your hand before closing your fist around them protectively. Alina gestures upwards towards the rest of the house.
“Pick whatever bedroom you like best.”
Unknown by you, the moment you choose Aleksander’s bed to sleep in you become his.
»»---------------------►
As the owner of the internet router at his house, Aleksander can see what sites you visit while using his internet - a power that he abuses fully. He enjoys the insight into your thoughts and interests. The questions you have about the world and the things that make you happy.
During his lunch one day, Aleksander is scrolling through your recent search history when he spots something interesting. His name. Initially just a google search. Then you had examined his Instagram and Facebook, before moving onto his company website.
He’s tempted to pull up the security feed and rewind it back to the moment you had first typed his name, just to see your reaction to what you’re seeing. Especially when he sees how long you had spent reading the tabloids and swiping through images of him. It seems he has captured your attention.
»»---------------------►
It takes a small nudge from Aleksander for you to stop buying only the necessities during your grocery order. Just a few small taps of his thumbs and he adds enough random baking supplies for you to perceive it as an accident when it arrives.
One day, Alina visits him at work, a small box of cupcakes tucked under her arm. Instantly, he recognises them as one of your creations. He had watched you bake them yesterday head bobbing to your music as you had decorated them with an adorable frown of concentration and a smudge of buttercream on your face.
He waits until she leaves before cracking open the box, allowing the sweet sugary scent to invade his senses. The moan that escapes him during his first bite is obscene. He wonders whether your cheeks would flush with heat at the sound. His mind wanders, thinking of kissing the cream off your cheeks.
Aleksander finds himself imagining what it would be like to come home to you, the house warm and inviting as you await his arrival with a sweet treat and an eager smile. He would sink to his knees on the kitchen tiles, slide your skirt and apron up to your waist so that he can kiss your pretty cunt until his name is the only word you can manage.
»»---------------------►
Aleksander hates seeing you cry. But that job of yours was doing you no good. Waking up early to catch the bus and arriving home so tired that you don’t have enough energy to cook yourself a hot meal. Now, after Aleksander has pulled a few strings, you can sleep for as long as you like and spend time creating food that brings you joy.
He has already logged onto his grocery account and amended your weekly order to include a few recipes you wanted to try and some additional treats in an attempt at lifting your spirits. All he wants is for you to be happy.
He’s sorely tempted to go to you now. To wrap his arms around you, hold you against his chest and kiss the crown of your head while murmuring reassurances that this was for the best. He doesn’t like seeing you so despondent. He wants his happy girl back, who tends to the flowers and reads curled up in his armchair beside the fire.
He could just go to you. It’s his house you’re staying in after all. But he doesn’t want to rob you of your safe place. If he turned up now, he knows you would feel pressured to leave, even when you have nowhere else to go. His sweet girl, so terrified of taking up too much space. One day, very soon, he will be able to appreciate you how he longs to.
»»---------------------►
He thinks you might be trying to kill him.
Aleksander’s home gym is a room occupied by a treadmill and a few stray pieces of equipment that he hardly ever uses, there to fill the space he hopes will one day be converted into a nursery.
Currently, you’re stretching yourself out over a yoga mat he didn’t even know he owned, twisting your body into a rather enticing position. His mouth goes dry at the sight of you, shifting in his seat to alleviate some of the ache in his throbbing cock.
Whilst he’s glad you’ve found another hobby to fill your time - and the thought of your improved flexibility pleases him - he almost wishes he hadn’t checked in on you. Now, he is going to have to sit through a meeting and resist the urge to continue watching you.
»»---------------------►
Once a week, Alina stays over with you, spending the evening catching up and talking about all manner of things together. Aleksander likes to listen in while he’s working, imagining that he’s actually in the office across the hall from the living room.
Alina’s suggestion of a blind date for you makes him stiffen, lifting his eyes away from his papers and onto the screen. He’s somewhat glad that you seem apprehensive.
“I thought you didn’t like Mal?” you ask Alina, fidgeting with the edge of the velvet cushion in your lap.
She shrugs.
“Just because he wasn’t right for me doesn’t mean he won’t be right for you.”
Aleksander can say with absolute certainty that Mal is nowhere near the right man for you. He can remember when Alina was infatuated with the boy. If he strings you along like he did with Alina, Aleksander won’t be able to stop himself from interfering.
“I don’t know…”
“Don’t be mad, but I might have already made a reservation for you.”
“Lina!”
You swat her with your cushion - almost playfully - but Aleksander can see your anxiety in the set of your shoulders. To hell with not interfering. He mutes the sound on the screen, picking up his phone and dialling a familiar number.
“Zoya, I need a favour.”
»»---------------------►
He needs to play this carefully. With Zoya’s intervention at the bar where Mal was meeting his friends for a drink beforehand, he will never make it to your date. Aleksander needs to leave you waiting long enough to be relieved by his arrival, but not so long that the rejection damages your self esteem. From a corner of the restaurant, he watches your face carefully.
Each time a waiter appears, he sees you grow a little more agitated, fidgeting with your fingers as you insist that your date will arrive soon. It’s only once he sees you inhale shakily that he decides to pick up his coat and stroll over to your table.
“Is this seat taken?”
Embarrassment touches at your features as you glance up at him, then the tables surrounding you as you seem to assume he’s asking to take the chair to his own table. He watches your lips press together before you shake your head and gesture defeatedly at the chair.
“It’s all yours.”
He smiles widely, draping his coat over the back of the chair before he sits down.
“Thank you, milaya.”
The look of surprise on your face is delightful, even more so when recognition sparkles in your eyes.
“Mr Morozova.”
He’s exceptionally proud of the feigned confusion he spreads over his features.
“Do we know each other?”
“You’re Alina’s uncle.”
“Yes,” he says, the hint of a question at the edge of his tone. Ducking your head bashfully, you tell him your name.
He repeats your name slowly, as if it is the first time he’s ever spoken it, trying to ignore how wide your eyes are at the sound of your name on his lips.
“Alina mentioned you were looking for a place to stay in the city. Did you manage to find somewhere?”
You seem startled at the thought of him remembering you.
“Oh, yes. I did, thank you.”
He smiles. Alina had lied to him, telling him that she was the one staying at his house. Whilst he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, the urge to make you squirm a little pokes at him.
“Do you like where you’re living now?”
He watches you shift nervously in your seat, but your response is earnest.
“Yes, I do,” you admit quietly. “It’s lovely.” He hums indulgently, hoping you might continue speaking, and you nod. “One of the nicest places I’ve ever lived.”
He wants to keep you forever.
Instead, he offers to buy you dinner, which you agree to after a little convincing from Aleksander. He asks for your order, calling the waiter over to place it for you both.
Now that you’re front of him, after watching you through a screen for so long, Aleksander can’t look away from you. In such proximity, he can observe every minute detail. The way you fidget with the charms on your bracelet. The way you attempt to be subtle when you glance at him, only to find his eyes already on you.
He drinks in the sight of you, warmth in his chest as you tuck into your meal. He will admit, he pays little attention to his own plate, choosing to watch as you eat eagerly with soft sounds of pleasure in response to the taste. All the while, he coaxes you into conversation and by the time you’ve finished you seem much more relaxed in his presence.
Aleksander leans back in his chair, swirling the wine around in his glass with nimble fingers. With a polite gesture to the waiter, he orders another bottle of wine. When the waiter mentions dessert, Aleksander raises a questioning brow at you. He can see the nervousness creep into your eyes at the thought of asking for more.
After you refuse his offer, he orders a plateful of dessert that he intends on sharing with you. When it arrives, he takes a few mouthfuls for himself before he offers a spoonful to you.
“Come on, milaya. I bought it for us to share.”
When you relent, leaning forwards to take the spoon from him, he retracts his head, pulling it out of your reach.
“Ah, ah. No hands. Let me.”
After ducking your head bashfully, you look down to avoid his gaze and Aleksander can see how flustered his words have made you. Still, you nod obediently. He moves the spoon back towards you, feeding you the dessert when you open your mouth for him.
He stares as your eyes flutter closed and you hum in delight at the rich taste with a pretty smile on your face.
Saints, you’re so perfect.
Aleksander pays the bill. He keeps his hand on your lower back as you walk to the entrance of the restaurant. He frowns at the sight of goosebumps prickling over your skin.
“Where’s your coat, milaya?”
“Alina gave me a lift here and I left it in her car.”
He tuts quietly in disapproval.
“Well, that won’t do, will it?” Aleksander places his coat over your shoulders, thick wool draped over your frame to shield you from the cold. He smiles at the sight of you, helping you tuck each of your arms into the sleeves. “There we go.”
You give him a bright smile and begin to play shyly with the buttons at the front of his coat.
“Thank you.”
“Let me give you a lift home.”
Immediately your smile falters and you refuse his offer.
“Oh no, I’m fine walking, thank you.”
“You’re walking?” The moment you nod he begins to shake his head. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m not living in the city centre. It’ll be too out of your way.”
“Nonsense.”
“Mr Morozova-”
“Call me Aleksander, please.”
“Aleksander,” you state slowly. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”
“I’m not going back to my apartment tonight.”
There’s a waver in your voice as you say,
“You’re not?”
He shakes his head.
“I have a house not far from here.”
He watches the internal struggle play over your face. Realisation. Anxiety. Words scrambling from your mind to your tongue as you attempt to create a confession. Sweet girl. Always so honest.
“Aleksander, I…” He watches you wring your hands, the sleeves of his coat covering all but your fingertips. “Alina’s been letting me stay at your townhouse. I’m so sorry for not telling you.”
He doesn’t respond.
Instead, he smiles at the valet, standing behind you as he waits for the man to retrieve his car keys. Leaning down, he presses a pacifying kiss to your temple, smoothing his hands over each of your shoulders, stroking your biceps. He can see the confusion in your eyes at his reaction.
“We’ll discuss this at home, darling.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, though he doubts you would ever openly disagree with him. He feels you shiver at the command in his voice and a thrill runs through him at the thought of you enjoying the role he has picked out for you.
The short walk to the car is silent, a few stray snowflakes beginning to fall. Aleksander keeps his arm around you, ensuring you don’t slip on any ice. He holds the passenger door open for you and keeps his hand on your thigh for the entire journey, ignoring your squirming.
“Aleksander,” you whisper. “I really am sorry.”
“Not now, milaya. Let me concentrate on the roads.”
He feels your skin flush with embarrassment at his condescending tone. The snow has quickly covered the world in white, thick flurries falling faster with every passing moment.
When you finally return home, he slips his coat from your shoulders, hanging it up in the hallway as he nods at your shoes, a silent order for you to remove them. With the height of your heels gone, you seem so much smaller than him as he looks down at you.
“I do not tolerate lying, milaya.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr Morozova. I can move my things out now-”
He presses his thumb against your mouth, index finger curling under your chin.
“I do not want to hear another word from those pretty lips of yours. Safeword is shadow. Understood?”
Excitement sparks in your eyes as you realise what is happening, and when you nod obediently Aleksander feels his cock throb. He knows you will enjoy this. He knows your preferences - what you search for when you’re eager to get yourself off.
“Good girl. Now go pour me a drink.”
Aleksander settles down on his favourite armchair in the living room, watching as you unlock the alcohol cabinet and pour him a small sample of whiskey, the liquid falling smoothly into the crystal glass. He stretches his legs out; his knees always ache during the cold weather. Soaking in a hot bath with you is certainly an enticing thought - perhaps for tomorrow evening.
There’s a slight tremble to your fingers as you hand him the glass.
“Thank you, milaya. Be a dear and take my shoes off - I can’t reach them too comfortably at my age.”
With fumbling fingers, you manage to untie his laces and loosen the shoes away from his feet, slipping them off easily enough. The sight of you between his thighs, kneeling on the ground is utter perfection. He smiles down at you, stroking his knuckles over your cheek.
“There’s a good girl. Place them in the hallway for me?”
In the time it takes you to move into the hallway and place the shoes down on the rack beside his front door, Aleksander has freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and underwear, hissing slightly as he grips himself.
When you return, the sight of him has your footsteps faltering in the doorway. He leans his head back, watching you through hooded eyes and a tense jaw. He sees your eyes widen, like a little deer in headlights. He sees your gaze flicker down to his exposed cock and your thighs tremble as they press against each other.
He tilts his head at you.
“Come sit on my cock, milaya.”
A slight shake of your head.
“It won’t fit.”
“Yes it will. Come here.” Still you don’t move. “I won’t ask again.”
His tone has you stumbling forwards.
As you struggle to straddle his lap, he pushes the hem of your dress, velvet smoothing easily upwards to reveal bare skin. The underwear you’re wearing is nice, though he knows you own much prettier sets. That knowledge reassures him that you hadn’t intended on sleeping with your date tonight.
Retrieving his drink from the table beside him, watching you with a self satisfied smirk as he lifts his glass to your lips.
“Some liquid courage for you.”
He breathes out a soft laugh when he sees your nose wrinkle at the taste; evidently you must have swallowed more than you were anticipating.
“Now let’s have a look at what we have here,” he muses, pushing the gusset of your panties aside to reveal your glistening cunt, flushed and glossy with arousal. A perfect little mess. “Have you been in this state since we arrived? Or during the car ride home?”
He can feel your body burning as you admit,
“Since dinner, sir.”
“Oh sweet girl, have I left you wanting?”
“Please,” you whisper weakly. He brushes the head of his cock over your quivering entrance, grinning at the sound of your whimpers.
“Let’s start with the tip, shall we?”
He begins to ease you onto his cock, stretching you out slowly and a small cry escapes from your lips at the sensation. Sweat glistens over your chest as you heave in a few hurried breaths.
Aleksander praises you with every inch, telling you how perfect you are as you writhe and buck against his hold. Once you’re fully seated on his cock, he runs his hands over your thighs soothingly, encouraging you to relax as your cunt continues to twitch around him.
He tugs the front of your dress down, revealing your breasts for him to fondle freely. His hands wander over your body, squeezing the sensitive flesh. Almost absentmindedly, he begins to play with your nipples, pressing kisses from your forehead down to your jawline.
“Such a pretty sight. How are you feeling, my love?”
“So full,” you whine, on the verge of tears. “So good. Aleksander.”
“That’s it, darling.” He holds onto your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”
A weak shake of your head that doesn’t convince him. He suspects you can’t even convince yourself that you don’t want this. Nevertheless, he can’t help but argue with you.
“Who’s been housing you, and feeding you, these last few months?”
He watches your expression crumble in defeat, giving in to your desire.
“You have.”
“That’s right, milaya.” He grasps onto your hips, encouraging you to begin bouncing on his cock.“You have no idea..” The feeling of your cunt squeezing him like a vice makes him groan, hands gripping your trembling thighs. “…how difficult it’s been to resist buying clothes for you as well.” His words are breathless, panted out against your lips as he presses your foreheads together. “Dresses and skirts and pretty lingerie sets. But we have a wedding to save for, don’t we?”
His question seems to catch you off guard, as an obscene moan is ripped from the back of your throat. He rolls his hips upwards, notching the head of his cock against that sweet spot inside you that makes you clench violently. Something akin to a sob heaves at your shoulders as you tremble.
“I’m going to spoil you, darling. I want my ring on your finger. I want you in white lace and diamonds.”
Aleksander moans at the feeling of your nails digging into his arms through the fabric of his shirt. He keeps one hand on your hip, occasionally stroking the tense muscles of your abdomen, the other hand cupping your face so that he can kiss you.
He sees your toes curl, calves twitching as your cunt pulses an erratic beat that makes pleasure rocket down his spine. Aleksander moans your name softly, over and over until you’re shaking with overstimulation as you near your climax. When you begin to plead, he hushes you soothingly.
He knows you haven’t touched yourself in quite some time. He knows that the orgasm you’re seconds away from will unravel you completely. He can’t wait to see it.
“Let go, milaya. I’m right here,” he says warmly as he reaches down to rub firm circles over your swollen clit. “Cum around my cock like the good girl you are. Let me have you.”
Aleksander would consider it something of a religious experience, watching you lose yourself to pleasure. To see something so intimate, so sacred, in such proximity, when he has only ever seen you through a screen for months. The orgasm that hits you is lengthy, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body as your cunt pulses around him. Every movement, every sound you make, is so breathtakingly beautiful that he stares openly at you with his lips parted in awe. His beautiful girl. His.
That final thought is what pushes him into completion, spilling inside you with a deep moan. He looks down at where the two of you are joined, admiring the glistening mess there. He kisses your forehead as you slump down against his chest. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you stare down at the buttons on his shirt, fidgeting with them absentmindedly.
“I can leave, if you’d like,” you suggest in a quiet murmur. He places his hands on your lower back, keeping you pressed to him.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You would freeze out there.”
Aleksander lifts you upwards, squeezing your hips gently as he does so, and his cock slips out of you. He leans forwards, kissing you again as he ticks himself back into his trousers. He sucks on your lower lip, dragging it lightly between his teeth as he buttons up his trousers with one hand.
“Stay,” he says.
The smile you give him is shy as you nod, whispering,
“Okay.”
He hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you up into his arms. Instantly, you wrap your arms around his neck, coiling yourself around him as he carries you up the stairs.
Some of his cum slips out of you, as he lowers you down onto his sheets. He presses his fingers against your cunt, pushing his spend back inside you where it belongs. A quiet groan catches in his throat at the sensation of your warm cunt clinging to his digits, desperate to keep him inside. He curls his finger, pressing his thumb against your clit.
Aleksander grins when you cant your hips forwards mindlessly.
“What a mess we’ve made. Let me clean you up, milaya.”
Then he ducks his head between your thighs and enters heaven.
»»---------------------►
Aleksander nudges the front door closed with his hip, his hands occupied by shopping bags. He kicks his feet together to dislodge some of the snow stuck to the sole of his shoes, wondering if you’re still asleep.
He finds his answer in the kitchen; you’re dressed in one of his t-shirts. At the sound of him approaching you turn, wide eyed as he stands in the doorway, snowflakes in his hair. He notices your tears immediately, staining your cheeks as you sniffle.
“Milaya?”
“I thought you left me.” The words wobble on their way out. “I woke up and you were gone and I thought you’d left me.”
He lowers the bags, stepping towards you to take you into his arms. After the events of last night, it seems you’re in a somewhat fragile state. He folds his arms around you, giving your body a gentle squeeze as you press yourself tightly against his chest.
“The snow is getting heavy. I thought I would stock up on some essentials to last us until the weather improves,” he explains calmly. He hears how your breathing shakes with emotion. His clothes are still cold from his trip outside and you are delightfully warm. “As if I could ever leave you, my sweet girl.”
He kisses your forehead and your grip on him tightens.
“I’m here,” he murmurs gently, swaying the two of you from side to side as he strokes his hands down your body.
He ducks his head down, hooking a finger beneath your chin to tilt your head backwards so he can kiss you properly. His lips move slowly against yours, palms cupping your cheeks tenderly.
He ensures that you remain attached to him as he puts the perishables away, your arms looped around his neck and your body nestled into his side. Then he abandons the rest of the shopping, opting to bend you over the kitchen countertop, shoving his trousers down so that he can drive his cock into you.
He heaves a sigh of relief at the sound of your breathy gasp, kissing over your neck as you scramble for purchase against the marble.
“That’s it,” he breathes out with a smile, nuzzling his nose into the hollow of your throat. “Isn’t that better?”
Aleksander grips at your waist, dragging you towards him, delighting in your moans as he rolls his hips forwards. He curls a hand around your throat, squeezing lightly to bring your attention to his face. His nose grazes against yours as he insists,
“I meant every word I said last night.”
He leans in, kissing you throughly until he has to stop and breathe. Lowering his hand, his fingers circle your clit, causing you to jerk forwards with a soft moan as he sucks on your lower lip.
“I’m not letting you go, milaya.”
»»---------------------►
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