anais

for my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great, you have no power over me.

[opaldracarys]

anais she/her, 24

nsfw 18+

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

my masterlist

minors dni please or you will be blocked. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

i only write for fem!reader (gn upon request!)

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i do not own the characters i write for but my work is my own and i do not condone or accept the use of ai in replicating or copying my work.

[sylvernights]

Ewan Mitchell as Aemond Targaryen

3.02 | Queen's Landing

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Honeybee

Summary: Billy is found completely taken off guard when a ghosted one night stand accosts him at the pub | Word Count: 4.5k~ | Warnings: fingering, inferred intercourse, handjob

The first day that the numbers hit double digits in the UK may as well have been a wildlife documentary.

Billy could basically hear it, the slow, posh drawl of Sir David Attenborough observing a pack of zealous lads, dressed in varying shades of the same Zara shorts. A group of girls blubbering gossip between each other like turkeys with a vape in one hand and a Sex on the Beach in the other. All the way down to the 60-odd year old regular who hated all this bollocks and just came for a quiet one like he does any other day, filling it with the illusion of a routine since being newly retired.

That's what he thought as he looked around the Bull's Head Pub. The weather had promised an incredible 18 degrees. In one corner, an underpaid bar staff member delivered a pitcher of Stella Artois to a rowdy group of barely legal lads. Through the doorway to the beer garden, smoke billowed around the glowing, tanned shoulders of the al-fresco types. Conversations and laughter carried by the scent of a barbeque a few doors down the road and the blare of some boy racer's Ford Fiesta churning out a tinny version of Vengaboys.

It was well and truly rammed. He'd half been tempted to invite someone out with him for a quick one, and soon, he would wish he had. Instead he'd chanced it on his own. The bar staff barely looked at him as she laid a pint in front of him, the foam spilled over the edge and soaking his forearm. The head was too thick, but Billy didn't care, or rather was too nervous to call it out. He tapped his card and ventured outside, greeted by the inviting wall of warmth, palming his back pocket for his pack of fags.

There was no chance in hell of getting a seat. With a quick sip to relieve the very brim of his pint glass, he found a standing spot close to the exit, and with a sense of relief, stuck the butt of his cigarette between his lips. The brief sense of ease was soon interrupted.

"Billy! Oh my god!"

He had never been good at schooling his expressions, his mum told him so when she told him how easy it was to tell when he was lying. He knew that voice, that excited, needy cadence he'd rather forget. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he could convince himself that no, this wasn't happening, he was in fact not in the Bull's Head about to open his eyes to a woman he ghosted after a one night stand.

But alas, his eyes opened to the side and there she was. Practically bouncing with excitement, eyes all wide and hopeful, like he'd come here to see her specifically.

Right now, he wished he was on the moon.

"Oh…hiya," he muttered, pulling the cigarette from his lips unlit to not seem impolite.

"Fancy seeing you here!" she beamed, "god, how long's it been."

Not long enough. "Oh, uh, dunno," he laughed awkwardly. His eyes couldn't stay still. He scanned the beer garden, almost begging for someone else he knew to save him. That's the thing about coming to the pub on your own at risk of seeing the crazy girl you snuck out on months ago. Nobody to be your saviour when she sinks her claws in.

"Must be, what, a few months?" she went on, not waiting for him to answer. "You look well."

"Yeah. Cheers," Billy said, scratching the back of his neck. He glanced down at his pint like it might suddenly offer him an exit strategy, "you an’ all."

Fuck, why did I say that, now she's gonna think—

"Didn’t think I’d ever bump into you again, if I’m honest," she rocked slightly on her heels, hands clasped behind her back like she was trying to look casual.

"Mm," he hummed, taking a sip just to have something to do with his mouth.

At the silence, he expected her to at least make an excuse, but she didn't leave.

"So… you here on your own, yeah?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Yeah. Just—quick one," he said quickly, already half turning his body away like that might end it. "Won’t be long. I'm actually just about to go—"

"You’ve got a full pint," she pointed out.

"Yeah I've just—got work dead early tomorrow morning—"

"I could keep you company if you want!" she offered, "my mates are inside anyway, they’re doing my head in."

She was edging closer to the empty spot beside him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"And, I mean," she went on, "after last time… feels a bit rude to just—"

Billy’s entire body tensed. "Yeah, let’s maybe not—"

"—you know," she continued anyway, smiling, "wake up and you’re just gone. Thought I’d scared you off or something."

"You didn’t—" he started, already flustered, running a hand over his face. "It weren’t like that, I just—"

"So I reckon you owe me at least one drink—"

"There you are."

A woman stood there, about his age, maybe even a year or two older, one hand resting lightly on the ledge beside him like she’d always belonged there. She gave him a small smile, then lifted herself to her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"You were meant to text me when you got here," she said, like it was an ongoing conversation. Like they knew each other, and had done all this time. He just hoped this car crash of an abandoned one night stand didn't see the shock in his eyes.

Billy blinked. "I—"

"Sorry," she said, turning to the other girl with a polite but pointed look, masked with a smile. "Didn’t realise he’d found someone to chat to."

The girl froze, hovering awkwardly. "Oh— I— sorry, I didn’t—"

"It’s alright," the woman said smoothly, her hand brushing against his arm like it was second nature. "He’s terrible for it. Wanders off, forgets he’s got a girlfriend waiting."

Billy stared at her, completely thrown, but she didn’t even look at him, just reached for his pint and took a casual sip. If he weren't so frozen, he'd have been offended. Pints aren't cheap these days.

The girl’s expression shifted, something like embarrassment flickering across her face. "Right. Yeah. I didn’t know."

An awkward silence dropped like a brick.

"Well," the girl said, straightening up quickly, "I’ll… leave you to it then."

"Cheers," Billy muttered automatically, still trying to catch up with what the hell was happening.

She gave him one last look, half annoyed and half sheepish, then turned and made a quick escape back inside. Billy watched her go for a second, then slowly turned his head towards the woman beside him.

"…what…the fuck?" he said.

She finally looked at him, raising an eyebrow, completely unfazed. "You’re welcome."

He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Sorry, who are you?"

"Calm down," she said, taking another sip of his drink like she owned it. "You looked like you were about two seconds from jumping the fence."

"…I was considering it," he admitted.

"Yeah, well," she shrugged, nudging the pint back into his hand, "no need now, is there?"

He stood like a pillock, pint rapidly losing its bite in his hand with the condensation running over his knuckles. If he weren't so self aware in this moment his mouth would have been agape, catching flies. Was this a dream, he needed to pinch himself.

"Well, if the weather didn't cure my seasonal depression, that's done the job."

She hummed with a tilted, almost devious smile on her lips. Her head gestured loosely behind, "who was that, then? A failed conquest?"

"Something along those lines," he scoffed lightly.

"Wouldn't pin you for the type."

He drew his brows together, leaning sideways on so he could see her straight on. At this angle, the perfect, glowing orange line of the sun through the fence slid past the side of her face, down her neck.

"What type is that, then?"

Her eyes lit up like he'd taken the bait, "the type to run out on a girl before she's woken up."

Billy felt the small bead of sweat slide down his face from his temple, his lips parted to take in breath as if flustered suddenly by her. Her eyes traced the moist line it left behind on his face briefly, but no disgust passed her features, her eyes simply traced back to his blue ones, a faint lifting of her lips showing him she was delighted in how she made him feel.

"Drink?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, "reckon you owe me one, for saving you and all."

His heart fluttered, and a near-boyish smile threatened to break across his face. Something dipped in his stomach at the cheeky tone of her voice. Like they had known each other for ages.

Ten minutes later, after braving the bar a second time, a cocktail was placed into her hands and he watched her take a short, introductory sip. Conversation continued easily, despite Billy having seen the aforementioned one-night-stand slip away about half an hour ago. He had wanted to say that she didn't have to stay and talk to him anymore, that she didn't have to waste her breath talking to a guy like him. She'd done her good deed. But the more they spoke, and every now and then, when he said something that made her tip her head back and laugh, that little burrow of self-consciousness began to slowly fade away.

And somewhere between pint two and her finishing the cocktail, she became really pretty. Well— she was always pretty, it's just he was only now dwelling on it.

She raised her near-empty glass, "good choice, this. Two more of these and I'll be texting people I shouldn't."

Billy smirked lazily into his pint. "That so?"

"Oh yeah," she nodded solemnly. "Absolutely humiliating behaviour. One time I had this ex blocked, so I actually e-mailed him to tell him I missed him. E-mail! Who does that."

"You did not e-mail him…" he said blankly.

"I know," she groaned, covering her face briefly. There was a faint, hot flush to her cheeks as she hid her expression away for a moment, one Billy was no doubt sharing as he felt the sting of a sunburn under his eyes. Alcohol buzzed through his blood, and whatever pain was beginning to bloom from sun exposure was soon extinguished. Interrupted by her addictive presence.

The moment the sun faltered behind a house in the distance, her eyes snapped up. It was getting dark, and she was clearly surprised how much time had passed since she'd saved his wounded pride. Billy's heart hammered, shit, he didn't want this to end. Not one bit. His lips parted just as hers did. She's gonna say 'I should go home' or 'thanks for tonight, it's been fun' and he couldn't let her. Whatever came out his mouth was so quick his brain didn't even catch up to the words.

"Do you want to come to mine."

A sentence uttered so quick, he was surprised she even understood him. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and he immediately felt the crawl of heat up the back of his neck. He cleared his throat, blinking away as if he was suddenly unable to look at her directly, more interested in the circle of moisture his glass had left behind on the ledge. "I mean— you don't have to. Obviously." He gave a short, embarrassed laugh at himself, "that sounded a bit—"

"Fast?" she offered, amused, but not mean or teasing.

"Yeah," he breathed, all the confidence suddenly evaporating.

The beer garden had thinned out around them. Now instead of loud chatter he could hide within, he could only hear the rustle of the warm, summer wind against the grass, and the low music easing through the outdoor speakers.

"I just meant," he started, talking too much because it was better than suffering in silence he immediately perceived as rejection, "we could carry on talking. If you wanted to."

Her grin widened, "thought you 'had work early' tomorrow."

Billy shut his eyes briefly. "Right."

She let out a breathy laugh, "you're a terrible liar, you know. She saw right through that."

His blue eyes sparkled, alcohol fuelling his boyish cheek, "well, good job my schedule freed up when you came along, eh."

The teasing in her expression flickered slightly at that. Dangerous territory now. He could see it in her eyes, the slight dilation of her pupils. She grabbed her bag, slinging the strap over one shoulder.

"Suppose I should make sure you don’t get cornered by any more emotionally attached women."

"Very noble of you."

She winked, and if he were sat down, his knees would have buckled. He even righted too quickly, banging his elbow against the ledge and sending the glasses rattling. But she didn't comment, she'd done plenty of teasing tonight. She followed him at his side out the beer garden and he was suddenly unsure what to do with his hands, so he simply shoved them in his pockets, heat rising up his neck to his ears.

It was mercifully a short walk to his flat. Had anyone seen his face, they'd think she was leading him to the back to the firing squad.

"You suddenly look terrified again."

His head whipped to her, caught out. At his full height he had to look down at her a fair bit. Think of something, Billy, quick. "Just trying to work out if my flat’s clean."

"Ah." She nodded sympathetically. "A universal male experience."

"It’s tidy-ish."

She crossed her arms across her chest. With the sun beginning to set, the chill caught her shoulders a bit. "How tidy we talking."

"There may be clothes on a chair."

"One chair or the chair?"

"Do women have the chair too?"

By the time they reached his building, talking had become effortless again. Easy smiles. Gentle nudges of shoulders. The kind of warmth that made him feel lighter than he had in months. At the front door, Billy fumbled his keys twice before getting the right one in. The nervous energy was quite sweet. Like it was his first day on earth.

He immediately regretted his confidence in telling her his flat was 'tidy-ish' the moment he stepped in. Billy was suddenly hyper-aware of the toppled pile of shoes near his door, the dirty plates in the sink, and the way the floor leading into the living room seemed cluttered with charging cables and a few wayward socks. Embarrassed heat rose further up the nape of his neck, he half-thought of sacking it off altogether, but she was already inside, politely pulling off her trainers as he presumed she did entering any stranger's home.

He rubbed the back of his neck, so high strung that he forgot to even take off his own shoes as he turned to the small kitchen, frantically trying to stack the dirty tea mugs into the sink without breaking one of them. She tried not to watch, but couldn't help but pull her lips together to stop smiling, seeing that her presence had the same effect on him as it had several hours ago. She leaned against the kitchen doorway, looking around. She’d seen plenty of lads’ places, some absolute dives. This one wasn’t bad, all things considered. A bit messy, lived-in, but not grim.

"You can breathe, you know. I’m not gonna bite…unless you ask nicely."

Billy froze mid-reach for another mug, ears going pink. He let out a breathy laugh that was more nerves than humour. "Yeah, sorry. I’m shit at this. Been a while since I brought anyone back here. Can I… get you a drink or something? I’ve got beer. Or tea. Or— fuck, I don’t even know if I’ve got milk."

There was something strangely endearing about how undone he was. Most lads at the pub had been loud, cocky, trying too hard. And here Billy was, all broad shoulders and barely-contained panic in his own kitchen, and she found herself liking it more than she expected.

She laughed through her nose and pushed off the wall, picking a piece of fluff off his shirt that wasn't even there, just an excuse to get closer to him. She could smell some sort of Lynx on him. No doubt he'd doused himself in it before coming out.

"I don’t want a drink, Billy," she whispered, watching the confusion spread across his face for a moment before leaning up on her tip toes, not giving him time to blurt out an answer, and slid her hand to the back of his neck to pull him down to her lips. At first it was slow, as if she was testing how much he'd be into it, but slowly her lips moulded against his so perfectly that she felt his shoulders relax, a shaky exhale and his hands raising from his sides to hover over her body. A low, broken sound rumbled in Billy’s throat as he melted instantly, all that nervous energy dissolving under the slow press of her mouth.

Her lips were skilled as she worked his to her own rhythm, her gentle tongue easing his apart to taste the remnants of beer, malty and deep, and right now, indulgent. Her fingers curled into the damp strands of dark blonde at his neck, and she smirked against his lips at the barely contained whimper he couldn't quite keep to himself. Confidence soared through Billy's blood, assisted by Dutch courage, and his hands splayed against her waist, pulling her towards him slightly to feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest.

Her other hand on his chest twisted into his shirt, encouraging his body towards her as she walked backwards, her back meeting the wall of the kitchen with a soft thud. She kept Billy close to her, mouths moving more insistently now as their need spiked.

She inhaled sharply as she felt his fingers at the hem of her skirt, feeling electric against the bare skin of her thigh.

Their lips broke briefly for Billy to whisper, 'this alright?'. And she felt her cheeks flush at the gentle charm of him simply asking. She nodded eagerly, her hand coming down to his to encourage this behaviour she enjoyed so much.

Billy's foot nudged hers, widening her legs so his knee could slip between them, and she exhaled softly as she craned her neck for his lips to graze the sensitive skin there. With her eyes fluttering shut, his hand slid beneath the hem and found her warm centre.

He was slow, almost gentle in his approach, his fingers coaxing her core to life through her underwear. She could feel that tightening in her gut and the rush of arousal heading south where he was so perfectly touching her, right as he captured her lips again to swallow her quiet whine. The thick pads of his fingers teased her entrance before hooking through the gusset, pulling it aside so he could feel her bare slickness against his skin. Billy almost groaned into her mouth, she was so wet. And she met that needy sound with a small, breathy smirk.

"You're being so gentle…" she teased breathily.

Billy pulled back just enough to look at her. A crooked, half-shy smile tugged at his lips, but his voice was rough when he answered. "Yeah? You want me to stop being gentle?"

A spark of excitement ran through her at that. She rather liked this tipsy, slightly confident side of him. A half-shocked, breathy laugh escaped her lips, but it cut off instantly as two thick fingers slid into her effortlessly, stretching her open in one smooth, deliberate push. The sudden fullness pulled a soft, needy gasp from her throat. "Oh fuck…" she breathed, eyes fluttering.

He held them deep for a long moment, savouring the way she pulsed around him, before he began to move. She could tell his mind was on his movements the entire time, as if wondering when he'd fuck it up. But like this, she's not sure he ever could have. Tentatively, his thumb grazed her small bundle of nerves, by accident at first, but when he felt the velvet of her walls pull him in every time he did, he doubled his efforts, building that delicious pressure higher and higher.

His own breath hitched when he felt her bold fingers at the zipper of his jeans, not wanting to make him feel left out of course. The bulge there was unmistakable, straining against the denim. She palmed him through the fabric first, squeezing gently, feeling him twitch under her touch.

With a small, wicked smile, she tugged at the zip, slipped her hand inside and past the waistband of his boxers, and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He was hot and heavy in her grip as she began to stroke him confidently from base to tip, twisting her wrist on the upstroke in a move that sent electricity right up his spine.

"Jesus Christ…" Billy muttered, voice strained, forehead dropping to rest against hers. His fingers faltered inside her for a second as she pumped him with long, sensual strokes, spreading the wetness at his tip down his length. Their hips rolled into each others touch, chasing that delicious sensation over and over.

She kept stroking him steadily, matching the pace of his fingers inside her, squeezing a little tighter when his thumb pressed firmer against her clit. Billy’s hips jerked forward into her fist, a low, guttural sound rumbling in his chest, one that made her smile knowingly that she was driving him to the brink, insane.

She felt his stomach muscles clench, his breathing grow ragged as she stroked him more insistently, throbbing in her palm. He was close and she could feel it. But before she could relish in the wicked thrill of making him cum before her, his other hand grabbed her wrist to stop her.

"Fuck— wait," he gasped, voice tight with restraint.

He didn’t explain. He didn’t pull her hand away completely either. He simply held her wrist firmly against his lower stomach, her fingers still curled loosely around the base of his cock, feeling every frantic throb while he kept her there.

A flicker of confusion passed her until Billy prodded a third finger into her. The stretch was instant but welcome, and she near melted at the feeling, impossibly full. His palm pressed firmly against her clit with every slow thrust, grinding in tight, slick circles that sent sparks across her vision.

"Billy…" she whimpered, the sound broken and needy.

The wet, obscene sounds of his hand working between her thighs grew louder, slick and filthy in the quiet flat. The pleasure built fast and heavy, coiling tight in her belly. Her thighs started to shake around his knee, her free hand clutching desperately at his shoulder. She couldn’t protest. She couldn’t even think. All she could do was moan softly against his shoulder as the orgasm crashed over her without warning.

She clenched violently around his fingers as he rode the wave with her, her lips parted with a broken cry, muffled into his shirt. She grinded against every curve of his fingers, drawing it out as long as she could until her vision blurred and her knees felt like nothing.

Billy groaned low at the feeling as if it were giving him just as much satisfaction, his grip on her wrist tightened as he held her close, savouring every gasp and tremble like it was his reward. Only when her body finally began to relax, slick walls still fluttering around him, did he slowly ease his three fingers out of her.

She let out a shaky exhale at the loss, her body still buzzing. For a moment she just leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath, cheeks burning hot.

"Why didn’t you let me…" she asked breathily, her voice husky and a little dazed, glancing down at where her hand still rested against him.

Billy swallowed hard, perspiration shimmered against his temples, turning his sandy blonde hair darker. "I was gonna come."

So matter of fact.

She let out a soft, breathless laugh, "that's kind of the point, Billy?"

He gave her a crooked smile, looking almost shy and disarmingly sweet. "Yeah, but if I did… then I can’t… after," he mumbled, ears going red.

"Oh? So there’s an after, is there?"

Billy huffed, half embarrassed and turned on at the same time as the colour of his cheeks joined the one at the tips of his ears.

"…Yeah?" he said, hopeful and a little uncertain, like he was still half-expecting her to change her mind.

She grinned, sliding her hand up to rest against his chest. "Good. Because I’m in your flat this time, so you can’t slip out on me like you probably do after a pint and a chat."

His face lit up, baby blue eyes turning a shade brighter with the relief and genuine happiness. He looked younger like that, all sweet and excited like he'd won the lottery by keeping her here with him.

Without another word, he bent slightly, slid one arm under her thighs and the other around her back, and lifted her effortlessly. She let out a surprised little laugh as her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms looping around his neck. He carried her out of the kitchen and down the short hallway, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along her jaw the whole way.

He nudged the bedroom door open with his shoulder and gently deposited her onto the bed, following her down so his body hovered over hers. The mattress dipped under their combined weight, sheets cool against her heated skin.

Her eyes met his above her, hair fanned out against his bedsheets. Billy couldn't have come up with a better view if he'd tried.

A proper smile broke across Billy's face, warm and boyish. He leaned in and kissed her once, slow and tender, before murmuring against her lips, "as if I ever would."

✨ Please note ✨ I no longer do taglists. If you would updates, please follow @targaryenrealnessdarlingfics and turn on notifications!

[opaldracarys]

something to think about…

[goat-limbs]

Heartburn | Masterlist

contents: Dunk x fem!Reader, Modern AU rom-com. Features Raymun, Rowan, Lyonel, Egg and very background Targaryens. Semi-reversed medium-burn (lmao, go figure). Friends to friends-with-benefits to lovers with a secret third thing. Which brings me to the biggest nsfw warning of this fic: unplanned pregnancy. It doesn't happen until Ch.3., but I know some people (including me, ironically) don't like reading about pregnancy, so you have been warned. If that's the case you can safely read up to chapter two and then call it a day. Dunk has my uterus confused, ok.

Besides that: mutual pinning, awkward crushes, they are in their 30s, it's set in Ireland (I know -.-) but most of nationalities are not defined, miscommunication but not in a way that will make you hate the characters, actually lots of humour, fluff, smidge of angst, attempt at magical realism. So far nsfw warnings include: drunk unprotected sex, pregnant sex. Tags will be updated for each chapter.

disclaimer: I've never been pregnant, but I hope my extensive research will prove sufficient. If you 🫵 have been and ever notice something wildly incorrect, please let me know! If you haven't noticed anything incorrect yet, but still would like to share your experience, also let me know! If you want. I'd love that.

synopsis: For two years, you and Duncan orbit each other inside the same circle of friends, each mistaking the other’s awkwardness for disinterest. Then, one reckless night changes the terms entirely. A story about bad timing, good longing, and leaving the hardest thing until last.

a/n: Hi *waves awkwardly*. Yeah so... this happened. Nobody look at me. I have no idea how many chapters this is going to have, but I'm planning weekly updates on Fridays. I promise to tag up to the wazoo. Anyway, banner as usual by me, and dividers by @strangergraphics. This fic is being proofread by @hextoken!

chapters:

chapter one: (sfw) In which they all get very drunk.

chapter two: (nsfw) In which they make the baby :')

chapter three: (sfw) In which she realises they made a baby.

chapter four: (sfw) In which she tells Duncan.

chapter five: (sfw) In which Duncan freaks out a little.

chapter six: (nsfw) In which she deals with life kicking her ass.

chapter seven: (sfw) In which they both get a little jealous.

chapter eight: (05/06)

chapter nine: (12/06)

chapter ten: (19/06)

chapter eleven: (03/07)

chapter twelve: (10/07)

chapter thirteen: (17/07)

chapter fourteen: (24/07)

chapter fifteen: (31/07)

chapter sixteen: (07/08)

extras: general #heartburn tag (like, everything—asks, questions, art, blurts, hcs), heartburn!Dunk hcs, various blurts (yes, the #hcu stands for 'heartburn cinematic universe' lol), and art!

[opaldracarys]

EVERYONE READ THIS IMMEDIATELY!!!!

it’s seriously one of the best fics ive read on my 24 years on this earth and ive read A LOT!!

honestly do yourself the favour!

[opaldracarys]

NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN

summary: snooping around in the stables late at night won’t go without repercussions.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ NSFW. dark content! fem reader. dub-con. brat taming, spanking. pussy slapping. spitting. humping. use of pet names. BDSM. fingering. degradation. edging. no aftercare. inappropriate use of horse tack, seriously you’ve been warned.

please read warnings before reading. if you think this content will upset you do not read further!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The cold gravel nips and bites at your soft heels as you creep out the back door, the door clicking shut behind you, the quiet latch sounding thunderous in the quiet of the twilight.

In the same moment a rather biting gust of wind hits you, flurrying underneath your nightgown rather mockingly, seeping it’s way into your very bones.

The ragged shawl around your shoulders doing little to keep the chill at bay, the moor itself seems to be ridiculing you each step you take- the heat of your home, your warmed bed still in your grasp yet here you are. 

Your stomach feels in knots, churning the heavy pit you feel each step you take, worsening each step into the night- feeling more like you are stepping to execution rather than the familiar fields you frolicked as a girl.

The stables come into view and you swither in your steps, feet digging into the ground as shame builds and works its way up your neck, so sickening that you have clench your eyes shut and pinch your forearms till it marks your wind whipped skin. A feeble attempt at best to to get the wicked thoughts from your head. 

Just some proof is all, an inkling that even one part of what Cathy saw rings true, then you can go, back where it’s warm, where you can wake your wretched sister and tell Nelly all about her filthy lies. The satisfaction warms your chest enough to quicken your steps. Thats why. It will be to prove her wrong. That’s why you’ve ventured in the cold, her stupid childish stories. Lying to ones own sister like this. What does she take you for. 

You’re women grown but just the sort of thing she’d lie about to tease you, just like when you were girls. So vulgar and far fetched, just something she conjured up to redden your cheeks and scandalise your affections for such an innocent man.

A working man. 

Joseph. Our Joseph.

and Zillah? 

Whips and chains and horse tackle? 

The thought has you huffing with an incredulous smirk as you shove the door open to the darkened stables.

The stable door creaks echoingly loud and you stupidly attempt to shush it as you tiptoe inside. The intrusion has the horses startled - their hooves scuffling against the gates, nickering disapprovingly amongst themselves. A lantern has been left burning, practically near snuffed by the tack wall. Bingo

Padding across the hay littered ground, bare feet scuffing along the hardened cement till you reach the horse tackling, it’s strewn along the wall, hung perfectly but no coherent organisation that you could decipher. In the low light you kneel on the dirty ground to inspect the each part of roughened leather bridles, working left to right along the wall, your knees aching and likely covered in filth when you stand.

Once checked over you carelessly drop them, letting them reverberate back against the hollow stable walls, rattling the chains with a shrill booming shudder till there is just one left to inspect. 

Shivering you pick it up, narrowing your eyes to hold the cheekpiece up to the dimming light again, eyes lazily scanning, feeling foolish for leaving the warmth of your bed for this, thinking of the scolding that you’ll give your sister on the morrow and-

Hold on. 

There it is. 

Bite marks. Distinct and human. 

Your stomach lurches uncomfortably. 

Surely not. You wipe your dirtied hands on your white nightgown, a scattering of dust and filth marking the lace carelessly as you move closer to the lamp, leaning as close as you can, not wanting to believe what you see. 

Then- the wind changes. The stable door flying open with the gust- snuffing out the lamp and completely enveloping you in a shroud of darkness, leaving you isolated with just the pull of worry and something else still churning in your abdomen.

You drop the bridle- the chains ricocheting against the rest with a loud clang. The sound thrumming for a second as your eyes adjust to the darkness. You feel for the wall closest to your left, using it to guide your way back to where the door is, squinting in the dark for the familiar arch. It comes into view but not down to the skill of your own eyesight, it is a light that appears, getting closer along with the sound of humming, out of tune and oh so familiar. 

Joseph bustles his way inside, heavy boots thumping across to where the horses rest, blissfully unaware of your trembling presence hidden in the dark corner. He hangs his lantern and looks over the horses with a furrowed brow, the light reflecting over his angled features so it’s all you can see in the room.

“That you making all that racket in here eh?” he tuts, sucking the air through his teeth disapprovingly.

“Just a bit a’ wind that’s all. you know that.” 

He scoffs, petting the horses with a gentle kind hand before picking up the lantern to head out again, taking a singular step forward toward before he locks eyes with you. 

Your heart is in your throat and you can scarcely exhale, your eyes so wide that you feel the cold wind nipping and drying them, completely frozen to the spot.

The teeth. 

The reigns.

 Zillah. 

The whip. 

The sounds.

All the things Cathy told you hammering in your skull, mocking you right now as you look at him where he stands a foot away. 

He is still completely dressed in his work gear, strange despite the hour and it makes you wonder for a half second if he ever sleeps, how does he find the time with all this? Your head is spinning in fear and shame, eyeing the door like you are ready to bolt.

He edges forward keeping his voice a low slow timbre when he speaks, careful not to spook you like he’d approach a frightened mare. 

“Miss Earnshaw?”

When he draws closer, you instinctively step back, your back hitting the wooden support beam behind you.

When you do not respond, he speaks again, “Was that you making all that noise in here?”

He looks amused, brows furrowed but eyes full of mirth despite his gentle concern. Drawing his gaze downwards, taking in your nightdress. Your filthy nightdress.

“M’ sorry Joseph I could not rest, I was just taking a walk to tire me that’s all. Came in to see the horses.”

You mumble hurriedly under your breath, sweetening your voice for him like you always do when you want something, big eyes blinking up at him. 

Your breath fogs in the cold air, your own lies visible in the air of the dark stable.

He regards you for a moment, gauging the truth of it. Even in the low light, your features are drawn and pale, clearly distressed.

“Restless?" he repeats, his voice crackling gently. “And you didn’t think so put on a pair of proper shoes before your little walk?"

His tone is gently reprimanding—like a disapproving adult to a child. 

"You're shivering," he states matter-of-factly, gaze flicking to your bare feet and to the the damp shawl wrapped tightly around you.

“and I don’t believe you Miss Earnshaw.”

His sneering tone surprises you, despite being scarcely a year younger than him he has always spoken to you with gentle respect, the tone befitting your relationship, nothing more.

But he isn’t working now and the accusation puts fire in your belly, enraging you to be disregarded and caught in your own lies. It stumps you to silence.

He can see your shifting eyes, your attempt to think of a way out, the way you won't hold his gaze. It only reinforces his belief that something is deeply amiss.

His expression doesn't falter, still gentle but unyielding. In a voice laced with quiet authority, he coos,

“No lying now Miss. Why are you in here?”

There is a finality in it that brooks no further argument. His tone ragged and disapproving. 

He steps closer but stops just shy of the tack wall, forcing you to shrink against it even more. 

This he regards with a barely there smug smirk, his stance relaxed yet dominating in the small space. He is deceptively lazy, an act of calculated patience likely chosen to bait you into enlightening him with the truth.

Your blood boils, straightening your back and balancing on the balls of your scuffed feet in a feeble attempt in trying to assert him, shuffling closer to him in the murk, ignoring the heat pooling in your abdomen under his smug holier-than-thou gaze. 

Fists clenching on the dirtied fabric of your nightgown, you sneer. 

“It’s none of your concern what I do. You forget yourself and are being inappropriate Joseph. I’m no liar. you wait till I tell Fath-“

He cuts you off with a stern look before you can finish your snarky attempt to rebuff him. His brows drawn and mouth turned to a frown- unfamiliar and biting on his usually kind face.

“Oh? Inappropriate?”

He repeats the word as though tasting it, a dark eyebrow lifting faintly as he looks you up and down. A ghost of amusement flickers through his expression. You're trying to reassert authority, remind him that you're a young lady of status compared to him. It's an attempt to gain leverage and it falls flat instantaneously. 

He tilts his head slightly, one side of his mouth curving up to a crooked smile, faint yet fond in it’s condescension.

"You seem to have wandered out into the open moor at night in little more than your shift. I'm not sure what is appropriate holds any sway over either of us at the moment.”

He points out towards the open stable door- towards your home as it sits in the fog.

"And just what will you tell your father then? That I caught you out here half-naked? Perhaps hiding a lover….hm?” 

He peers behind you in the shadow of the stable just to irk you further, as if really checking for some fiend to be hiding in the hay with you. 

Your body burns from the tips of your toes to the flush of your cheeks with pure scandalised horror, outraged you spin on your heel and stomp out into the night air. 

He doesn’t follow right away. Lets you go. An amused huff parting his mouth as he watches you distance from the stable. Not for long though, slow and deliberate, he steps after you, letting the heavy barn door creak shut behind him.

The lantern light faraway and darkness shrouding him as he moves deeper into the shadows, unfazed by your little tantrum.

His steps are quiet, catching up with you with ease while you catch your breath in the doorway of the kitchen you had left swinging open before.

From behind, his voice comes low and even,

“I won’t tell your father a word. Not if you tell me the truth girl.”

He steps closer, you hear the scuffle of his mucky boots. 

“Now. Miss Earnshaw.”

His stern voice sends a shiver through you that has little to do with the cold wind. A familiar ache in the pit of your abdomen overcomes you so suddenly you fear if you turn around it will be written all over your face.

A sharp retort wells up as you turn but it dies under his piercing gaze.

This close, it's almost impossible to look away,  his eyes an enchanting blue, glimmering in the moonlight, if those eyes weren’t gazing at you with such disapproval you’d be likely to stand there frozen in the sapphire depths all night. 

His stance, though not oppressive, dominates the moor- even in the open field you feel just as you did when he cornered you in the stable, like an animal, ready to bite and scratch your way out.

But you don’t. You find yourself explaining, however irritated and sheepish you sound.

“Cathy told me some story.. she saw you and Zillah in there..doin’.. things.” 

You nod towards the barn half heartedly, unable to meet his eyes. 

He catches it immediately, interest peaked. 

“Hey! Fweet!” he whistles like he would to a disobedient mare, tipping your chin up with his leather clad hand to meet his furrowed eyeline.

His touch doesn’t linger but you feel it’s authority even as it’s gone- the whistle straightened your back immediately- frustratingly so that he could work you just like one of his animals. 

“Look at me when you’re talking eh? Manners..What’s that Cathy sayin’ about me then eh?” 

The corner of his mouth tightens slightly, surprise mingled with wariness. Peering into every micro-expression you give him, his eyes flickering with something, a smug kind of cockiness as he awaits your response. He studies you, the defiant tilt of your chin, the set of your jaw. 

It's as though your resolve only spurs his questions, his interest piqued by your defiance. 

His eyes sparkle as they hold yours. 

"What things were we doing?” 

His tone is gentler now- like it was when he found you in the darkness. Cooing and leading you into this temporary sense of ease.

It excites you, the way he could manipulate your feelings.

Your words. Your attitude. It equally terrified and aroused you.

“You were- um. Playing with the tack.”

You fail to suppress a smirk as the words leave your mouth. Your voice wavering on a half laugh. You couldn't help it, it felt so serious before in your own head but verbalising it to him felt childish. The words fizzle out of your mouth with that coy smile.

But when you look up once again to meet his gaze he’s not impressed.

“Oh? S’funny is it?”

He crowds you- his breath warming your weather battered cheeks.

His scent filling your lungs, the smoky scent of hay and dirt mixed with the sweat and grime from his long days work. It should repulse you. It should make you sick but you hang onto his every word- wide eyed eyes stinging, afraid to blink even as the wind pricks at them.

“You found it so funny you wanted to come out and see for yourself? Dressed like a fucking..whore. What? to laugh?”

He nips at you. Lazing over his words because he knows he has you right in his clutches anyway, his curses slow and dripping with (false?) contempt.

It’s as if someone has poured ice into your veins.

All leverage you thought you had of the situation out the door. Or more appropriately out into the biting cold of the moor. He’s not as dense as you were hoping.

You have to clench your thighs hard under your skirt, the pulsing between your legs crying for the barest pressure as he scolds you.

He’s right of course. You were hoping you’d find him out here. Part of you hoped Cathy hadn’t lied. That Joseph wasn’t the pious working man everyone thought he was. Not only did you hit the bingo you’ve summoned your very own wicked & perverted dreams into fruition.

You stare at him unable to work up a single syllable, clearly surprised by his outburst but waiting patiently for what? more? This seems to irk him further.

He grabs your wrist. Hard. Yanking you forward, trailing you back into the darkened stables while you can only follow dizzily.

Eyes trained on his broadened strong back. Your steps are clumsy in your desperation, your depraved mind already trailing off to your sweetened memories of how this view differs in the height of summer, as he is throwing hay bales across the barn…bare- his sweat and muscle rippling in the heat.

He manhandles you into the centre of the tack wall once again, scowling once he realises he still hasn’t shocked you into a response.

Your eyes just as dreamily unfocused as before. Looking at him with that same expectant half smirking look- he’s not happy.

"Stay there." he spits, stalking off behind you to fetch the tack- returning with the same bite imprinted bridle you found before.

When he turns back to you- running the leather through his fingers he regards you greedily- your pert nipples through your nightgown, your oh-so-soft thighs on display.

You feel sick with your impatience but still unwilling to stoop so low to beg for his affections.

Yet.

He broaches into your space now, while you stand obediently- exactly how he told you to- cold feet shifting on the solid ground. The whistle of the wind rattling through the stable is the only noise you can hear- the only thing you can try to focus on besides him.

“Chilly? Poor thing.” he murmurs, nosing around you- observing you with clinical precision in the murk.

His voice has that soft coo to it again- he’s so hot and cold that you don’t quite know where you stand- the way he’s fiddling with the tack like it’s a threat yet talking so softly. So sweetly.

“Yeah..s’cold Joseph. What are you doing?” you mumble at last, eyeing the door like you’d be discovered- by who- Nelly? Cathy?

You haven’t done anything to be ashamed of but the arousal burning in your belly makes you feel dirty all the same.

“What am I doing?” He laughs like the answer is obvious.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” He leans down to your level- close enough to feel his warmth- for you to see the sprinkling of chest hair peeking through his neckline, the curve of his angled mouth as he leans closer.

And closer.

His nose grazing yours now.

The breath leaves your lungs in a flurry of excitement- standing on your toes to meet his mouth when he suddenly pulls back with a cruel laugh.

“Kisses? Tut Tut. No I don’t quite think so Miss Earnshaw.”

With a sudden Thwack he slaps the meat of your thigh with the tough leather bridle making you gasp in indignant disbelief.

“Joseph!” you squeal, biting your cheek to suppress the pleased smile that creeps on your face, the sting of the smack setting your blood aflame- your pearl fluttering and pulsing immediately.

He repeats the action in the exact same spot with a self satisfied grin, making you cry out again.

“You want me to stop?” he teases- gently rubbing his warm hand over the nipping reddened skin. His words have you dumbfounded and quiet again.

“Tell me what you want then hm? Tell me how inappropriate I am. Where’s that attitude gone from earlier?”

He sounds disappointed and if it weren’t for that smile on his face you’d believe it.

“Don’t know...”

You gulp, looking back down at the curve of his mouth with hazy- poorly disguised need.

Another Thwack- higher up this time, the pained sound that escapes your mouth sounding closer to a whorish whine.

This seems to amuse him enough for his teeth to peek out when he smiles cruelly. His canines sharp, reflecting prominently in the lamplight. How you wish you could feel the scrape of them on your tongue. Your neck. Your thigh..

“I think you do know baby. I think if I felt under that filthy dress of yours you’d be fucking soaked. Sound about right?”

Caught.

You’re too caught up and needy to keep lying and you nod instantaneously. The pet name doing nothing to help ease your want for him.

“Oh such a good girl. Finally being honest. Give me your hands Baby. Keep being good and listen.”

Doing as you are told he takes your outstretched hands and fastens them into the bridle at the wrists, barely moment of realisation passes through you before he hooks you onto the ceiling beam with expert precision, effectively holding you in the spot.

“Och’t so pretty!”

He rubs his hands together to heat them before cupping your cheeks and pressing a kiss to your gaped surprised mouth. The kiss is achingly slow and wet- intentionally teasing, straining your raised arms in desperation to wrap around him, keep him close. The chains rattle when you instinctively try and he pulls back immediately.

He circles you a couple times before slowly lifting the hem of your skirts- grazing his warm hands over your arse, now bared for him. He doesn’t comment on your lack of underclothes but you can hear the hitch in his breathing from behind you.

His hands so so fucking close to where you need him.

“Joseph..”

You whine, desperate for attention, desperate for anything he will give you.

And what you get is a hard smack right on your arse.

Another to follow for good measure.

“Be patient.”

He sucks the air through his teeth when you moan. Angling his strong arm around your middle to hold you steady before sliding his other hand through your backside and down towards your aching wetness. He feels his way through your folds with precision- soaking his hand with what he finds.

His hips press against your arse at the angle and you can feel the unmistakable pressure of his hardness through his breeches. It has you throbbing right where he can feel, pulsing right on his fingers as little whimpers leave your mouth in your vulnerable desperation. Completely at his mercy.

He seems to take pity on you, circling his fingers on your pearl with the pressure you’ve been needing. Shushing you gently and talking you through the sharp pleasure.

“There she is. Take what I give you. Good girl- oh good girl.” his voice is a near rasp now. Circling his own hips so slightly onto you to relieve his own pressure.

Instinctively you buck your hips, a girlish whine escaping your mouth as you work yourself through the pressure of his fingers and back to press onto his aching cock.

Bad decision.

He pulls his hand away just to spank you directly onto your aching cunt and you wail in frustration.

“Don’t be greedy!”

He snaps. letting you go completely for a moment- your arms rattling above your head- the wind seeping between your legs and cooling your heat.

He grabs your chin, forcing his wet fingers into your mouth- fucking them into your throat- the tang of your own arousal coating your tongue and there’s not much you can do but take it. Gladly.

Once he’s satisfied he releases them from your mouth with a questioning look.

“You gonna listen this time?”

“Mhmmm!”

The immediate way you agree seems to charm him and he returns his hand between your legs- front facing this time so he can watch the needy expressions on your face.

His hand strokes and rocks between your legs, coaxing your pleasure from you slowly, building you back up to that tight pressure he had you feeling moments ago. His long lithe middle finger slipping further down and filling you sudden and unexpectedly- his ring finger soon joining.

The sensation of being filled while the heel of his palm rocks against your sensitive pearl is almost too much, your bottom lip is red raw from biting back all your needy moans but you don’t waste your energy on feeling ashamed anymore.

Needy little uh..uh..uh’s are slipping from your slacked jaw, accompanying the wet sounds of your own slick arousal as he fills you.

“Look at me baby? Keep that pretty mouth open.” he smirks- giving you a moment before spitting straight into your mouth- the wetness dripping down your chin despite your attempts to swallow it down. Your lips glossy with it in your efforts.

“Messy girl..” he laughs taking his free hand to palm and rub against his aching cock shamelessly over his clothes as he fingers into you.

Your eyes follow the movement greedily and the desperation to be filled- properly filled by him comes over you feral and more than you can take.

“Please Joseph..”

You whine looking at it desperately, you can practically feel it already- every ridge and vein as he’d notch his way inside you- filling you up. Making him feel so good. You’re so close, vision blurring as you beg.

The pleasure drunk look on his face twists.

He takes his hand away completely and you squeal- the sound echoing through the barn- probably out in the fields too. Being dropped from such pleasure when it had just began to peak makes your cunt clench rhythmically into itself- aching.

“Bad girl.” he huffs.

He cups your jaw- the wet scent of your arousal mocking you now so close to your face.

“Greedy girls get nothing.”

He unbuckles your wrists from the restrains leaving you stood sheepish, thighs trembling, eyes burning in frustration and shock.

“No no no wait please I’m sorry!”

In a moment of desperation you clutch his shirt in your sweaty palms. Lip quivering.

Heartbroken he thinks. To not get your own way for once.

Spoilt thing.

He almost feels bad. Giving you a slow kiss on your pouting lips before turning his back and walking out. Leaving you standing at the tack wall right where he found you.

—

authors note: well! here it is, i’ve had this in my drafts for a bit but i decided to just commit. please let me know what you think! (unless its mean lol) bye friends!

[opaldracarys]

NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN

summary: snooping around in the stables late at night won’t go without repercussions.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ NSFW. dark content! fem reader. dub-con. brat taming, spanking. pussy slapping. spitting. humping. use of pet names. BDSM. fingering. degradation. edging. no aftercare. inappropriate use of horse tack, seriously you’ve been warned.

please read warnings before reading. if you think this content will upset you do not read further!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The cold gravel nips and bites at your soft heels as you creep out the back door, the door clicking shut behind you, the quiet latch sounding thunderous in the quiet of the twilight.

In the same moment a rather biting gust of wind hits you, flurrying underneath your nightgown rather mockingly, seeping it’s way into your very bones.

The ragged shawl around your shoulders doing little to keep the chill at bay, the moor itself seems to be ridiculing you each step you take- the heat of your home, your warmed bed still in your grasp yet here you are. 

Your stomach feels in knots, churning the heavy pit you feel each step you take, worsening each step into the night- feeling more like you are stepping to execution rather than the familiar fields you frolicked as a girl.

The stables come into view and you swither in your steps, feet digging into the ground as shame builds and works its way up your neck, so sickening that you have clench your eyes shut and pinch your forearms till it marks your wind whipped skin. A feeble attempt at best to to get the wicked thoughts from your head. 

Just some proof is all, an inkling that even one part of what Cathy saw rings true, then you can go, back where it’s warm, where you can wake your wretched sister and tell Nelly all about her filthy lies. The satisfaction warms your chest enough to quicken your steps. Thats why. It will be to prove her wrong. That’s why you’ve ventured in the cold, her stupid childish stories. Lying to ones own sister like this. What does she take you for. 

You’re women grown but just the sort of thing she’d lie about to tease you, just like when you were girls. So vulgar and far fetched, just something she conjured up to redden your cheeks and scandalise your affections for such an innocent man.

A working man. 

Joseph. Our Joseph.

and Zillah? 

Whips and chains and horse tackle? 

The thought has you huffing with an incredulous smirk as you shove the door open to the darkened stables.

The stable door creaks echoingly loud and you stupidly attempt to shush it as you tiptoe inside. The intrusion has the horses startled - their hooves scuffling against the gates, nickering disapprovingly amongst themselves. A lantern has been left burning, practically near snuffed by the tack wall. Bingo

Padding across the hay littered ground, bare feet scuffing along the hardened cement till you reach the horse tackling, it’s strewn along the wall, hung perfectly but no coherent organisation that you could decipher. In the low light you kneel on the dirty ground to inspect the each part of roughened leather bridles, working left to right along the wall, your knees aching and likely covered in filth when you stand.

Once checked over you carelessly drop them, letting them reverberate back against the hollow stable walls, rattling the chains with a shrill booming shudder till there is just one left to inspect. 

Shivering you pick it up, narrowing your eyes to hold the cheekpiece up to the dimming light again, eyes lazily scanning, feeling foolish for leaving the warmth of your bed for this, thinking of the scolding that you’ll give your sister on the morrow and-

Hold on. 

There it is. 

Bite marks. Distinct and human. 

Your stomach lurches uncomfortably. 

Surely not. You wipe your dirtied hands on your white nightgown, a scattering of dust and filth marking the lace carelessly as you move closer to the lamp, leaning as close as you can, not wanting to believe what you see. 

Then- the wind changes. The stable door flying open with the gust- snuffing out the lamp and completely enveloping you in a shroud of darkness, leaving you isolated with just the pull of worry and something else still churning in your abdomen.

You drop the bridle- the chains ricocheting against the rest with a loud clang. The sound thrumming for a second as your eyes adjust to the darkness. You feel for the wall closest to your left, using it to guide your way back to where the door is, squinting in the dark for the familiar arch. It comes into view but not down to the skill of your own eyesight, it is a light that appears, getting closer along with the sound of humming, out of tune and oh so familiar. 

Joseph bustles his way inside, heavy boots thumping across to where the horses rest, blissfully unaware of your trembling presence hidden in the dark corner. He hangs his lantern and looks over the horses with a furrowed brow, the light reflecting over his angled features so it’s all you can see in the room.

“That you making all that racket in here eh?” he tuts, sucking the air through his teeth disapprovingly.

“Just a bit a’ wind that’s all. you know that.” 

He scoffs, petting the horses with a gentle kind hand before picking up the lantern to head out again, taking a singular step forward toward before he locks eyes with you. 

Your heart is in your throat and you can scarcely exhale, your eyes so wide that you feel the cold wind nipping and drying them, completely frozen to the spot.

The teeth. 

The reigns.

 Zillah. 

The whip. 

The sounds.

All the things Cathy told you hammering in your skull, mocking you right now as you look at him where he stands a foot away. 

He is still completely dressed in his work gear, strange despite the hour and it makes you wonder for a half second if he ever sleeps, how does he find the time with all this? Your head is spinning in fear and shame, eyeing the door like you are ready to bolt.

He edges forward keeping his voice a low slow timbre when he speaks, careful not to spook you like he’d approach a frightened mare. 

“Miss Earnshaw?”

When he draws closer, you instinctively step back, your back hitting the wooden support beam behind you.

When you do not respond, he speaks again, “Was that you making all that noise in here?”

He looks amused, brows furrowed but eyes full of mirth despite his gentle concern. Drawing his gaze downwards, taking in your nightdress. Your filthy nightdress.

“M’ sorry Joseph I could not rest, I was just taking a walk to tire me that’s all. Came in to see the horses.”

You mumble hurriedly under your breath, sweetening your voice for him like you always do when you want something, big eyes blinking up at him. 

Your breath fogs in the cold air, your own lies visible in the air of the dark stable.

He regards you for a moment, gauging the truth of it. Even in the low light, your features are drawn and pale, clearly distressed.

“Restless?" he repeats, his voice crackling gently. “And you didn’t think so put on a pair of proper shoes before your little walk?"

His tone is gently reprimanding—like a disapproving adult to a child. 

"You're shivering," he states matter-of-factly, gaze flicking to your bare feet and to the the damp shawl wrapped tightly around you.

“and I don’t believe you Miss Earnshaw.”

His sneering tone surprises you, despite being scarcely a year younger than him he has always spoken to you with gentle respect, the tone befitting your relationship, nothing more.

But he isn’t working now and the accusation puts fire in your belly, enraging you to be disregarded and caught in your own lies. It stumps you to silence.

He can see your shifting eyes, your attempt to think of a way out, the way you won't hold his gaze. It only reinforces his belief that something is deeply amiss.

His expression doesn't falter, still gentle but unyielding. In a voice laced with quiet authority, he coos,

“No lying now Miss. Why are you in here?”

There is a finality in it that brooks no further argument. His tone ragged and disapproving. 

He steps closer but stops just shy of the tack wall, forcing you to shrink against it even more. 

This he regards with a barely there smug smirk, his stance relaxed yet dominating in the small space. He is deceptively lazy, an act of calculated patience likely chosen to bait you into enlightening him with the truth.

Your blood boils, straightening your back and balancing on the balls of your scuffed feet in a feeble attempt in trying to assert him, shuffling closer to him in the murk, ignoring the heat pooling in your abdomen under his smug holier-than-thou gaze. 

Fists clenching on the dirtied fabric of your nightgown, you sneer. 

“It’s none of your concern what I do. You forget yourself and are being inappropriate Joseph. I’m no liar. you wait till I tell Fath-“

He cuts you off with a stern look before you can finish your snarky attempt to rebuff him. His brows drawn and mouth turned to a frown- unfamiliar and biting on his usually kind face.

“Oh? Inappropriate?”

He repeats the word as though tasting it, a dark eyebrow lifting faintly as he looks you up and down. A ghost of amusement flickers through his expression. You're trying to reassert authority, remind him that you're a young lady of status compared to him. It's an attempt to gain leverage and it falls flat instantaneously. 

He tilts his head slightly, one side of his mouth curving up to a crooked smile, faint yet fond in it’s condescension.

"You seem to have wandered out into the open moor at night in little more than your shift. I'm not sure what is appropriate holds any sway over either of us at the moment.”

He points out towards the open stable door- towards your home as it sits in the fog.

"And just what will you tell your father then? That I caught you out here half-naked? Perhaps hiding a lover….hm?” 

He peers behind you in the shadow of the stable just to irk you further, as if really checking for some fiend to be hiding in the hay with you. 

Your body burns from the tips of your toes to the flush of your cheeks with pure scandalised horror, outraged you spin on your heel and stomp out into the night air. 

He doesn’t follow right away. Lets you go. An amused huff parting his mouth as he watches you distance from the stable. Not for long though, slow and deliberate, he steps after you, letting the heavy barn door creak shut behind him.

The lantern light faraway and darkness shrouding him as he moves deeper into the shadows, unfazed by your little tantrum.

His steps are quiet, catching up with you with ease while you catch your breath in the doorway of the kitchen you had left swinging open before.

From behind, his voice comes low and even,

“I won’t tell your father a word. Not if you tell me the truth girl.”

He steps closer, you hear the scuffle of his mucky boots. 

“Now. Miss Earnshaw.”

His stern voice sends a shiver through you that has little to do with the cold wind. A familiar ache in the pit of your abdomen overcomes you so suddenly you fear if you turn around it will be written all over your face.

A sharp retort wells up as you turn but it dies under his piercing gaze.

This close, it's almost impossible to look away,  his eyes an enchanting blue, glimmering in the moonlight, if those eyes weren’t gazing at you with such disapproval you’d be likely to stand there frozen in the sapphire depths all night. 

His stance, though not oppressive, dominates the moor- even in the open field you feel just as you did when he cornered you in the stable, like an animal, ready to bite and scratch your way out.

But you don’t. You find yourself explaining, however irritated and sheepish you sound.

“Cathy told me some story.. she saw you and Zillah in there..doin’.. things.” 

You nod towards the barn half heartedly, unable to meet his eyes. 

He catches it immediately, interest peaked. 

“Hey! Fweet!” he whistles like he would to a disobedient mare, tipping your chin up with his leather clad hand to meet his furrowed eyeline.

His touch doesn’t linger but you feel it’s authority even as it’s gone- the whistle straightened your back immediately- frustratingly so that he could work you just like one of his animals. 

“Look at me when you’re talking eh? Manners..What’s that Cathy sayin’ about me then eh?” 

The corner of his mouth tightens slightly, surprise mingled with wariness. Peering into every micro-expression you give him, his eyes flickering with something, a smug kind of cockiness as he awaits your response. He studies you, the defiant tilt of your chin, the set of your jaw. 

It's as though your resolve only spurs his questions, his interest piqued by your defiance. 

His eyes sparkle as they hold yours. 

"What things were we doing?” 

His tone is gentler now- like it was when he found you in the darkness. Cooing and leading you into this temporary sense of ease.

It excites you, the way he could manipulate your feelings.

Your words. Your attitude. It equally terrified and aroused you.

“You were- um. Playing with the tack.”

You fail to suppress a smirk as the words leave your mouth. Your voice wavering on a half laugh. You couldn't help it, it felt so serious before in your own head but verbalising it to him felt childish. The words fizzle out of your mouth with that coy smile.

But when you look up once again to meet his gaze he’s not impressed.

“Oh? S’funny is it?”

He crowds you- his breath warming your weather battered cheeks.

His scent filling your lungs, the smoky scent of hay and dirt mixed with the sweat and grime from his long days work. It should repulse you. It should make you sick but you hang onto his every word- wide eyed eyes stinging, afraid to blink even as the wind pricks at them.

“You found it so funny you wanted to come out and see for yourself? Dressed like a fucking..whore. What? to laugh?”

He nips at you. Lazing over his words because he knows he has you right in his clutches anyway, his curses slow and dripping with (false?) contempt.

It’s as if someone has poured ice into your veins.

All leverage you thought you had of the situation out the door. Or more appropriately out into the biting cold of the moor. He’s not as dense as you were hoping.

You have to clench your thighs hard under your skirt, the pulsing between your legs crying for the barest pressure as he scolds you.

He’s right of course. You were hoping you’d find him out here. Part of you hoped Cathy hadn’t lied. That Joseph wasn’t the pious working man everyone thought he was. Not only did you hit the bingo you’ve summoned your very own wicked & perverted dreams into fruition.

You stare at him unable to work up a single syllable, clearly surprised by his outburst but waiting patiently for what? more? This seems to irk him further.

He grabs your wrist. Hard. Yanking you forward, trailing you back into the darkened stables while you can only follow dizzily.

Eyes trained on his broadened strong back. Your steps are clumsy in your desperation, your depraved mind already trailing off to your sweetened memories of how this view differs in the height of summer, as he is throwing hay bales across the barn…bare- his sweat and muscle rippling in the heat.

He manhandles you into the centre of the tack wall once again, scowling once he realises he still hasn’t shocked you into a response.

Your eyes just as dreamily unfocused as before. Looking at him with that same expectant half smirking look- he’s not happy.

"Stay there." he spits, stalking off behind you to fetch the tack- returning with the same bite imprinted bridle you found before.

When he turns back to you- running the leather through his fingers he regards you greedily- your pert nipples through your nightgown, your oh-so-soft thighs on display.

You feel sick with your impatience but still unwilling to stoop so low to beg for his affections.

Yet.

He broaches into your space now, while you stand obediently- exactly how he told you to- cold feet shifting on the solid ground. The whistle of the wind rattling through the stable is the only noise you can hear- the only thing you can try to focus on besides him.

“Chilly? Poor thing.” he murmurs, nosing around you- observing you with clinical precision in the murk.

His voice has that soft coo to it again- he’s so hot and cold that you don’t quite know where you stand- the way he’s fiddling with the tack like it’s a threat yet talking so softly. So sweetly.

“Yeah..s’cold Joseph. What are you doing?” you mumble at last, eyeing the door like you’d be discovered- by who- Nelly? Cathy?

You haven’t done anything to be ashamed of but the arousal burning in your belly makes you feel dirty all the same.

“What am I doing?” He laughs like the answer is obvious.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” He leans down to your level- close enough to feel his warmth- for you to see the sprinkling of chest hair peeking through his neckline, the curve of his angled mouth as he leans closer.

And closer.

His nose grazing yours now.

The breath leaves your lungs in a flurry of excitement- standing on your toes to meet his mouth when he suddenly pulls back with a cruel laugh.

“Kisses? Tut Tut. No I don’t quite think so Miss Earnshaw.”

With a sudden Thwack he slaps the meat of your thigh with the tough leather bridle making you gasp in indignant disbelief.

“Joseph!” you squeal, biting your cheek to suppress the pleased smile that creeps on your face, the sting of the smack setting your blood aflame- your pearl fluttering and pulsing immediately.

He repeats the action in the exact same spot with a self satisfied grin, making you cry out again.

“You want me to stop?” he teases- gently rubbing his warm hand over the nipping reddened skin. His words have you dumbfounded and quiet again.

“Tell me what you want then hm? Tell me how inappropriate I am. Where’s that attitude gone from earlier?”

He sounds disappointed and if it weren’t for that smile on his face you’d believe it.

“Don’t know...”

You gulp, looking back down at the curve of his mouth with hazy- poorly disguised need.

Another Thwack- higher up this time, the pained sound that escapes your mouth sounding closer to a whorish whine.

This seems to amuse him enough for his teeth to peek out when he smiles cruelly. His canines sharp, reflecting prominently in the lamplight. How you wish you could feel the scrape of them on your tongue. Your neck. Your thigh..

“I think you do know baby. I think if I felt under that filthy dress of yours you’d be fucking soaked. Sound about right?”

Caught.

You’re too caught up and needy to keep lying and you nod instantaneously. The pet name doing nothing to help ease your want for him.

“Oh such a good girl. Finally being honest. Give me your hands Baby. Keep being good and listen.”

Doing as you are told he takes your outstretched hands and fastens them into the bridle at the wrists, barely moment of realisation passes through you before he hooks you onto the ceiling beam with expert precision, effectively holding you in the spot.

“Och’t so pretty!”

He rubs his hands together to heat them before cupping your cheeks and pressing a kiss to your gaped surprised mouth. The kiss is achingly slow and wet- intentionally teasing, straining your raised arms in desperation to wrap around him, keep him close. The chains rattle when you instinctively try and he pulls back immediately.

He circles you a couple times before slowly lifting the hem of your skirts- grazing his warm hands over your arse, now bared for him. He doesn’t comment on your lack of underclothes but you can hear the hitch in his breathing from behind you.

His hands so so fucking close to where you need him.

“Joseph..”

You whine, desperate for attention, desperate for anything he will give you.

And what you get is a hard smack right on your arse.

Another to follow for good measure.

“Be patient.”

He sucks the air through his teeth when you moan. Angling his strong arm around your middle to hold you steady before sliding his other hand through your backside and down towards your aching wetness. He feels his way through your folds with precision- soaking his hand with what he finds.

His hips press against your arse at the angle and you can feel the unmistakable pressure of his hardness through his breeches. It has you throbbing right where he can feel, pulsing right on his fingers as little whimpers leave your mouth in your vulnerable desperation. Completely at his mercy.

He seems to take pity on you, circling his fingers on your pearl with the pressure you’ve been needing. Shushing you gently and talking you through the sharp pleasure.

“There she is. Take what I give you. Good girl- oh good girl.” his voice is a near rasp now. Circling his own hips so slightly onto you to relieve his own pressure.

Instinctively you buck your hips, a girlish whine escaping your mouth as you work yourself through the pressure of his fingers and back to press onto his aching cock.

Bad decision.

He pulls his hand away just to spank you directly onto your aching cunt and you wail in frustration.

“Don’t be greedy!”

He snaps. letting you go completely for a moment- your arms rattling above your head- the wind seeping between your legs and cooling your heat.

He grabs your chin, forcing his wet fingers into your mouth- fucking them into your throat- the tang of your own arousal coating your tongue and there’s not much you can do but take it. Gladly.

Once he’s satisfied he releases them from your mouth with a questioning look.

“You gonna listen this time?”

“Mhmmm!”

The immediate way you agree seems to charm him and he returns his hand between your legs- front facing this time so he can watch the needy expressions on your face.

His hand strokes and rocks between your legs, coaxing your pleasure from you slowly, building you back up to that tight pressure he had you feeling moments ago. His long lithe middle finger slipping further down and filling you sudden and unexpectedly- his ring finger soon joining.

The sensation of being filled while the heel of his palm rocks against your sensitive pearl is almost too much, your bottom lip is red raw from biting back all your needy moans but you don’t waste your energy on feeling ashamed anymore.

Needy little uh..uh..uh’s are slipping from your slacked jaw, accompanying the wet sounds of your own slick arousal as he fills you.

“Look at me baby? Keep that pretty mouth open.” he smirks- giving you a moment before spitting straight into your mouth- the wetness dripping down your chin despite your attempts to swallow it down. Your lips glossy with it in your efforts.

“Messy girl..” he laughs taking his free hand to palm and rub against his aching cock shamelessly over his clothes as he fingers into you.

Your eyes follow the movement greedily and the desperation to be filled- properly filled by him comes over you feral and more than you can take.

“Please Joseph..”

You whine looking at it desperately, you can practically feel it already- every ridge and vein as he’d notch his way inside you- filling you up. Making him feel so good. You’re so close, vision blurring as you beg.

The pleasure drunk look on his face twists.

He takes his hand away completely and you squeal- the sound echoing through the barn- probably out in the fields too. Being dropped from such pleasure when it had just began to peak makes your cunt clench rhythmically into itself- aching.

“Bad girl.” he huffs.

He cups your jaw- the wet scent of your arousal mocking you now so close to your face.

“Greedy girls get nothing.”

He unbuckles your wrists from the restrains leaving you stood sheepish, thighs trembling, eyes burning in frustration and shock.

“No no no wait please I’m sorry!”

In a moment of desperation you clutch his shirt in your sweaty palms. Lip quivering.

Heartbroken he thinks. To not get your own way for once.

Spoilt thing.

He almost feels bad. Giving you a slow kiss on your pouting lips before turning his back and walking out. Leaving you standing at the tack wall right where he found you.

—

authors note: well! here it is, i’ve had this in my drafts for a bit but i decided to just commit. please let me know what you think! (unless its mean lol) bye friends!

[blackswxnn]

WHAT?! THATS IT?! I NEED MORE ITS TOO GOOD ☹️ U ARE BEING CRUEL 🫩

[opaldracarys]

aahaha aw thank you for reading!!!

i’m sorry! it was too tempting for Joseph to be mean!

like look at this pout!!

[opaldracarys]

NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN

summary: snooping around in the stables late at night won’t go without repercussions.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ NSFW. dark content! fem reader. dub-con. brat taming, spanking. pussy slapping. spitting. humping. use of pet names. BDSM. fingering. degradation. edging. no aftercare. inappropriate use of horse tack, seriously you’ve been warned.

please read warnings before reading. if you think this content will upset you do not read further!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The cold gravel nips and bites at your soft heels as you creep out the back door, the door clicking shut behind you, the quiet latch sounding thunderous in the quiet of the twilight.

In the same moment a rather biting gust of wind hits you, flurrying underneath your nightgown rather mockingly, seeping it’s way into your very bones.

The ragged shawl around your shoulders doing little to keep the chill at bay, the moor itself seems to be ridiculing you each step you take- the heat of your home, your warmed bed still in your grasp yet here you are. 

Your stomach feels in knots, churning the heavy pit you feel each step you take, worsening each step into the night- feeling more like you are stepping to execution rather than the familiar fields you frolicked as a girl.

The stables come into view and you swither in your steps, feet digging into the ground as shame builds and works its way up your neck, so sickening that you have clench your eyes shut and pinch your forearms till it marks your wind whipped skin. A feeble attempt at best to to get the wicked thoughts from your head. 

Just some proof is all, an inkling that even one part of what Cathy saw rings true, then you can go, back where it’s warm, where you can wake your wretched sister and tell Nelly all about her filthy lies. The satisfaction warms your chest enough to quicken your steps. Thats why. It will be to prove her wrong. That’s why you’ve ventured in the cold, her stupid childish stories. Lying to ones own sister like this. What does she take you for. 

You’re women grown but just the sort of thing she’d lie about to tease you, just like when you were girls. So vulgar and far fetched, just something she conjured up to redden your cheeks and scandalise your affections for such an innocent man.

A working man. 

Joseph. Our Joseph.

and Zillah? 

Whips and chains and horse tackle? 

The thought has you huffing with an incredulous smirk as you shove the door open to the darkened stables.

The stable door creaks echoingly loud and you stupidly attempt to shush it as you tiptoe inside. The intrusion has the horses startled - their hooves scuffling against the gates, nickering disapprovingly amongst themselves. A lantern has been left burning, practically near snuffed by the tack wall. Bingo

Padding across the hay littered ground, bare feet scuffing along the hardened cement till you reach the horse tackling, it’s strewn along the wall, hung perfectly but no coherent organisation that you could decipher. In the low light you kneel on the dirty ground to inspect the each part of roughened leather bridles, working left to right along the wall, your knees aching and likely covered in filth when you stand.

Once checked over you carelessly drop them, letting them reverberate back against the hollow stable walls, rattling the chains with a shrill booming shudder till there is just one left to inspect. 

Shivering you pick it up, narrowing your eyes to hold the cheekpiece up to the dimming light again, eyes lazily scanning, feeling foolish for leaving the warmth of your bed for this, thinking of the scolding that you’ll give your sister on the morrow and-

Hold on. 

There it is. 

Bite marks. Distinct and human. 

Your stomach lurches uncomfortably. 

Surely not. You wipe your dirtied hands on your white nightgown, a scattering of dust and filth marking the lace carelessly as you move closer to the lamp, leaning as close as you can, not wanting to believe what you see. 

Then- the wind changes. The stable door flying open with the gust- snuffing out the lamp and completely enveloping you in a shroud of darkness, leaving you isolated with just the pull of worry and something else still churning in your abdomen.

You drop the bridle- the chains ricocheting against the rest with a loud clang. The sound thrumming for a second as your eyes adjust to the darkness. You feel for the wall closest to your left, using it to guide your way back to where the door is, squinting in the dark for the familiar arch. It comes into view but not down to the skill of your own eyesight, it is a light that appears, getting closer along with the sound of humming, out of tune and oh so familiar. 

Joseph bustles his way inside, heavy boots thumping across to where the horses rest, blissfully unaware of your trembling presence hidden in the dark corner. He hangs his lantern and looks over the horses with a furrowed brow, the light reflecting over his angled features so it’s all you can see in the room.

“That you making all that racket in here eh?” he tuts, sucking the air through his teeth disapprovingly.

“Just a bit a’ wind that’s all. you know that.” 

He scoffs, petting the horses with a gentle kind hand before picking up the lantern to head out again, taking a singular step forward toward before he locks eyes with you. 

Your heart is in your throat and you can scarcely exhale, your eyes so wide that you feel the cold wind nipping and drying them, completely frozen to the spot.

The teeth. 

The reigns.

 Zillah. 

The whip. 

The sounds.

All the things Cathy told you hammering in your skull, mocking you right now as you look at him where he stands a foot away. 

He is still completely dressed in his work gear, strange despite the hour and it makes you wonder for a half second if he ever sleeps, how does he find the time with all this? Your head is spinning in fear and shame, eyeing the door like you are ready to bolt.

He edges forward keeping his voice a low slow timbre when he speaks, careful not to spook you like he’d approach a frightened mare. 

“Miss Earnshaw?”

When he draws closer, you instinctively step back, your back hitting the wooden support beam behind you.

When you do not respond, he speaks again, “Was that you making all that noise in here?”

He looks amused, brows furrowed but eyes full of mirth despite his gentle concern. Drawing his gaze downwards, taking in your nightdress. Your filthy nightdress.

“M’ sorry Joseph I could not rest, I was just taking a walk to tire me that’s all. Came in to see the horses.”

You mumble hurriedly under your breath, sweetening your voice for him like you always do when you want something, big eyes blinking up at him. 

Your breath fogs in the cold air, your own lies visible in the air of the dark stable.

He regards you for a moment, gauging the truth of it. Even in the low light, your features are drawn and pale, clearly distressed.

“Restless?" he repeats, his voice crackling gently. “And you didn’t think so put on a pair of proper shoes before your little walk?"

His tone is gently reprimanding—like a disapproving adult to a child. 

"You're shivering," he states matter-of-factly, gaze flicking to your bare feet and to the the damp shawl wrapped tightly around you.

“and I don’t believe you Miss Earnshaw.”

His sneering tone surprises you, despite being scarcely a year younger than him he has always spoken to you with gentle respect, the tone befitting your relationship, nothing more.

But he isn’t working now and the accusation puts fire in your belly, enraging you to be disregarded and caught in your own lies. It stumps you to silence.

He can see your shifting eyes, your attempt to think of a way out, the way you won't hold his gaze. It only reinforces his belief that something is deeply amiss.

His expression doesn't falter, still gentle but unyielding. In a voice laced with quiet authority, he coos,

“No lying now Miss. Why are you in here?”

There is a finality in it that brooks no further argument. His tone ragged and disapproving. 

He steps closer but stops just shy of the tack wall, forcing you to shrink against it even more. 

This he regards with a barely there smug smirk, his stance relaxed yet dominating in the small space. He is deceptively lazy, an act of calculated patience likely chosen to bait you into enlightening him with the truth.

Your blood boils, straightening your back and balancing on the balls of your scuffed feet in a feeble attempt in trying to assert him, shuffling closer to him in the murk, ignoring the heat pooling in your abdomen under his smug holier-than-thou gaze. 

Fists clenching on the dirtied fabric of your nightgown, you sneer. 

“It’s none of your concern what I do. You forget yourself and are being inappropriate Joseph. I’m no liar. you wait till I tell Fath-“

He cuts you off with a stern look before you can finish your snarky attempt to rebuff him. His brows drawn and mouth turned to a frown- unfamiliar and biting on his usually kind face.

“Oh? Inappropriate?”

He repeats the word as though tasting it, a dark eyebrow lifting faintly as he looks you up and down. A ghost of amusement flickers through his expression. You're trying to reassert authority, remind him that you're a young lady of status compared to him. It's an attempt to gain leverage and it falls flat instantaneously. 

He tilts his head slightly, one side of his mouth curving up to a crooked smile, faint yet fond in it’s condescension.

"You seem to have wandered out into the open moor at night in little more than your shift. I'm not sure what is appropriate holds any sway over either of us at the moment.”

He points out towards the open stable door- towards your home as it sits in the fog.

"And just what will you tell your father then? That I caught you out here half-naked? Perhaps hiding a lover….hm?” 

He peers behind you in the shadow of the stable just to irk you further, as if really checking for some fiend to be hiding in the hay with you. 

Your body burns from the tips of your toes to the flush of your cheeks with pure scandalised horror, outraged you spin on your heel and stomp out into the night air. 

He doesn’t follow right away. Lets you go. An amused huff parting his mouth as he watches you distance from the stable. Not for long though, slow and deliberate, he steps after you, letting the heavy barn door creak shut behind him.

The lantern light faraway and darkness shrouding him as he moves deeper into the shadows, unfazed by your little tantrum.

His steps are quiet, catching up with you with ease while you catch your breath in the doorway of the kitchen you had left swinging open before.

From behind, his voice comes low and even,

“I won’t tell your father a word. Not if you tell me the truth girl.”

He steps closer, you hear the scuffle of his mucky boots. 

“Now. Miss Earnshaw.”

His stern voice sends a shiver through you that has little to do with the cold wind. A familiar ache in the pit of your abdomen overcomes you so suddenly you fear if you turn around it will be written all over your face.

A sharp retort wells up as you turn but it dies under his piercing gaze.

This close, it's almost impossible to look away,  his eyes an enchanting blue, glimmering in the moonlight, if those eyes weren’t gazing at you with such disapproval you’d be likely to stand there frozen in the sapphire depths all night. 

His stance, though not oppressive, dominates the moor- even in the open field you feel just as you did when he cornered you in the stable, like an animal, ready to bite and scratch your way out.

But you don’t. You find yourself explaining, however irritated and sheepish you sound.

“Cathy told me some story.. she saw you and Zillah in there..doin’.. things.” 

You nod towards the barn half heartedly, unable to meet his eyes. 

He catches it immediately, interest peaked. 

“Hey! Fweet!” he whistles like he would to a disobedient mare, tipping your chin up with his leather clad hand to meet his furrowed eyeline.

His touch doesn’t linger but you feel it’s authority even as it’s gone- the whistle straightened your back immediately- frustratingly so that he could work you just like one of his animals. 

“Look at me when you’re talking eh? Manners..What’s that Cathy sayin’ about me then eh?” 

The corner of his mouth tightens slightly, surprise mingled with wariness. Peering into every micro-expression you give him, his eyes flickering with something, a smug kind of cockiness as he awaits your response. He studies you, the defiant tilt of your chin, the set of your jaw. 

It's as though your resolve only spurs his questions, his interest piqued by your defiance. 

His eyes sparkle as they hold yours. 

"What things were we doing?” 

His tone is gentler now- like it was when he found you in the darkness. Cooing and leading you into this temporary sense of ease.

It excites you, the way he could manipulate your feelings.

Your words. Your attitude. It equally terrified and aroused you.

“You were- um. Playing with the tack.”

You fail to suppress a smirk as the words leave your mouth. Your voice wavering on a half laugh. You couldn't help it, it felt so serious before in your own head but verbalising it to him felt childish. The words fizzle out of your mouth with that coy smile.

But when you look up once again to meet his gaze he’s not impressed.

“Oh? S’funny is it?”

He crowds you- his breath warming your weather battered cheeks.

His scent filling your lungs, the smoky scent of hay and dirt mixed with the sweat and grime from his long days work. It should repulse you. It should make you sick but you hang onto his every word- wide eyed eyes stinging, afraid to blink even as the wind pricks at them.

“You found it so funny you wanted to come out and see for yourself? Dressed like a fucking..whore. What? to laugh?”

He nips at you. Lazing over his words because he knows he has you right in his clutches anyway, his curses slow and dripping with (false?) contempt.

It’s as if someone has poured ice into your veins.

All leverage you thought you had of the situation out the door. Or more appropriately out into the biting cold of the moor. He’s not as dense as you were hoping.

You have to clench your thighs hard under your skirt, the pulsing between your legs crying for the barest pressure as he scolds you.

He’s right of course. You were hoping you’d find him out here. Part of you hoped Cathy hadn’t lied. That Joseph wasn’t the pious working man everyone thought he was. Not only did you hit the bingo you’ve summoned your very own wicked & perverted dreams into fruition.

You stare at him unable to work up a single syllable, clearly surprised by his outburst but waiting patiently for what? more? This seems to irk him further.

He grabs your wrist. Hard. Yanking you forward, trailing you back into the darkened stables while you can only follow dizzily.

Eyes trained on his broadened strong back. Your steps are clumsy in your desperation, your depraved mind already trailing off to your sweetened memories of how this view differs in the height of summer, as he is throwing hay bales across the barn…bare- his sweat and muscle rippling in the heat.

He manhandles you into the centre of the tack wall once again, scowling once he realises he still hasn’t shocked you into a response.

Your eyes just as dreamily unfocused as before. Looking at him with that same expectant half smirking look- he’s not happy.

"Stay there." he spits, stalking off behind you to fetch the tack- returning with the same bite imprinted bridle you found before.

When he turns back to you- running the leather through his fingers he regards you greedily- your pert nipples through your nightgown, your oh-so-soft thighs on display.

You feel sick with your impatience but still unwilling to stoop so low to beg for his affections.

Yet.

He broaches into your space now, while you stand obediently- exactly how he told you to- cold feet shifting on the solid ground. The whistle of the wind rattling through the stable is the only noise you can hear- the only thing you can try to focus on besides him.

“Chilly? Poor thing.” he murmurs, nosing around you- observing you with clinical precision in the murk.

His voice has that soft coo to it again- he’s so hot and cold that you don’t quite know where you stand- the way he’s fiddling with the tack like it’s a threat yet talking so softly. So sweetly.

“Yeah..s’cold Joseph. What are you doing?” you mumble at last, eyeing the door like you’d be discovered- by who- Nelly? Cathy?

You haven’t done anything to be ashamed of but the arousal burning in your belly makes you feel dirty all the same.

“What am I doing?” He laughs like the answer is obvious.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” He leans down to your level- close enough to feel his warmth- for you to see the sprinkling of chest hair peeking through his neckline, the curve of his angled mouth as he leans closer.

And closer.

His nose grazing yours now.

The breath leaves your lungs in a flurry of excitement- standing on your toes to meet his mouth when he suddenly pulls back with a cruel laugh.

“Kisses? Tut Tut. No I don’t quite think so Miss Earnshaw.”

With a sudden Thwack he slaps the meat of your thigh with the tough leather bridle making you gasp in indignant disbelief.

“Joseph!” you squeal, biting your cheek to suppress the pleased smile that creeps on your face, the sting of the smack setting your blood aflame- your pearl fluttering and pulsing immediately.

He repeats the action in the exact same spot with a self satisfied grin, making you cry out again.

“You want me to stop?” he teases- gently rubbing his warm hand over the nipping reddened skin. His words have you dumbfounded and quiet again.

“Tell me what you want then hm? Tell me how inappropriate I am. Where’s that attitude gone from earlier?”

He sounds disappointed and if it weren’t for that smile on his face you’d believe it.

“Don’t know...”

You gulp, looking back down at the curve of his mouth with hazy- poorly disguised need.

Another Thwack- higher up this time, the pained sound that escapes your mouth sounding closer to a whorish whine.

This seems to amuse him enough for his teeth to peek out when he smiles cruelly. His canines sharp, reflecting prominently in the lamplight. How you wish you could feel the scrape of them on your tongue. Your neck. Your thigh..

“I think you do know baby. I think if I felt under that filthy dress of yours you’d be fucking soaked. Sound about right?”

Caught.

You’re too caught up and needy to keep lying and you nod instantaneously. The pet name doing nothing to help ease your want for him.

“Oh such a good girl. Finally being honest. Give me your hands Baby. Keep being good and listen.”

Doing as you are told he takes your outstretched hands and fastens them into the bridle at the wrists, barely moment of realisation passes through you before he hooks you onto the ceiling beam with expert precision, effectively holding you in the spot.

“Och’t so pretty!”

He rubs his hands together to heat them before cupping your cheeks and pressing a kiss to your gaped surprised mouth. The kiss is achingly slow and wet- intentionally teasing, straining your raised arms in desperation to wrap around him, keep him close. The chains rattle when you instinctively try and he pulls back immediately.

He circles you a couple times before slowly lifting the hem of your skirts- grazing his warm hands over your arse, now bared for him. He doesn’t comment on your lack of underclothes but you can hear the hitch in his breathing from behind you.

His hands so so fucking close to where you need him.

“Joseph..”

You whine, desperate for attention, desperate for anything he will give you.

And what you get is a hard smack right on your arse.

Another to follow for good measure.

“Be patient.”

He sucks the air through his teeth when you moan. Angling his strong arm around your middle to hold you steady before sliding his other hand through your backside and down towards your aching wetness. He feels his way through your folds with precision- soaking his hand with what he finds.

His hips press against your arse at the angle and you can feel the unmistakable pressure of his hardness through his breeches. It has you throbbing right where he can feel, pulsing right on his fingers as little whimpers leave your mouth in your vulnerable desperation. Completely at his mercy.

He seems to take pity on you, circling his fingers on your pearl with the pressure you’ve been needing. Shushing you gently and talking you through the sharp pleasure.

“There she is. Take what I give you. Good girl- oh good girl.” his voice is a near rasp now. Circling his own hips so slightly onto you to relieve his own pressure.

Instinctively you buck your hips, a girlish whine escaping your mouth as you work yourself through the pressure of his fingers and back to press onto his aching cock.

Bad decision.

He pulls his hand away just to spank you directly onto your aching cunt and you wail in frustration.

“Don’t be greedy!”

He snaps. letting you go completely for a moment- your arms rattling above your head- the wind seeping between your legs and cooling your heat.

He grabs your chin, forcing his wet fingers into your mouth- fucking them into your throat- the tang of your own arousal coating your tongue and there’s not much you can do but take it. Gladly.

Once he’s satisfied he releases them from your mouth with a questioning look.

“You gonna listen this time?”

“Mhmmm!”

The immediate way you agree seems to charm him and he returns his hand between your legs- front facing this time so he can watch the needy expressions on your face.

His hand strokes and rocks between your legs, coaxing your pleasure from you slowly, building you back up to that tight pressure he had you feeling moments ago. His long lithe middle finger slipping further down and filling you sudden and unexpectedly- his ring finger soon joining.

The sensation of being filled while the heel of his palm rocks against your sensitive pearl is almost too much, your bottom lip is red raw from biting back all your needy moans but you don’t waste your energy on feeling ashamed anymore.

Needy little uh..uh..uh’s are slipping from your slacked jaw, accompanying the wet sounds of your own slick arousal as he fills you.

“Look at me baby? Keep that pretty mouth open.” he smirks- giving you a moment before spitting straight into your mouth- the wetness dripping down your chin despite your attempts to swallow it down. Your lips glossy with it in your efforts.

“Messy girl..” he laughs taking his free hand to palm and rub against his aching cock shamelessly over his clothes as he fingers into you.

Your eyes follow the movement greedily and the desperation to be filled- properly filled by him comes over you feral and more than you can take.

“Please Joseph..”

You whine looking at it desperately, you can practically feel it already- every ridge and vein as he’d notch his way inside you- filling you up. Making him feel so good. You’re so close, vision blurring as you beg.

The pleasure drunk look on his face twists.

He takes his hand away completely and you squeal- the sound echoing through the barn- probably out in the fields too. Being dropped from such pleasure when it had just began to peak makes your cunt clench rhythmically into itself- aching.

“Bad girl.” he huffs.

He cups your jaw- the wet scent of your arousal mocking you now so close to your face.

“Greedy girls get nothing.”

He unbuckles your wrists from the restrains leaving you stood sheepish, thighs trembling, eyes burning in frustration and shock.

“No no no wait please I’m sorry!”

In a moment of desperation you clutch his shirt in your sweaty palms. Lip quivering.

Heartbroken he thinks. To not get your own way for once.

Spoilt thing.

He almost feels bad. Giving you a slow kiss on your pouting lips before turning his back and walking out. Leaving you standing at the tack wall right where he found you.

—

authors note: well! here it is, i’ve had this in my drafts for a bit but i decided to just commit. please let me know what you think! (unless its mean lol) bye friends!

[opaldracarys]

NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN

summary: snooping around in the stables late at night won’t go without repercussions.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ NSFW. dark content! fem reader. dub-con. brat taming, spanking. pussy slapping. spitting. humping. use of pet names. BDSM. fingering. degradation. edging. no aftercare. inappropriate use of horse tack, seriously you’ve been warned.

please read warnings before reading. if you think this content will upset you do not read further!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The cold gravel nips and bites at your soft heels as you creep out the back door, the door clicking shut behind you, the quiet latch sounding thunderous in the quiet of the twilight.

In the same moment a rather biting gust of wind hits you, flurrying underneath your nightgown rather mockingly, seeping it’s way into your very bones.

The ragged shawl around your shoulders doing little to keep the chill at bay, the moor itself seems to be ridiculing you each step you take- the heat of your home, your warmed bed still in your grasp yet here you are. 

Your stomach feels in knots, churning the heavy pit you feel each step you take, worsening each step into the night- feeling more like you are stepping to execution rather than the familiar fields you frolicked as a girl.

The stables come into view and you swither in your steps, feet digging into the ground as shame builds and works its way up your neck, so sickening that you have clench your eyes shut and pinch your forearms till it marks your wind whipped skin. A feeble attempt at best to to get the wicked thoughts from your head. 

Just some proof is all, an inkling that even one part of what Cathy saw rings true, then you can go, back where it’s warm, where you can wake your wretched sister and tell Nelly all about her filthy lies. The satisfaction warms your chest enough to quicken your steps. Thats why. It will be to prove her wrong. That’s why you’ve ventured in the cold, her stupid childish stories. Lying to ones own sister like this. What does she take you for. 

You’re women grown but just the sort of thing she’d lie about to tease you, just like when you were girls. So vulgar and far fetched, just something she conjured up to redden your cheeks and scandalise your affections for such an innocent man.

A working man. 

Joseph. Our Joseph.

and Zillah? 

Whips and chains and horse tackle? 

The thought has you huffing with an incredulous smirk as you shove the door open to the darkened stables.

The stable door creaks echoingly loud and you stupidly attempt to shush it as you tiptoe inside. The intrusion has the horses startled - their hooves scuffling against the gates, nickering disapprovingly amongst themselves. A lantern has been left burning, practically near snuffed by the tack wall. Bingo

Padding across the hay littered ground, bare feet scuffing along the hardened cement till you reach the horse tackling, it’s strewn along the wall, hung perfectly but no coherent organisation that you could decipher. In the low light you kneel on the dirty ground to inspect the each part of roughened leather bridles, working left to right along the wall, your knees aching and likely covered in filth when you stand.

Once checked over you carelessly drop them, letting them reverberate back against the hollow stable walls, rattling the chains with a shrill booming shudder till there is just one left to inspect. 

Shivering you pick it up, narrowing your eyes to hold the cheekpiece up to the dimming light again, eyes lazily scanning, feeling foolish for leaving the warmth of your bed for this, thinking of the scolding that you’ll give your sister on the morrow and-

Hold on. 

There it is. 

Bite marks. Distinct and human. 

Your stomach lurches uncomfortably. 

Surely not. You wipe your dirtied hands on your white nightgown, a scattering of dust and filth marking the lace carelessly as you move closer to the lamp, leaning as close as you can, not wanting to believe what you see. 

Then- the wind changes. The stable door flying open with the gust- snuffing out the lamp and completely enveloping you in a shroud of darkness, leaving you isolated with just the pull of worry and something else still churning in your abdomen.

You drop the bridle- the chains ricocheting against the rest with a loud clang. The sound thrumming for a second as your eyes adjust to the darkness. You feel for the wall closest to your left, using it to guide your way back to where the door is, squinting in the dark for the familiar arch. It comes into view but not down to the skill of your own eyesight, it is a light that appears, getting closer along with the sound of humming, out of tune and oh so familiar. 

Joseph bustles his way inside, heavy boots thumping across to where the horses rest, blissfully unaware of your trembling presence hidden in the dark corner. He hangs his lantern and looks over the horses with a furrowed brow, the light reflecting over his angled features so it’s all you can see in the room.

“That you making all that racket in here eh?” he tuts, sucking the air through his teeth disapprovingly.

“Just a bit a’ wind that’s all. you know that.” 

He scoffs, petting the horses with a gentle kind hand before picking up the lantern to head out again, taking a singular step forward toward before he locks eyes with you. 

Your heart is in your throat and you can scarcely exhale, your eyes so wide that you feel the cold wind nipping and drying them, completely frozen to the spot.

The teeth. 

The reigns.

 Zillah. 

The whip. 

The sounds.

All the things Cathy told you hammering in your skull, mocking you right now as you look at him where he stands a foot away. 

He is still completely dressed in his work gear, strange despite the hour and it makes you wonder for a half second if he ever sleeps, how does he find the time with all this? Your head is spinning in fear and shame, eyeing the door like you are ready to bolt.

He edges forward keeping his voice a low slow timbre when he speaks, careful not to spook you like he’d approach a frightened mare. 

“Miss Earnshaw?”

When he draws closer, you instinctively step back, your back hitting the wooden support beam behind you.

When you do not respond, he speaks again, “Was that you making all that noise in here?”

He looks amused, brows furrowed but eyes full of mirth despite his gentle concern. Drawing his gaze downwards, taking in your nightdress. Your filthy nightdress.

“M’ sorry Joseph I could not rest, I was just taking a walk to tire me that’s all. Came in to see the horses.”

You mumble hurriedly under your breath, sweetening your voice for him like you always do when you want something, big eyes blinking up at him. 

Your breath fogs in the cold air, your own lies visible in the air of the dark stable.

He regards you for a moment, gauging the truth of it. Even in the low light, your features are drawn and pale, clearly distressed.

“Restless?" he repeats, his voice crackling gently. “And you didn’t think so put on a pair of proper shoes before your little walk?"

His tone is gently reprimanding—like a disapproving adult to a child. 

"You're shivering," he states matter-of-factly, gaze flicking to your bare feet and to the the damp shawl wrapped tightly around you.

“and I don’t believe you Miss Earnshaw.”

His sneering tone surprises you, despite being scarcely a year younger than him he has always spoken to you with gentle respect, the tone befitting your relationship, nothing more.

But he isn’t working now and the accusation puts fire in your belly, enraging you to be disregarded and caught in your own lies. It stumps you to silence.

He can see your shifting eyes, your attempt to think of a way out, the way you won't hold his gaze. It only reinforces his belief that something is deeply amiss.

His expression doesn't falter, still gentle but unyielding. In a voice laced with quiet authority, he coos,

“No lying now Miss. Why are you in here?”

There is a finality in it that brooks no further argument. His tone ragged and disapproving. 

He steps closer but stops just shy of the tack wall, forcing you to shrink against it even more. 

This he regards with a barely there smug smirk, his stance relaxed yet dominating in the small space. He is deceptively lazy, an act of calculated patience likely chosen to bait you into enlightening him with the truth.

Your blood boils, straightening your back and balancing on the balls of your scuffed feet in a feeble attempt in trying to assert him, shuffling closer to him in the murk, ignoring the heat pooling in your abdomen under his smug holier-than-thou gaze. 

Fists clenching on the dirtied fabric of your nightgown, you sneer. 

“It’s none of your concern what I do. You forget yourself and are being inappropriate Joseph. I’m no liar. you wait till I tell Fath-“

He cuts you off with a stern look before you can finish your snarky attempt to rebuff him. His brows drawn and mouth turned to a frown- unfamiliar and biting on his usually kind face.

“Oh? Inappropriate?”

He repeats the word as though tasting it, a dark eyebrow lifting faintly as he looks you up and down. A ghost of amusement flickers through his expression. You're trying to reassert authority, remind him that you're a young lady of status compared to him. It's an attempt to gain leverage and it falls flat instantaneously. 

He tilts his head slightly, one side of his mouth curving up to a crooked smile, faint yet fond in it’s condescension.

"You seem to have wandered out into the open moor at night in little more than your shift. I'm not sure what is appropriate holds any sway over either of us at the moment.”

He points out towards the open stable door- towards your home as it sits in the fog.

"And just what will you tell your father then? That I caught you out here half-naked? Perhaps hiding a lover….hm?” 

He peers behind you in the shadow of the stable just to irk you further, as if really checking for some fiend to be hiding in the hay with you. 

Your body burns from the tips of your toes to the flush of your cheeks with pure scandalised horror, outraged you spin on your heel and stomp out into the night air. 

He doesn’t follow right away. Lets you go. An amused huff parting his mouth as he watches you distance from the stable. Not for long though, slow and deliberate, he steps after you, letting the heavy barn door creak shut behind him.

The lantern light faraway and darkness shrouding him as he moves deeper into the shadows, unfazed by your little tantrum.

His steps are quiet, catching up with you with ease while you catch your breath in the doorway of the kitchen you had left swinging open before.

From behind, his voice comes low and even,

“I won’t tell your father a word. Not if you tell me the truth girl.”

He steps closer, you hear the scuffle of his mucky boots. 

“Now. Miss Earnshaw.”

His stern voice sends a shiver through you that has little to do with the cold wind. A familiar ache in the pit of your abdomen overcomes you so suddenly you fear if you turn around it will be written all over your face.

A sharp retort wells up as you turn but it dies under his piercing gaze.

This close, it's almost impossible to look away,  his eyes an enchanting blue, glimmering in the moonlight, if those eyes weren’t gazing at you with such disapproval you’d be likely to stand there frozen in the sapphire depths all night. 

His stance, though not oppressive, dominates the moor- even in the open field you feel just as you did when he cornered you in the stable, like an animal, ready to bite and scratch your way out.

But you don’t. You find yourself explaining, however irritated and sheepish you sound.

“Cathy told me some story.. she saw you and Zillah in there..doin’.. things.” 

You nod towards the barn half heartedly, unable to meet his eyes. 

He catches it immediately, interest peaked. 

“Hey! Fweet!” he whistles like he would to a disobedient mare, tipping your chin up with his leather clad hand to meet his furrowed eyeline.

His touch doesn’t linger but you feel it’s authority even as it’s gone- the whistle straightened your back immediately- frustratingly so that he could work you just like one of his animals. 

“Look at me when you’re talking eh? Manners..What’s that Cathy sayin’ about me then eh?” 

The corner of his mouth tightens slightly, surprise mingled with wariness. Peering into every micro-expression you give him, his eyes flickering with something, a smug kind of cockiness as he awaits your response. He studies you, the defiant tilt of your chin, the set of your jaw. 

It's as though your resolve only spurs his questions, his interest piqued by your defiance. 

His eyes sparkle as they hold yours. 

"What things were we doing?” 

His tone is gentler now- like it was when he found you in the darkness. Cooing and leading you into this temporary sense of ease.

It excites you, the way he could manipulate your feelings.

Your words. Your attitude. It equally terrified and aroused you.

“You were- um. Playing with the tack.”

You fail to suppress a smirk as the words leave your mouth. Your voice wavering on a half laugh. You couldn't help it, it felt so serious before in your own head but verbalising it to him felt childish. The words fizzle out of your mouth with that coy smile.

But when you look up once again to meet his gaze he’s not impressed.

“Oh? S’funny is it?”

He crowds you- his breath warming your weather battered cheeks.

His scent filling your lungs, the smoky scent of hay and dirt mixed with the sweat and grime from his long days work. It should repulse you. It should make you sick but you hang onto his every word- wide eyed eyes stinging, afraid to blink even as the wind pricks at them.

“You found it so funny you wanted to come out and see for yourself? Dressed like a fucking..whore. What? to laugh?”

He nips at you. Lazing over his words because he knows he has you right in his clutches anyway, his curses slow and dripping with (false?) contempt.

It’s as if someone has poured ice into your veins.

All leverage you thought you had of the situation out the door. Or more appropriately out into the biting cold of the moor. He’s not as dense as you were hoping.

You have to clench your thighs hard under your skirt, the pulsing between your legs crying for the barest pressure as he scolds you.

He’s right of course. You were hoping you’d find him out here. Part of you hoped Cathy hadn’t lied. That Joseph wasn’t the pious working man everyone thought he was. Not only did you hit the bingo you’ve summoned your very own wicked & perverted dreams into fruition.

You stare at him unable to work up a single syllable, clearly surprised by his outburst but waiting patiently for what? more? This seems to irk him further.

He grabs your wrist. Hard. Yanking you forward, trailing you back into the darkened stables while you can only follow dizzily.

Eyes trained on his broadened strong back. Your steps are clumsy in your desperation, your depraved mind already trailing off to your sweetened memories of how this view differs in the height of summer, as he is throwing hay bales across the barn…bare- his sweat and muscle rippling in the heat.

He manhandles you into the centre of the tack wall once again, scowling once he realises he still hasn’t shocked you into a response.

Your eyes just as dreamily unfocused as before. Looking at him with that same expectant half smirking look- he’s not happy.

"Stay there." he spits, stalking off behind you to fetch the tack- returning with the same bite imprinted bridle you found before.

When he turns back to you- running the leather through his fingers he regards you greedily- your pert nipples through your nightgown, your oh-so-soft thighs on display.

You feel sick with your impatience but still unwilling to stoop so low to beg for his affections.

Yet.

He broaches into your space now, while you stand obediently- exactly how he told you to- cold feet shifting on the solid ground. The whistle of the wind rattling through the stable is the only noise you can hear- the only thing you can try to focus on besides him.

“Chilly? Poor thing.” he murmurs, nosing around you- observing you with clinical precision in the murk.

His voice has that soft coo to it again- he’s so hot and cold that you don’t quite know where you stand- the way he’s fiddling with the tack like it’s a threat yet talking so softly. So sweetly.

“Yeah..s’cold Joseph. What are you doing?” you mumble at last, eyeing the door like you’d be discovered- by who- Nelly? Cathy?

You haven’t done anything to be ashamed of but the arousal burning in your belly makes you feel dirty all the same.

“What am I doing?” He laughs like the answer is obvious.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” He leans down to your level- close enough to feel his warmth- for you to see the sprinkling of chest hair peeking through his neckline, the curve of his angled mouth as he leans closer.

And closer.

His nose grazing yours now.

The breath leaves your lungs in a flurry of excitement- standing on your toes to meet his mouth when he suddenly pulls back with a cruel laugh.

“Kisses? Tut Tut. No I don’t quite think so Miss Earnshaw.”

With a sudden Thwack he slaps the meat of your thigh with the tough leather bridle making you gasp in indignant disbelief.

“Joseph!” you squeal, biting your cheek to suppress the pleased smile that creeps on your face, the sting of the smack setting your blood aflame- your pearl fluttering and pulsing immediately.

He repeats the action in the exact same spot with a self satisfied grin, making you cry out again.

“You want me to stop?” he teases- gently rubbing his warm hand over the nipping reddened skin. His words have you dumbfounded and quiet again.

“Tell me what you want then hm? Tell me how inappropriate I am. Where’s that attitude gone from earlier?”

He sounds disappointed and if it weren’t for that smile on his face you’d believe it.

“Don’t know...”

You gulp, looking back down at the curve of his mouth with hazy- poorly disguised need.

Another Thwack- higher up this time, the pained sound that escapes your mouth sounding closer to a whorish whine.

This seems to amuse him enough for his teeth to peek out when he smiles cruelly. His canines sharp, reflecting prominently in the lamplight. How you wish you could feel the scrape of them on your tongue. Your neck. Your thigh..

“I think you do know baby. I think if I felt under that filthy dress of yours you’d be fucking soaked. Sound about right?”

Caught.

You’re too caught up and needy to keep lying and you nod instantaneously. The pet name doing nothing to help ease your want for him.

“Oh such a good girl. Finally being honest. Give me your hands Baby. Keep being good and listen.”

Doing as you are told he takes your outstretched hands and fastens them into the bridle at the wrists, barely moment of realisation passes through you before he hooks you onto the ceiling beam with expert precision, effectively holding you in the spot.

“Och’t so pretty!”

He rubs his hands together to heat them before cupping your cheeks and pressing a kiss to your gaped surprised mouth. The kiss is achingly slow and wet- intentionally teasing, straining your raised arms in desperation to wrap around him, keep him close. The chains rattle when you instinctively try and he pulls back immediately.

He circles you a couple times before slowly lifting the hem of your skirts- grazing his warm hands over your arse, now bared for him. He doesn’t comment on your lack of underclothes but you can hear the hitch in his breathing from behind you.

His hands so so fucking close to where you need him.

“Joseph..”

You whine, desperate for attention, desperate for anything he will give you.

And what you get is a hard smack right on your arse.

Another to follow for good measure.

“Be patient.”

He sucks the air through his teeth when you moan. Angling his strong arm around your middle to hold you steady before sliding his other hand through your backside and down towards your aching wetness. He feels his way through your folds with precision- soaking his hand with what he finds.

His hips press against your arse at the angle and you can feel the unmistakable pressure of his hardness through his breeches. It has you throbbing right where he can feel, pulsing right on his fingers as little whimpers leave your mouth in your vulnerable desperation. Completely at his mercy.

He seems to take pity on you, circling his fingers on your pearl with the pressure you’ve been needing. Shushing you gently and talking you through the sharp pleasure.

“There she is. Take what I give you. Good girl- oh good girl.” his voice is a near rasp now. Circling his own hips so slightly onto you to relieve his own pressure.

Instinctively you buck your hips, a girlish whine escaping your mouth as you work yourself through the pressure of his fingers and back to press onto his aching cock.

Bad decision.

He pulls his hand away just to spank you directly onto your aching cunt and you wail in frustration.

“Don’t be greedy!”

He snaps. letting you go completely for a moment- your arms rattling above your head- the wind seeping between your legs and cooling your heat.

He grabs your chin, forcing his wet fingers into your mouth- fucking them into your throat- the tang of your own arousal coating your tongue and there’s not much you can do but take it. Gladly.

Once he’s satisfied he releases them from your mouth with a questioning look.

“You gonna listen this time?”

“Mhmmm!”

The immediate way you agree seems to charm him and he returns his hand between your legs- front facing this time so he can watch the needy expressions on your face.

His hand strokes and rocks between your legs, coaxing your pleasure from you slowly, building you back up to that tight pressure he had you feeling moments ago. His long lithe middle finger slipping further down and filling you sudden and unexpectedly- his ring finger soon joining.

The sensation of being filled while the heel of his palm rocks against your sensitive pearl is almost too much, your bottom lip is red raw from biting back all your needy moans but you don’t waste your energy on feeling ashamed anymore.

Needy little uh..uh..uh’s are slipping from your slacked jaw, accompanying the wet sounds of your own slick arousal as he fills you.

“Look at me baby? Keep that pretty mouth open.” he smirks- giving you a moment before spitting straight into your mouth- the wetness dripping down your chin despite your attempts to swallow it down. Your lips glossy with it in your efforts.

“Messy girl..” he laughs taking his free hand to palm and rub against his aching cock shamelessly over his clothes as he fingers into you.

Your eyes follow the movement greedily and the desperation to be filled- properly filled by him comes over you feral and more than you can take.

“Please Joseph..”

You whine looking at it desperately, you can practically feel it already- every ridge and vein as he’d notch his way inside you- filling you up. Making him feel so good. You’re so close, vision blurring as you beg.

The pleasure drunk look on his face twists.

He takes his hand away completely and you squeal- the sound echoing through the barn- probably out in the fields too. Being dropped from such pleasure when it had just began to peak makes your cunt clench rhythmically into itself- aching.

“Bad girl.” he huffs.

He cups your jaw- the wet scent of your arousal mocking you now so close to your face.

“Greedy girls get nothing.”

He unbuckles your wrists from the restrains leaving you stood sheepish, thighs trembling, eyes burning in frustration and shock.

“No no no wait please I’m sorry!”

In a moment of desperation you clutch his shirt in your sweaty palms. Lip quivering.

Heartbroken he thinks. To not get your own way for once.

Spoilt thing.

He almost feels bad. Giving you a slow kiss on your pouting lips before turning his back and walking out. Leaving you standing at the tack wall right where he found you.

—

authors note: well! here it is, i’ve had this in my drafts for a bit but i decided to just commit. please let me know what you think! (unless its mean lol) bye friends!

[opaldracarys]

NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN

summary: snooping around in the stables late at night won’t go without repercussions.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: 18+ NSFW. dark content! fem reader. dub-con. brat taming, spanking. pussy slapping. spitting. humping. use of pet names. BDSM. fingering. degradation. edging. no aftercare. inappropriate use of horse tack, seriously you’ve been warned.

please read warnings before reading. if you think this content will upset you do not read further!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The cold gravel nips and bites at your soft heels as you creep out the back door, the door clicking shut behind you, the quiet latch sounding thunderous in the quiet of the twilight.

In the same moment a rather biting gust of wind hits you, flurrying underneath your nightgown rather mockingly, seeping it’s way into your very bones.

The ragged shawl around your shoulders doing little to keep the chill at bay, the moor itself seems to be ridiculing you each step you take- the heat of your home, your warmed bed still in your grasp yet here you are. 

Your stomach feels in knots, churning the heavy pit you feel each step you take, worsening each step into the night- feeling more like you are stepping to execution rather than the familiar fields you frolicked as a girl.

The stables come into view and you swither in your steps, feet digging into the ground as shame builds and works its way up your neck, so sickening that you have clench your eyes shut and pinch your forearms till it marks your wind whipped skin. A feeble attempt at best to to get the wicked thoughts from your head. 

Just some proof is all, an inkling that even one part of what Cathy saw rings true, then you can go, back where it’s warm, where you can wake your wretched sister and tell Nelly all about her filthy lies. The satisfaction warms your chest enough to quicken your steps. Thats why. It will be to prove her wrong. That’s why you’ve ventured in the cold, her stupid childish stories. Lying to ones own sister like this. What does she take you for. 

You’re women grown but just the sort of thing she’d lie about to tease you, just like when you were girls. So vulgar and far fetched, just something she conjured up to redden your cheeks and scandalise your affections for such an innocent man.

A working man. 

Joseph. Our Joseph.

and Zillah? 

Whips and chains and horse tackle? 

The thought has you huffing with an incredulous smirk as you shove the door open to the darkened stables.

The stable door creaks echoingly loud and you stupidly attempt to shush it as you tiptoe inside. The intrusion has the horses startled - their hooves scuffling against the gates, nickering disapprovingly amongst themselves. A lantern has been left burning, practically near snuffed by the tack wall. Bingo

Padding across the hay littered ground, bare feet scuffing along the hardened cement till you reach the horse tackling, it’s strewn along the wall, hung perfectly but no coherent organisation that you could decipher. In the low light you kneel on the dirty ground to inspect the each part of roughened leather bridles, working left to right along the wall, your knees aching and likely covered in filth when you stand.

Once checked over you carelessly drop them, letting them reverberate back against the hollow stable walls, rattling the chains with a shrill booming shudder till there is just one left to inspect. 

Shivering you pick it up, narrowing your eyes to hold the cheekpiece up to the dimming light again, eyes lazily scanning, feeling foolish for leaving the warmth of your bed for this, thinking of the scolding that you’ll give your sister on the morrow and-

Hold on. 

There it is. 

Bite marks. Distinct and human. 

Your stomach lurches uncomfortably. 

Surely not. You wipe your dirtied hands on your white nightgown, a scattering of dust and filth marking the lace carelessly as you move closer to the lamp, leaning as close as you can, not wanting to believe what you see. 

Then- the wind changes. The stable door flying open with the gust- snuffing out the lamp and completely enveloping you in a shroud of darkness, leaving you isolated with just the pull of worry and something else still churning in your abdomen.

You drop the bridle- the chains ricocheting against the rest with a loud clang. The sound thrumming for a second as your eyes adjust to the darkness. You feel for the wall closest to your left, using it to guide your way back to where the door is, squinting in the dark for the familiar arch. It comes into view but not down to the skill of your own eyesight, it is a light that appears, getting closer along with the sound of humming, out of tune and oh so familiar. 

Joseph bustles his way inside, heavy boots thumping across to where the horses rest, blissfully unaware of your trembling presence hidden in the dark corner. He hangs his lantern and looks over the horses with a furrowed brow, the light reflecting over his angled features so it’s all you can see in the room.

“That you making all that racket in here eh?” he tuts, sucking the air through his teeth disapprovingly.

“Just a bit a’ wind that’s all. you know that.” 

He scoffs, petting the horses with a gentle kind hand before picking up the lantern to head out again, taking a singular step forward toward before he locks eyes with you. 

Your heart is in your throat and you can scarcely exhale, your eyes so wide that you feel the cold wind nipping and drying them, completely frozen to the spot.

The teeth. 

The reigns.

 Zillah. 

The whip. 

The sounds.

All the things Cathy told you hammering in your skull, mocking you right now as you look at him where he stands a foot away. 

He is still completely dressed in his work gear, strange despite the hour and it makes you wonder for a half second if he ever sleeps, how does he find the time with all this? Your head is spinning in fear and shame, eyeing the door like you are ready to bolt.

He edges forward keeping his voice a low slow timbre when he speaks, careful not to spook you like he’d approach a frightened mare. 

“Miss Earnshaw?”

When he draws closer, you instinctively step back, your back hitting the wooden support beam behind you.

When you do not respond, he speaks again, “Was that you making all that noise in here?”

He looks amused, brows furrowed but eyes full of mirth despite his gentle concern. Drawing his gaze downwards, taking in your nightdress. Your filthy nightdress.

“M’ sorry Joseph I could not rest, I was just taking a walk to tire me that’s all. Came in to see the horses.”

You mumble hurriedly under your breath, sweetening your voice for him like you always do when you want something, big eyes blinking up at him. 

Your breath fogs in the cold air, your own lies visible in the air of the dark stable.

He regards you for a moment, gauging the truth of it. Even in the low light, your features are drawn and pale, clearly distressed.

“Restless?" he repeats, his voice crackling gently. “And you didn’t think so put on a pair of proper shoes before your little walk?"

His tone is gently reprimanding—like a disapproving adult to a child. 

"You're shivering," he states matter-of-factly, gaze flicking to your bare feet and to the the damp shawl wrapped tightly around you.

“and I don’t believe you Miss Earnshaw.”

His sneering tone surprises you, despite being scarcely a year younger than him he has always spoken to you with gentle respect, the tone befitting your relationship, nothing more.

But he isn’t working now and the accusation puts fire in your belly, enraging you to be disregarded and caught in your own lies. It stumps you to silence.

He can see your shifting eyes, your attempt to think of a way out, the way you won't hold his gaze. It only reinforces his belief that something is deeply amiss.

His expression doesn't falter, still gentle but unyielding. In a voice laced with quiet authority, he coos,

“No lying now Miss. Why are you in here?”

There is a finality in it that brooks no further argument. His tone ragged and disapproving. 

He steps closer but stops just shy of the tack wall, forcing you to shrink against it even more. 

This he regards with a barely there smug smirk, his stance relaxed yet dominating in the small space. He is deceptively lazy, an act of calculated patience likely chosen to bait you into enlightening him with the truth.

Your blood boils, straightening your back and balancing on the balls of your scuffed feet in a feeble attempt in trying to assert him, shuffling closer to him in the murk, ignoring the heat pooling in your abdomen under his smug holier-than-thou gaze. 

Fists clenching on the dirtied fabric of your nightgown, you sneer. 

“It’s none of your concern what I do. You forget yourself and are being inappropriate Joseph. I’m no liar. you wait till I tell Fath-“

He cuts you off with a stern look before you can finish your snarky attempt to rebuff him. His brows drawn and mouth turned to a frown- unfamiliar and biting on his usually kind face.

“Oh? Inappropriate?”

He repeats the word as though tasting it, a dark eyebrow lifting faintly as he looks you up and down. A ghost of amusement flickers through his expression. You're trying to reassert authority, remind him that you're a young lady of status compared to him. It's an attempt to gain leverage and it falls flat instantaneously. 

He tilts his head slightly, one side of his mouth curving up to a crooked smile, faint yet fond in it’s condescension.

"You seem to have wandered out into the open moor at night in little more than your shift. I'm not sure what is appropriate holds any sway over either of us at the moment.”

He points out towards the open stable door- towards your home as it sits in the fog.

"And just what will you tell your father then? That I caught you out here half-naked? Perhaps hiding a lover….hm?” 

He peers behind you in the shadow of the stable just to irk you further, as if really checking for some fiend to be hiding in the hay with you. 

Your body burns from the tips of your toes to the flush of your cheeks with pure scandalised horror, outraged you spin on your heel and stomp out into the night air. 

He doesn’t follow right away. Lets you go. An amused huff parting his mouth as he watches you distance from the stable. Not for long though, slow and deliberate, he steps after you, letting the heavy barn door creak shut behind him.

The lantern light faraway and darkness shrouding him as he moves deeper into the shadows, unfazed by your little tantrum.

His steps are quiet, catching up with you with ease while you catch your breath in the doorway of the kitchen you had left swinging open before.

From behind, his voice comes low and even,

“I won’t tell your father a word. Not if you tell me the truth girl.”

He steps closer, you hear the scuffle of his mucky boots. 

“Now. Miss Earnshaw.”

His stern voice sends a shiver through you that has little to do with the cold wind. A familiar ache in the pit of your abdomen overcomes you so suddenly you fear if you turn around it will be written all over your face.

A sharp retort wells up as you turn but it dies under his piercing gaze.

This close, it's almost impossible to look away,  his eyes an enchanting blue, glimmering in the moonlight, if those eyes weren’t gazing at you with such disapproval you’d be likely to stand there frozen in the sapphire depths all night. 

His stance, though not oppressive, dominates the moor- even in the open field you feel just as you did when he cornered you in the stable, like an animal, ready to bite and scratch your way out.

But you don’t. You find yourself explaining, however irritated and sheepish you sound.

“Cathy told me some story.. she saw you and Zillah in there..doin’.. things.” 

You nod towards the barn half heartedly, unable to meet his eyes. 

He catches it immediately, interest peaked. 

“Hey! Fweet!” he whistles like he would to a disobedient mare, tipping your chin up with his leather clad hand to meet his furrowed eyeline.

His touch doesn’t linger but you feel it’s authority even as it’s gone- the whistle straightened your back immediately- frustratingly so that he could work you just like one of his animals. 

“Look at me when you’re talking eh? Manners..What’s that Cathy sayin’ about me then eh?” 

The corner of his mouth tightens slightly, surprise mingled with wariness. Peering into every micro-expression you give him, his eyes flickering with something, a smug kind of cockiness as he awaits your response. He studies you, the defiant tilt of your chin, the set of your jaw. 

It's as though your resolve only spurs his questions, his interest piqued by your defiance. 

His eyes sparkle as they hold yours. 

"What things were we doing?” 

His tone is gentler now- like it was when he found you in the darkness. Cooing and leading you into this temporary sense of ease.

It excites you, the way he could manipulate your feelings.

Your words. Your attitude. It equally terrified and aroused you.

“You were- um. Playing with the tack.”

You fail to suppress a smirk as the words leave your mouth. Your voice wavering on a half laugh. You couldn't help it, it felt so serious before in your own head but verbalising it to him felt childish. The words fizzle out of your mouth with that coy smile.

But when you look up once again to meet his gaze he’s not impressed.

“Oh? S’funny is it?”

He crowds you- his breath warming your weather battered cheeks.

His scent filling your lungs, the smoky scent of hay and dirt mixed with the sweat and grime from his long days work. It should repulse you. It should make you sick but you hang onto his every word- wide eyed eyes stinging, afraid to blink even as the wind pricks at them.

“You found it so funny you wanted to come out and see for yourself? Dressed like a fucking..whore. What? to laugh?”

He nips at you. Lazing over his words because he knows he has you right in his clutches anyway, his curses slow and dripping with (false?) contempt.

It’s as if someone has poured ice into your veins.

All leverage you thought you had of the situation out the door. Or more appropriately out into the biting cold of the moor. He’s not as dense as you were hoping.

You have to clench your thighs hard under your skirt, the pulsing between your legs crying for the barest pressure as he scolds you.

He’s right of course. You were hoping you’d find him out here. Part of you hoped Cathy hadn’t lied. That Joseph wasn’t the pious working man everyone thought he was. Not only did you hit the bingo you’ve summoned your very own wicked & perverted dreams into fruition.

You stare at him unable to work up a single syllable, clearly surprised by his outburst but waiting patiently for what? more? This seems to irk him further.

He grabs your wrist. Hard. Yanking you forward, trailing you back into the darkened stables while you can only follow dizzily.

Eyes trained on his broadened strong back. Your steps are clumsy in your desperation, your depraved mind already trailing off to your sweetened memories of how this view differs in the height of summer, as he is throwing hay bales across the barn…bare- his sweat and muscle rippling in the heat.

He manhandles you into the centre of the tack wall once again, scowling once he realises he still hasn’t shocked you into a response.

Your eyes just as dreamily unfocused as before. Looking at him with that same expectant half smirking look- he’s not happy.

"Stay there." he spits, stalking off behind you to fetch the tack- returning with the same bite imprinted bridle you found before.

When he turns back to you- running the leather through his fingers he regards you greedily- your pert nipples through your nightgown, your oh-so-soft thighs on display.

You feel sick with your impatience but still unwilling to stoop so low to beg for his affections.

Yet.

He broaches into your space now, while you stand obediently- exactly how he told you to- cold feet shifting on the solid ground. The whistle of the wind rattling through the stable is the only noise you can hear- the only thing you can try to focus on besides him.

“Chilly? Poor thing.” he murmurs, nosing around you- observing you with clinical precision in the murk.

His voice has that soft coo to it again- he’s so hot and cold that you don’t quite know where you stand- the way he’s fiddling with the tack like it’s a threat yet talking so softly. So sweetly.

“Yeah..s’cold Joseph. What are you doing?” you mumble at last, eyeing the door like you’d be discovered- by who- Nelly? Cathy?

You haven’t done anything to be ashamed of but the arousal burning in your belly makes you feel dirty all the same.

“What am I doing?” He laughs like the answer is obvious.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” He leans down to your level- close enough to feel his warmth- for you to see the sprinkling of chest hair peeking through his neckline, the curve of his angled mouth as he leans closer.

And closer.

His nose grazing yours now.

The breath leaves your lungs in a flurry of excitement- standing on your toes to meet his mouth when he suddenly pulls back with a cruel laugh.

“Kisses? Tut Tut. No I don’t quite think so Miss Earnshaw.”

With a sudden Thwack he slaps the meat of your thigh with the tough leather bridle making you gasp in indignant disbelief.

“Joseph!” you squeal, biting your cheek to suppress the pleased smile that creeps on your face, the sting of the smack setting your blood aflame- your pearl fluttering and pulsing immediately.

He repeats the action in the exact same spot with a self satisfied grin, making you cry out again.

“You want me to stop?” he teases- gently rubbing his warm hand over the nipping reddened skin. His words have you dumbfounded and quiet again.

“Tell me what you want then hm? Tell me how inappropriate I am. Where’s that attitude gone from earlier?”

He sounds disappointed and if it weren’t for that smile on his face you’d believe it.

“Don’t know...”

You gulp, looking back down at the curve of his mouth with hazy- poorly disguised need.

Another Thwack- higher up this time, the pained sound that escapes your mouth sounding closer to a whorish whine.

This seems to amuse him enough for his teeth to peek out when he smiles cruelly. His canines sharp, reflecting prominently in the lamplight. How you wish you could feel the scrape of them on your tongue. Your neck. Your thigh..

“I think you do know baby. I think if I felt under that filthy dress of yours you’d be fucking soaked. Sound about right?”

Caught.

You’re too caught up and needy to keep lying and you nod instantaneously. The pet name doing nothing to help ease your want for him.

“Oh such a good girl. Finally being honest. Give me your hands Baby. Keep being good and listen.”

Doing as you are told he takes your outstretched hands and fastens them into the bridle at the wrists, barely moment of realisation passes through you before he hooks you onto the ceiling beam with expert precision, effectively holding you in the spot.

“Och’t so pretty!”

He rubs his hands together to heat them before cupping your cheeks and pressing a kiss to your gaped surprised mouth. The kiss is achingly slow and wet- intentionally teasing, straining your raised arms in desperation to wrap around him, keep him close. The chains rattle when you instinctively try and he pulls back immediately.

He circles you a couple times before slowly lifting the hem of your skirts- grazing his warm hands over your arse, now bared for him. He doesn’t comment on your lack of underclothes but you can hear the hitch in his breathing from behind you.

His hands so so fucking close to where you need him.

“Joseph..”

You whine, desperate for attention, desperate for anything he will give you.

And what you get is a hard smack right on your arse.

Another to follow for good measure.

“Be patient.”

He sucks the air through his teeth when you moan. Angling his strong arm around your middle to hold you steady before sliding his other hand through your backside and down towards your aching wetness. He feels his way through your folds with precision- soaking his hand with what he finds.

His hips press against your arse at the angle and you can feel the unmistakable pressure of his hardness through his breeches. It has you throbbing right where he can feel, pulsing right on his fingers as little whimpers leave your mouth in your vulnerable desperation. Completely at his mercy.

He seems to take pity on you, circling his fingers on your pearl with the pressure you’ve been needing. Shushing you gently and talking you through the sharp pleasure.

“There she is. Take what I give you. Good girl- oh good girl.” his voice is a near rasp now. Circling his own hips so slightly onto you to relieve his own pressure.

Instinctively you buck your hips, a girlish whine escaping your mouth as you work yourself through the pressure of his fingers and back to press onto his aching cock.

Bad decision.

He pulls his hand away just to spank you directly onto your aching cunt and you wail in frustration.

“Don’t be greedy!”

He snaps. letting you go completely for a moment- your arms rattling above your head- the wind seeping between your legs and cooling your heat.

He grabs your chin, forcing his wet fingers into your mouth- fucking them into your throat- the tang of your own arousal coating your tongue and there’s not much you can do but take it. Gladly.

Once he’s satisfied he releases them from your mouth with a questioning look.

“You gonna listen this time?”

“Mhmmm!”

The immediate way you agree seems to charm him and he returns his hand between your legs- front facing this time so he can watch the needy expressions on your face.

His hand strokes and rocks between your legs, coaxing your pleasure from you slowly, building you back up to that tight pressure he had you feeling moments ago. His long lithe middle finger slipping further down and filling you sudden and unexpectedly- his ring finger soon joining.

The sensation of being filled while the heel of his palm rocks against your sensitive pearl is almost too much, your bottom lip is red raw from biting back all your needy moans but you don’t waste your energy on feeling ashamed anymore.

Needy little uh..uh..uh’s are slipping from your slacked jaw, accompanying the wet sounds of your own slick arousal as he fills you.

“Look at me baby? Keep that pretty mouth open.” he smirks- giving you a moment before spitting straight into your mouth- the wetness dripping down your chin despite your attempts to swallow it down. Your lips glossy with it in your efforts.

“Messy girl..” he laughs taking his free hand to palm and rub against his aching cock shamelessly over his clothes as he fingers into you.

Your eyes follow the movement greedily and the desperation to be filled- properly filled by him comes over you feral and more than you can take.

“Please Joseph..”

You whine looking at it desperately, you can practically feel it already- every ridge and vein as he’d notch his way inside you- filling you up. Making him feel so good. You’re so close, vision blurring as you beg.

The pleasure drunk look on his face twists.

He takes his hand away completely and you squeal- the sound echoing through the barn- probably out in the fields too. Being dropped from such pleasure when it had just began to peak makes your cunt clench rhythmically into itself- aching.

“Bad girl.” he huffs.

He cups your jaw- the wet scent of your arousal mocking you now so close to your face.

“Greedy girls get nothing.”

He unbuckles your wrists from the restrains leaving you stood sheepish, thighs trembling, eyes burning in frustration and shock.

“No no no wait please I’m sorry!”

In a moment of desperation you clutch his shirt in your sweaty palms. Lip quivering.

Heartbroken he thinks. To not get your own way for once.

Spoilt thing.

He almost feels bad. Giving you a slow kiss on your pouting lips before turning his back and walking out. Leaving you standing at the tack wall right where he found you.

—

authors note: well! here it is, i’ve had this in my drafts for a bit but i decided to just commit. please let me know what you think! (unless its mean lol) bye friends!

[opaldracarys]

Martin fic?🥺

hello anon!!! i had been writing for him a while back and actually didnt end up finishing or posting it :( i think its hard just for me personally with lack of reception on here- i just felt like i was talking into the void

i have a full completed joseph (wuthering heights) 5k fic and then just didnt post it haha

i would like to write some more- just don’t feel like theres much of a community atm! :) but i appreciate u anon! even that has motivated me a bit!

[celestrys]

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Only Yours

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Summary: Aegon never wanted to be king, he's only ever wanted to please his mother and make her proud, but maybe that sweet girl from the court would rather make him proud of her

Pairing: Aegon ii Targaryen x F.Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!, Angst, I love picking this man's brain apart, choking, edging, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), mommy issues (but its Aegon so no one is surprised), possession kink, humiliation if you squint, bruises, non-con/rpe (not on the reader and its only mentioned once about what he does to the serving girls), porn with semi plot

Notes: Originally posted on my old account @thegentleswan

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──── ୨୧ ────

The moonlight filtered through the thin curtains of the massive arched windows that belonged to the royal bedchamber to cast long, distorted shadows across the stone floor. The sickly silver of the moon sparkles in your tear soaked eyes but you aren't looking at the moon, you can't even look at the city, you can't look at anything but him.

Your world has narrowed down to the stifling heat of the King's body and the terrifying but beautiful weight of his hands.

Aegon has already claimed you with how deep he is, his movements frantic and jagged, driven by a desperate sort of hunger that feels less like desire and more like he was trying to devoir you. He's braced over you, pale hair disheveled and damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead like a crooked halo. He looks every bit of the dissolute king the histories would whisper about long after his death.

The sensation of his cock moving within your slick walls is overwhelming, a relentless rhythm that makes the silk sheets bunch and slide beneath your sweat slicked skin. But it's his hand that is truly commanding your soul.

His fingers are wrapped firmly around the column of your throat.

You've spent years watching those hands. You've memorized the way they looked trembling around a heavy silver goblet during a feast, the way the knuckles turned white when his mother reprimanded him, and the way they looked resting with bored arrogance upon the heaviness of his crown. There is a cruel, Valyrian grace to his hands; the hands of a man born to hold a dragon's reins, now reduced to seeking power in the soft submission of your skin.

His grip wasn't tight enough to stop your breathing, but enough to make them shaky and not fill your brain enough to think clearly on what you're doing. The cold metals of his rings were biting into your skin, a sharp and stinging contrast to the heat of his palm.

"Look at me," he rasps, his voice a low growl that vibrates against your collarbone from where he buried his face into.

He shrifts, driving his cock into you with a sudden, forceful depth that draws a choked gasp from your lungs. His thumb presses into the soft dip beneath your jaw, tilting your head back until you are forced to meet his blue gaze. In the darkness, his eyes are practically black, swimming with a volatile mix of insecurity and possession.

"The Gods are cruel bastards," he mutters, breath hot and smelling of wine as he leans down till his nose brushes yours, "they give me a crown that hurts me and a throne made of literal blades. They gave me a kingdom that hates me."

He sneers, his grip on your throat tightening just a fraction as he picks up the pace, his hips slamming against yours with a bruising force. The friction is electric, a spiraling heat that threatens to shatter you.

"But then," he whispers, his voice dropping almost to a purr, "they made you. They made you so soft, so perfect, just so I could have one thing I'm allowed to ruin. They made you just for me to destroy in our bed, in front of an open window, so the whole city can hear me taking what's mine."

He lets out a shaky, breathless laugh, his fingers splaying wider across your neck, his palm flat against your windpipe as he watches your eyes filled with lust and love for your king. He's looking past you for a fleeting second, seeing how the flickering lights of King's Landing seem to challenge him, threatening to take you from him.

"You're my Queen," he gasps, his composure finally fracturing. His movements becoming blind as he's losing himself in the sensation of your body yielding to him, "tell me. Tell me you're mine. Not the realm's. Not the Seven's. Mine."

You try to speak, but the words catch. Your breath is hitching in short, jagged bursts, and your head is light from the sensory overload of him. You wanted to tell him, but the sheer overwhelming pleasure he's wringing out of you has kept the admission locked behind your teeth. You just shake your head weakly against the pillow, a soft and small sound of protest escaping your lips.

Aegon's eyes narrow. He doesn't pull out, but he stops his hips completely, going perfectly still, pinning you to the mattress, his cock still buried within your greedy cunt that's fluttering and practically pleading him to continue.

"No?" He whispers, and there's that dangerous, playful edge to it that you loved so much, "the King commands a simple truth, and you're going to refuse it? After I've been so generous?"

He lets out the huff of a laugh as he leans down, his lips brushing against the reddened skin of your neck where his palm is still firmly planted, "fine, we'll play your game. I have all night and the Small Council doesn't meet till after dinner. My grandfather can wait, my mother can pray, but you..."

He shifts his weight slightly, freeing his free elegant hand from the bedsheets. You watch, practically transfixed, as his long fingers - the ones that made you squeeze your thighs together seeing trace the rims of cups - slide between your bodies. He moves slowly, eyes locked onto yours, forcing you to watch the smirk grow on his face.

When he finds your sensitive and swollen clit above where you're joined, your entire body jolts underneath him. You try to arch up, to find that pleasure again, but he holds you down with the hand at your throat, his grip just firm enough to remind you who was in control.

"Don't move," he commands.

He begins to move his fingers, his thumb circling that sensitive spot with a devastating precision, a slow torture. He knows exactly what he's doing, he's spent enough nights in the Silk Streets brothels to know the mechanics of pleasure, but here with you, it's not just pleasure, it's a kind of petulance. He isn't just proving that you're his, he's trying to break your will to disobey.

"Tell me," he coaxes, his thumb picking up the speed as he presses just enough pressure to make your vision blur, "tell me you belong to your King. Tell me you're the only thing in this gods-forsaken city that I don't have to share."

The pleasure was building, a white hot coil of tension tightening in your stomach. You're close, so close that it hurts, but every time you feel yourself reach that peak, he slows down, his touch becoming light and teasing, a ghost of the sensation that leaves you whimpering.

"Say it," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your cheek, "it's a small price to pay, isn't it? Just a few words, and I'll give you everything. I'll let you come so hard you forget your own name. I'll stop being the monster they say I am, just for you."

He drives his hips forward just once, a sharp and deep thrust that stays seated deep within you as his thumb resumes its relentless, circling pleasure.

"Whose are you?" He asks again, his voice falsely soft. He watches the way your eyes roll back, the way your fingers claw at the sheets and at his hand around your throat. He looked satisfied, a man who finally found a throne he enjoyed sitting on, "give it to me. Give me the only thing I've ever asked for from you."

He leans in, biting softly at the cord of your neck. his hand at your throat loosening just enough for you find the breath to moan his name, yet he keeps his thumb moving, driving you right to the jagged edge of the world.

"Look at how you tremble," Aegon murmurs, his voice thick with a never satisfied sort of wonder. He leans down, his blonde hair falling like a curtain around your faces, his blue eyes wide, searching yours with a feverish intensity, "you're so close, aren't you? I can feel it."

He lets out a shaky breath, his own restraint clearly fraying at the edges. His jaw is tight, the muscles corded in his neck jumping as he fights the urge to simply lose himself in you. But he is a King who has been told what to do his entire life - by his mother, by his grandfather, by the ghost of a father who never looked at him - and this is the one moment of pure, unyielding submission he has ever seen, and he wasn't having to force it out of you either. He wasn't going to let go of this opportunity too easily.

"One word," he whispers, his thumb pressing down just enough to make you arch your back, heels digging into the silk sheets as a choked whimper left your throat, "that's all the tribute I require. Agree to it. Admit that you aren't just some lady of the court or my fleeting distraction. Admit that you were made for this, made for me."

You feel like you weigh hundreds of pounds, the white hot coil in your gut twisting tighter and tighter. Your vision was swimming in blurs, the moonlight through the window blurring into the golden firelight. Every time he stops the motion of his thumb, the drop off is sickening; every time he resumes, the rush is so violent that your head is spinning like you're drowning.

"Tell me," he coaxes, his lips brushing against your ear in a seductive rasp, "tell me you belong to the King. Tell me you're mine to keep, mine to break, mine to hide away from the eyes of others. Say it, and I'll give you everything. I'll let you go so hard that you'll only ever want my cock."

He gives one sharp, sudden flick of his thumb, and the sensation is so intense you nearly black out. Your pride, your resistance, your very name - to all has dissolved.

"I'm yours," you finally gasp out, the words breathless, "I'm yours...I belong to you, Aegon. I'm the King's. Only yours."

The effect on him is instant. The tension in his shoulders snaps, and a low guttural sound escapes his chest, half a growl and half a moan. He doesn't just resume his hips movements, he's bruising against you, his thumb still moving on your swollen and sensitive clit while his cock continues to hit that beautiful spot inside of you.

Your world becomes small, Aegon being the only thing tethering you to the bed. You find yourself crying out his name, not caring who would hear, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, legs locking around his waist as the waves of your release crash through you. He doesn't give you any sort of mercy as he watches you through it, his eyes wide and hungrily focusing on the way your face contorts, the way your body shudders under his touch. He drinks in your undoing like it's the finest wine in the Seven Kingdoms.

As you are still reeling, lost in the pulsing aftermath, Aegon finally lets go of his own control. He drives into you one last time, deep as he can force himself inside of your cunt, head falling back as a raw, echoing groan leaves his throat. He collapses against you, his forehead resting against the crook of your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps.

The hand at your throat softens, his fingers sliding up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as if he's trying to merge his souls with yours. For a moment, he isn't the corrupt and cruel king or the disappointing son; he's just a man who has finally found his spot where he's enough.

The silence that followed was deafening, thick with the scent of sweat and the fading heat of his skin. Aegon remained draped across you for a long, heavy moment, his forehead pressed into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel the frantic beating of his heart against your body, his hand sliding out of your hand to trace the soft bruising on your windpipe from his fingers.

Then, he shifts. It's sudden, chilling the air as he pulls out of you, a withdrawal that starts in his mind before it reaches his body.

With a sharp and ungraceful grunt, Aegon pulls himself off of you. The loss of his weight and heat is like a slap, leaving you shivering on the damp silk sheets. He doesn't offer you a hand to steady you; he doesn't even look at your face. He rolls to the edge of the sprawling bed, his feet hitting the cold stone floor with a heavy thud. He sits there with his back to you, his spine curved, his hair clinging to the back of his neck.

You watch him, your throat still aching, your body still humming with the pleasure he just wrung out of you that you could feel dripping from your thighs. The sight of him, so small and slumped despite the crown waiting on the bedside table had made the words bubble up before you could stop them.

"You don't have to go back to being him yet," you whisper, voice thin and slightly raspy from the night's exertions, "not right this second, Aegon. The sun isn't even up."

He stiffens. His shoulders tense, the muscles cording under his pale skin. He doesn't turn around. Instead, he reaches for the silk of his robe, yanking it off the floor with a violent jerk and throwing it over his shoulders.

"Being who?" He asked, voice devoid of the dark, honeyed passion from the moment before. It's flat now, hollow, "the King? Or the disappointment? Because they're the same person, in case you haven't noticed."

"You know what I mean," you say, pushing yourself up on your elbows, grabbing the sheets to cover yourself as you reached out, your fingers just barely grazing the silk of his robe, "here...in the dark...you weren't either of those things. You were just mine, you said it yourself."

Aegon lets out a sharp laugh. He finally stands, turning just enough so you could see the cruel, mocking curl of his lip. The blue in his eyes has gone cold, shuttered behind the mask of his mother's son who would rather burn the Red Keep down than rule it.

"I say a lot of things when I'm drunk or half mad with lust," he says, crossing the room to the sideboard. He doesn't look at you as he pours a fresh goblet of Arbor Gold, the silver of his rings clinking against the glass with a shaky metallic ring, "don't go mistaking some lust filled words for a coronation, girl. I've got enough people trying to make me things I don't want."

"I'm not mistaking anything," you counter, voice holding some steel, "I saw the way you looked at me. You weren't performing for Alicent or her wretched father. You were actually there."

Aegon stops as he downs the wine in one long, desperate swallow. When he turns back to you, his silhouette is framed by the massive window, the moonlight casting him in shades of bruised silver. He looks like a ghost haunting his own life.

"And now I'm here," he mutters, his gaze flickering to the marks on your neck - the marks that he left behind, physical proof of the words he forced from you and you let him - before darting away as if the sight burned him, "and 'here' is a room that smells of sweat and a castle of people who would be happier if I stopped breathing. MY mother will be at the door soon with a list of all the sins I haven't committed yet, and my grandfather will stare at me like I'm a stain on his precious family line."

He walks back towards the bed, but he doesn't sit. He looms over you, the scent of expensive wine and dragon smoke clinging to him. He reaches down, his hand gripping your chin and tilting your face up. His touch is no longer sweet, its a claim made in spite of himself.

"You said you were mine," he whispers, his eyes darkened with that Targaryen fire, "and I'll hold you to that. But don't expect me to be the hero of your little story. I'm the King, and I'm going to go drink until I forget the sounds of what just happened here."

He lets go of your chin, his fingers lingering a fraction of a second too long before he pulls away entirely. He walks to the far side of the room, leaning his forehead against the cold of the window, staring out at the Blackwater Bay as the first light of dawn began to bleed over the horizon.

"Go," he says, his back to you once more, "before the Kingsguard comes to wake 'his Majesty'. I'm finished with you for tonight."

The dismissal is cold, calculated to hurt you, but you see the way his hand tremble as he raises the goblet to his lips again. You gather your discarded dress from the floor, the rustle of the silk being the only sound in the suffocating silence as you leave him there; leaving him in the cage of his own making, already drinking away the memory of the one thing that made him feel alive.

──── ୨୧ ────

To Be Added, Dm Me

──── ୨୧ ────

[venmondiese]

WICKED CRAVINGS

𓂃 ࣪₊ ⊹ SERIES MASTERLIST ━ CHAPTER IV

-ˋˏ| summary: Lady Corbray learns that many things happen out of her sight, with her ladies in waiting and especially with her husband.

✧ | tags: 18+ mdni, masturbation (m), getting caught, aemond gets the worst conclusions ever, they are back at the beginning.

✧ | word count: 4.3k

✧ | notes: sorry for the wait... i will pick up this story!! thanks for the love!! comments, reblogs and likes are well appreciated

MORNINGS WERE USUALLY QUIET in her lord husband’s chambers.

She could hear the soft movements of the maids walking around, how they opened the windows, and such. He could hear the voice of the Valet asking Aemond if he will go training today, to prepare his attire. 

Lady Corbray noticed that she was far more lazy when sleeping in Aemond’s bed. She had no issue waking up before, she usually took a bath and had a relaxed day. Not that she had lots to do, not without any kids of her own.

Not that she hated her routine, but perhaps being closer to her husband would be far better. She doesn’t want him to take her for a clingy wife, so she doesn’t push her luck.

“Just any bloody doublet will do” Aemond’s voice is strong and annoyed. 

Lady Corbray stirs from sleep and opens her eyes, yet she doesn’t move her head. With her face half buried in the pillow, she’d able to see the exposed chest of her lord husband. Or at least, his back. 

She knew that he trains by mornings, getting up as soon as the sun rises. If she wakes up after him, she won’t meet him unless he decides to join her to break his fast, or if she invites him beforehand. 

And she has never seen his back bare. He was wearing breeches, but it seems his valet can’t find the proper doublet he refers to. Perhaps he has already trained…? She has no idea what time it is in the morning. 

“The eyepatch, my prince…” The maid says meekly, and Lady Corbray pipes up. She had never — or rather he has never allowed her to see him without it. 

She feels flustered by the sight of him, watching the hardness of his back, how the muscles give it a nice form she had never properly seen in a man. Her back wasn’t like his, hers was soft, almost smooth compared to how his muscles formed his figure. She wonders what the front is like. 

As he turns around, she closes her eyes, a bit scared of him finding out and berating her for staring. She bothers him enough— occupating his chambers as the workers fix hers. 

Lady Corbray hopes he would press a kiss as a goodbye. She had never woken up so early to see him before he parted with his duties. She has read of it in many novels, the tenderness in some subtle acts that it would mean something more. 

Yet still, he simply dismisses the servants as he puts on his eyepatch, grabbing the dagger he carries everywhere without it. 

And with that he leaves, and her day starts.

Myara and Alice were quiet as they dressed her. Lady Corbray was unused to being dressed up so thoroughly, but it was part of her position. 

“Did you like Lady Cheslted?” Her voice is soft, trying to break the ice between them all three. 

Lady Foote, in the middle of searching the right shade of balm for her lips, hums softly, her eyes searching Alice’s as if they shared a secret. 

“Is she not pleasant?”

“Not at all, my lady” Lady Plumm says as if trying to do damage control. “She is simply… unused to court life” 

“Very naïve” Myara says. 

She knew that the three of them were older, and sometimes tried her with caution, as if she was a porcelain doll. Just as her lord husband did. 

“Lady Foote, could you… ask the servants to prepare some pastries? Perhaps we could break our fast in the garden” 

“Very well. We shall”

“I need Lady Plumm to help me fetch my cards, in my chambers” Lady Corbray stops them, and tries to add casually “Can’t go there alone. We’ll bring other things to keep us entertained. Maybe even ask Mushroom to join us”

There it is, another glance between them too that spoke of something they did not share. Lady Corbray was a bit nervous, because she had never had to face someone to tell her the truth. She had eyes, and she could see her ladies not liking Bess. 

She was a tad bit excited? Yes. But she had grown fond of her, in a way, because she saw herself in little Lady Bess Chelsted. Once alone with Alice, walking side to side, they remain in silence. She hates having to start these difficult tasks. 

“Alice… Can I ask you honestly?”

“About Lady Chelsted, my lady?” 

Lady Corbray bites her lower lip and nods softly, as she knows that it was plain and obvious why she wanted to speak alone with her. 

“I just… All I want for the five of us is…to get along.” 

Perhaps it was a childish dream, to want all of them to be close, like friends. She remembers that back in Heart’s Home, she would have a maid or two, since her house wasn’t the richest. Everything was different here in King’s Landing, as it made her uneasy not to know how to act in these situations. 

“I know” 

She feels the same feeling that she gets whenever she speaks with Aemond; trying to find a common ground as they speak, trying to get him to engage, to pay attention, to at least respond. 

It’s hopeless, and it makes her miss her home. 

“Truthfully. You’re the one I trust the most to ask this” she says, trying to imitate that tone that Queen Alicent so often uses with her. It’s something between sweetness and that underlying tone of ‘tell me what i need of you’.

Alice seems a bit tired, sighing as she leaves her brush in the dresser and moves to pull a chair closer. She knows Lady Plumm to be quite honest, she had some problems with Lady Reyne because of it which she had to meekly fix. She had asked Aemond for help, and he simply shrugged and told her to ask Helaena. 

“May I be… honest, my lady?” 

That makes her perk up slightly as Alice sits close to her. She sits a bit straighter, hopeful at the option someone might finally be blunt. 

“Lady Chelsted is… delusional, at best” she says, as if threading carefully towards the topic. 

This surprises Lady Corbray, as she sees Bess as a sweet lady. She was sweet to her at least, but again, people always were fake sweet with her, due to being married to Aemond. 

“She’s still a child.”

“She’s old enough. You.. you should all give her a chance…” Lady Corbray says a bit defensively. 

“My lady, are you…” Alice says, trying to be delicate, rubbing her forehead “Are you not aware what she has… been saying?”

The lack of expression in Lady Corbray’s face gives away the answer. She looks a bit confused, the corners of her mouth still in somewhat a clueless smile, as she shakes her head softly. 

“I didn’t want to be the one…” she sighs, before accommodating in her seat and watching at the door “You asked me to speak freely so will I…” she says watching the window before speaking again. “Some days ago, when we had tea and you left with Queen Alicent to the sept… well, She told us that you and the prince had an unsuccessful and unloving marriage. That prince Aemond was cold and rude to you both, which is no… no surprise why you haven’t… My lady, I cannot keep saying it. It is insulting” 

Lady Corbray remains still for a moment, as she takes in the hurtful words. She had not taken Bess for a gossipy girl, to be honest. She welcomed her in Aemond’s chambers, encouraged her for marriage as she herself would have liked in the moment, and promised to secure her a good match. 

It pains her heart, because she tried to be kind. She knew King’s Landing was foreign to her, as if she had to learn a new language and to walk once again. In her home, at least, everyone was kind to her, even the servants and highborns. 

“She’s a child, my lady.” Alice adds, leaning closer to grab her hand “And we told her to never say such things again. Lady Reyne, well, Rella, told her to not spread meaningful and false words if she likes her tongue” She says, trying to lighten her up. “No one believes such foolishness” 

It brings a small smile to her face, since Rella was much the gossip lady among them all. She would always have the latest gossip, and repeat it, it was her own thing. She thought that maybe she was the one feeding the rumours against her and her marriage with Aemond, since her nature seems close to a frivolous one but she misjudged her severely. 

“You said you were honest”

Lady Alice Plumm seems to hesitate a moment, as her mouth twitches slightly. “I am”

“What do you know about that? My marriage?”

If she speaks with so much disdain about those gossips, perhaps she’ll be discreet.  She thinks, as she considers her the more discreet and less judging. 

“I… I don’t think much of it, my lady. I have been married longer than you, and twice too. I have no offspring with either of my husbands. And it doesn’t mean I don’t do my duty.”

“And what do the rest say about my marriage? Is it really that different from what Lady Bess Chelsted says?” She asks, trying to catch the reaction closely. 

“No, my lady.”

She remembers her wedding night, as Aemond turned her away. She had felt awful, because in the feast he wasn’t the most affectionate with her either. She had seen men with the women they fancy, like her brother Leowyn with his mistress, or Corwyn and his late wife. They certainly did not care for appearances as a prince would do, but it was still evident their feelings… maybe not love, but lust.

“How do you do it?” Lady Corbray asks “Your duty?”

“My lady?” Alice says confused. 

“How do you… get your husband to…” she tries to explain. “Do your duty”

Alice frowns slightly, and says “I do not have to ask him for it.”

“Why not?”

“It comes in the moment”

At the moment? She thinks, as nothing ever comes in the moment. She always thought ahead, and it went wrong. Except, maybe, when they kissed. The only time they did. And it was Aemond’s choice.

She remembers being all lovey dovey, giggling as she tried to read the book in the library. Aemond was not so much, he was stoic as always, checking the books as if he was alone. And when she tried to take his hand, he pulled away. Nothing came at that moment for them.

She seems puzzled, and Lady Alice sighs softly. 

“You… You know what… consuming the marriage is, my lady?”

Her brothers had explained, yet she didn't fully understand. She knew that she had to follow Aemond’s lead, and make sure his seed was in her womb to get pregnant. She knew too that he had to insert himself and, in words of her septa, it would hurt. Yet only one time was enough to get pregnant. 

“I do know”  she says, almost in a whiny tone, because everyone overlooked her.

“And you… My lady,  I do not wish to be impertinent, but do you do it frequently?”

“Once is necessary,” she shrugs. 

“Yes, but not always it’s… fruitful. And besides, you might… enjoy it. Some people do”  

“Have you?”

“Yes” she shrugs. Alice wasn't like Lady Foote, who even speaking of her marriage would put her in a bad mood— she didn’t know if it was because of prudeness or because her husband wasn’t as caring. 

“… how?” 

Perhaps it is pity in the look on Alice Plumm’s face. She was older, and knew better of life than her. But Lady Corbray was a bit desperate, for she did not understand the ways of marriage. 

She had hoped that at least, by now, it would grow into fondness. She was not a bad wife; she did not gossip about him, she did not spend much money on dresses or jewelry, she spent time with his family, and she prayed in the sept most evenings. She did not push him; even if she wanted to hug him or press a kiss on his cheek. 

She knew that men were mostly creatures of base desires, like her brothers. Her septa told her she was lucky to escape the cruelness of bedding, but it didn’t feel like a mercy.

“Let me think of it a bit, how to help you” Lady Plumm says softly, as she nods a bit.  

The rest of the day, she bites her index finger thinking about it. When she’s reunited with her ladies in waiting, she can only think about it instead of playing cards properly.  

She was kneeling in the Sept that very same afternoon. Lady Myara Foote by her side, praying more fervously than her, the seven pointed star in her hands as she seemed deep in prayer.

She lightens another candle, unsure what she will pray about. Usually, it clears her mind about decisions, about what she has to do. It gives her a sense of purpose, and she feels fulfilled. She had prayer for almost everything, and she felt comforted in her faith. 

Lady Corbray was naïve, but not stupid. She thinks for a while how to order her prayer. 

«O Mother above…Look with kindness upon me and soften my husband’s heart. Bless the union as you did before, for our bond might be fruitful and loving.

Maiden, forgive my unseemly thoughts and desires, for my vain attempts of trying to lewdly convince my husband to consummate.  

Crone, lend me wisely counsel in my duty as a lady married to a prince

Warrior, shield me from the carrions crows of King’s landing court, whisper and slander, guard me from the vice in the tongue of the rest.

Father, may you help me weigh good and ill, to walk through righteousness…»

She sighs, softly, her heart soft as she finishes her prayer as she tends to do more these days, asking for protection for her husband’s people, which was now hers too. Before, it was the village in Heart’s home, but now, all the seven Kingdoms. 

She doesn’t mind waiting for Lady Foote to finish, as before her brothers would wait a lot more for her, to the point where she ended up going either alone or with a lady in waiting. 

That night, Aemond hadn’t arrived yet after her last food of the day. She never thought of him going to brothels, because she didn’t think of him as a lustful man. He hadn’t even consummated the marriage, as even if he disliked her, if he was lustful, he would have. 

Maybe, and perhaps he was devoted to another lady… but she doubts it. Men weren’t subtle about it, at least her brother Leowyn wasn’t. 

“May you seek my husband?” She asks a maid, who finished warming up her side of the bed. 

Lady Corbray likes linen nightgowns, and she brushes her own hair, preparing herself for bed. She doesn’t like getting in bed before Aemond, mostly because it is his bed, and she was convinced that he wouldn’t like the sight. 

She hasn't seen the small envelope in the writing table, and she takes it after she leaves her brush there. It was her family’s sigil, and so she knew it was directed to her. 

More than often, she would send letters. To her brothers, to her nieces. She had sent Aemond lots of letters too, when they were betrothed, but she doubts he had read them all, if he ever took the time in the first place.

«Dear sister… Hoping that this letter finds you well…» Blah blah blah «Everything is fine here..» Blah blah blah… «I have heard your marriage has problems, of coldness and unpleasanties.» Blah blah blah…

She knows Corwyn means well, probably. He was more like her, a bit more romantic and loveful. He was the one who sang with his lute to her and her friends, making them all giggle and ask for more. He was the one who brought her love books, of courtly love between maidens and knights. 

That, along with her brother, was in the past now. In Heart’s home, back with her illusions and hopes in a world she was not prepared for. 

She bites her index finger as she reads of how her brother, far in the Vale, knows about her problems with Aemond. It was rather humiliating than pleasant, to have everyone know across the seven kingdoms.  

Perhaps she must take Lady Plumm’s word, and learn how to please her husband. And letting himself be pleased. While she had no idea how to do so, she could barely imagine how a male member was. She had seen it, but by far, and with his baby nephew. But other than that… never. 

She could barely understand her own anatomy, and she wonders if Aemond was faced by the same difficulties. What if he was?  She thinks, holding the paper in her hands. He can’t be. He’s older and men are not known for holding back on carnal pleasures.

She bites her index softly, trying to come up with a solution. She can only pray and ask for lightening in the situation, and hope she can do something. 

Aemond hasn’t seen his wife since a day ago. She fell asleep before he arrived, and she woke up after he was gone. 

Not that he particularly was looking forward to being with her. Nothing against her, but he couldn’t entertain her now. He just needed quiet, after feeling so stressed that he had no time to indulge her. 

He was not used to having a wife. It had always been him in the world. His mother fussed over Aegon and Helaena, but he and Daeron were more forgotten. He tried to use all his energy on his duties, so he doesn't give his mother a reason to worry. Aemond did it so well, that now she has been fussing over his marriage. 

It drove him mad. And it made his feelings for his wife more complicated. 

Aemond spends the morning in the training yard, engaged in a fierce sparring match with one of his guards. He hated having guards following him around, as if he was helpless like a maiden. Yet he likes sparring with them, it varies a bit from Ser Criston.. even if he is right there watching too. 

As the guard lunges at him, Aemond sidesteps effortlessly, countering with a quick strike. Ser Criston helped him by being able to spar fiercely despite his blind spots, and his mother had nearly fainted when he trained after his accident.

“Very good” Aemond says as he feels sweaty. Some of the hairs in his braid are loose, and it sticks onto his damp forehead. 

“You have an audience, my prince” Ser Criston says as he takes Aemond’s sword. 

Aemond looks up to where the castle his lady wife was, with one of her friends. She locked eyes with him, and clapped softly with a faint smile on her face. 

To that, he awkwardly waved back to her, cringing almost immediately at that. He must look like a lovestruck fool, he thinks. 

Even when he sparred with Ser Criston, Aemond cannot stop thinking about her. Not even when he notices that she leaves. 

She was busy, the maids told him when he entered his chambers after eating. That his wife was with his ladies in waiting, per usual. Sometimes it bugs him how perfect she manages the court. Entertaining his ladies in waiting, where they all would adore her because she was so perfect. 

He lets all the maids leave, his jaw is set tight as he thinks about his wife. He knew he had been avoiding her, but again… what if she truly leaves? If she doesn’t like him? If the letter from her brother was truly a way out?

“You know if my wife will arrive soon?” He asks her handmaid before she leaves.

“The lady goes to the sept at this hour, my prince.” 

He serves himself a bit of Mead. He knows his wife also likes the taste of it, so he tries to drink it more, so he can enjoy the same things. 

Aemond rarely drank anything other than wine, especially more than one cup of anything else. All because he would start thinking, and reflecting about things… before it was okay, but now? All he thinks about is his wife. 

And after a while, his thoughts would trail to the same thing he suppresses; his carnal need for his Lady Corbray. He hates how it makes his cock throb on his pants, and how he has to accommodate on the chair to spread his legs slightly. 

A hand runs over his face, as he undoes his braid. He needs to get a grip over his feelings, he was not an animal to let his lust dominate his actions over his rational thinking. 

He stands up to undo his breeches, just to calm the fat bulge on it. Even as he does so, he knows he’s lying to himself. He knows his intentions are up to no good. 

“Gods forgive me…” he murmurs as his hand finds his already hard dick, which only grows harder and harder at the contact. 

Aemond sighs, he was like a barely contained beast when it came to his wife. He is scared of what he will do if he is alone in the same room with her for more than ten minutes. And worst of all, perhaps she will be willing to. And that terrifies him. 

He knows she’s eager to consummate, but Aemond knows that the naive sweet Lady Corbray doesn’t understand what that entails. Especially with him and his wicked cravings. 

His grip is firm, stroking his already hard cock as he places his other hand on the edge of the dresser (‘). He can feel his cheeks already getting flushed, and he strokes from base to the tip. 

“Yesss…” He hisses softly as he applies more pressure to his dick “Just like that…” he says lowly. 

Aemond wishes he could say those things to his wife, when they were intimate. He’d praise her, he figured, when they do it, he would make sure she knows how appreciated she is. He must tell her, because most of the time, his urges were anything but kind. 

It made him feel dirty and depraved, but he craved to see his wife kneeled on the ground, placing his cock on her mouth and pleasuring him eagerly. Most of the time, he thinks of how she would take him, and how he would pleasure her the best he could. Other times, he would simply think of how he would take her until she cries of pleasure, making her cum again and again until he decides it is enough. 

He’ll pray for forgiveness later. 

Now, at least, he can feel his balls tightening as he continues stroking his cock, his eye closed and his grip strong on the edge of the dresser, whereas his hips hesitate as he rocks his hand softly. He needed this so badly…

He can hear the soft lewd sound of his hand against his cock, and how his own hand is sticky from the precum on his tip. He tries not to groan too loudly, a bit embarrassed and ashamed if anyone found out, even the guards outside. 

Aemond only thinks of his wife, the few times he would catch a glimpse of her body. And when she came to his chambers, baring herself in front of him and demanding to be bred…

“Fuck, fuck” he moans loudly at the memory, pumping his cock as he feels coming closer to his own release. Not yet, he thinks, he likes to savour the pleasure boiling in his belly, as his strokes become more aggressive. 

He was about to let out another curse out of his mouth, when he hears the doors swinging open and his whole body becomes rigid and the pleasure dissipates.

“Oh, Gods” 

Aemond turns his head before he can hide himself, seeing both his lady wife and Lady Foote standing horrified in the door frame. He can hear how the lady-in-waiting muses a horrified apology, turning around and escaping. 

But he worries more about seeing his wife’s face. He cannot decipher what she thinks, she seems stunned, as he covers himself, ashamed and horrified from it all.

Aemond doesn’t dare to look at her face as he tries to compose himself, turning away from her and tucking his now soft cock in his breeches. He had never gotten so flaccid so quickly, but again, this was probably the most horrifying moment in his life. 

“Husband, I…”

He doesn’t dare to look at her face, he simply grabs the sword hilt that he had placed against the cushions. Aemond feels his face still burning red, he feels like a maid that had been caught stealing. 

He escapes, like a craven. He simply walks past his wife and her horrified lady in waiting, practically running away from that. 

Aemond feels himself shaking, knowing damn well his marriage is definitely over. He had frightened her, and now she would find him disgusting. She would ask for their marriage to dissolve on the grounds of depravity, and she would be away, back in her tower in Heart’s Home. And her brothers would demand a duel for her honour if anyone else knew. 

He curses himself, not knowing what to do. For the first time in his life, he has no idea what to do. Aemond wishes for anything but to lose his marriage, and he knows he has only himself to blame.

[opaldracarys]

sitting on michael’s lap facing him, chest to chest, both of you heaving with it, grinding so slowly- agonisingly so while you- well you can hardly even call it kissing. it’s so messy & sloppy but he’s so eager and pent up with it that it feels so so good. your tongues rubbing messily, both of your mouths wide open, his soft whiny moans echoing into the cavern of your mouth.

you feel the wetness of his drool from the tip of your nose to the bottom of your chin from the way he’s pressing himself on you, it’s disgusting, desperate, like he’s never had the chance and he never will again.

you are sucking each other's tongues, taking turns spitting into each other's mouth too. his hands shake when he holds you by the curve of your ass but it’s not nerves, he’s just so fucking eager, you don’t actually think he cares if he’s making you feel good, in truth neither of you are thinking about a fucking thing

the room is echoing with the wet lewd sounds of your gasping union, there’s no sign of tiring or progressing to anything more than this- despite the fact he’s hard as a rock between your thighs, the “kissing” (if you can even call it that) is enough.

[aemnd-moved]

ewan mitchell at the paris fashion week for alexander mcqueen spring & summer 2026 show. ⸜̑⸝͂

[cherrubie]

Daddy’s Favorite.

Pairing : SugarDaddy!Aegon Targaryen x SugarBaby!Reader.

Summary : When he suddenly cancels your Paris trip, you storm into his office to find him laughing with another woman. Jealous and angry, you confront him, demanding answers. Aegon tries to calm you, teasing you about being territorial, which only fuels your frustration. But his charm, his touch, and the raw pull between you are impossible to resist.

Warning : Modern AU, Smut (Minor- 18) DNI, Oral (M received), Teasing, Spanking, Semi Public Sexs, P in V, Unprotected Sexs, Rough Sex, Overstimulation, Degradation Kink, Creampie, Edging.

Aegon Targaryen Masterlist.

The polished glass doors to Aegon’s office swung open with a sharp click, the sound echoing in the sprawling room. You stood there, hands on your hips, anger rolling off you in waves.

Aegon’s head snapped up mid-laugh, his violet eyes instantly locking on you. His grin faltered. He wasn’t alone.

A woman—sleek, brunette, wearing a dress that probably cost more than your rent—was perched on the edge of his mahogany desk. She had been laughing with him just moments before, her hand brushing too close to his wrist. The sight twisted your stomach like a knife.

You tapped your heel against the marble floor, the rhythm sharp, demanding. Explain.

The woman’s perfectly arched brow rose as she glanced between you and Aegon. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said smoothly, voice dripping with faux sweetness, like she enjoyed the storm she was leaving behind. She slid off the desk, gave Aegon a lingering look, and strutted out.

You huffed, slamming the door shut behind her. The air grew heavy.

“Are you serious, Aegon?” you hissed, your voice low but dangerous. “You canceled Paris for her? Fashion Week—the trip I’ve been waiting for—gone, just so you could sit here and laugh with some… some random woman?”

Aegon leaned back in his leather chair, his palm dragging down his face in slow exasperation. He already knew this was going to spiral. “Sweetheart…” He sighed, his tone laced with that lazy charm he always used when you were mad. “It’s not what it looked like.”

“Not what it looked like?” You scoffed, stepping closer, heat burning in your chest. “Don’t play me, Aegon. You always put me first. Always. But today? Suddenly Paris is off the table, and I walk in to find some woman sitting on your desk, laughing with you like she owns the place? Tell me again how it’s ‘not what it looked like.’”

His eyes softened, though his smirk threatened to tug at the corners of his mouth. He loved you like this—fire blazing, territorial, all that sweetness burned into something raw. He thrived on it.

“You think I canceled Paris for her?” Aegon asked quietly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the desk. His voice dropped, velvety and intimate, the kind that always curled around your spine. “Do you really think I’d trade you for her?”

You folded your arms, refusing to let him diffuse you with words. “Then why, Aegon? Why cancel like that? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this trip?”

“I know,” he said, his tone soft but threaded with guilt. “And I hate that I disappointed you. But business came up—serious business. If I’d taken you to Paris, it would’ve blown up in my face. And I couldn’t let that happen. Not when I’m trying to make sure you never have to worry about anything.”

Your lips parted, your anger cracking under the weight of his explanation. But the image of that woman on his desk still stung, like salt on raw skin.

“So you sit here laughing with her instead?” you snapped, even though your voice shook now.

Aegon’s eyes darkened. He pushed his chair back and stood, rounding the desk slowly until he stood before you, tall, dangerous, radiating heat. His hand lifted, brushing your jaw with maddening gentleness.

“I don’t care about her,” he murmured. “I don’t care about anyone but you.” His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, tugging lightly at your plumpness. “Do you really not know that by now?”

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you, leaning into his touch even as you whispered, “You ruined my mood, Aegon.”

His lips curved into the kind of smirk that made your knees weak. “Then let me fix it. What do you want sweetheart? new necklaces? diamonds earings? or maybe a new birkin? tell me”

You shook your head, your stubbornness holding fast. “You can’t. Not today. It’s ruined.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, voice dropping lower, intimate enough to make the air hum. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, your anger tangling with desire. “That just sounds like a challenge.”

Then Aegon’s grip was firm when he caught your wrist, tugging you toward him before you could take another step. You yelped, stumbling, only to feel the sudden weight of his arms pulling you down onto his lap.

He laughed softly against your ear, that infuriating, sinful chuckle that always seemed to undo you. “There you are,” he murmured, one hand sliding to your waist, holding you in place as if you belonged there.

You turned your head away, still pouting, refusing to meet his gaze. The stubborn tilt of your chin only made him smirk wider.

“Don’t look away from me, sweetheart,” Aegon teased, lowering his lips to your throat. His mouth brushed your skin lightly at first, a feather’s touch of warmth. Then he pressed a kiss there, slow and deliberate.

You didn’t react—not yet. But Aegon knew you too well. His lips trailed lower, then higher, testing, until they found that one spot just beneath your jaw. He kissed you there, lingering, and a small, helpless whine slipped out of you before you could stop it.

His grin curved against your skin. “There she is,” he whispered, his voice velvet and smoke.

You hated how quickly your resolve cracked, how his touch burned away the edges of your anger. His hand roamed, sliding up your waist, his thumb stroking idly against the curve of your ribs. Every movement was deliberate, practiced. He knew exactly how to unravel you.

“Still pouting?” Aegon murmured as his mouth traveled along your neck, brushing kisses up to your jaw. “Even when I’m spoiling you like this?”

“You’re not spoiling me,” you tried to mutter, but the giggle that escaped when his teeth grazed your skin betrayed you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, violet eyes gleaming with victory. “That’s better,” he said with a chuckle, tilting your chin with his fingers until you finally met his gaze.

You couldn’t hold it anymore. Your lips curved into a reluctant smile, soft and sweet, and before you could stop yourself, you rubbed your nose against his playfully. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For being angry at you earlier.”

Aegon’s smirk softened, his eyes flickering with something unspoken. “Don’t be sorry. I like it.”

“You… like it?”

“Of course,” he said easily, his voice dropping lower, richer. His thumb stroked your chin as his lips hovered just over yours. “When you’re jealous, when you’re furious… it means you care. It means you don’t want my attention anywhere else but on you. And god, sweetheart, I love knowing that.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, because it was true. Every bit of anger, every jealous word, had only come from wanting him—wanting all of him.

But then the truth pressed sharp against your heart, as real as the hard length of his cock you felt beneath you, reminding you what you were. His sugar baby. His sweet indulgence. Nothing more.

You tried to steady your breathing, tried to quiet the ache in your chest. He’d made it clear from the beginning: no strings, no feelings, no forever. Just luxury and pleasure, an arrangement as transactional as it was intoxicating.

Yet here you were, melting for him, craving him, aching for more than his body—for his heart, for a claim he would never make.

Aegon pressed another kiss to your lips, light and teasing, before pulling back with that infuriating grin. “See? Mood fixed.”

You forced a small laugh, though it cracked at the edges. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” he said, brushing his nose against yours, “are mine. At least for now.”

The words landed heavy, a reminder of the line drawn between you. You smiled anyway, even as your chest ached, even as the thought clawed at you:

But you didn’t say it. You couldn’t. Because sugar babies didn’t ask for hearts—they took what was given, and pretended it was enough.

So instead, you kissed him back, soft and lingering, trying to lose yourself in the warmth of his mouth, the safety of his hands, the illusion that this was something more.

Aegon kissed you like he’d lose you if he let go, his mouth greedy, demanding, tasting every part of you he could reach. Your lips parted for him willingly, and when your fingers slid up into his pale hair, tugging sharply, he groaned into your mouth. The sound vibrated through you, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

He squeezed your ass in both hands, hard enough to make you whine into the kiss. That was the way Aegon liked it—messy, needy, heated.

But then he broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, his forehead pressed to yours. “Gods,” he panted, violet eyes dark, “I’d love to fuck you right here, right now…” His smirk tilted wickedly. “…but I’ve got a client waiting. Can’t keep her hanging.”

The words snapped you back into a pout. Your stomach burned at the thought of that woman sitting across from him again, all perfect hair and fake laughs. You bit your lip, your jealousy sharp enough to sting.

Aegon chuckled when he saw your expression. He kissed you again, softer this time, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Don’t give me that look, sweetheart. You know you’re my favorite.”

But then an idea sparked, hot and reckless, curling through your veins. When you pulled away, he arched one pale brow, clearly confused. “What’s this about?”

You smirked, your voice low and dangerous. “Tell your secretary you’re ready for your client.”

“Sweetheart…” He tilted his head, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Why?”

But you didn’t answer. You were already sliding off his lap, your hands trailing down his chest as you sank to your knees in front of him. Then, without a word, you crawled under his massive oak desk.

Aegon let out a startled laugh, shaking his head. “Seven hells, you’re trouble,” he muttered, but there was no stopping him now. His hand moved to the intercom button, and his voice—smooth, commanding—filled the room.

“Send her in.”

You bit your lip as he spread his legs, making space for you beneath the desk. He leaned back in his leather chair, exhaling slowly, violet eyes gleaming with anticipation.

The door opened. Heels clicked against the marble. Her voice followed, sweet and grating. “Aegon, darling. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a laugh. She sat across from him, you could see the edge of her skirt and the glint of her jewelry through the crack beneath the desk.

Aegon’s voice stayed even, professional. “It's me who supposed say sorry for the earlier interruption. Let’s get started.”

You waited until he began flipping through papers, until her voice droned on about contracts and figures. Then, slowly, deliberately, you reached up and unbuckled his belt.

Aegon’s entire body tensed. His throat bobbed, and he cleared it roughly, trying to cover the sound.

You nearly giggled but held it back, your lips pressing together in wicked delight. You tugged open his trousers, the soft rustle of fabric hidden beneath the drone of her business pitch.

His cock sprang free, hard and heavy in your hand. Aegon let out a sharp, choked breath, his knuckles tightening on the armrests of his chair.

“Is everything all right?” the woman asked, her voice curious.

Aegon coughed, forcing his tone back to smoothness. “Perfectly fine. Go on.”

You smirked in the shadows, giving his thigh a slow stroke, teasing him, letting your nails drag lightly over his skin. His legs twitched, his breath hitching when you finally leaned in and gave the thick head of his cock a slow, wet lick.

He swallowed hard, his voice strained as he forced out, “Tell me more about… projections for next quarter.”

You licked him again, slower, savoring the way his thighs trembled, the way his cock jerked in your grip. Then, with a wicked smile, you took him into your mouth, inch by inch, your tongue curling around him.

Aegon’s head tipped back against the chair, his jaw clenched, violet eyes fluttering half-shut as he struggled to keep his composure. His voice was hoarse when he asked, “And… your thoughts on the—ah—expansion strategy?”

You nearly lost it, biting down a laugh around him, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder.

Above you, his hand drifted under the desk, tangling in your hair, guiding your pace with subtle pressure. His client kept talking, blissfully unaware, while her every word was punctuated by the quiet, desperate hitch of his breathing.

You hummed around him, and he let out a sharp hiss through his teeth. His free hand clenched into a fist on the desk, his knuckles white. “Mm—yes, that’s… very insightful,” he forced out, his voice low and strained.

Aegon’s fingers dug into your hair as you hollowed your cheeks, dragging him deeper into your throat. He guided you with firm, steady pressure, and every muffled groan he swallowed down only made your lips curl in smug delight. You had him.

But the sting of jealousy hadn’t burned out yet. Just when you felt him start to twitch, when his body tensed with the telltale signs of release, you pulled back abruptly, lips sliding wetly off his cock with a pop.

Aegon let out a low, frustrated groan, sharp enough that the client across the desk paused. “Aegon? Are you—everything all right?”

His throat worked as he cleared it, his voice tight, rough around the edges. “Fine. Everything’s… fine. Please, go on.”

You bit your lip, holding in your giggle as you looked up at him from beneath the desk. He was already staring down at you, his jaw clenched, violet eyes narrowed in warning.

And you, wicked to the bone, slid your hand lower, cupping his balls, rolling them gently in your palm.

His breath hitched, his head tilting back just slightly, betraying himself. You smirked.

That was when his hand slid beneath the desk again, seizing a fistful of your hair. The grip was sharp, dominant, a clear warning: don’t play games with me, sweetheart.

You smirked harder, biting the inside of your cheek, and then leaned back in, taking him into your mouth once more. This time you sucked harder, hungrier, letting his cock glide deep into your throat until your eyes watered. Aegon muffled a groan into the back of his fist, forcing his attention on the client’s droning voice.

His other hand clenched the desk edge so tightly the wood creaked.

When you pulled back, gasping lightly, you let your tongue flick over his tip, savoring the salty taste. But you weren’t done. Not even close.

You reached for the thin straps of your dress and slid them down your shoulders. Inch by inch, fabric slipped until your breasts spilled free, full and perfect, bouncing slightly as you adjusted yourself under the desk.

The second Aegon glanced down again, his breath stuttered. You tilted your head, deliberately slow, pressing your tits together with your arms as you gave him an innocent look that was anything but. Then, just to torment him, you gave them a little shake.

Aegon’s groan was low, guttural, slipping out before he could stop it. His client stopped mid-sentence.

“Aegon? Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his tone smooth. “Perfectly fine,” he rasped, shifting in his chair to hide the tremor that ran through him. “Please… continue.”

But under the desk, he was anything but fine. His hand fisted in your hair again, harder this time, his warning laced with heat. His eyes blazed down at you, silently promising retribution for your little show.

You only smirked back, leaning in again, brushing his cock against the soft swell of your breasts before guiding him back between your lips.

Aegon’s fingers dug harder into your hair, guiding your pace as he sat like a king barely clinging to his throne. His voice above was steady, cool, nodding along to his client’s pitch—but underneath the table, his body was betraying him.

You took him deeper, your throat flexing around his cock, and the muffled groan that escaped him was so raw he had to quickly disguise it with a cough.

You felt his cock twitch against your tongue, thick and heavy, and you knew. He was close. His breathing had gone ragged, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. His grip on your hair tightened until your scalp tingled, a wordless warning that he was hanging by a thread.

So you doubled down.

You pulled back just enough to lick at his tip, kitten-soft flicks of your tongue, playful and maddening—like a kid savoring ice cream. With your other hand, you stroked the base of his cock in steady, firm movements, milking him while your tongue teased the most sensitive spot.

Aegon’s pen nearly snapped between his fingers. His jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked in his cheek. He was trying—gods, he was trying—to stay focused on the client across from him, nodding with that lazy smirk, pretending he wasn’t falling apart beneath the desk.

But every stroke of your hand, every wet drag of your tongue, shredded his control further. When he risked a glance down, what he saw destroyed the last of his composure.

You were stroking him fast, your lips parted, your tongue stuck out in anticipation. Your eyes sparkled up at him, wicked, hungry, daring him to give in.

That was it.

Aegon’s head tipped back, his eyes fluttering shut as a guttural moan rumbled in his chest. His cock jerked violently in your hand, and then he came—hard. Hot ropes of cum spilled across your face, streaking your lips, dripping down your chin, sliding lower until it splattered over the swell of your breasts.

“F—fuck,” he hissed under his breath, voice low and raw. His whole body shuddered with the force of it, his grip on your hair trembling as if he’d been broken open.

You moaned softly, the sound muffled by the thick taste on your tongue. You swallowed what you could, then leaned in and licked him clean, slow and teasing, dragging your tongue along his overstimulated length.

Aegon jolted in his chair, hips twitching as curses tumbled under his breath. His hand pressed against your head, half warning, half surrender, as if he couldn’t take any more but couldn’t stop you either.

Your lips curved into a smile as you sucked the last drops from him, leaving him raw, shaking, and undone.

Above the desk, he shifted, clearing his throat, trying to force his voice back to steady. But his cheeks were flushed, his breaths shallow, his violet eyes glassy with lust when they dared glance down at you.

And you—cum still dripping on your skin, your breasts slick with his release—just looked up at him with that satisfied, sinful smile that told him you knew exactly what you’d done.

The moment the client’s heels clicked out of the office, the air snapped taut like a wire pulled to breaking. Aegon didn’t say a word. His jaw was tight, his eyes burning like embers under glass, his whole body straining with the composure he’d forced himself to hold while you played him under the desk.

You didn’t even remember how it happened. One second he was behind his desk, buttoning his jacket back into place, voice clipped as he dismissed her. The next, his hand was on you, dragging you forward, bending you over the polished mahogany desk until your cheek pressed against its cool surface.

“Daddy!” you cried out, your voice breaking as his cock drove into you in one punishing thrust.

He groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your spine as he set a brutal rhythm. Each thrust was rough, hard, the kind that lifted your hips off the desk and sent your ass bouncing back against him. Your moans filled the office, echoing off glass and wood, shameless and loud.

“Gods, look at you,” Aegon growled, his hand smacking across your ass with a sharp crack. You screamed his name, your walls fluttering around him, and he chuckled darkly. “That’s it. Scream for me, sweetheart. Let the whole damn floor know who’s fucking you.”

Tears streaked your cheeks as he kept you teetering on the edge, hour after hour of him pulling you back every time you got too close. His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so your face tilted up, your mouth open, your moans raw.

“You thought you could play with me under my desk?” His voice was rough silk, half a laugh, half a snarl. He slammed into you harder, his cock dragging against that spot inside you that made you sob. “You thought you could deny me my release?”

“Daddy—please!” you begged, your voice breaking as you clawed at the desk.

He leaned down, his chest pressing into your back as his hips drove forward with unrelenting force. His lips brushed your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “This is your punishment, sweetheart. You don’t get to come until I say.”

Your body betrayed you, squeezing him tight, your legs shaking as the pressure built again. He felt it—the way your cunt clamped around him like a vice—and he growled, pulling out suddenly.

The emptiness made you whine, desperate, trembling. Another sharp smack landed on your ass, making you jolt. “Don’t whine,” he snapped, his voice low and cruelly amused. “You wanted to play games? Now you’ll learn.”

Your cheeks were wet, your body on fire, your core aching with the loss of him. You turned your head, tears spilling as you whispered, “I’m sorry—please, Daddy, I can’t—”

He grabbed your jaw, forcing your face back against the desk, pinning you there. His cock pressed against your entrance again, sliding just enough to make your whole body shudder. “You don’t get to say ‘can’t,’” he said, his tone dropping like a whip crack. “You’ll take every second of it. And you’ll thank me when I let you come.”

He slammed back into you without warning, and the scream that tore from your throat was pure desperation, pure surrender.

Aegon’s hand tangled back in your hair, yanking your head up again so he could see your face twisted with tears, sweat, and pleasure. His other hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight as he pounded into you, his groans mingling with your cries.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, his lips brushing your temple as he rammed into you. “My perfect little whore, dripping all over my desk. Say it.”

Your body shook, your voice hoarse as you sobbed, “I’m yours—Daddy, I’m yours!”

And the way he groaned, the way his pace stuttered with raw need, told you he believed it.

The desperate cry ripped out of you as Aegon pulled out just as your climax trembled on the edge. Your whole body shook, your soaked cunt twitching, throbbing with need. You collapsed forward onto the desk, gasping for air, tears streaking your cheeks.

Behind you, you heard his low chuckle, a cruel sound vibrating with satisfaction. He let his eyes drag over you—your swollen, red, dripping pussy clenching on nothing, your ass still flushed from the countless spanks he’d given you.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, voice rough and sharp. His hand came down hard across your ass again, making you jolt and yelp. “Begging like a little slut. You wanted to tease me under my desk? This is what you get.”

“Please—please,” you sobbed, lifting your head enough to look back at him with wet, wide eyes. “I need you—please, fuck me again.”

He smirked, adjusting his belt but never tucking his cock away. It stood hard, flushed, angry red, twitching with its own desperate need. He sat back in his chair, leaning against the leather as though he had all the time in the world, one hand stroking lazily down his length.

“Come here,” he ordered, his voice dark silk.

You stumbled forward on shaky legs, your thighs sticky, your body burning. He spread his legs wide, his eyes locking on you, and you swallowed hard. The command was unspoken. You straddled his lap, your chest heaving, before lowering yourself slowly onto him.

The stretch made you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he growled, his hands gripping your waist, dragging you down until his cock was buried to the hilt inside your soaked heat. His head tipped back, eyes closing as a low groan rumbled in his chest. “Gods, you’re so tight. So wet. Just made to take me.”

You began to move, desperate, riding him with frantic pace, your body chasing the release he’d denied you over and over. The wet slap of your ass meeting his thighs echoed in the office. You moaned loud, reckless, grinding down hard, your walls fluttering.

But Aegon wasn’t having it.

His grip tightened on your waist, bruising, forcing you to slow down, to move at his punishing pace instead of your own. You whimpered, eyes wide, mouth trembling.

“Please,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “Please, Daddy—I can’t—I need to cum—”

He chuckled darkly, his teeth flashing as he leaned forward, his lips brushing your ear. “Look at you. Tears running down your face, bouncing on my cock like a desperate little cockslut. Is that what you are?”

You nodded frantically, the word spilling from your lips. “Yes—yes, I’m your cockslut—please, Daddy—”

The sound he made was primal, a growl tearing from his throat. His hand slid down to your ass, squeezing, before landing another sharp spank that made you cry out and clench tight around him.

“That’s right,” he snarled. “My needy little slut, soaking my cock, begging for my cum.”

Your body shook, your tears dripping onto his shirt as you rode him, your sobs mingling with moans. Every thrust dragged you closer to the edge, your walls strangling his cock.

Suddenly his hands clamped down on your waist, dragging you down hard, impaling you fully on him. You screamed, your back arching as his cock filled you to the brim. His teeth grazed your neck, his breath ragged.

“Cum for me,” he growled, his voice rough, commanding. “Cum all over my cock like the desperate little slut you are.”

Your body broke. With a sobbing scream, you shattered around him, your cunt pulsing, milking him, your thighs trembling as wave after wave of release crashed through you.

Aegon groaned low, his pace faltering as your tight walls convulsed around him. His head tipped back, his grip bruising your hips as he thrust deep and held you there.

“Fuck—yes,” he growled, his voice breaking. “Take it. Take all of it.”

His release hit hard, his cock twitching as he spilled deep inside you, his cum flooding your tight, fluttering pussy. The sound of your joined moans filled the room—raw, messy, intimate.

You collapsed against his chest, sobbing and shaking, still twitching around him as his warmth spread inside you. He wrapped an arm around your back, keeping you impaled on his cock even as it softened inside you.

His lips brushed your temple, his voice rough and low. “Good girl. My perfect little whore.”

Your body was still trembling from the last orgasm, your pussy aching, swollen, leaking with his cum when Aegon leaned over you with that dark, hungry glint in his eyes. You knew that look—he wasn’t finished. He would never be finished when it came to you.

You lay sprawled across his desk, hair messy, makeup ruined, lips parted as you tried to catch your breath. But Aegon wasn’t giving you the chance. His hand wrapped around the base of his cock, rubbing the tip against your soaked folds, smearing his cum across your heat.

“Look at this greedy little cunt,” he muttered, voice thick with lust. His cock twitched in his fist as he dragged the swollen head up and down your slit, nudging your clit until you squirmed. “Already dripping for more when I just filled you.”

“Daddy,” you whimpered, lifting your hips helplessly, chasing the stretch you knew was coming.

He growled low in his throat at your desperation, then pushed forward, slowly sinking himself into your tight pussy again. Inch by inch, the thick length filled you until he was buried to the hilt, his cock stretching you wide, making your back arch off the desk.

“Fuck—” Aegon hissed, his jaw tight as your walls clenched around him. He looked down, and his smirk grew crueler when he saw the bulge of his cock pressing against your lower belly. His palm pressed down on it, making you whimper. “You feel that? That’s me. Right here. So deep inside you I’m rearranging your guts.”

A high moan tore out of you, your nails clawing at his shoulders as his steady rhythm started to build. Every thrust slammed into you, making the desk creak, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing in the office.

Your voice broke into sobs of pleasure. “Daddy—so deep—I can’t—”

He chuckled darkly, snapping his hips harder, the tip of his cock pounding your cervix until stars danced in your vision. “You can. You’re my little cock sleeve. Made for me to fuck dumb.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your cunt fluttering around him, pulling him deeper. He noticed. Of course he did. His lips curled in a smirk as he rammed into you harder, sharper. “Gods—hear that? Your pussy loves it when I talk down to you. Filthy little slut.”

You cried out, arching under him, lost to the brutal pace he set. Every thrust dragged the air from your lungs, every snap of his hips made your tits bounce wildly. Aegon’s hungry eyes locked on them before he bent down, catching one of your nipples between his teeth.

You screamed his name as he bit down lightly, his big hand squeezing your breast hard while his cock drove you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned against your skin. “So cock drunk you can’t even think. This pussy’s mine. Say it.”

“It’s yours!” you sobbed, tears streaking your face. “All yours, Daddy!”

His growl was feral, vibrating against your chest. He pulled your legs together, folding them tight before throwing them over his shoulders. The new angle made you gasp, your eyes rolling back as he slammed deeper, hitting that sweet spot over and over.

“Fuck yes,” he snarled, his breath ragged, sweat dripping from his temple. “Taking me so fucking deep—squeezing me like you never want me to leave. You’ll cum for me again, won’t you, slut? Won’t you make a mess all over Daddy’s cock?”

You could only sob, the pleasure unbearable, your breasts bouncing each time he thrust harder. He groaned when he saw them, his hand reaching to squeeze and slap them, making you scream louder.

Every filthy word he spat, every slap of skin, every degrading laugh pushed you further into the haze. Your body obeyed him, tightening, shaking, until you were unraveling again, your pussy gushing around his cock, soaking the desk beneath you.

Aegon roared his pleasure, his thrusts turning rougher, harder, chasing his own release as you convulsed around him. His eyes darkened, watching your fucked-out face, the tears, the drool on your lips.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice breaking as his cock twitched inside you. “Say it again—say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, your voice hoarse, desperate. “Only yours—always yours, Daddy!”

You were ruined—crying, shaking, moaning his name over and over as he held himself deep, grinding against you like he wanted to mold your body to his shape.

With a guttural groan, Aegon slammed one last time, burying himself deep as he spilled into you again, hot and overwhelming, filling you until it leaked out around his cock. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you pinned as he emptied every drop inside you.

And when it was over, when your body collapsed limp beneath him, he still didn’t let go. His hands stroked down your sides, his lips brushing your damp temple.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his tone softer now, though his cock was still buried inside you. “My perfect little whore.”

You lost count of how many times you’d come. It didn’t matter anymore—your body was trembling, soaked in sweat, your voice raw from screaming his name. Every nerve felt fried, every muscle limp, but Aegon wasn’t slowing down. He had you sprawled across his desk, legs wide, his cock still splitting you open with ruthless thrusts.

You sobbed when another wave of pleasure rippled through you, your walls clenching around him, milking him desperately even though you were already overstimulated.

“Fuck,” Aegon growled, his voice thick with lust. “You’re still squeezing me. Still greedy for my cock after I’ve filled you again and again. Gods, you’re a perfect little whore.”

He lifted one hand and spanked your breast sharply, making you yelp and arch your back. The sting sent your pussy fluttering around him again, and his smirk deepened.

“Look at you,” he taunted, his eyes raking down your ruined body. “So cockdrunk you don’t even know what to do with yourself. Just lying there with your tits out, playing with them while I split this tight pussy open. You love it, don’t you?”

All you could do was moan his name, hands squeezing your swollen breasts, fingers tugging at your own nipples as tears rolled down your flushed cheeks. You nodded frantically, too far gone to form words, your body trembling with each brutal thrust.

He leaned over, his mouth at your ear, his tone a low growl. “Say it. Say you’re my dumb little cumdump.”

“Y-Yes—Daddy,” you cried, voice breaking. “I’m your cumdump—fuck—I’m yours!”

That was all it took. Aegon’s eyes darkened, his pace rough and punishing as he drove into you, his cock hitting that sweet spot again and again. He watched with hunger as your body twisted beneath him, your tits bouncing, your nails scratching at his shoulders, your voice cracking into broken cries.

Then his thumb found your swollen clit, circling with relentless pressure.

You screamed, arching violently as your body shattered again, another orgasm ripping through you so hard it left you sobbing, your pussy spasming wildly around him.

“Fuck yes,” Aegon snarled, grinding deep into you, his teeth clenched as your walls strangled his cock. “Cum for me. Milk my cock like the perfect little slut you are.”

The pressure was too much, the overstimulation unbearable, but your body obeyed him. You writhed and screamed, your orgasm tearing through you again, juices dripping down his thighs.

Aegon’s breath broke into curses, his thrusts losing rhythm as his release barreled through him. With a guttural groan, he slammed himself to the hilt, grinding as deep as he could. His cock twitched violently inside you before spilling hot, thick ropes of cum straight into your womb.

He stayed buried, grinding against you, making sure every drop emptied inside. Your back arched, your toes curling, the sensation of his heat flooding you tipping you into another wave of sobbing pleasure.

“Fuck—look at that,” he groaned when he finally pulled out, his cock dripping. His eyes locked on your swollen, red pussy, puffy and raw from being fucked open, cum already leaking out in messy streaks. He groaned low in his throat, his chest heaving.

“Gods, I love this sight,” he muttered, his voice ragged but hungry. His fingers spread your folds apart, admiring the way his seed spilled out. “Look at this pussy—used, dripping, ruined just for me. My perfect little cumdump.”

Aegon leaned back, smirking, his cock still half-hard even after everything. His eyes dragged over your ruined, cockdrunk body—your tits still glistening with sweat, your lips swollen from moaning his name, your thighs trembling.

And he chuckled, low and satisfied. “You’ll never get enough of me. And I’ll never get enough of you.”

He dipped his fingers into the mess between your thighs, scooping his cum and shoving it back inside you. The slick sound made you moan weakly, your head tilting back as you clenched around his fingers automatically.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his tone softer now but still dripping with possession. “My favorite little whore. My cumdump. Mine.”

©2025 Cherrubie. This tale is a blessed creation under celestial guardianship. No part may be copied, stored, transmitted, or shared beyond this realm without divine permission.

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[opaldracarys]

THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE

[lord-aldhelm]

Osferth (Ewan Mitchell) from "The Last Kingdom" Season 4 from the Blu-ray 'making of' video.