#Furies (Stray Gods) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ebodebo · 1 month ago

Text

Dinner, Dinner!

—jason misses your anniversary dinner, but makes it up to you…MDNI

"Would you like to browse our dessert menu, madam?" The waiter asks in a thick French accent as he stretches his arm out to pour your second glass of wine.

Your brain is fogged as your fingers fiddle with the stem of the glass as you swirl the crimson liquid around, splashing all sides of the glass.

"Madam?" The waiter repeats. You hadn't even realized you hadn't answered his previous question. You flick your eyes to his.

"I…um—sorry, can you repeat the question?" Your mind is clouded with a storm of fury and hurt. Jason, your boyfriend, had forgotten your anniversary dinner, leaving you to endure the sympathetic glances of strangers as they noticed the empty seat across from you.

"Of course, madam. I asked if you would like to see the dessert menu," the waiter repeats, his voice a distant echo. You turn your head to the empty seat in front of you, the thought of enduring the restaurant's atmosphere a daunting prospect.

"Could I just have the cremé brûlée?" You finally ask, your eyes still fixed on the empty seat, your voice trembling slightly. "In a to-go box, please."

It was the first dessert you and Jason shared at this very restaurant, three years ago today.

"Of course," the waiter said curtly, turning slightly before you raised your voice.

"And, um, could you take the other wine glass?" You awkwardly ask. He simply nods again, carefully placing the stem between his index and middle fingers upside down before turning away to tend to another table.

You should just leave.

It was clear he wasn't coming.

A light smile etched into your face as the waiter set the to-go box with the fancy dessert. You carefully reached into your purse, steadily gripping your wallet to pay. The waiters brought his hands up, shaking his head side-to-side.

"Please. No payment is necessary, madam. Enjoy the dessert," he says kindly. You sniffle, a stray tear falling down your face. You nod gently, issuing a strained, 'Thank you.'

He curtly nods, turning to go back into the kitchen. You gather your things, including the dessert, and move to walk out of the front door.

Upon stepping outside, you are met with the cold Gotham air. Your dress even sways in the wind as you walk, and your heels clank against the pavement.

The walk home wasn't too long, maybe six minutes or so, but God, did it feel like an eternity. All you could think about was how hurt and disappointed you were and what you would say to Jason when you inevitably saw him.

Your brain tried to conjure all the reasons he didn't show.

Did he forget, or did he purposefully not come?

Now, you knew it couldn't be the latter, Jason wasn't a dick.

He was just an idiot.

Your thoughts continued as you stuck your key in the lock and carefully twisted it to unlock your front door, pushing it open quickly.

You set your purse down on a table next to the door, glancing at a framed photo of you and Jason happily eating ice cream on Jason's birthday last year.

You felt sick.

You quickly flick your attention away as your eyes begin to well with hot tears, easing your way into the kitchen. You stand on the cold tile for a minute before getting a sudden inspiration rush.

You didn't want to think about him any longer tonight. You'd prepare a hot tea, watch a movie, or perhaps even read a good book.

Yes. That sounded like a fine plan.

As you were steeping the leaves in hot water, a knock on the front door pulled your attention away. You left the bag to steep and returned to the door. Pulling the door open, you were met with Red Hood—aka your boyfriend, Jason—gripping a bouquet of fresh flowers.

You're tempted to slam the door in his pretty face, but you don't—not yet, anyway.

"I'm an asshole," he says, his voice distorted from his modulator.

The sight was ridiculous; if you weren't so pissed, you'd laugh.

He realizes the absurdity of the situation. "God damn, fuckin' helmet," he irritably gruffs, ripping off his helmet. Your eyes widen, your mouth hanging open.

Anyone could simply walk by and figure out who the highly sought-after vigilante was.

"Jason, you can't just—get inside!" You grip his arm, dragging him inside the confines of your home—an action you immediately regret.

"Fuck, baby," he begins. "I'm—I'm so sorry," his tone is sincere as he anxiously drags his hands through his hair.

"I looked like an idiot, Jason," you breathe out, reaching for the bouquet of flowers he brought.

Hell, it wasn't their fault Jason was stupid.

"I know—" he says, following you into your kitchen as you fill a vase with water for the flowers.

"A fucking idiot," you snap, setting the flowers gently into the water. You reach for a pair of scissors. "I requested an extra wine glass when I sat down, and I had to be the one to tell him to take it away," you angrily say, snipping some of the leaves off.

"Baby, I'm really, really sorry. I got caught up with—"

"Where were you?" You set the scissors down, turning to look at him.

"Dick needed some help scouting a potential crime circuit in Blüdhaven," he sighs. "He told me it wouldn't take long. Should've known better," he wipes his hand over his face, hissing at the contact.

Your eyes sweep over his face, taking note of the fresh cuts and bruises that now taint his face. Fresh blood prickled from some; others were caked in layers of it.

"Are you hurt?" You ask, concern lacing your words.

He raises a brow. "Don't worry about me, Sweetheart. I'll be alright. I'm more concerned about you," he admits honestly.

"You're bleeding," you observe, wincing at the sight.

"Just a hair," he lightly smiles. "I'm okay."

Sure, you were pissed at your boyfriend, but you wouldn't let him be in agony like he was.

He was bleeding, for God's sake.

"Let me clean them up," you simply say.

"No, no. I'm fine—" he began, shaking his head lightly.

"Please," you insist.

He huffs, then accepts defeat. He takes your hand stretched out and follows you to the bathroom. He sits on the toilet as you fumble through your medicine cabinet to gather band-aids and Neosporin.

"I hope it's okay. I, um, only have these band-aids," you awkwardly say, holding up a box with a familiar blue hero on the cover.

"Baby, why do you have Nightwing band-aides?" He questions skeptically.

"Dick brought them to white elephant last year, and I got stuck with them," you lightly laugh. "He's a horrible gift-giver."

Jason laughs. "Promise to remind me to take them off before I leave. He cannot see me with these on. He'd have a damn field day," he grumbles as you laugh.

"I promise I'll remind you," you affirm, pulling a small step ladder in front of him so you could sit before carefully squirting a bit of the ointment out onto your pointer finger and pressing it to each of Jason's cuts.

He barely winces or whines as you continue the action, delicately tending to each cut. His eyes wander to yours, focusing heavily with determination on what you are doing, even sticking your tongue out to concentrate.

"I don't deserve this," he heaves as you open some band-aids.

"What? To have ten Nightwing band-aides on you all at once?" You laugh, carefully laying each of the band-aids over the cuts.

He snickers. "That and you taking care of me."

You pull back slightly. "What?"

"I ruined our anniversary tonight. I left you alone in that restaurant and, look at you, still taking care of me," he exasperates. "I don't deserve you."

You frown. "Don't say that. I mean, ya, it was shitty, but just because you did something shitty one time or even twice doesn't make you undeserving of my love, Jason," you gently say, fingers moving to caress his jaw on their own volition.

He leans into your hand. "I just don't want to lose you. I love you."

Jason and you have exchanged hundreds, if not thousands, of "I love yous" throughout your relationship, but this one felt different.

It felt more like a sacred prayer spilling from his lips—a tender plea from the depths of his soul. It felt all that much more divine.

You found yourself leaning to kiss his lips, your hands moving to thread through his hair. His lips instantly moved with yours, and his hand gripped your cheek.

It was a tender kiss—an 'I'm sorry,' wrapped in an 'It's okay.'

As the seconds passed, the kiss became more fervent—urgent. You even slipped off the step ladder and moved onto Jason's lap. He welcomed you with open arms, encasing you tightly with each of his hands on your hips as you straddled him.

Your hands glided through his hair messily and eagerly as his hands massaged the fat of your hips. You let out a whine that Jason catches as he slips his tongue in your mouth.

You find yourself rocking against him, desperate for friction. He groans, gripping your thighs tightly as he stands with you, guiding you towards your bedroom.

Never once did your lips disconnect.

He gently lays you on the bed as he hastily sheds his boots, armored jacket, gloves, and pants. Your breathing is labored as you follow suit, gingerly slipping off your simple black dress and kicking off your heels, revealing your matching red bra and pantie set you had worn.

Jason stands in front of you in nothing but his boxers, eyes soaking you in.

"What?" You question nervously, feeling self-conscious with his eyes so focused on you.

"Did you—did you wear that for me?" He asks lazily.

Your lips quip. "Duh. Who else?" You giggle. "You like it?"

He lets out a dry laugh, moving to hover over your body, sticking his arm out to stabilize himself so as not to crush you. "I think I need to take a closer look," he cheekily says, moving his mouth closer to the strap of the bra, taking it between his teeth, pulling a little, then flicking it back. You let out a small whine, feeling the fabric snap back on your skin.

"Sure is sturdy," he observes, fingers coming to slip it down your shoulder. "And a nice color," he murmurs into your shoulder, sending goosebumps down your arm.

"Ya?" You idly question as his lips skim your collarbone.

"Mhm. It's very nice, Baby," he mumbles into your skin, fingers moving to skim the band of your panties. "And these," he begins. "Don't even get me started." He lightly nips your skin with his teeth, eliciting another whine.

His fingers slip under the band, pulling them down so they sit around your lower thighs. "Ah, there she is," he coos, cupping your dripping cunt with his hand.

"Jason," you moan, pushing yourself into his hand more.

"What, Baby?" His words were low and dragged out, almost breathy.

"I—I need more," you groan, hand moving to rest on his hand on you, encouraging more movement from him.

"I'll do you one better," he takes his hand away, making you frown, though he moves to slip his boxers down, showcasing his erect cock.

He strokes himself once before guiding himself into your entrance, leaning down to kiss your temple lightly as he pushes himself inside your cunt. You hiss at the contact, gripping his shoulders tightly.

He groans as one of his hands comes to grip behind your neck, and the other moves to lift your leg up slightly so he can grip your thigh, giving a better angle as he moves at a consistent pace.

A desperate mewl escapes your mouth as his pace fastens. Jason's hand has moved to rest on your breast in your bra as he throws his head back, groaning and spewing curses.

You sit up slightly, gripping his neck, pulling him down to your lips. He kisses you roughly, even sucking your bottom lip in the process. You bring your leg up to wrap around his torso, pushing him even more deeply; he groans as his hand slides to grip the hinge of your leg.

"Jay, I'm gonna—" You begin breathlessly.

"I know, Baby. I know," he purrs into your mouth. "Feel so good."

You grip his neck tighter, lips pressing into his shakily, as you feel yourself tighten around him. All you have had to do was moan his name into his mouth to have him following suit, even moving one hand to grip the sheets beneath as he comes.

You're both gasping for air. Jason eases himself out of you and plops beside you, pulling you close so your face rests on his chest.

"As far as orgasms go, that one was great," you pant, fingers moving to trace the lines between Jason's abs.

"Ya? Do I get a golden star?" He tuts, fingers playing with your hair.

"Sorry, Babe. I only give golden stars for extra credit," you jest, looking up at him.

"Extra credit, you say?" He asks, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "I think I can do that." He lifts up abruptly, getting off the bed.

"What're you—" You begin to question before he's tugging you towards him by your ankles, planting his face in between your legs.

"Jay!" You shriek, though make no effort to move as his tongue lapses at your sensitive clit.

"I really want that golden star," he mumbles into you.

a/n: finally finished this fic that has been haunting my drafts for months upon months ( ͡ಥ ͜ʖ ͡ಥ)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

1K notes · View notes

solxamber · 3 months ago

Text

Trash Novel Chronicles: My Consort Calls Me Shrimpy || Floyd Leech

You get isekaid into a novel where the perfect Empress got absolutely wrecked by the plot, and now you have to juggle a bland heroine, a traitorous consort, and a delightfully unhinged eel who’s oddly good at solving your problems.

Series Masterlist

You’re about three hours deep in line, squashed between a woman wearing an unsettling amount of dragon-themed jewelry and some dude intensely vaping in front of you. The line inches forward at the pace of continental drift, and you’re in no mood to be here.

You're here out of pure, misguided loyalty to your best friend, who’s practically shaking with excitement at the idea of meeting their favourite author—the world-renowned queen of girlboss fantasy.

In a valiant effort to distract yourself from your eternal boredom, you pull up her previous novels on your phone. Maybe, if you understood her work better, you’d understand why people would willingly spend this many hours standing on asphalt.

After skimming through some of her top titles, you can barely believe these are real book plots: Slaying the Patriarchy with My Stilettos? Lipstick and Blood Magic? Each one more ridiculous than the last, filled with protagonists who blast their enemies with a "feminine fury" and, honestly, you're just not buying it.

Why did I agree to this? you think, suppressing the urge to gnaw on your own hand out of boredom.

Suddenly, you spot a stray bird above—a pigeon, wobbling through the sky like it's had one too many lattes. You barely register the bird's existence until it lets out an alarming squawk and, in a tragic twist of fate, plummets from the heavens right towards your head.

In a perfect shot, it bonks you directly in the face, knocking you backward with an impressively dramatic flair. You spiral down, your vision blurring as you fall in slow motion, gasping.

In the last seconds of your consciousness, as chaos erupts around you, one solemn thought echoes through your mind: I hate pigeons.

And with that, you drift off into oblivion, serenaded by the panicked cries of your best friend and the distant wail of someone’s Lipstick and Blood Magic audiobook playing on full blast nearby.

You wake up, blink, and immediately realize that your bed is both way too luxurious and way too large. Rich, velvet curtains drape around you, shimmering with gold embroidery.

A chandelier overhead sparkles with enough jewels to fund at least three public libraries. The air smells like a mixture of incense, rose petals, and maybe faint hints of… burning tyranny?

Oh, dear God. You’ve been isekai’d.

Straight into that novel you were doom-scrolling through to survive the crushing boredom of line-waiting.

Your mind reels back to the summary you’d read. The heroine, a weepy maid with all the emotional range of wet toast. The consort, a charming traitor with “dreamy eyes” who betrays his own Empress for said toast. And then, of course, the villainess.

That poor, genius Empress who actually had talent and ambition, who could annihilate anyone with a flick of her wrist and yet was somehow destined to lose it all because of a love triangle involving a glorified housekeeper.

And now—you are that Empress. The Villainess Extraordinaire, Scourge of Kingdoms, War-Waging Prodigy, Mary Sue on Steroids… and now you're stuck in this tragic play of bad romance tropes.

You shoot upright in bed, taking it all in. Lavish room. Silk sheets. Jewels littered around like confetti. And then you notice a presence by your bedside. You whip your head to see… her. The heroine.

She's standing there, looking down at you with the wide-eyed wonder of someone who hasn’t yet discovered a single personality trait. Her face is soft, angelic, and you already know that beneath those doe eyes lies… absolutely nothing.

She's here to dress you, a task that apparently requires thirty minutes of excessive hair-braiding, enough layers to construct a mattress, and endless, mind-numbing conversation about the consort.

Oh, right. The consort. Your dear, disloyal boy toy who’ll soon be scheming against you. He’s probably off somewhere sharpening his cheekbones in a mirror, wondering if he can pull off “soulful yet traitorous” in the same expression.

The heroine starts tugging on your hair, a bit too enthusiastically for your taste. "Your Majesty," she coos, “Your consort was asking for you yesterday. He misses your attention."

You mentally scream. I'm running an empire, Susan! Who cares about his feelings right now? You're barely awake, freshly isekai'd, and trying to mentally tally your enemies, not exactly in the mood for his fragile ego.

And, technically, aren’t you the one in need of support here? Not the consort, who apparently needs a throne, a palace, and a shoulder to cry on every two hours.

"Oh," you manage to reply, voice dripping with an irritation that you pray she interprets as imperial grace. "Tell him… I’m thinking about military reforms."

The heroine’s eyes flicker in confusion. "Military reforms?"

"Yes. Reforms. Vital to the stability of our empire." You wave a hand, and she clearly has no idea what you're talking about. This maid was not hired for her intellectual curiosity, that’s for sure.

Then comes the worst part: her doe eyes start misting over. Great. You forgot. Crying is, apparently, her most crucial skill set. She clutches a sleeve to her chest, looking at you as if you’ve announced the arrival of a natural disaster. "Your Majesty… but what about your consort?"

You take a deep breath. Focus. How did this woman end up so crucial to the plot? What was it about her that was supposed to outshine an entire empire? It’s as if she’s constructed entirely from damp tissues and vague romantic inclinations. And this is the girl who’s going to take you down?

But you’re already devising a plan. You’ll keep tabs on her. Outwardly, you’ll play the role of the intimidating yet graceful Empress, while inwardly making sure that neither she nor the consort gets a single chance to stab you in the back. And as for the consort himself…

Well, when he finally arrives for his “audience,” you’ll be sure to give him the warmest, most menacing smile in your arsenal. For now, you’ll have to endure the heroine’s dramatic sniffles and the hundred layers of fabric she’s convinced you need.

As she fiddles with a particularly elaborate golden sash, you look at her with an eyebrow raised. “Tell me,” you say, feigning curiosity. “What would you do if the palace were to… burn down?”

Her face goes blank for a second. Then, she frowns and wrinkles her nose as if this question is somehow unsolvable. “Um… cry?”

Of course. Absolutely riveting. You sigh and try to look satisfied, which is hard when you’re mentally questioning how this woman has a heartbeat, let alone plot armor thick enough to take you down.

By the time she finishes with your dress, you've already come up with about sixteen ways to save the empire and seventy-two reasons why this love triangle is absolutely ridiculous.

In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. You’re the picture of beauty and deadly grace, an unstoppable Empress who could wield the fate of kingdoms.

And they want to reduce you to a footnote in the saga of this girl’s whimpering romance?

Well, that’s not happening. You’ve read the novel; you know how this story ends. And now that you’re here, you’re rewriting that ridiculous fate.

You try to keep a dignified expression, but inside, you’re screaming.

The entire reason you’ve gathered the harem is to graciously cut them loose and rid yourself of the ongoing melodrama. Because if there are no consorts, there’s no backstabbing love triangle, no tearful betrayals, and no doomed political coups.

You can practically taste the freedom already—so you clear your throat and begin, putting on your most diplomatic voice:

"Esteemed consorts,” you say, hands clasped. “Thank you for your service and devotion. You are now free to leave and may claim land and titles if you wish to remain in the empire.”

You pause, waiting for cheers or at least some relieved sighs. Instead, dead silence. You glance around and spot the heroine sneaking glances at the traitor consort, eyes brimming with pure unadulterated… something.

She looks like she’s five seconds away from throwing herself across a fainting couch. The consort looks at her for a moment and then back at you, entirely unimpressed.

Maybe they’re just in shock, you think, trying to keep it together. Maybe they need a moment to process the incredible gift of freedom you’ve just given them.

But then, from the back of the room, someone clears their throat—Floyd Leech. He raises his hand, a gleeful glint in his eye that makes your stomach churn.

See, Floyd was not a character that should’ve belonged in this novel. The man was unhinged. Slightly terrifying, if you’re being honest. He treated warfare like a casual hobby and had a grin that said I could absolutely cause problems on purpose.

And the worst part? Floyd was actually one of the few who stuck around in the original plot. After the Empress dies on the battlefield, he takes her body back to his home country, out of sheer love.

He's also the only one who got to call the Empress Regnant herself "Shrimpy" and lived to tell the tale. You'd swoon over the romantic implications if you weren't that same Empress who had bigger problems right now.

You steel yourself. “Yes, Floyd?”

“Can I stay?” he says, looking entirely too happy. “These other guys are boring, but you’re kinda fun to watch.” He stares at you like you’re some sort of exotic animal in a zoo. “Besides,” he adds, throwing an arm over a very uncomfortable-looking consort, “who’s gonna protect you if I leave? These losers?”

God help you.

Before you can even answer, the traitor consort steps forward, expression so intense you can feel it from across the hall. He clears his throat dramatically. “My Empress,” he says, taking a deep, tragic breath. “My heart is bound to you, like—like the tides to the moon. Like—”

In the background, the heroine lets out an audible, swooning sigh. Oh, please, you think. You’ve seen better monologues in toothpaste commercials. The consort glances at the heroine, clearly confused, then goes back to gazing at you with what he probably thinks is soulful longing.

Meanwhile, Floyd is grinning at him, shark-like. “Nice speech, buddy,” he says, clapping the guy on the back hard enough that the consort nearly goes sprawling. “But I think she liked mine better.” He leans in to whisper, loudly, “Besides, I bet you don’t even know her favorite food.”

The consort’s face scrunches. “Do you?”

“Nope!” Floyd beams, looking at you as if expecting some kind of reward. “But I’m gonna figure it out.”

The consort looks like he wants to protest, but before he can, another one of the harem—Lord Something-or-Other—steps forward, visibly shaking with emotion. He kneels, clutching a hand to his heart as if he’s about to propose.

“My Empress,” he says, voice wobbling with way too much sincerity. “Without you, my life is a barren wasteland. I would rather endure the endless, scorching sands of—”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Floyd groans. “Do you guys hear yourselves?”

“Can you not mock me while I pour my heart out?” Lord Something-or-Other snaps back.

“Sure I can. I’m multi-talented,” Floyd replies with a grin that’s somehow both playful and threatening. He leans against the throne, looking completely at home while you fight the urge to dive out the nearest window.

Now everyone’s in a frenzy. Every last one of these men—your so-called “consorts”—are lining up to deliver heartfelt soliloquies, tragic metaphors, and similes so flowery they might as well be a bouquet. You can barely keep a straight face as the next one steps forward, proclaiming that he would “gladly suffer a thousand winters if only to see her smile.”

As if on cue, the heroine wipes a tear from her eye, sighing dreamily. The consort she’s apparently in love with looks at her again, this time with an expression somewhere between pity and terror. But she doesn’t seem to notice, too busy whispering to herself, “Oh, how romantic…”

And then Floyd leans down and whispers in your ear, voice gleeful. “Y’know, if you let ‘em keep going, they might just start fighting each other for you. Free entertainment. Whaddaya think?”

You feel a headache coming on. “Floyd, please, I’m begging you—”

“What?” he asks, grinning wider. “I thought this was fun. C’mon, Empress,” he drawls, giving the title an absurd little flourish. “Let me stay. I promise I won’t let any of these guys stage a rebellion.” He smirks at the traitor consort. “Unless you feel like rebelling, huh?”

The traitor consort scoffs, bristling. “Unlike some of us,” he says, glaring at Floyd, “my devotion is genuine.”

“And boring,” Floyd mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine, Floyd. You can stay,” you say, hoping that giving him what he wants will end this disaster. You’re immediately filled with regret as his grin widens.

“Awesome! And you know what? Since everyone’s so devoted, why don’t we all stay? Make it a real party.” Floyd tosses an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the death glares from half the room.

Now you’re stuck with fifteen poets, one unhinged eel, and a heroine who’s still making heart eyes at a man who clearly isn’t interested. And as you sit there, feeling your last shreds of sanity slip away, you think, This is going to be a very, very long reign.

You’re making your way through the moonlit palace corridors, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the… experience that spending the night with Floyd Leech is sure to be.

Mostly, you’ve chosen him because, unhinged or not, he’s at least the most loyal out of this whole ridiculous lineup. Plus, there’s a kind of chaotic charm about him, like a very large, very untrained puppy with fangs.

But before you can even make it to his side palace, you’re intercepted.

“My Empress…” It’s the traitor consort. You sigh as he blocks your path, looking like he’s about to burst into tears. He’s clutching his chest dramatically, as if he’s seconds from fainting, and his voice wobbles with pure tragedy.

“Do you not love me anymore?” he blubbers, eyes shining with tears. “Why do you never choose me? Have I done something wrong? Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve graced my chambers?” He’s practically sobbing at this point, clutching at your sleeves like some tragic hero in a soap opera.

You stand there, blinking. “Uh… dude. I… what? ”

He looks at you with the heartbreak of a thousand rom-coms. “I thought you cared about me. I thought I meant something to you…”

You’re trying to process what exactly is happening (and failing spectacularly) when you hear an all-too-familiar voice.

“Yoo-hoo~!” Floyd’s voice echoes down the hall as he appears at the other end, looking like he’s just won the lottery. He practically skips toward you, a grin stretched across his face, his shark-like teeth glinting in the moonlight.

“Shrimpy!” he calls out cheerfully, giving you an exaggerated wave. But his cheerful demeanor drops like a rock the moment he sees the traitor consort clinging to you, tears streaming down his face.

Floyd’s grin turns into a much darker smirk, and his eyes narrow dangerously. He tilts his head, sizing up the blubbering man like he’s something he might enjoy crunching on for a midnight snack.

“Oi,” Floyd says, stepping closer, voice dropping into a lower, much more menacing tone. “What’re you doin’, crybaby? Gettin’ all snotty in front of my Shrimpy? That doesn’t seem real respectful, y’know?”

The traitor consort pales instantly, his tear-streaked face going from tragic to terrified in half a second flat. “I—I was just…” he stammers, trying to find an escape route.

“You were just what?” Floyd grins, but there’s absolutely nothing friendly about it now. “You got somethin’ you wanna say to her? ‘Cause I could help you say it better, y’know.” He cracks his knuckles for emphasis, and you swear the traitor consort’s soul nearly leaves his body.

And you? You’re exhausted. Normally, you’re pretty sure the original Empress would step in, say something appropriately royal and dignified to diffuse the situation. But at this point? You’re too tired to deal with either of them, and honestly, watching Floyd scare this guy senseless is a little too satisfying. So you just sigh and cross your arms, waiting it out.

“Look, I— I didn’t mean anything by it,” the traitor consort mutters, eyes darting between Floyd’s unsettling grin and your unimpressed stare. “I’ll… I’ll just go…”

And before you know it, he’s stumbling off, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to escape Floyd’s glare. You can still hear his sniffles echoing down the hall as he disappears.

Floyd watches him go, then turns back to you with an exaggerated pout. “He didn’t even say bye. Rude, huh?” Then, just as quickly, his mood switches back, and he gives you a toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy! Let’s go. You’re finally here!”

And without another word, he loops an arm around you, practically dragging you the rest of the way to his palace. By the time you arrive, you’re half-expecting him to start a monologue or make a big romantic speech, but instead, he plops down on the massive, plush couch, pulling you down next to him with surprising gentleness.

“There we go! See? Ain’t this way better than dealin’ with crybabies?” He laughs, leaning back and throwing an arm over your shoulders.

You give him a look. “Do you actually scare all of them off on purpose?”

Floyd grins, showing all his teeth. “Only the boring ones.” He taps his temple like he’s sharing some brilliant secret. “Can’t have anyone else thinkin’ they’re more special than me, right?”

Honestly, you’re too tired to argue. So you just lean back, letting Floyd prattle on about his grand plans for “getting rid of the competition.” At least, you think to yourself, you’ve successfully survived another day of being Empress.

The banquet table stretches out in front of you, each seat filled by one of your fifteen consorts, who are locked in an elaborate battle of “who’s the cutest?” You watch, sipping your wine like it’s medicinal, as they coo, flirt, and — at least in one unfortunate case — attempt a juggling act.

A consort on your left even starts singing a heartfelt ballad he very obviously wrote himself. You silently make a note to ask Heroine if it’s possible to declare some sort of moratorium on public serenades.

Just when you think the evening can’t get any more surreal, the doors burst open. Floyd strides in, late as usual, with all the grace and subtlety of a pirate commandeering the dinner table.

Without breaking stride, he makes a beeline for the coveted King Consort chair, ignoring the man who’s been trying to occupy it and who now looks as if he’s about to faint.

Floyd’s “gentle” suggestion to move aside comes in the form of a rather forceful nudge, and the poor consort goes skidding two seats down, clutching his untouched plate of tiny hors d’oeuvres.

Floyd plops into the seat, throws his legs up on the table, and proceeds to grab a handful of grapes like he’s claiming territory.

Instantly, fifteen men start having what can only be described as a collective meltdown. One consort gapes at Floyd, cheeks puffing like an indignant chipmunk; another begins audibly hyperventilating. Somewhere on the far end of the table, a man has already shed a single, dramatic tear.

Your maid Heroine sidles up to you, wide-eyed. She whispers loudly, as if she’s sharing a forbidden secret, “Your Majesty! You’ve broken their hearts!”

You stare at her, bewildered. “How? By letting Floyd sit down?”

Heroine nods, lip quivering. “They think you’ve… chosen! That’s the King Consort’s seat!”

“What? ” You glance at Floyd, who’s now lying back, casually chomping on a drumstick he must have acquired from who-knows-where. He doesn’t seem perturbed in the least.

“Yes!” Heroine sniffles, pulling out a lacy handkerchief. “It’s the sacred chair of royal favoritism!” She dabs at her eyes, gazing at you with something akin to heartbreak. “And here I thought you were a romantic.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” You rub your temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I just wanted a quiet dinner!”

One of the consorts, evidently hearing this, begins to wail, “But why, Your Majesty? We loved you!” It’s clear he’s already going to be composing several tragic stanzas about this moment.

Then Floyd — who’s been watching this entire scene with the amused look of someone who’s just discovered he’s won the jackpot — clears his throat, aiming a rather shark-like grin at Heroine. “Hey, little miss servant girl,” he says, his voice sugary sweet with a terrifying edge. “Maybe stop making Shrimpy feel guilty, hmm? Unless you want to join ‘em in the Royal Seat Shuffle?”

Heroine squeaks, as if he’s just offered to turn her into a garden gnome, and stammers an apology, hands fluttering as she edges away.

In the silence that follows, you decide enough is enough. “Thank you all for coming,” you announce, giving your consorts a forced smile. “This has been… lovely. But we’re done for tonight.”

The consorts hesitate, as if they want to protest. But when Floyd gives them one of his very special grins — the kind that says he just might take a whole different seat next — they practically stampede out of the dining hall, leaving behind a trail of emotional debris: teardrops, wilted roses, and a half-eaten plate of pastries.

As the door closes, Floyd leans back with a smirk, throwing an arm casually over the back of his new favorite chair. “So, looks like Shrimpy’s all mine tonight.”

You chuckle, half-exasperated, half-relieved. “Well, seems you chased everyone else off.”

“Don’t be like that,” he purrs, clearly pleased. “You know, you’re different now. Last time, you’d have been practically begging those guys to come back.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I’m just too tired to care anymore.”

He leans in, gaze softening. “Nah. You’ve just gotten tougher. And it looks good on you. The new Shrimpy’s got a spine.”

You smile, almost despite yourself, as Floyd raises his glass, winking. “To the new Shrimpy: long may she rule.”

The annual Talent Showcase Extravaganza for the Empress’s Affections has begun, and your consorts are pouring every ounce of drama and flair they possess into their performances, each desperate to secure that exclusive week at the countryside villa with you.

Unfortunately, it seems that the traitor consort — Mr. ‘I-know-the-theme-because-Heroine-can’t-resist-my-cheekbones’ — is dominating the competition. He’s wowing the audience with a perfectly themed tapestry, and you can already hear the maid giggling over in his cheering section.

This calls for drastic action.

You glance over to where Floyd is occupying himself by tormenting a pair of unfortunate ministers with tales of his more “creative” fishing techniques. With a sigh, you snap your fingers. He looks over, feigning annoyance at being interrupted in what he surely sees as “Minister Horror Story Hour.”

“Shrimpy, what gives? This is the first fun I’ve had since I got here,” he says, hands on his hips.

You clear your throat. “Actually, Floyd, I need you to… win this competition.”

He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “What, by doing some fancy painting or something? Boring. If you want something painted, Shrimpy, I’ll fish out an octopus to do it for me.”

You take a deep breath. “If you do this, I’ll grant you any wish you want. Plus… an extra reward.”

Floyd pauses, smirking as he steps closer, his voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper. “Any wish, huh? Dangerous promise, Shrimpy.”

You raise an eyebrow, undeterred. “You in or not?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he sighs. “Fine. But I’m not painting. I’ve got something much better planned. Just try not to faint in awe, yeah?”

When Floyd finally unveils his “masterpiece,” the room falls silent. Somehow, he’s cobbled together a mosaic made entirely out of shiny rocks he probably pilfered from the palace’s prize garden.

The piece is of you, looking bold and triumphant, wielding what can only be described as a “battle spoon” against some sea monster (you’re guessing it’s supposed to be a shark, but it might just be a rock that looked vaguely fish-like).

“Ta-da!” Floyd announces, throwing his arms out. “The Empress: Rock ‘n’ Roll Edition. I call it, ‘Shrimpy, Queen of the Waves.’”

Despite yourself, you’re mildly… no, very swoony. Somehow, it’s both absurd and… kind of amazing. Floyd’s grin is pure mischief as he winks at you. “Like it, Shrimpy? Don’t worry, I can make one for the garden too.”

But your moment is interrupted by a loud sniffle from across the room. The traitor consort, clearly irate at being outshone, is tearing up, looking at you with big, watery eyes as if you’re the villain in this scenario. Heroine looks one step away from bolting to his side, but he raises a hand, his voice trembling as he murmurs, “No, I only want the Empress to comfort me.”

You shoot a silent plea to the universe, practically chanting, “Please, mercy, mercy…”

Floyd, never one to ignore an opportunity, steps up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Sorry, bud. Shrimpy’s already spoken for tonight. You’ll have to get in line. Oh, and try not to tear up over her rock portrait, yeah? Not all of us can handle the majesty.”

The crowd erupts in applause, one point to you and Floyd — and you’re pretty sure Heroine’s sulking in the corner, still staring longingly at the sobbing traitor consort, but that’s a future problem. For now, you’ve got a mildly unhinged art piece to hang up and a certain mischievous consort to thank.

It’s another late night in the study when you notice the Heroine, your ever-loyal (if not a little clueless) maid, lingering by the doorway, watching you with an odd expression. At first, you chalk it up to her usual eccentricities. But as the minutes tick by, she doesn’t move, just stands there with a faraway look in her eyes. Finally, you set down your work and gesture for her to come in.

“Hey,” you say gently, “what’s on your mind?”

She hesitates, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s nothing, really…” Then, in a small voice, “It’s just… I never got to study like this.”

Your brow furrows, and as she opens up, the full picture starts to form. The Heroine, despite her noble blood, was barred by her father from studying—her dreams of an education crushed under his outdated beliefs.

She clung to the traitor consort, she confesses, because he seemed like an escape, even if a flimsy one. He was a nobleman with some level of authority, and for her, he felt like the only ticket to a different life.

Understanding sinks in. It’s not love she feels for him at all. It’s desperation, something almost like a distorted version of Stockholm syndrome.

She’s convinced herself he’s her only way out, though it’s clear as day that he doesn’t deserve her loyalty. The man’s barely got two brain cells, but he’s got freedom—and for her, he must have looked like her only way out.

The realization hits you hard, like finding out your favorite dessert is made with broccoli. No wonder she’s been swooning over that guy. She’s not “in love”—she’s just starved for any path out of her cage. Your heart softens, and you give her a gentle, if slightly exasperated, smile.

“Well, that won’t do,” you say firmly. “How about this? I’ll teach you myself. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll get you the education you deserve.”

Her face goes through a series of hilarious expressions, from shock to joy to the kind of wide-eyed, wobbly-lipped excitement normally reserved for puppies seeing their owner after a long day. And so, your lessons begin.

Over the next few weeks, you teach the Heroine to read, and she devours each lesson like a kid in a candy store. She’s throwing herself into her education with such energy, it’s like she’s forgotten the traitor consort entirely.

And you’re thrilled—partly for her growth and partly because it means your coup odds have just dropped by a solid 90%.

Soon, Heroine’s loyalty to you is ironclad, her former starry-eyed infatuation with the traitor consort completely extinguished. You’re so relieved you could dance, and, maybe more importantly, you realize that the kingdom’s other daughters deserve the same chance.

In a flash of imperial inspiration, you draft a new law requiring all daughters, noble or otherwise, to attend the academy. The state will foot the bill, so no one has an excuse to hold their daughters back.

Later that night, feeling unexpectedly sentimental, you return to your room to find Floyd sprawled on your bed, grinning like he’s just heard the world’s juiciest gossip.

“You look smug,” you say, arching an eyebrow.

“Nah, just… pleased,” he drawls, giving you that signature mischievous smirk. And before you know it, he pulls you into a surprisingly tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with unexpected warmth. “Look at my Shrimpy, changing the world one law at a time.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks despite yourself. “Oh, stop it,” you mutter, though you don’t pull away.

He chuckles, giving you an affectionate squeeze. “Nah. You’re doing great, Empress. I’m proud of you.”

You’re speechless. Floyd? Sentimental? But as he holds you, laughing at your stunned expression, you can’t help but feel a little…smitten.

You’re reviewing reports in the study, savoring the rare, blissful calm, when the double doors burst open like some villain from a badly written romance novel. There stands the traitor consort, dressed in what looks like…a suit made of loose, strategically placed peacock feathers, a sequined sash, and—oh, yes—face glitter.

He strikes a pose, does a dramatic hand flip, and announces, “Behold! My love for you is eternal, as boundless as the stars, and as bold as my outfit!”

You're thinking about ordering Floyd to chase him out with a chair, when you catch Heroine’s expression—somewhere between horror and volcanic rage.

With a fierce gleam in her eye, she steps in front of you, looking like she’s about to deliver an exorcism. “You…” she begins, her voice so cold even the peacock feathers on his shoulders look like they might molt in fear. “You miserable, egotistical, fashion-disaster-in-waiting!”

He’s stunned, blinking like a child caught sneaking candy. “W-what? Heroine, you used to help me with my plans!”

“Yeah, well, that was before I got a brain cell,” she snaps. “I actually know my worth now, and it’s definitely not tied to whatever fever-dream cape situation you’ve got going on.” She points to his glittering sash. “What, did you rob an arts-and-crafts store on the way here? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

He stammers, visibly shrinking, feathers quivering with fear. “Y-you were always there for me…”

“That was when I was too naive to realize you were the human equivalent of a trash fire!” She’s in full swing now, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, spitting out insults that would make the court jester blush. “Please, the Empress has standards, and you’re down there with questionable cabbage soup.”

He reels back, totally caught off-guard. By this point, you’re honestly not sure if you should applaud or slowly back away.

With a smirk, you lean forward and say, “Well, since you’re dressed for the occasion, why don’t you strut that ridiculous ensemble back to your own country?”

He opens his mouth, gapes like a fish, and finally closes it, completely defeated. Without another word, he shuffles out, feathers dragging behind him in a sad little pile.

The second he’s out of earshot, you sigh, look up, and thank the universe for finally sparing you from that headache. The Heroine just dusts her hands off, grinning like she’s just won the greatest battle of her life, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how terrifyingly competent she’s become.

Floyd has been hounding you about his reward for days now, showing up at all hours with the persistence of a cat at dinner time. You’re mid-sentence in a policy meeting, mid-sip at dinner, even mid-bath when you hear him shout from outside the door, “Hey, Shrimpy! Remember my prize? Don’t forget now!”

Finally, in a moment of resignation, you sigh and wave him in. “Fine, Floyd. What do you actually want?”

He grins, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that should probably have you worried. “Make me king consort.”

You open your mouth, ready to laugh and then say something like, “No chance,” but then…you pause. Because—why not? He’s loyal, he’s your particular brand of chaos, and honestly, the idea of using it as an excuse to disband the harem is almost too good.

You’d get to tell everyone you’d found the “love of your life” and keep your mornings free of peacock-feathered declarations of eternal devotion.

“Alright, Floyd,” you say, shrugging as if you just agreed to a dinner plan and not a royal title. “You’re king consort.”

For a solid five seconds, he’s frozen, blinking like he’s not sure if you just announced the best prank of the century or an actual royal decision.

Then, with a roar of laughter, he picks you up, actually tossing you in the air like a sack of grain. “SHRIMPY, I’M KING CONSORT! WOOOO!”

Ministers nearby practically leap out of their chairs in terror, and one drops his teacup with a spectacular crash.

“Oh, and by the way,” he says, setting you down but keeping a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t think I forgot—I still get that week alone with you in the countryside. Just you, me, and the great outdoors.”

You’d expected to feel dread, but instead…you’re kind of excited? Because it turns out, when there’s no glittered consort in sight, Floyd’s brand of mayhem might just be exactly what you needed.

You’re slumped on the throne, staring into the void as a minister drones on about the scandalous rise in scarf-wearing among the commoners.

The man is red-faced and foaming at the mouth as if he’s narrating the downfall of civilization itself instead of just… knitted accessories. With each drawn-out sentence, your urge to grab his own scarf and dramatically tie it around his face grows stronger.

“And, Your Majesty, don’t you agree that such… frivolousness undermines the dignity of the empire?” he sputters.

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, one mental toe dangling into the sweet abyss of existential crisis. How did your life get to this point? Did the previous Empress really deal with scarf politics? You contemplate just passing the crown to the nearest potted plant. Surely it couldn’t do worse.

Then, like a savior bathed in sunlight, Floyd appears. He slinks in casually, eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of glee and malice. He takes one look at Wedgeworth’s scarf-induced fervor and rolls his eyes. “Oh, I see the scarf issue is really eating away at the Empire,” Floyd deadpans, clearly unamused at the absurdity.

The minister stammers, blinking like he’s never been interrupted in his life. “Well, actually, I was explaining to Her Majesty—”

Floyd raises a hand. “I’ll take it from here, Lord Scarfington. Very urgent royal matters, wouldn’t want to keep the Empress from them, now would we, hmm?”

The ministers exchange horrified looks, but when Floyd locks eyes with them, his expression darkens into a gaze that could probably scare the teeth off a shark. Ministers shuffle out, muttering about “the sanctity of scarves” and how they “never liked those shellfish folk anyway.”

When you’re finally alone, you look at Floyd, and he gives you a grin. “Come on, Shrimpy, I’ve got a surprise.”

He leads you through a series of narrow, winding hallways you didn’t even know existed until you arrive at a small, hidden courtyard surrounded by high walls and shaded by some flowering trees.

In the middle of it is a picnic spread that looks… questionable. There’s food you don’t recognize: odd, glistening items that could pass as snacks in a very brave galaxy.

“I brought some delicacies from the Coral Sea,” Floyd announces, looking way too proud. “I even cooked some of this myself.”

You smile, hoping he means the less suspicious dishes, but as you take a bite of one of the “unique” items, you immediately realize your error. It’s a taste explosion, and not in a good way; you’re fairly certain you just ate something alive. Floyd’s already laughing, watching you try to hold back a gag.

“Oh, that’s rich, look at your face!” He claps his hands, doubled over with laughter.

But then you try the food he actually cooked, and it’s… it’s really good. Your eyes widen. “Floyd, you didn’t tell me you could cook!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Guess you just have that effect on me, Shrimpy.”

As you eat, you feel the weight of scarf debates and mundane ministerial crises slip away. Floyd’s teasing you about your reaction to the Coral Sea snacks, you’re pretending to smack him, and somewhere between the laughter and the food, you realize you’re completely relaxed. You’re even… happy.

Then he casually picks up a pillow, eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey, Shrimpy,” he says slowly, “bet I can take you down.”

“Bring it, fish-boy,” you fire back, grabbing a pillow.

A feather flies. Then another. In no time, the two of you are engaged in a full-on pillow war, feathers floating through the air in chaotic puffs. You swing a pillow with all your might, narrowly missing Floyd, who dodges and counters with a playful shove, sending you sprawling onto the blanket, laughing so hard you’re almost crying.

In the flurry of feathers and laughter, you realize just how much you care about him. And as if reading your mind, Floyd suddenly stops, pinning you down, his face hovering just inches above yours. His usual playful grin fades into something softer, more serious, and you find yourself staring up at him, completely captivated.

You kiss him, right there, surrounded by scattered feathers and half-eaten snacks. “I think I’m in love with you, Floyd,” you whisper.

He grins, looking almost smug. “Knew you’d come around eventually, Shrimpy. You’re a smart one.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, and pull him into another kiss, feeling lighter than you have in ages. Whatever royal nonsense tomorrow brings, you know you’ve got him—and for now, that’s more than enough.

Vacation plans with Floyd start out so simple in theory, but the minute he said, “Countryside? Nah, Shrimpy, we’re going under the sea,” you just nodded because, hey, you did promise a reward. Plus, how bad could it be?

Bad, it turns out, is relative. Upon arrival, Jade, Floyd’s brother, gives you a grin that says welcome, poor soul. “So, my brother’s finally gone and gotten himself an Empress. How unexpected,” he says with a glint in his eye that suggests he’s got a bet running on how long you’ll last.

But you’ve barely survived Jade’s interrogation when Azul, Coral Sea’s resident business octopus, swims up with an entire briefcase of contracts and a grin that spells danger.

“Welcome, Your Majesty! I thought we might discuss a mutually beneficial agreement,” he says smoothly, his tone so charming you almost miss that the contract slides in a 50-year lease on your kingdom’s fishing industry.

“So that’s how it is here,” you think, snapping back to business mode. You haggle until both sides are happy, but the second you reach across to shake Azul’s hand, Floyd swoops in, sighing dramatically. He grabs your hand, practically prying it out of Azul’s. “Alright, Shrimpy, enough time with the fish dealer. You’re mine this week.”

Before you can blink, he’s thrown you over his shoulder like you’re a stray potato sack, striding away from an open-mouthed Azul and an utterly delighted Jade who looks like he's a minute away from bursting out popcorn.

By the time he hauls you to your guest room and plops you on the bed, his usual grin has given way to an expression you’ve only seen on annoyed cats. He’s holding your hand in a grip that could rival steel, not letting go even as he sulks like a kid who just lost his favorite toy.

“Floyd,” you say slowly, “is something wrong?”

He looks away, puffing out his cheeks, refusing to answer. It's downright adorable in an overgrown, slightly unhinged eel sort of way. You squint at him, reaching over to grab his face, smushing his cheeks together until he finally makes eye contact. “Hey, I can’t read your mind, Floyd. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He mutters something too low to hear, and you lean closer, arching a brow. “What was that?”

“You’re my Shrimpy,” he grumbles louder, still not meeting your eyes. “And the handshake with that fish scammer went on too long.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to burst into laughter. “So that’s it, huh?” A laugh slips out despite your efforts, and his pout deepens, though his grip on your hand stays as firm as ever. “You silly eel,” you chuckle, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “As if anyone could match me like you do?”

That does it. His expression softens, the pout melting into that slightly unhinged, overly excited Floyd smile you know too well. “See, Shrimpy, that’s why you’re the only one for me!” he practically shouts before pulling you into a spin that has you clinging to him for dear life.

He kisses you again, and you’re so breathless you half-expect a storm outside to rise to match.

But it doesn’t matter—he’s too busy swearing up and down that he’s not letting anyone else get a “single fin” on you. And somehow, as you laugh together, it feels like you really are on a vacation you never knew you needed.

The ceremony for crowning Floyd as your King Consort goes all-out, much to your delight—and, judging by the expressions around the room, their absolute horror. The whole throne room is so packed with flowers and banners it might as well be a festival.

You’ve made sure that this is a spectacle the diplomats and ministers will never forget. After all, the more smitten you look with Floyd, the less they’ll try to “reason” you out of it. And if they have any opinions about your choice, well, they can keep it to themselves—or they can talk to Floyd.

As you lean in to place the crown on Floyd’s head, he’s giving you a smirk so bright you swear it’s practically a stage light. The second the crown touches his head, he dips you into a kiss that is equal parts “fairytale ending” and “scandalized gasp from the old guard.” The ministers are barely holding in a collective gasp. Someone clutches their chest like they might need medical attention.

Over on the sidelines, you can see Jade and Azul clapping way too enthusiastically for the room’s mood. Meanwhile, everyone else looks like they’re watching you deface a holy artifact. You pull back with a satisfied smile, fully aware of the whispers swirling through the room.

Now, to seal this newfound reign in your own… unique way.

You turn to the front rows where your now-ex-harem stands, looking various shades of awkward and confused. These “prizes” will be going back to their respective nations, and it’s about time. “Ambassadors,” you announce, your tone absolutely oozing sincerity, “I believe you’ll be taking back your… prizes. Enjoy.”

The diplomats exchange looks, clearly unsure if they should feel insulted or relieved. You give them a regal wave and watch as they shuffle out with the ex-consorts in tow, one of whom lets out a dramatic sigh loud enough to reach the rafters.

Just as the room finally starts calming down, you glance over at the row of your ministers—many of whom look like they’d rather have run off with the consorts.

These are the ancient relics of nepotism who have only ever accomplished growing their own egos and possibly a few money-siphoning schemes. You decide now’s the time to deal with them, too.

Smiling so politely it almost looks sweet, you say, “Ministers, thank you for your service. But I’m sure you’ll understand when I say…” You pause, voice dropping to an icy sweetness, “You’re dismissed. Please kindly fuck right off.”

Several of the men freeze, as if unsure they heard you correctly. One or two start spluttering, “But—Your Majesty—this is—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Floyd cuts in, grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re free to go! You wouldn’t want to disappoint the Empress, would ya?”

It takes a second, but the room clears of protesting ministers soon enough. Then you turn to the waiting group of young scholars, women who fought their way up to the top on pure merit, many of them owing their presence here to your recently passed education reforms. “Welcome,” you say with a genuine smile. "Your interviews will be conducted tomorrow"

Their reactions are priceless. Several tear up on the spot, whispering thank-yous so heartfelt you nearly tear up yourself. One of them murmurs, “This is a dream come true. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

You feel a swell of pride. This is what you’ve wanted to see—a competent court, fresh talent, and the chance to make a real difference. Just as you’re soaking in the satisfaction of this triumph, Floyd leans over, clearly up to something.

“You’re done now, yeah?” he asks with a conspiratorial grin.

“Uh, yes?” You've barely said the words, only for him to suddenly scoop you up and throw you over his shoulder, entirely ignoring the royal dignity of it all. The young scholars stare, completely unsure of whether to salute or run.

“Floyd!” you half-laugh, half-scold. “You could at least let me walk out on my own!”

“Nah,” he says, casually strolling down the hall with you like you’re a sack of potatoes. “You’re mine now, Shrimpy. And besides, it’s tradition for the King Consort to carry his Empress, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t,” you mutter, but you wave cheerfully at everyone as you’re carried off.

As he strides out of the throne room, ignoring the horrified gasps and protests behind you both, Floyd grins. “Any more old men to fire? ‘Cause I’m having a great time.”

You shake your head, smiling. After all, you’re the Empress—who’s going to stop you now?

Your empire has transformed. The old guard, once weighed down by nothing but scarves and scandals, has finally given way to a bright-eyed group of scholars and ministers, most of whom—much to the old ministers' horror—are brilliant young women now leading the realm.

Among them is your ex-maid, the heroine herself, newly appointed as Minister of Diplomatic Affairs and already so intimidatingly competent that foreign diplomats quake just a bit when she enters the room.

And the grandest twist of all: you declare that your successor will not be by blood but by merit. The heir to the throne will be the sharpest, most capable mind in the empire, regardless of their birth.

You’re already giddy as you imagine the ambitious parents prepping their offspring for the grueling tests you’re planning—challenges you’ll design alongside your newly assembled council.

After hours of being regal and respectable, you finally get back to your chambers, ready for a night of blissfully ignoring politics. Floyd, your beloved eel, is already sprawled on the couch like he’s conquered half the known world, arms open and ready to receive you. You practically collapse into his embrace, sighing as you burrow against him.

“So, Shrimpy,” he drawls, smirking. “Fix the whole empire yet?”

“Almost,” you laugh. “At least I’ve retired the Scarf Parliament. That’s enough for today.”

You snuggle closer, closing your eyes, and for a second, you think back to the ridiculous, drama-filled story that threw you into this life. Maybe the original author had a point, or maybe she just really liked throwing you curveballs.

Either way, cuddled up with the love of your life while your empire flourishes, you can’t help but think, yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech x you #floyd x reader #floyd x you #floyd leech #floyd #trash novel chronicles

1K notes · View notes

honeylullaby · 2 months ago

Text

“I’m gonna have ‘ta punish ya’.”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by darling anon 🫶🏽 / You and Declan butt heads, and then some…

Set just after the pageant, messed with the timeline a lil i think but I managed to work the punch in another way <3

18+ FANFIC / SMUT GALORE, angsty & lots of swearing. Fairly long and very HEAVY smut, sorry x Declan you horny bastard, we love you. Reader character aged 21.

As always, request what you wanna see in the ask box 💋

“I can’t just stop working for Corinium, Declan. You cannot just waltz into my life and expect me to give everything up for you!” You shout, feeling rage seep through your veins. Declan and Rupert have been cooking up a ridiculous idea within an hour, desperate to overthrow Baddingham’s Machiavellian reign of television. “They have my balls in a fuckin’ vice, my love,”

“No, they HAVEN’T! You have thrown a ridiculous temper tantrum, on television, because you are so determined to get your own way because you’re a selfish, stubborn bastard.” You interject, slamming your reddened palms on the dinner table, face contorting in fury. “They want me to sell my fuckin’ soul, babe. To sit and judge these fuckin’ superficial pageants whilst that cunt Vereker gets MY spot on my fuckin’ show.” The Irishman bellows, leaning across the table and pointing his finger dangerously close to your face. Declan O’Hara is fucking scary when he’s angry, but my God is he sexy.

Rupert leans against the counter top, remaining silent in embarrassment. It was certainly better for everyone that way. Steaming with rage, you sit back in your seat, stray hairs sticking to the beading sweat on your forehead. “You can’t keep behaving like this, Declan. Like a fucking child.” You tut, avoiding eye contact with him. Declan frustratedly rakes a hand through his slicked hair before pouring himself an intoxicatingly large unit of whiskey. “I’m sure you can coax Tony into some amicable solution. It’s blatant he wants to fuck you. He would do anything for someone willing to open their legs for him.” Rupert pipes up and gestures towards you, cigarette smoke creating an ashy veil across his face. An excruciating silence ensued. Your eyes widened in absolute horror — Declan would certainly not take kindly to this joke. Rupert should’ve kept his mouth shut.

“You fucking what?” Declan asked him, walking towards him slowly, eyes frenzied with wrath. “Calm down, Declan, it was just a joke.” Rupert chuckled, offering his hands up in defeat. “What did ya’ fuckin’ say?” Declan asked again, containing to walk towards him until they were nose-to-nose. Another incredibly painful silence— even Rupert didn’t dare speak. After a few seconds, he opened his mouth to speak but Declan swung at him, landing a brutal punch with a wet smack. “DECLAN.” You bellow, grabbing his muscular arm and pulling him towards you. “Get out, Rupert. I’m so sorry, but just go home.” You shake your hands frantically as Rupert pulls himself from the floor and ushers himself out, clutching his face in agony.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” You scream, voice croaking under the pressure. You push Declan away from you as soon as you hear the front door click. “Ya’ t’ink I’m gonna let him talk about ‘ya like ‘dat? Talk about ‘ya spreadin’ ya’ legs for tha’ CUNT Tony?” Declan matches your enraged tone, pacing around the kitchen table but maintaining eye contact with you. You couldn’t reply to this. He was wildly protective of you — often infuriatingly so, but he could barely stand to see another man so much as look at you. Rupert’s joke was way too far.

“My job is turnin’ me into a fuckin’ laughin’ stock, you t’ink I’m a joke and you’re wavin’ your fuckin’ arse around in front of Tony.” He howled again, enraging himself with his own words. “Oh, fuck off Declan.” You spit, pushing yourself out of your chair and beginning to abandon the kitchen. “Don’t walk away from me.” He tuts, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him. “Don’t fucking touch me.” You scream and the words can barely leave your mouth — a pathetic mixture of anger and despair. “I am fucking sick of you!” You immediately regret the words as Declan’s top lip curls in vexation. Oh fuck.

•

He hurtles towards you, pushing you towards the wall and almost taking you off of your feet. You close an eye, internally preparing yourself for the crescendo of noise he is about to create. Instead, he collides his lips onto yours, grunting in annoyance as his tongue pushes his way into your mouth. Feeling yourself melt under his touch, Declan’s hand rides under your blouse, ripping it off from the inside and exposing your bare chest — perky breasts wobbling with the force and nipples hard from arousal. The bristles of his moustache send a quiver down your spine as he kisses down your chest before taking your left nipple into his mouth: swirling around the pink bud and sucking it softly. A stifled whimper escapes your lift as you lift your hand to his trousers, rubbing across his hardening bulge.

“Bend over.” Declan demands, pulling away from you and pushing you gently towards the dining table. Hesitantly, you do as you’re told and bend over the table, skirt riding up your thighs. Not that it matters too much, as it was promptly yanked down, exposing your bare arse to the man that owned it. Running his rough hand across the right cheek, Declan smacked it firmly, the harsh noise of skin on skin reverberating across the room. “Ya’ do know I’m gonna have ta’ punish ya’.” He growled, readying his hand for another firm smack. “Mhm hmm.” You whisper, nodding your head, consenting softly. Another unyielding smack made you yelp with aching pressure — a reddened hand print beginning to take form. “Oh fuck.” He groaned, lowering himself to your level and biting firmly into your arse, pleasure taking control of his entire conscience. You keep your eyes firmly pressed shut, awaiting the next smack. Instead, you chomp down on your lip as you hear Declan’s zipper, and the subsequent sound of his trousers dropping to the ground.

“Do ya’ want it?” The Irishman questioned, teasing your slick entrance with the head of his painfully erect cock. You could feel yourself practically dripping as he placed a firm hand onto your waist. “Yes…” You breathlessly moan, pushing yourself towards him, aching to feel his girth inside you. “Yes, what?” He growled. “Yes… Daddy.” You whimper once more, desperation overtaking you.

“Good girl.” Declan praised, and pushed the full length of his cock into you, but thrusted slowly in and out. “Oh, fuck.” You wail, as the walls of your vagina grip him like a vice, already aching with the girth of his dick. “Ya’ like that? Do I feel good stretchin’ ya’ out?” He asks, grabbing a fistful of your hair and increasing his tempo with every wet smack of your arse against his pelvis. Eyes rolling back in ecstasy, teeth firmly planted into your bottom lip, mind fuzzy — you must definitely cannot muster a reply. “Tell me, girl. Tell me how good I feel inside ya’.” He asks again, hand reaching under to stroke your clit, coaxing you even closer to orgasm. Declan lolled his head back, pumping harder inside you as his fingers worked their rugged magic. “So fucking good, Daddy.” You manage to muster a reply.

“Ya’ so fuckin’ wet. Wrapped around my cock. Look at ya’ bouncin’ on my dick like a good fuckin’ whore.” Your lover groaned under your heat as he pounded into you, but the tension twisting inside your stomach was too much to bare. “Dec..Declan, I’m gonna…” You begin, but you feel him pull out in preparation.

The repetitive pounding of his enlarged cock on your g-spot left you in a dazed mess as you squirted onto the kitchen floor, legs trembling insanely throughout your orgasm. Declan watched the obscene mess he’d created with a terrible smirk on his face, full of adoration. “Good girl,” He affirmed again, “Look at the mess you’ve made for Daddy. Fuckin’ good girl.” He thrusted into you again, tempo increasing, hungry for his own release. “Are ya’ gonna let me cum inside ya?’ He asked, but he needn’t. You were already pleading with him to fill you with his seed. You needed to feel his hot, sweet cum inside of you.

“Please. I need it, Daddy. Please fill me up.” You begged, feeling Declan’s cock twitching inside you. The gratifying groans leaving his mouth prompted you to reach under your legs and stroke his cum-filled balls, luring him to ecstasy. “Fuck. Get ready, princess. I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

Bracing yourself to feel his warmth inside you, you kept your hands wrapped round his balls whilst pushing your arse into him, goading him to go faster. Spurts of hot cum covered the walls of your pussy, each rope accompanied with a pleasurable groan — absolute music to your ears. “Ahh, fuck.” Declan murmured, pulling his cock from your pussy and pausing for a moment to watch a droplet of his seed drip from your walls.

“Well done, my girl. You’ve fuckin’ milked me dry.” He chuckled to himself, slapping your arse once more playfully and huffing to himself.

#rivals #rivals fanfic #rivals fanfiction #declan o hara #declan o’hara #declan i fancy u <3 #my own dreadful writing #aidan turner #rivals disney #sinful soz

485 notes · View notes

animusrox · 11 months ago

Text

TOP 10

Past Lives

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

How to Blow Up a Pipeline

Poor Things

Oppenheimer

Barbie

BlackBerry

The Holdovers

The Iron Claw

Killers of the Flower Moon

MY LETTERBOXD Grade A 11. The Killer 12. Beau Is Afraid 13. Dream Scenario 14. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 15. Godzilla Minus One 16. American Fiction 17. They Cloned Tyrone 18. Evil Dead Rise 19. Eileen 20. The Artifice Girl 21. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem 22. Talk to Me 23. Reality 24. Leave the World Behind 25. A Thousand and One 26. Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One 27. Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. 28. Theater Camp 29. Carmen 30. Merry Little Batman 31. Priscilla 32. Society of the Snow 33. Infinity Pool 34. Enys Men 35. Sanctuary 36. Rye Lane 37. Skinamarink 38. Monster 39. Anatomy of a Fall 40. Landscape with Invisible Hand 41. Reptile 42. Sisu 43. Pinball: The Man Who Saved the Game 44. No One Will Save You 45. Tetris 46. May December 47. The Zone of Interest 48. V/H/S/85 49. Dumb Money 50. El Conde 51. Arnold 52. Maestro 53. Napoleon 54. 20 Days in Mariupol 55. Influencer 56. The Creator 57. Origin 58. Thanksgiving 59. Next Goal Wins 60. The Boy and the Heron 61. Bottoms 62. Wonka

[Press Keep Reading For The Full Graded List]

Grade B

63. God Is a Bullet 64. No Hard Feelings 65. Joy Ride 66. Fair Play 67. Cocaine Bear 68. NYAD 69. Asteroid City 70. Nowhere 71. The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster 72. Divinity 73. The Equalizer 3 74. The Last Voyage of the Demeter 75. Venus 76. Butcher’s Crossing 77. Somewhere in Queens 78. The Persian Version 79. Boston Strangler 80. Polite Society 81. Miguel Wants to Fight 82. The Color Purple 83. The Royal Hotel 84. Saw X 85. All of Us Strangers 86. Fallen Leaves 87. Ferrari 88. Elemental 89. Peter Pan & Wendy 90. Renfield 91. Cat Person 92. Scream VI 93. The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes 94. BS High 95. Blue Beetle 96. Huesera: The Bone Woman 97. When Evil Lurks 98. Dark Harvest 99. A Good Person 100. Final Cut 101. Knock at the Cabin 102. Quiz Lady 103. Leo 104. Air 105. The Super Mario Bros. Movie 106. Batman: The Doom That Came to Gotham 107. John Wick: Chapter 4 108. Beaten to Death 109. The Wrath of Becky 110. Passages 111. Transformers: Rise of the Beasts 112. Gran Turismo 113. 65 114. Sick 115. Sister Death 116. The Blackening 117. Please Don’t Destroy: The Treasure of Foggy Mountain 118. Flamin’ Hot 119. Nimona 120. Cobweb 121. Totally Killer 122. What’s Love Got to Do with It? 123. Sharper 124. Unseen 125. Dunki 126. Bird Box Barcelona 127. The Marvels 128. Shazam! Fury of the Gods

Grade C

129. Wildflower 130. Freelance 131. M3GAN 132. Strays 133. Sympathy for the Devil 134. Creed III 135. Chevalier 136. The Marsh King’s Daughter 137. A Haunting in Venice 138. The Little Mermaid 139. Silent Night 140. Master Gardener 141. The Flash 142. Fast X 143. The Pope’s Exorcist 144. Saltburn 145. Kandahar 146. Stand 147. Plane 148. Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny 149. Fingernails 150. Quicksand 151. Fool’s Paradise 152. Migration 153. Rustin 154. The Covenant 155. Good Burger 2 156. The Pod Generation 157. Alice, Darling 158. Insidious: The Red Door 159. Missing 160. Shotgun Wedding 161. You Hurt My Feelings 162. The Boogeyman 163. Showing Up 164. Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom 165. Champions 166. Consecration 167. The Nun II 168. Biosphere 169. House Party 170. The Exorcist: Believer 171. Big George Foreman 172. Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves 173. Children of the Corn 174. The Beanie Bubble 175. Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania

Grade F

176. Anyone But You 177. Marlowe 178. Paint 179. Extraction 2 180. It Lives Inside 181. Deliver Us 182. Trolls Band Together 183. Finestkind 184. Corner Office 185. Wish 186. Prisoner’s Daughter 187. Pain Hustlers 188. Foe 189. The Mother 190. Old Dads 191. Ghosted 192. Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken 193. Haunted Mansion 194. Mafia Mamma 195. Five Nights at Freddy’s 196. The Machine 197. Justice League: Warworld 198. We Have a Ghost 199. What Comes Around 200. Legion of Super-Heroes 201. The Boys in the Boat 202. Attachment 203. Operation Fortune: Ruse de Guerre 204. About My Father 205. You People 206. Meg 2: The Trench 207. Pathaan 208. Rebel Moon - Part One: A Child of Fire 209. Assassin 210. Dalíland 211. Vacation Friends 2

Bottom 10

212. Sound of Freedom 213. Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey 214. When You Finish Saving The World 215. Heart of Stone 216. Family Switch 217. Expend4bles 218. Sweetwater 219. Hypnotic 220. 80 for Brady 221. Spinning Gold

1K notes · View notes

iniquitousyearning · 1 year ago

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter One. Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Thèos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: Sub/Dom, Toxic Behaviour, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Begging, DubCon, CNC.

FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

You were a good girl, and an exemplary student. One who consistently demonstrated exceptional discipline and commitment. Your dedication to academics was unwavering, as you diligently followed the rules and guidelines, never straying from the prescribed path.

Your singular focus was on nurturing your intellectual curiosity, and you showed no interest in indulging in activities that might distract you from your educational pursuits. Your life was calm, quiet, and focused.

Until, one day everything fucking changed.

———

In the enchanted realm of Hogwarts, there resided a studious and exceptionally bright seventh-year Ravenclaw witch, known for her unwavering dedication to academics and her steadfast commitment to the noble pursuit of knowledge. This young sorceress, a paragon of virtue, refrained from the temptations that often lured her peers, steering clear of parties, alcohol, and the haze of smoke that veiled the Ravenclaw common room during clandestine gatherings.

Her life was meticulously ordered, her goals sharply defined. But the universe had a curious sense of humor, for it threw her into an unexpected affiliation with the most notorious bad boy in Slytherin:

Mattheo fucking Riddle.

He, the embodiment of rebellion, was a stark contrast to her pristine existence. Mattheo's reputation preceded him: a Slytherin troublemaker, one who was almost always found in the midst of chaos. His devil-may-care attitude was a challenge to authority, and there was not one singular individual that could tie him down.

Yet, fate had woven their paths together, forcing the astute young witch to confront the complexity of human nature, unraveling layers of his defiance while simultaneously testing the boundaries of her own steadfast resolve.

And that witch; that poor fucking witch--well, that was you.

———

"Please, Riddle...if you'd take a seat," you ran your tongue along the backside of your teeth, straightening your posture in your chair as you tried to contain your irritation. "...I must express my desire to commence our endeavors prior to the conclusion of the academic term."

"Eager, are we?" Mattheo sneered, sauntering toward the desk painfully fucking slow. "You know, Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is mastery. I'll sit when I'm fuckin' ready to sit."

His voice was low, the sadistic drawl of his tone making your bones ignite with fury. Gods, he certainly fucking loved testing you.

"And I won't tell you again...call me Mattheo."

You inhaled a sharp breath, flattening out your blue uniform skirt against your thighs as you bit your tongue hard enough to make it bleed.

"Rome may not have been built in a day, but it certainly collapsed in one--now, I won't ask again, Riddle..." you looked up, meeting his dark obsidian eyes, fighting back a sadistic smirk of your own as he narrowed his gaze in challenge. "Take. A. Seat."

The words were clipped behind your teeth with an obvious urgency that shut Mattheo up for a few seconds, the gears turning inside his head as he contemplated how he could one up your little jab--a constant occurrence that seemed to happen every single fucking time you met with him.

At this point, your tutor sessions were an easy seventy percent bickering with the remaining thirty being a half-assed session of one-sided discussion where he mostly offers you fleeting blank stares while zoning you out. You hated that you'd agreed to this, but you knew you needed to get on (and remain on) Professor Dumbledores good side if you wanted a career here at the school after you graduated--and you were so fucking hungry for it you'd do almost anything to solidify your fate.

Even if it meant surrendering your sanity to the hands of Mattheo fucking Riddle.

You chose not to let him, of all individuals, tarnish your path. Your reputation, fragile as it may have been, resembled a tinderbox, and he was the combustible element, ready to erupt at any given moment. This resolve became your steadfast anchor, shaping the direction of your choices.

"You know," Mattheo said as he finally slumped down into the chair across from you, his tousled brown hair falling effortlessly over his forehead. "I was under the impression that the brilliant Ravenclaws such as yourself valued intellect over impulsive haste..." he tilted his head, his gaze scanning every movement of your body as you stared at him. "It was my understanding that impatience was more of a Gryffindor trait."

Your fingers trembled with palpable irritation, yet you understood the imperative need to suppress it. You couldn't afford to reveal just how deeply he affected you, realizing that acknowledging it would subject you to endless taunts and jibes, a fate you were determined to avoid at any cost. This restraint became your shield in moments such as these.

"You wish to discuss house values, Riddle?" You tilted your head, straightening out your posture once again. "Because I, in complete honesty, was under the impression that Slytherins were known for their resourcefulness...your reluctance to cooperate suggests a rather curious lack of ambition."

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, his expression growing icier. "Resourcefulness doesn't mean blindly following every stupid instruction thrown at you, and ambition means choosing the battles worth fighting, not wasting time on pathetic, trivial matters."

With a subtle smirk, he leaned back, hooking his arm on the back of his chair as he eyed your discomfort--seemingly undisturbed by your challenge--and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, somehow knowing he wasn't finished.

And of course, he wasn't. "If you really believe this seemingly-stubborn insistence on when or if I sit reflects a lack of ambition, you clearly misunderstand the depths of Slytherin cunning. We pick our battles wisely, and right now, this isn't one of them."

Your blood pressure surged, the crimson currents in your veins reaching their boiling point. Months of enduring relentless bickering and one-upmanship had pushed you to the edge--this man may be an utter degenerate but he certainly knows how to use his mouth when it matters. You could no longer bear the weight of this incessant game, and in a fleeting moment of frustration, you finally succumbed to the pressure.

You knew this was your breaking point.

"I'm just trying to fucking help you." You said, before you even realized you had. You hardly ever cussed, never out loud--that is. "If you don't want to be here, then get out. I promise you, you won't be hurting my feelings if you do."

He huffed, leaning forward and crossing his hands together on top of the desk as he wet his stupidly plush lips, a devilish grin swallowing his cheeks while he revelled in the fact he'd so clearly fucking won. Yet again.

"No," he said. "I don't think I will."

You clucked your tongue, irritated even further at his response, gaze narrowing ever-so-slightly before you rolled your eyes--brushing off his suffocating arrogance and pulling your textbook out of your bag, slamming it down on top of the desk between your bodies.

"The Grimoire of Arcane Relics?" Mattheo read the title out loud, voice laced with a confused, almost offended undertone. "We don't cover this until the middle of second term..."

You cocked an eyebrow. "And?"

"Seems a bit...hasty, to shove this down my throat so early on," his voice carried a sadistic drawl that nearly made you leap across the desk and choke him unconscious. This man knew how to fucking test you. "Would it not be far more beneficial to proceed in the order the books are taught?"

You drew in another swift breath, the fabric of your navy robes clinging to your form, trembling fingers smoothing out any wrinkles on your button-up blouse as you adjusted it.

"I was unaware..." you said, not bothering to look up. "...that the individual I'd be tutoring this term was in fact a professor, and not a seventh year student..." you glimpsed him now, offering him merely but a slight tilt of your head as you watched his jaw tense. "...I must have been ill-informed, do pardon my ignorance."

"A moment of self-awareness? What a fucking breakthrough for you, Raven...pity it took you so long." He was clasping his hands together on top of the desk with enough force to involuntarily crack his knuckles. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, though I wouldn't hold my fucking breath."

"Please don't," you said, teeth gritting. "We wouldn't want to deprive your already-oxygen-starved brain of any more, now would we? It needs all the help it can get."

Mattheo's gaze sharpened, his lips curving into a teasing smirk, highlighting the scars that adorned them. The effect he had on you was undeniable, a sensation you longed to dismiss more than anything. However, with every passing moment in his presence, resisting the pull of attraction became an increasingly futile endeavour--yes, he was suffocatingly arrogant, but Gods, he was fucking attractive.

And he knew it.

"Quite the fucking mouth on you, I'll admit..." he dropped his voice to a low whisper, so deep it practically rattled your bones as it vibrated through you. "Never met a Ravenclaw with such an attitude problem...maybe I could tutor you on how to fix that issue, once we're done here, of course."

Your stomach twisted, heat spreading through your veins like wildfire. Curse him and his painstakingly arrogant charm. Curse him to bloody hell.

"It'd be a cold day in hell before I take any sort of guidance from you, Riddle..." you whispered, your voice accidentally reverberating as a seductive pitch. "And even then, I'd probably still refrain."

"You don't know when to shut the fuck up, do you?..." his eyes darkened, an evil mischief crawling its way through his irises. "What would daddy Dumbledore think about the way you're speaking to me, huh?"

Your heart stalled. "I-"

Your words faltered as Mattheo stood up, moving leisurely like a predatory creature circling its prey, until he was right beside you. His eyes, sharp as daggers, bored into your skull, and he loomed over you, a sadistic smirk twisting his lips into a cruel curve. The sight sent a shiver down your spine, knotting your stomach with an unsettling mix of fear and desire.

He placed a singular hand on your desk, leaning down closer to your level. "Perhaps I pay him a little visit...perhaps I tell him that you've been missing lessons, that you've been extremely unprofessional...perhaps I somehow fail my next exam...perhaps-"

"Okay, okay!" You panicked, cutting him off. "You've made your point, Riddle...I'm sorry, okay?" The words were fucking painful as you forced them past your teeth, and you swallowed your ego, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Let's just get this over with, please?"

Mattheo huffed, gratified by how effortlessly his threats appeared to compel your submission. The gears turned in his head as he grasped the extent of the power he truly wielded over you. He fully understood that your entire post-graduate career almost certainly depended on his decisions, and he was eagerly anticipating taking action.

"I like the way you say please..." his voice was breathless, his dark eyes consumed by something you couldn't really identify as he slumped down in the chair directly next to you, his sight never once leaving yours. "Do it again."

Your body tensed, immobilized as he inched closer, his penetrating eyes scrutinizing your features with intense focus. It was no secret that Mattheo had been oblivious to your existence until he was placed under your guidance--despite being the most popular Slytherin student in the school, you, a practically invisible Ravenclaw, were easy to overlook. It had taken him over three weeks to even remember your name, a fact he never bothered to acknowledge, let alone use.

But within that time frame, within the time you'd been tutoring him; as much as he drove you mentally fucking insane, you couldn't deny that every time he'd show up for lessons with torn knuckles, cut lips and alcohol radiating from his breath--you couldn't help but to feel something in the pit of your stomach.

Whether that sensation was disgust, arousal, or sheer terror, you couldn't quite pinpoint. It was a feeling that whispered in your veins, urging you to surrender to the dominance he held over you. It screamed for you to let him have his way without resistance, because just as he commanded your obedience, he wielded the same control over the entire damn school. The prospect of defying him felt like a dangerous game you weren't willing to play.

"Riddle-"

He tilted his head, his face dangerously close to yours now, his eyes peering into your soul as he stared. As he wet his lips, his breath turning shallow, you felt a feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, and one between your thighs as well.

"I said, do it again." His voice was a mere breath as it left his lips, his eyes studying you as though you were a page of a textbook. Not that he'd ever read one of those. "Go on, Raven...beg for me..."

Your breath hitched, and you involuntarily clutched the edges of the wooden chair between your fingers with an indescribable force. You didn't want to admit it--not to Mattheo, not to anyone really--but you were a virgin. You'd never even kissed a boy; your entire life was devoted to your studies...so this...this was extremely fucking new to you.

When you remained silent, Mattheo's eyes darkened even further, turning a shade of obsidian so intense they put even the stormiest midnight skies to shame.

"You want me to keep your perfect little reputation intact, hm?" He breathed, leaning closer. "You want me to help you stay on Dumbledores good side?"

Your throat was more arid than the desert, and you nodded, unable to blink--unable to peel your fucking eyes off of him.

"Then do as I say..." he murmured, a large battered hand finding purchase on your thigh, your entire body involuntarily flinching at the foreign contact. "I want to hear you, Raven."

You stared down at his hand resting lazily over the fabric of your blue uniform skirt--it's massive size swallowing up almost the entirety of your thigh, calloused palm catching on the pleats as it slid upwards, agonizingly slowly--and when he paused, stretching his fingers around the diameter of your thigh the best he could, fingers digging into your flesh as he squeezed; you gasped, involuntarily, and he huffed--bringing his lips dangerously close to your ear.

"One more chance..." he purred, and you could practically hear the smirk on his lips. "You won't like what'll happen-"

"Please!" You snapped, squeezing your thighs together out of pure desperation. "Please, Mattheo...please, let's just get this over with..."

"Mm." He hummed in satisfaction, slowly pulling his hand off of you. "That's fucking right..." he murmured, warm breath tickling your ear. "Nothing is sweeter than your submission, Raven."

You swallowed, not daring to look at him, nodding your head frantically in response as he pulled away, slumping back in the chair--not once peeling his eyes off of you, spreading his legs way-too-fucking wide as he made himself comfortable--he was silent, now, watching your chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, watching the way you squirmed in your chair at his sudden dominance--a dominance that had an effect on you that you couldn't even begin to describe.

And then, before you could even realize what was happening, Mattheo leaned back in, his fingers gripping your jaw and tilting your face towards his--and as you meet his dark, intoxicating eyes, your lungs stalled, entire body shrinking in your seat as he stared at you with such intensity that you felt like he could see right through you.

"From now on, I'm in charge here," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Understand?"

You swallowed the lump of anxiety in your throat, and watched his darkened amber eyes as they glanced over your lips, lingering there for far too long, before returning back up to meet your gaze--something swimming in his irises that made your stomach twist.

When you were silent, he tilted his head, cocking an eyebrow. "Use your words, Raven..."

"Yes." You squeaked, voice barely audible. "I understand."

He hummed, a devilish smirk crawling across his lips, fingers digging into your jaw with added pressure as he pulled you closer, lips so close you'd touch with a deep enough breath.

"Understand, what?" He breathed, eyes dipping over your lips yet again. "Say my fucking name."

"Mattheo..." you couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only obey his words as though he was controlling you like a puppet on strings. "I understand, Mattheo."

He huffed, smirking. "Good girl, Raven..." his voice was a mere breath as it left his lips, his full lashes fluttering as he blinked, meeting your eyes. "You learn so quickly...I should have done this months ago..."

When he pulled back, slowly releasing you, air slowly returned to your lungs; not enough to rid the dizziness from your brain but just enough to keep you conscious. Mattheo turned toward the desk now, as though nothing even happened, gesturing for you to start the lesson.

And somehow, you did.

—————-

Chapter two->

2K notes · View notes

batboysanonymous · 7 days ago

Text

Shadows Between Us

Summary: As Y/N wrestles with the pain of Azriel’s rejection, Nesta uncovers a dangerous way to break the bond. But some bonds are unbreakable, no matter how much they hurt.

Shadows Between Us Pt. I, Pt. III

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The walls of the house seemed to close in around Y/N as she hurried down the hallway, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Azriel’s voice still echoed behind her, low and gravelly, tinged with something she couldn’t quite name.

“I didn’t mean for it to hurt you.”

The words had lingered, clinging to her like his shadows often did—unwelcome, unshakable. She shoved open the door to her room, the cool air hitting her skin like a slap. Her chest heaved as she tried to push the confrontation from her mind, but it was no use. His face, his voice, his shadows haunted her every waking moment.

Y/N pressed her back against the door, sliding to the floor as her breathing evened out. She felt like she was falling apart piece by piece, the bond a cruel thread keeping her together, forcing her to endure when she wanted nothing more than to break free.

She’d thought that maybe, somehow, Nesta would find an answer in those ancient books. That the words scrawled across the brittle pages could untangle the threads binding her to Azriel, freeing them both from this torment.

But every solution comes with a cost.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Azriel leaned against the doorframe of his room, his hazel eyes staring unseeingly at the shadows curling and coiling at his feet. They whispered to him, voices too low for him to make out but insistent nonetheless.

Elain.

Her name flitted through his mind like a fleeting warmth, but it didn’t ignite the fire it once had. The soft smiles, the lingering glances—it was all… different now.

He closed his eyes, his head falling back against the wood with a heavy thud. The space Elain once occupied in his mind felt smaller, quieter. And Y/N—gods, Y/N—was everywhere.

She’d always been there, hadn’t she? On the training grounds, her laughter light and free when she sparred with Cassian. At family dinners, where her sharp wit rivaled Nesta’s. Even in battle, fierce and unwavering, her determination cutting through his chest like a blade.

Azriel groaned, raking a hand through his hair. He couldn’t—shouldn’t—let his thoughts stray to her. She was Cassian’s sister, his best friend’s family. And, worse, she was his mate.

The word felt like a brand, scorching him with its weight. He hadn’t wanted it. He hadn’t asked for it. But now, the bond sat heavy in the air, a faint hum he couldn’t quite ignore.

The way she’d looked at him earlier—her eyes filled with fury and heartbreak—made something crack inside him. He’d hurt her, over and over again, and still, she stood there, defiant and strong.

And yet, she hated him. She had every right to.

“Azriel,” Cassian’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, pulling him back to the present. His brother leaned against the wall, his wings draped lazily behind him, though his gaze was sharp.

Azriel straightened. “What?”

Cassian’s lips twitched into a humorless smile. “She’s breaking.”

His chest tightened, though he kept his face blank. “I know.”

“Do you?” Cassian pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “Because I don’t think you have a godsdamned clue what you’re doing to her. You’re the most calculating bastard I’ve ever met, Az. You know every move before your enemies make them, but when it comes to her, you’re blind.”

“I didn’t—” Azriel cut himself off, the words catching in his throat. “I never meant for this to happen.”

Cassian laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You didn’t mean for it? You think that matters to her? You think she cares about your intentions when you’re tearing her apart every time you push her away?”

Azriel looked away, guilt churning in his gut.

“Fix it,” Cassian said, his voice low and dangerous. “Before there’s nothing left of her to fix.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Y/N sat at the edge of her bed, the book Nesta had left her lying open on her lap. The language was incomprehensible, the words twisting and curling in ways that made her head ache.

Nesta entered the room without knocking, her arms full of more books. Her face was pale, a bead of sweat sliding down her temple.

“You’ve been at this all day,” Y/N said quietly, closing the book.

Nesta’s jaw tightened. “I’m not stopping until we find something that works.”

Her voice was resolute, but Y/N saw the exhaustion pulling at her features. She reached out, placing a hand on Nesta’s arm. “You need to rest. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“There might not be a tomorrow,” Nesta snapped, her voice cracking. She let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes. “If we don’t act soon, this bond will destroy you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat burning. “It already has.”

The admission hung heavy in the air between them, the weight of it pressing down on her chest.

Nesta set the books on the bed, sitting beside her. “I think I’ve found something. But it’s… dangerous.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. “How dangerous?”

Nesta hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. “It’ll sever the bond. But it could kill me in the process.”

“No,” Y/N said immediately, shaking her head. “I’m not letting you risk your life for this.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Nesta said fiercely, her eyes blazing. “This is my choice, and I won’t watch you suffer any longer.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Azriel was walking down the hall when it hit him.

A searing pain tore through his chest, and he staggered, clutching at the wall for support. The bond—the bond he’d spent months ignoring, dismissing—roared to life, a fire burning through his veins.

Y/N.

Her name tore through his mind, her presence flooding every corner of his being. The bond wasn’t just a hum anymore. It was a roar, a deafening, undeniable connection that consumed him.

He saw her.

Saw her curled on her bed, her face buried in her hands as Nesta sat beside her, gripping her shoulder. He felt her heartbreak, her anguish, her desperation.

And he knew.

He’d been wrong.

Elain had been a distraction, a mirage he’d clung to because it was safe. But Y/N—Y/N—she was everything.

Azriel stumbled back, his wings flaring as his shadows shrieked around him. He had to get to her, had to—

But when he reached her door, he heard Nesta’s voice, calm and determined.

“This will work. It has to.”

And then Y/N’s quiet response: “Do it.”

Azriel’s heart stopped.

#batboys x reader #azriel x reader #acotarxreader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #sjm #azriel #azriel acotar

266 notes · View notes

sarafangirlart · 3 months ago

Note

Omg thank you for posting about Stray Gods, I've had it on my wishlist and thought about getting it for ages but after seeing their interpretations of it I'm staying as far away as I can 😅 Hecate being Kate killed me

Yeah… this game had such a cool concept, yet I don’t like the interpretation of like… any of the gods, Eros was “nice” ig? Pan is written like my type but this isn’t what he’s like in mythology at all. Maybe it’s recency bias but at least in Kaos the furies were cool, in this game they’re fashion mannequins.

#Kaos didn’t have world building this confusing either #greek mythology #ancient greek mythology #greek pantheon #stray gods #stray gods the roleplaying musical #furies #Hecate

10 notes · View notes

1920sladydectective · 2 months ago

Text

Best Friend's Mother Ch.4 3.9K

Here's chapter four of the @shinyshayminflower prompt story!

I hope you like it! Love you lots and lots, you can find the other parts on this account or on AO3.

Angst and Feels, no smut for this chapter.

Not again? You were going to throw up. You knew she didn’t love you, but you were foolishly surprised she had fucked Mel’s friends before.

“Why?” Mel’s tipsy voice was hoarse, eyes shining as she looked between you, “Why couldn’t I have one thing that was mine”

You wanted the ground to swallow you, you wanted to kill Ambessa, you wanted to word vomit apologies and explanations. Your tongue was lead in your mouth.

“Mel,” Ambessa’s tone was neutral.

“And it had to be her,” Mel whimpered, “because who other than the only best friend I’ve ever had? Only the best for Ambessa Medarda,”

“I’m so sorry, it’s my fault too,” It ripped from you, suddenly spurred into action,”God, I-I, Mel I love you,”

Her eyes darkened, a stuttered breath, “And that’s why you stuck your tongue down her throat, is it?”

“No, no,” Your whole world was falling apart, “I didn’t want this to happen, you’re my best friend,”

Her bitter laugh killed you. You stood there, slaughtered, as the two Medardas began to argue in hushed tones. As quickly as her fight had ignited, it had died a distraught death. Alcohol and anger merging to create a half person. You barely caught what was said, though Mel’s muffled sobs were obvious, as was Ambessa’s motherly tone.

It felt like a joke, some bad sitcom. Your lips were still warm, smudged crimson.

She had moved off of you, swaying towards her daughter as if to calm her. Hushed whispers swirled around you. You lent, shivering and destroyed, against the fridge as they held one another. Their relationship would survive, of course it would, they were mother and daughter. They had a place for one another in their hearts.

Where did that leave you then? Chopped liver, used and discarded at a moment’s notice. It was clear that this was not going to be discussed properly tonight, so you were an unnecessary detail they had shelved for later. Water sloshed about in your vision, sharp feedback ringing in your ears.

Icy hands wiped pathetically at stray tears as you gulped, walking around the kitchen island with a slur from your lips about leaving them to it. You had the good sense to pat an incoming Rictus on the shoulder.

“Lock the kitchen door,” It was hurried, “Mel and Ambessa are having a bit of a moment,”

“And you?” His quiet tone made you gulp.

“I am going to bed, tell Kino I drank too much and started throwing up so you helped me to bed,”

“Yes Miss,” He’d never called you Miss before.

Unsteady, foal legs propelled you up the stairs as you sucked in small, stifled gasps for air. The sight of your room dropped you into the abyss, vision blurring as everything dialed to a thousand. This was it. You were so beyond fucked. It took black spots dancing around your eyes for you to remember to breathe, nails cutting your palms as you rocked back and forth on the plush carpet.

Her face, shattered and pleading, was burned against your eyes like an old TV screen. Permanently fixed, the colours faded and warped. She had been so quick to hate her mother, her fury for you burning slow and low as it waited in the wings. You were no fool, a cat fight and some wine was not going to solve this. She had chosen you, allowed you into all areas of her life, and you had obliterated that trust, whether it had been your intention or not. She would never know how much you cherished her for now each word would be laced with guilt, rendered insincere upon arrival with little more than a cursory glance.

Then, bitterly, your heart remembered Ambessa. You had never been special, had never been anything and you hadn’t even been the first. Mel had trusted you despite her mother’s history, because it was you and you were her best friend. You deserved every bad thing, grunting as your palms crushed your streaming eyes in an attempt to staunch the flow. None of this had gone to plan. You couldn’t understand why she’d kissed you in the first place, the memory of her kind eyes like a hot poker to the heart. You’d ended it, later than you should have, but you’d done the right fucking thing.

Stripping naked, you crawled under the spray of icy water. It dulled you, skin becoming numb to the shower’s harsh droplets. Your cries were silent, measured, as if afraid to take up too much space. Golden glitter rotted away to reveal the monster underneath. You stayed like that for longer than was healthy, delirious limbs pulling you out as you drifted in and out. Cosy, fluffy pyjamas warmed you through as you sat, silent and empty on the bed staring at your laptop screen.

Ever practical, you had shoved it all down in favour of a plan. First of all, you needed new student accommodation. There was no way Mel would want you living with her now and you needed to get ahead of that curve. You were sitting in a Manor house, scrolling through spare room listings like a zombie. It was three days till Christmas. You wanted to disappear.

At some point you passed out, body slumped and shattered.

Flecks of sunlight woke you, throat dry and face stinging. On autopilot you got ready for the day, and then just kept going. All your things were neatly folded, stuffed into a tired suitcase and sealed away. You would give Mel whatever conversation she needed and then you would leave, because it was what was necessary.

Mel had sent you one text. Seeing her name made you dizzy.

Breakfast Table, 10am.

Be right down.

The house was empty save the three of you, you would learn. Rictus had dragged a hungover Kino out to facilitate this chat. You arrived in the kitchen to Mel and Ambessa sitting quietly side by side with mugs, one for you placed on the opposite side.

A united front, two against one. Fantastic. How the fuck was that fair? What happened to how could she?

“Morning,” You hated how unsteady your voice sounded, sitting primly in the wooden chair.

“Sleep okay?” Mel asked, eyes unsure.

You would have rathered if she called you a Cunt. Pleasantries had no place here. “FIne,”

“Shall we start then?” Ambessa said, gaze focused on her daughter.

Like it was a business meeting, and you? Their troublesome employee.

It started rather structured, Mel had access to more facts than you’d anticipated. You were clearly not important enough to be there at the start of this conversation then. She knew when it started, when it stopped and when it started again. She was pragmatic and clearly emotionally dissociated, the events of the past twelve hours wrecking you all. You fought back a bit there, there was no restarting.

“She kissed me,” You grumbled, barely able to look at her.

“You kissed back, quite hard” It would have been teasing, your mind wished it was.

“Mum,” Mel’s voice was clear, her look piercing. It was hard to gauge the dynamic here, they were on the same side but Ambessa faced far more aggression than you did. Repeat offender problems, perhaps.

“Neither of you cared about how this would make me feel,” It was the same tone from the night before, cutting harshly from a sober mouth.

“I did,” You cried, hands beginning to tremble again, “I do,”

“If you did, you would have told me months ago,” Mel snapped.

“I know,” your gaze was distant, trapped in memories, “I made the wrong choices and have no excuse for them,”

“We’ve both made mistakes Mel,” Ambessa’s tone was honey, “We love you, we want to know how to move past them,”

Her use of ‘we’ made you twitch. As always, she had no problem speaking for you. Still, it seemed she was searching to heal your relationship with Mel as well as her own. Your heart glowed, you shoved it in a safe.

“You can move past them by keeping your hands to yourself, Mum,” She snapped. In another, better timeline you would have giggled.

Ambessa simply leaned back, taking a swig.

“I just want to know why she did it,” Mel muttered, more lost than you’d ever seen her as she turned to you, “Mum I get, she’s done it before, but why did you?”

It was the worst question to ask, because you’d realised somewhere in those wallowing autumn nights that the love had bloomed even before she bent you over that island. Your motivator had always been love and that felt more pathetic than anything. It was the first time you looked to Ambessa on purpose, eyes panicked, yearning for even a dust speck of the comfort she was giving Mel. To your ultimate surprise you found it, crinkled eyes steady and holding you up just for a second before they looked away. That was the final nail in the coffin.

Mel saw it before you even attempted words. You subconsciously braced for screams or laughter, but were met with a pained gasp.

“Oh no,” Mel’s voice was soft, pitying “You didn’t,”

“Spare me,” It was a scoff, the cry of a wounded animal, “I know how stupid I am, kay?”

“Mum, go check on Mina,” Mel’s voice was dismissive, practically shoving a protesting Ambessa away.

Ambessa left begrudgingly and the scales shifted, evening out.

She didn’t speak for a long time, her face fixed in contemplation. It was the same face that crafted winning debates, negotiated designer deals and commanded attention of your student house chore chart. Each moment dragged, your eyes unsure where to stay as you grappled with your life. Was she going to tear you to shreds? Dismissing Ambessa so there were no witnesses to your murder? Or worse, was she going to outright admit that she despised you.

“You fell in love,” It’s said in a hushed whisper, like gossip shared in a lecture hall.

Your lip wobbled, the tsunami threatening to make itself known, as the plainness of the truth was said by the one person you’d wanted to tell. “Yeah, yeah I did,”

She was on you in an instant, warm arms pulling you against her as you froze in place.

“That was fucking dumb,” She huffed, her own voice watery, “Even dumber that you did it alone,”

You gurgled in tears, laughter forced out as you looked at her incredulously. She was actually comforting you, as if this was normal. She was better than either you or Ambessa deserved and as she rocked you, you waited for the other shoe to smack you in the face.

“I hate you right now,”

“Makes sense,” You sniffed, wanting to block the sound of those words out forever.

“But right now doesn’t mean forever,” She huffs, trembling fingers taking your own, “Just need time to be furious, time to grieve I suppose,”

“I’ll give you whatever you need,” It was a babble now, “I’ll move out obviously and I c-can head home, you deserve a nice Christmas,”

She looked at you like you’d grown a head, “No babe, none of that will be happening actually,”

“But,”

“You have hurt me in an indescribable way,” Her voice was firm now, as if she were adult and you were child, “But I have decided I want you in my life despite that, and you are going to respect that even if you don’t understand it,”

“I really, really don’t,” You squeaked, “But I’ll try, I want to earn your trust Mel, more than anything,”

“That’s good, because it’s Carol Concert Day and I would hate to sit next to Kino instead, he’s always so fidgety,”

Fuck. Kino. Your face must have betrayed your panic.

“Mum and I decided we won’t tell him, this,” She gestured between you and the space her mother had occupied, “died last night and therefore is irrelevant,”

“Okay, whatever you want,”

“It might also help things if you have a chat with Mum, actually talk about whatever’s happened,”

“Easier said than done,” Your stomach twisted, “It’s a mess,”

“Try for me?”

Manipulative posh brat. You loved her. You’d do anything she asked, “FIne,”

“I’m sorry you love her,” Mel said, gaze settling somewhat “It’s a shitty place to be,”

You gave her the space she requested, finding the Matriarch supreme with Mina who was uncharacteristically quiet.

“An olive branch?” You were actually holding out an olive flavoured breadstick, a hastily grabbed prop. You were staring down the barrel of a gun, unsure if it was loaded. Involuntary, awful Russian Roulette.

She took it with a raised brow, offering you the chair you were already lowering yourself into, “How was that?”

Your rattling chest finally took in a full breath, “She wants to be my friend,”

“You sound surprised,”

“I am,” a cough, “and grateful and surprised I still have a head,”

“I was thinking much the same,” Mina crunched the end of the breadstick slyly, “Right, unacceptable,” she was flung off and it was as funny as always. God, you wished she was more awful somehow, make it easier.

“And you? Seemed I missed a lot of the conversation,”

Ambessa hummed, “I saw no point in lying to her, and this was regrettably a familiar conversation for us, it was better she learnt it from me, I am easier to be furious with,”

It felt stupidly chivalrous, like she’d done the heavy lifting so you could reap the rewards. Your assessment of how things would pan out had been so wrong you were half certain you were still in that room, looking through house listings.

“Feels good to get it out?” You didn’t care about her answer, though you found you couldn’t not ask.

“Oh yes,” A snort, “It feels brilliant to be utterly degraded by your own child,”

“You deserve it,”

“I know,” Her tongue clicked, body tired.

“She wants us to patch it up,”

“Patch what up, the casual sex or the emotional turmoil?”

“Don’t mock me,” Anger flared, dark and red.

“I’m not,” A weathered sigh, “I respect my daughter enough to take this seriously, Darling,”

It was the worst thing she could have said. There was no respect for you, yet again. No desire to actually hear you, just a wish to please Mel. You were a middleman now to her, your feelings important if they impacted her child.

“Well, we had a fun summer fling,” You were distant now, “It ended poorly for me, as usual for you I take it?”

She at least had the decency to wince at that, an almost disbelieving nod.

“You tried to reignite something, I refused and then, like a fucking demon, you kissed me anyway,”

“You kissed me back,”

“So you said,”

“Pushed me away too, well done,”

“It was a test?” You wouldn’t have been shocked if she nodded.

“That’s dramatic, even for me,” She licked her lips, “It was a lapse in judgement,”

“Have a lot of those, do you?”

“Around you, yes,” It was lighthearted, eyes tempting as ever. This was not what patching it up meant, your tell tale heart shining through the safe’s cracks.

“I think I hate you,” It was gentle, confused.

“I have that effect on people, Sweet Girl,”

You made an agreement to actually stick to the odd friendship you’d gained. Your priority was Mel. Her priority was Mel. A common goal that pushed you through the sticky residue of the remaining tension.

Pushed you through that is. Ambessa Medarda, eyes fixed on your tentative smile, was firmly on the other side pondering something awful. She knew you were a problem.

Kino returned, shaky and none the wiser, stumbling into the library.

“There you are, Princess,” He called happily, “Glad to see you’re still alive after last night,”

Oh Kino. You don’t know the half of it, you idiot. “Thank Rictus, he held my hair back,”

“He just took me on a boys breakfast,”

“A what?” You bit your cheek, your eyes meeting Ambessa’s bemused ones.

“I dunno,” He scratched his head, “Said he’d missed me, was really nice actually,”

You were nodding to compensate for the laughing rushing in you, she was doing the same.

“Fantastic!” You said in unison, as he pulled up a chair and crushed any remnants of your conversation.

The rest of the day was smooth, surreal in its normalness. You were giving Mel space, but that wasn’t all that different to how you normally wandered about the place. The few presents you had managed to buy, now unpacked from your destroyed exit strategy, were placed under the tree and you got through a couple of hours of work before it was time to leave.

Mel curled into you on the train, eyes fixed on the outside world rushing past though her thumb did its usual rhythmic strokes. The barriers your actions had placed sliced at you, bit by bit. Still she reached through them, cutting herself too, in an attempt to mend what you had broken.

The Royal Albert Hall was picturesque, Christmas cheer infectious as you sat in your box. The view was unparalleled and yet they didn’t seem to fussed, messing about with the food and drink on offer. Fucking rich people. A little plate was handed to you by Ambessa, all your favourites plus things she thought you’d like to try. You nodded. It was actually normal, well your new normal. It made Mel smile, proof that you’d done as she asked.

Carols in a place such as this were transcendent, wrapping you in comfort and applying balm to your battered mind. Kino and Mel were insistent on irritating each other, flicking at hair and chattering at each other before Ambessa smacked them both on the arm. You received a smile. You were the golden child, enjoying the music calmly whilst the others squibbled.

Ambessa couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. You were much more interesting to watch. The music was known to her, but your reaction to it was a strange new delight. Stolen smiles she would hide behind sips of wine and hesitant coughs. She did respect Mel, loved her in a way that she had long since grappled with as all consuming, and yet she just could not look away. It made her stomach churn, each meeting of your gazes a zap of electricity to her chest. She was privileged to receive some of your quips, a calmness settled over you in the aftermath of destruction and you had taken to the changes like a duck to water. She didn’t know whether to be awed or worried, so she settled for the pulsing, confusing beat in the middle.

You and Mel spoke quietly on the train home, some fibres knitting back together as Kino attempted to argue with his mother about why Die Hard was a Christmas film. She was showing you some furniture she wanted to buy for your house and it was domestic and safe and only slightly off. You hated the armchair and you knew that she knew that.

“Looks great,” You lied meekly, “Love the colours,”

“Thought you would,” She smirked, “I’ll order it now then, and the matching blanket,”

“Awesome,”

She started to laugh,”Are you just my bitch now?”

“I can cope with an ugly chair,”

“And cope you shall,” She showed you the delivery confirmation, phone pushed forward proudly.

Bugger. You’d hoped she was bluffing to fuck with you. Your slow grimace made her laughter louder, and you flicked her with the lid of your Diet Coke bottle.

Christmas Eve had arrived.

It was a day filled with energy, board games and gingerbread houses. You learnt you were shit at biscuit engineering, unable to keep two walls standing let alone a whole house. Rictus had rescued you, the Medardas too caught in their own projects. With a steady hand he assembled the gingerbread flat pack and laid the piping foundations for your chocolate buttons and sprinkles. Yours looking shit would have been funny, if it weren’t for the masterpieces before you.

Ambessa felt that odd buzz again, eyes raking over your shaky hands as you tried to pipe icing, or reposition walls. You seemed to naturally excel at everything she had seen, so watching you fail was almost cute. Your frustration took over your face, eyebrows scrunched with an open, wincing mouth.

“Now, what the hell?”

Kino snorted, adding the final touches to his stained glass windows, “I don’t think art is your calling, Princess,”

“Or architecture,” Ambessa added with a smile.

“I think it’s good babe,” Mel said, squeezing your shoulder, “In the same way a five year old’s would be I guess,”

“Rictus?” You said hopefully.

“You can’t ask for my opinion, I did most of it,” He snorted, fixing a window pane across the room.

Your gingerbread house was sacrificed to be eaten, the others deemed too sacred. It did at least taste good, Kino had said. You’d then bitten him on the arm, suggesting it would be a miracle if he tasted better than he looked. You were separated, Mina placed between you like a barrier.

As the hours grew later, you drank your tea and prepared for bed. You were promptly stopped at the stairs.

“We haven’t prepared for Christmas, into the living room,” Ambessa gripped your arm, pushing you into the space.

Mel and Kino stood, wide smiles on their faces, organising a little plate.

It had mince pies, a cookie and a glass of milk on it.

“What are you doing?” It slipped out incredulously.

“If we don’t do this, Mum doesn’t give us our presents,” Mel said.

“I don’t give you anything, Children,” Ambessa said, outraged, “That’s his job,”

“Where’s the thimble of port?”

Kino placed down a large wine glass, rolling his eyes, “Father Christmas prefers a full glass apparently,”

“Yes he does,” Ambessa smirked, before turning to you, “And can pop down the reindeer’s carrots,”

You looked at her, disbelieving eyes boring into her gleaming irises, “Why would they need carrots? I’m sure they’ve had enough already,”

Her eyes darkened, “They have a long evening ahead of them, do you want them to get exhausted halfway through? What if every house thought as ridiculously as you? What if they’re running on empty?”

You barked a shocked laugh. Of all people, Ambessa Medarda was not someone you anticipated continuing this tradition into her children’s adulthood. Grabbing some carrots, you left them next to Mel’s plate.

“Happy?” You gestured grandly.

“I’m sure Rudolph will be overjoyed, Dear,” She walked over kissing you each on the forehead, with a tenderness that startled you, “Now, off to bed little wolves or he shall leave you with an empty tree,”

The tree already had presents underneath it, placed by the three of you. You hadn’t consciously clocked the lack of hers.

You felt fuzzy, overwhelmed by Christmas and the first tendrils of contentment that had been unburdened by your lies. A long road lay ahead, but if Mel’s conspiratory giggle as she grabbed the open port bottle and tugged you to her room was anything to go by, you were going to make it out the other side.

“Hey,” Mel said, passing the port back to you to finish, “What’s the time?”

You grabbed your phone, arms wobbly with intoxication.

12:02am

“Merry Christmas!”

#arcane ambessa #ambessa x reader #ambessa smut #arcane #ambessa medarda #reader insert

154 notes · View notes

novaursa · 5 months ago

Text

Aemond's Lament

- Summary: Aemond faces Daemon above the God's Eye, for you.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: I wanted to write something short and heart-wrenching, because I'm a tragic person. It's inspired by Bear McCreary's song.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 1 100+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sky above the God’s Eye is painted in shades of dusk and fire. The crimson dragon Caraxes cuts through the darkening heavens, and below, the still waters of the lake ripple beneath the thrumming beat of Vhagar's wings. Aemond Targaryen, his one good eye fixed on the sky, does not see the beauty of the scene. His heart is a hollow shell, echoing with the loss of everything that mattered.

His thoughts are not on the battle, nor on the death that looms close with each heartbeat. Instead, his mind is consumed by a single name, a single face. Y/N, his sweet sister, slain by Daemon's hand. She had been the light in a life filled with shadows, the warmth in the cold halls of the Red Keep. Now she lay beneath the earth, lost to him forever.

Alone, she sleeps in the shirt of a man…

The words sing in his mind, a haunting melody of sorrow and regret. His three wishes had been simple once, whispered to the gods in the dead of night. The first, that she be spared the pain of this world—the treachery, the blood, the horror of their family's war. Aemond had wanted nothing more than to shield her from it all, to see her smile remain untouched by the darkness that surrounded them.

But his wish had failed. She had known pain, known the fury of battle, the terror of seeing her beloved dragon, Silverwing, torn from the skies by the very man who now circled above Aemond like a vulture over a dying beast.

With my three wishes clutched in her hand…

His second wish, oh, how he had longed for it—for her to know love, true and pure, the kind he could never give her as her brother. He had wanted to see her cherished, but jealousy had burned in his chest whenever he imagined her with another. Still, he had wished it, even if it was a lie. Because how could she have ever loved another? Not when he had been there, watching over her with eyes that lingered too long, thoughts that strayed too far from what a brother should feel.

The love he felt for her had been a curse and a blessing all at once. A poison that had seeped into his veins, twisting his soul with desires that no man should harbor for his blood. He had never spoken of it, never dared, but it had been there, a constant ache that only deepened as the years passed.

When she finds love may it always stay true…

His second wish had been for her happiness, but what did happiness matter when her life had been taken from her? Daemon had stolen her from him, ripped her from the world like a cruel joke. The bastard had known what her death would do to Aemond, had done it with glee, had smiled that dark, laughing smile as Y/N and Silverwing fell.

Aemond’s fingers tightened on Vhagar’s reins, the knuckles white with fury. The rage that burned in his chest now was all that kept him moving. His sister, his sweet, beautiful sister, was gone. Her laughter, her soft voice, her teasing smiles—all gone. And he had not been there to protect her.

Daemon had known that killing her would be the only way to draw Aemond out from Harrenhal. It had worked. Aemond would not have stayed hiding behind stone walls while his sister’s death went unanswered. He had come, with Vhagar’s fire in his heart and vengeance burning brighter than the flames.

But wish no more…

The final wish had been the cruelest of all. He would have given anything—everything—to have her back. He would have traded his life, his soul, the entirety of the realm, just for one day. One day to hear her voice again, to see her eyes open, to feel her hand in his. One day to tell her what he could never say.

My life you can take…

He would have done anything. But wishes were for the weak, and gods did not listen to the cries of the damned. Aemond knew that now. There would be no waking her from the sleep of death. No return from the dark depths where her soul had gone. His wishes had been empty, hollow pleas to a world that cared not for love or grief.

To have her please just one day wake…

Daemon circled above, his dragon screeching in anticipation. The Prince of the City, the Rogue Prince, had been the cause of all of Aemond’s misery. This was not just about the war, the throne, or the realm. This was personal. This was vengeance. Aemond could see it in Daemon’s eyes as he descended lower, closer. There was nothing but hatred between them now.

“Come down and face me, coward,” Aemond snarled, his voice raw with fury. His eye glowed with the fire of vengeance, the urge to kill. “You took her from me!”

Daemon's laughter echoed through the skies, a cold, mocking sound. "I took what was always meant to be mine, boy."

The words ignited a deeper rage in Aemond, a fire that threatened to consume him. His hand reached for his sword, the weight of Dark Sister on his back a grim reminder that death was near.

"You will die for her," Aemond growled, urging Vhagar higher. "You will burn."

Daemon's smile was cold as ice, his own sword glinting in the dying light. "We shall see, nephew."

And then the battle began.

Caraxes dove with the grace of a serpent, his claws outstretched, and Vhagar answered with the fury of a storm. The dragons collided in the sky, their roars splitting the heavens, and below, the waters of the God’s Eye churned as if in fear of the blood about to be spilled.

Aemond fought with all the strength he had left, but his heart was not in the battle. His mind was with Y/N, his sister, his love. He could almost hear her voice, soft and gentle, telling him to let go, to find peace. But there would be no peace, not for him. Not until Daemon lay dead beneath his blade.

But fate had other plans.

In a final, terrible moment, the two dragons twisted together in a deadly dance. Claws ripped through scales, teeth sank into flesh, and the sky turned to fire. Aemond’s grip slipped, and he saw Daemon leap from Caraxes with Dark Sister drawn. There was a flash of steel, a scream of dragons, and then—Darkness.

The cold waters of the God’s Eye rose up to meet him, swallowing him whole. As he fell, his last thoughts were not of vengeance or war.

They were of her.

Y/N.

If he could have just one more day... one more day with her…

But there were no more wishes left to make.And so, Prince Aemond Targaryen, last of his name, died with his sister's name on his lips, lost forever in the depths of the God’s Eye.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x female reader #hotd aemond #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #Spotify

166 notes · View notes

semischarmed · 1 year ago

Text

Thread, Part 2

Aaand the pendulum swings back. This is your warning, this one is (in my opinion) particularly evil.

= = = = =

Charlie looked away, trying to respect his brother’s privacy. His first reaction was to recoil at seeing his naked brother. As if reading his mind, I could feel him flash confusion and then look back to confirm what he had just seen. Joey made a mad dash for his brother, dropping the needle before I tightened my control to freeze him in place.

“G-get help…” Joey managed to stammer out. “H-he’s controlling me somehow”. I bit my lip. Seeing his brother seemed to have stirred a fight in him. I looked at the needle worriedly, something Charlie seemed to have caught on to.

Joey looked at Charlie with pleading eyes. Seeing the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his brother seemed to have stirred a rare bit of courage.

In a speed unbecoming his form, Charlie ran to me, punching me square in the jaw. I recoiled. That hurt. A lot, actually. I looked to Charlie’s heavenly face. Even as the pain stung my cheek, and his eyes burned with a fury that brought a twinge of fear in my heart and a tickle of a little something else in my body, I couldn’t help but look at the younger brother in a new respect.

I moaned at the pain, making sure Joey mimicked in an off-putting way. “Charlie, don’t hurt him, You’re hurting me too,” I had Joey lie. He spasmed slightly as I had to reassert my control. Charlie closed his eyes for a second, trying to rationalize the situation. His eyes were laser focused on the needle.

The guy was way faster than his shyness gave him credit for. In a flash, he made a mad dash for the needle, and aimed it right at me. I puppetted brother against brother, pulling Joey’s meaty hand to catch Charlie’s at the last second. Fuck that was close. I sighed in relief.

I eyed the point of the needle, mere inches away from my face. I saw the gears in Charlie’s head spinning, and his determined face after. The momentary weakness painted so clearly on my face seemed to all but confirm what we both now knew to be true. Had the needle pricked me, I would not only lose the gift from the god of flesh but would have been seriously injured.

I bit my lip. The newfound bravery painted on Charlie’s cute face made me hard as a rock but was troublesome. I sighed, puppetting my new, bicep-laden flesh to walk over and wipe the sweat from my forehead. I surveyed the two brothers. The younger, cute face brimming with determination, needle in hand. And the elder marionette of muscle, face in fear and guilt. Something else shone in both brother’s eyes, something that prompted me to lick the side of Joey’s cheek. Delicious Hope. I wanted to swallow it all for myself. Time to get creative.

= = =

“You’re going to regret doing that, Charles.” I had Joey word sternly. Charlie must not have been used to the coldness I distilled into Joey’s voice, as I saw him look dejected for a moment before eying Joey’s head shaking swiftly and his eyes trying to reassure the younger brother. Not good. My control over Joey was not absolute, and every time the brothers interracted, I could feel it waning. I had to act fast. I motioned Joey’s arm, forcing it to push Charlie back. I could tell it stung him both physically and emotionally from the stray tear that welled in the corner of his eye. Good.

“Charlie, you didn’t get to see all the fun we were having,” I forced Joey to say. Joey began to whimper as I traced my hands over his hips. With a motion of my nerves, I commanded Joey’s plump ass to grind into me. I was instantly hard.

“Look how good he is at controlling me.” I manipulated Joey’s lips into a devious smile. My hands wrapped around his should blades, then his meaty biceps, before resting on each pec.

“I love this so much,” Joey whines.

I furrowed Joey’s brows as I forced him to cast hateful eyes right onto Charlie. They began to tear and redden as I kept them locked onto Charlie in unblinking fury. “Why are you trying to ruin a good thing bro. What kind of brother are you?”

My fingers delectably traced each nipple of the elder brother’s form. “I fucking want this…” I forced his tongue to hang in pleasure and his biceps up into a flex.

“That’s it baby,” Joey is forced to say.

With the power of the needle and my nerves all over his body, I make his head rotate to face me. He is forced to tongue me savagely, and I relished in making Charlie watch a deranged version of his brother satisfying me. The saliva from his mouth flowed past my lips in multiple spots, a testament to the force he was made to kiss me with. I flexed the needle’s power a little, allowing for more flexibility in my own flesh, so that Joey’s exploring tongue could be seen poking and prodding all over my mouth. Joey’s head recoiled back into place, facing Charlie with averted eyes. They shook in struggle but were eventually forced to lock back into him. His hands shook a little before they stroked the red threads connecting us lovingly. “Fuuuuck Charlie. I never want this to end.” I relaxed my grip of control a little, to the sound of a sobbing Joey.

“You’re right, baby. You feel so good Joey, I never want it to end either”. I couldn’t help but put on a bit of a show. That prompted a louder sob from the elder brother, before his face relayed a demented smile. “I’m your fucking puppet. Your Doll. Dress me up, work my body, fuck through me, I don’t care. Every piece of Juicy Joe is yours.”

I pulled a few nerve endings from Joey, making a point to show them slithering wildly into the air before letting them snake into his mouth. It took a minute to reconnect some of my nerves inside him, but once they had, it felt like home. “I’m ready,” Joey moaned, dragging his fingers across his musculature. He then looked sick to his stomach, as some odd noises emmananted from the depths of his body. Joey made a slick, wet noise as his soulful eyes pulled back into their sockets and he regurgitated a large amount of semi-clear liquid right into my face. I welcomed the shower of Joey-flavored liquid. Lubrication. Joey’s face then pulled into a sneer, “Dominate this flesh. Dominate me. I did some rearranging for you. There’s a hole inside me, shaped just like you. For you. You need to fill it. Fill me. Ingrain in me. Integrate into me… Complete me.”

I loosened Joey’s flesh, then sent my control into his meaty arms, forcing them to start stuffing my body into a widening mouth. In turn, I began to loosen my own form. It would still be a tight squeeze, but the power of the needle made one thing evident. It was possible. Charlie began to scream. “FUCK… Joey how do I help?!”

More saliva trailed from Joey’s mouth as he pushed a little more of my body inside. “Mmmphhh” was all the older brother could manage, as his mouth fully encapsulated my head. The inside of Joey felt like a warm embrace, his wet lips like sweat laden arms beckoning my shoulders into safety. Thinking back to the needle, that’s what the inside of Joey was to me. Safety.

For an agonizing few minutes, all Charlie could do was watch in shock, as he watched his older brother’s body force more of mine inside it. From his muffled screams, he was begging the younger brother for help. Charlie ran over multiple times, try to pry me from his brother’s insides, but I only cackled from deep inside Joey’s depths as I willed the older brother’s arms to push him away each time. “C’mon bro, you had this hot bod protecting you all throughout childhood, let someone else be protected for once.” When my arms fully slipped in, I began to grab mounds of Joey’s insides, pulling myself in deeper while he was compelled to continue jamming my flesh into his.

Every piece of me was sweating inside Joey. After all, the human body runs quite hot, and I was surrounded by wet, warm flesh from every side. When the last of my toes slipped into his mouth, I had my meat-suit let out a satisfied sigh, like he had just eaten a large meal. Hearing the muted sound of Charlie’s whimpering from inside his dear brother was my dessert. I readjusted myself inside Joey, in the process unlatching every piece of nerve that was previously connected.

Even without control, my new muscle suit felt heavenly to be inside. Every piece of Joey felt intensified inside him. His muscles slowly writhing as they fought to compress his form back to its normal self which in turn squeezed me tight into him. I slipped and slid, weaving myself into his flesh, as his body’s own hard-earned muscles unknowingly embedded me into their master further. I basked in being able to feel every piece of Joey around me. His raw musk was like a liquid I was drowning in. I didn’t care, Joey felt good to drown in.

= = =

The brothers seemed to have easily caught on to my lack of control as Joey cleared his voice and hurriedly asked, “Charlie, what should we do?” From deep inside him, I could hear the younger brother begin to whimper again. ”I-I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this”.

“Is he dead?” Charlie asked Joey.

Joey denied this, now his turn whimpering, “No, he’s still moving in here.” I felt him turn to face his brother. “C, It feels like I need to throw up but I can’t. It feels so wrong- he feels wrong in here… I feel wrong. Like he’s all over me. I dunno how to fix this.” He steeled himself before continuing, all the while my writhing flesh inside him was slipping into any pocket of space I could find and making it my home. “Listen, you need to run and get help”.

“I can’t do that to you. What’s gonna happen to you? Can you keep him in like that?” Charlie gulped. “I can see him moving inside you. Maybe we could get a doc-“

“Charlie, No.” Joey asserted as he gripped his right ab. “I’ll be fine, just get help”. I could feel his lips pull into a weak smile. “You ever see me lose a wrestling match?” Charlie’s sniffles and lack of sound told me he was shaking his head in a smile.

I knew I had to stop him, but my movements inside Joey were restricted. Even when he was under my control earlier, he felt clumsy to puppet as soon as Charlie came in. I sensed a bit of danger as the two continued to plot.

“It looks like that needle thing only works once. You could feel it too, right? Like it comes with instructions or somethin,” I could tell Charlie was again nodding in agreement. “So if you prick him again, he’ll be stuck in that form. If we could get him like this, he’d be stuck and I could just spit the fucker out.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a plan”.

No. They would not ruin this for me. My nerves were having some trouble fishing for Joey’s to bind and connect with. It was easy to see where to connect to before, but now being fully encapsulated by his flesh I needed to find these spots blind.I had to act fast. I slammed against the inside of Joey’s chest, feeling him stumble slightly. “Joey, what was that!?”

Even without my nervous system directly controlling him, I knew it was harder to fight against one’s own internal structure. I instantly slotted my hand into his, using his own skin like a glove. Joey groaned in discomfort. I slammed my face into his chest again, this time making sure to push tight against it, so the imprint of my growing smile could be seen from the outside. “Charlie, I-I….” With my Joey hand glove, I gathered the meat of his abs into a sleeve for my hardened cock. I pushed it forward, relishing in feeling the older brother’s own flesh pleasure me. Joey was now my personal cumrag. “I- FUCK” I heard Joey scream and then cry. Being inside his body already got me hot, so it only took a few pumps before I exploded all over his insides. I could feel Joey gag as he must have felt what I was doing with him.

“Joey, every piece of you feels so fucking premium” I moaned from deep inside him. This was the chance I was waiting for. Joey still reeled from the sheer disgust and violation he felt. His hands shook as Charlie tried to make heads of what had just transpired. The moment of quiet gave me what I needed to finally find Joey’s nerves. Using the power of the needle, I expanded myself outside my own body, letting all my nerves reach out and connect to Joey. Without a doubt, this was me at my most vulnerable. But deep inside Joey’s flesh, I knew I was safe. This time, I also pulled my brain out, allowing it to touch Joey’s. He screamed at first contact.

My plan was bearing fruit as more and more of my brain began to encapsulate his, burrowing deep into his folds and drilling myself into his psyche. “Holy fuck,” I felt myself blurt out. Joey’s wails were confirmation that he felt it too. Experiencing Joey carnally was one thing, but worming and meshing myself into his brain felt like deeper intimacy. I moaned as each memory of his came into view, each thought, each feeling. I felt Joey collapse into the ground, bringing me with him. His legs began kicking wildly in frustration, as his hands were dragging across the floor in front of us. “P-P-Please…. Get out of me”. I internally bit my lip as I wondered if that had damaged my new body in any way. This prime meat was too good to spoil so early.

Joey further jerked across the floor as I continued my onslaught. No aspect of Joey would not have me inside it. I inserted myself into each piece of him, relishing in owning this man to his very core. I felt his fear course through me. Partially at what I had been doing to him, but also because his now partially-corrupted brain was starting to like it, at least in a physical sense. I bonded myself into every nerve, every cell, every minute piece of the man as his toes curled in a mix of pleasure and pain. I felt him arch his back as I worked my way into his lungs and his beating heart, hijacking his athleticism for myself. Joey’s squirming settled down into tired breaths. A cool breath in. I could feel my new lungs drawing in a tremendous amount of air, a testament to Joey’s power. A quick breath out. I could feel his biceps brimming with an energy I previously never had. Another cool breath in. His lips and mine, bonded into one sensation and parting slightly. Then, one last breath out- steaming hot and damp from pleasure. Joey’s beating heart quickened for me as I bathed in the euphoria of being in this body. His eyes opened, now welcoming me to his sight as well, as we slowly focused our pupils into Charlie’s worried face. I pulled his lips into a smile. I had fully integrated into Joey’s flesh.

= = =

“Charlie.. Please… Run”. I felt myself say. Shock painted my face, and then anger. Joey had more mental fortitude than I gave him credit for. Trying to burrow deeper into his brain was starting to feel more difficult. I reached a point that felt like a wall, an impenetrable piece of him. I addressed the body I now occupied. “Joey, just give up. You don’t want to make this harder for me, trust me.” I felt Charlie hand me the needle, “J, you got this.” I sneered internally, even in his mind, he had remained Mr. Unattainable. Joey struggled, but managed to wrestle control. He opened his mouth to try to find me, holding the needle to it. He frowned, upon feeling how tangled my insides were with his. I felt a flash of fear course through him, then resolve. Without a word, he held the needle near his hand, intending to prick himself with it. This was trouble, I hadn’t solidified my control yet.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I felt Charlie’s hand stop Joey. “Wait. Don’t do this Joey, we can find another way.”

Through Joey’s eyes, Charlie shone a warm smile. Joey’s face beamed one back, before it was twisted into cruel sneer. The younger brother gulped at the sight. It was tiny, but the sliver of defiance from Charlie earlier had given me the upper hand to usurp control. Joey still fought me, but, at least momentarily his body was mine to control. “J-Joey”? Asked a worried Charlie. I laughed pure malice. “Phew, that was close… Thanks bro”.

I felt myself worm a little deeper into Joey’s mind once he saw the fear paint Charlie’s eyes. I placed the needle on the desk before placing my attention back on my younger brother. Maybe a part of me was happy it ended up this way. Oh Joey… you’re being so difficult. Guess I’ll have to break you in.

“Joey, what are you-”. I slammed Charlie’s head into my chest, partially covering him in the musk I now shared with Joey. Without a word, I brought my nose over Charlie’s fluffy hair. I smothered my face, nearly choking myself as I took a deep perverted whiff of the younger brother. “J-Jmppphh”, Charlie said in struggle.

”You smell so fucking cute, lil bro.” I say through Joey’s voice. Internally I felt him recoil. “But you should see how a real man smells.” I squeeze the younger brother tighter to my new musclebound flesh, drenching him in the sweat of his older brother’s struggle.

He eventually pushed me out of the way before looking horrified at the long red thread connecting from Joey to the back of his head. “J-“ was all he managed to say before his eyes rolled to the back of their sockets and he fell to the floor.

= = =

Joey’s nerves seemed far more potent, as I flexed them into action, bringing Charlie’s body into life. His eyes were still rolled to the back of his head as he turned to face his older brother’s body. He coughed a little before his timid voice let out a little laugh. I released some control back to Joey as he shuddered. He eyed his younger brother nervously. “Fine, Juicy Joe. Make it difficult then. This boy seems weak, how bout I just take your brother and set you free.” I began to will Charlie to start removing his clothes.

“W-Wait!” Joey exclaimed. I had the unconscious Charlie lick his lips, as I continued sensually stripping his form. I had to admit, Charlie was fucking cute. Joey gulped.

“Bro, I’m waiting.” I moaned in Charlie’s voice, wiggling the red thread of nerves connected right to the base of his skull. Charlie’s tender hands began to massage and explore every piece of his body. I had him stroke his cheeks and face tenderly. “I bet he doesn’t know what a good fucking body he has”. I say through Charlie. Then I have him slap his hands across his chest seductively. “Lil bro’s got an even tighter fit than you, but I bet he can take it”, I have Charlie tease. The red threads connecting to him wiggled a little more. “I bet I could do some real damage in this thing.”

“S-Stop!” Joey screamed. “Okay! Okay! Just leave him alone”. I felt myself burrow another inch into Joey’s mind. Charlie really does make a nice puppet… One more for the road. I gestured Charlie to pinch and twist his nipples, promoting his foot to stomp involuntarily at the pleasure, before I disconnected the threads of Joey’s nerves.

= = =

Charlie’s eyes rolled forward when he came to, nearly crying when he realized he was now naked, nipples sore and body brimming with guilt-stricken pleasure.

“Didn’t think I could fight him and win, didya C,” I taunted as I wrestled back control of Joey’s body. It was a little easier this time.

“You’re fucking weak,“ I spat venomously through Joey’s voice. Inside his mind, he was crying. He wanted to reassure Charlie he didn’t mean it, but with my thoughts now partially coursing through his, he genuinely did mean it. I felt Joey’s mind bind to me closer as more of his memories opened up. It looks like that did some damage. “You know what’s funny? He probably could have won,” I cackled. “Even now, he’s fighting me so hard, I can barely keep him contained… He’s got so much fight in him. I can’t wait till that’s mine”.

“Charlie, I love you”. I decided to bury the elder brother’s resolve even further. Using his hands, hands that once protected a younger Charlie from schoolyard bullies, hands that often provided reassurance to the shy freshman, I slammed Charlie to the ground. Hard. Charlie cried out in pain, and I forced Joey’s dick to harden in at the sound. I felt Joey whimper internally, now burdened with the guilt of not only doing this to Charlie, but also liking it. Of course, it wasn’t truly his emotions, at least not yet. But it had been enough. Mind battered and body sore from being rooted into, the once proud Mr. Unattainable, Mr. Juicy Joe himself relented. I felt the barrier in the flesh of his brain burst and his psyche shatter. It was likely only a moment of weakness, but a moment was all I needed. I quickly flooded into the gaps, relishing in becoming an integral part of Joey. Cum sputtered from his dick as I basked in our culmination. Every muscle tensed as we coalesced. Joey’s thoughts and emotions flowed through me, uninhibited. And now, I flowed through them, maneuvering them, piecing into them, making him feel and think my thoughts and feelings. Joey let out one last scream as he jerked his head side to side. “Get out of my head! Get out of my head! G-“ His head slung forward. Then, silence. Then a smile. My smile. I could hardly contain myself. I let out a satisfied sigh, panting from my handiwork. I was now the glue holding Joey, body and mind, together. His brain pulsed, trying to form thoughts, but I constricted, wrapping myself in them, tainting each thought before allowing them to flow back out. Fuck it felt good to think in his head. “Joey… we are one”

Being Joey’s puppeteer was raw pleasure. But being inside him? Thinking for him? Feeling for him? Knowing we were inseparably one? It transcended pleasure. Every inch of my new flesh moved to my command. No resistance, no delay. “J-Joey?” I heard a voice ask meekly. It was then that I realized I had grabbed onto Charlie to steady myself while Joey was shaking in sheer delight.

“Fuuuck dude,” I sputtered between Joey’s shallow breaths. “He’s so fucking strong”. I panted a little more. It was almost too much for me, “Look, I don’t even need my nerves to hold you down.” I teased with sinister glee. My hand kept Charlie from escaping. I shoved him to the other end of the room, blocking his escape with the body that once protected him in the past.

“He’s got such a fucking hog too” I grunted in pleasure, as I grasped the dick of Mr Unattainable. I let out a dirty smile at my new brother. Aside from the boundless energy, Joey’s body also surged with testosterone, and it took some time to get used to the intensified essence of man that now coursed inside me. I shuddered. Being Joey felt amazing.

“Joey, Fight it!” Charlie shouted. I moved and leaned into my cute new younger brother.

“Joey’s gone bro,” I huffed nearly inaudibly. I dragged Joey’s tongue across Charlie’s cheek in a sensual perversion. Lick. “Well, not really gone. He’s always going to be with us. A part of me. Just like how I’m going to be a part of you.” Lick.

“Wanna know the best part? Joey here’s a fighter.” I grinned, first through Joey’s natural smile but then pulled it wider and wider. “Guess what his only weakness was?” I moaned, relishing in hearing Joey-flavored words come out of me. It was intoxicating being in final, full control. “Guess what finally let me take this delicious piece of ass for myself.” I ruffled Charlie’s hair tenderly, a habit I extracted from Juicy Joe’s memory. In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have minded, as it was almost a ritual of sorts between the two. Here, he shuddered, sickened by the corruption of their brotherly bond. “It was you, bro. You made him weak... Thank you”.

I wore the original Joey’s sincerity around me like a mask. It felt natural to slot into his behaviors and mannerisms. “See, tell me you could tell the difference. I’m your big bro,” I taunted as I started clumsily grinding into him.

“Joey, please” Charlie pleaded. From his face, I could tell he was steadily losing hope.

“Charlie, I’m so sorry…” Joey’s vocal cords say. “I don’t know how to stop him.”

I watched hope return to his eyes. “J-Joey. Is that you? I knew it! You’re in there! You have to fight this.”

“Charlie…. He’s too strong” Joey’s body cried. I kicked my legs and grasped my throat.

“Fight it!”

“I don’t know how to stop him!” I repeated, before I callously laughed, eyes rolling back in sinful glee, “Because I don’t fucking want to. I was born and bred for this. Look at my eyes, can’t you tell it’s me in here? I’m Joey. The same Joey that helped you learn to ride a bike, the same Joey that taught you how to read”.

I relished Charlie’s expression. There was no Joey left. At least, the original Joey. He knew it too. “This is all I’ve ever wanted, C. To be fucking integrated. I wanted him inside me” I huffed, as I sped up. “I wanted him wearing my skin, flexing my muscles… squeezing this hot body deep inside you.”

Charlie looked up in confusion. “J-Joey, what do you mean?

“Little bro you’re gonna love my power. Look at this fucking bicep. Do you want this? Do you want it inside you?” I mocked as I pricked his flesh with the needle. “This little thing scared the shit out of me! Imagine if you pricked me before I got into Juicy Joe” I pouted, as I squeezed my new body’s left ass cheek. I could tell it destroyed Charlie to watch his ‘brother’ treat his own body like this. “You’re gonna be my little insurance. Mr unattainable’s gonna stay unattainable. Don’t worry, unlike Joey over here, I’ll keep you around. You don’t put up much of a fight”. I could tell each word was like a dagger stabbing into Charlie’s heart.

“It’s gonna be a tight squeeze, but I know you can handle it. I believe in you…little bro” I moaned, dragging Joey’s hands all over Charlie’s body sensually. Horror dawned on his face as he seemed to have grasped my plan. “Here I thought Joey was fucking stupid,” I spat in laughter. “But it was his brain cells that came up with this little maneuver.” Charlie’s eyes darted wildly, trying to come up with ways to avoid the inevitable. “All those times this meatpuppet protected you when you were kids… Now it’s your turn to protect us” I kissed his soft lips savagely, dragging Joey’s tongue all over his mouth, wanting to taste every inch of my future home. I pulled from the brotherly kiss in a loud gasp for air. There was a long pause in the air as a trail of saliva hung between our two mouths.

“Now make some room for big bro”.

====

Well, what’d you think? There’ll probably be a third part to this, but it might take a minute.

#male possession #male body control #male corruption #male merge #male puppet #male takeover #male skinsuit

465 notes · View notes

artists-ally · 1 year ago

Note

I think Harvey would be thw type of person who makes love specially when he’s feeling sad. Like he needs comfort and to be as close to his s/o as possible, fingers intertwined and all that nice shit. How do you think reader would comfort him after he had a discussion with someone of his family?

{Oh, My Human Heart} Reader x Harvey Specter

So my mind went to [SEASON 8 EPISODE 5 SPOILER WARNING] where Harvey went up to Boston to defend his brother against his wife's divorce. That shit crushed my soul man, so this is based on that! Enjoy!! Title is a lyric from this song.

Word Count: 3,191

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, smut, Season 8 Episode 5 Spoilers

Summary: When Harvey returned home from visiting his brother unexpectedly, there is an obvious weight to his shoulders as he slumps inside. And it’s your mission to find out what it is and wipe it from his memory.

Tagging: @kjbg-fantasymoon (your request is next babes <3)

~~~~~~~

The door slammed. Hard. Concerningly hard.

“Harvey?” You shouted out into the kitchen, taking off the towel from your shoulder and set it on the counter. No one responded. Worry coursed through you, and you grabbed the knife from the cutting board. Just in case.

Your husband rounded the corner and you jumped, but let the fear drain from your held breath and set the knife down. “Jesus Harvy, you could’ve… hey, what are you doing back here?”

Harvey looked indecipherably pissed. He had hard creases in his face and his lips pressed in that flat line that meant someone was about to see that side of him that meant he was gonna raise hell. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and he let his hands fall to his sides.

“Okay, okay come sit, love,” You reached for him and guided him to the island. “Do you want to talk about it? A distraction? To be left the hell alone?”

That communication strategy had worked wonders when Harvey came home from a lethal case. All the details you knew about this one involved his brother and a divorce from his wife. It had already shattered Harvey’s heart to hear they were splitting up, but this was… this was rage. Raw fury.

“I am going to open my mouth and let the floodgates go with it, and I just need you to try and make sense of it. Because for reasons only known by Jesus-fucking-Christ himself can this be possible.”

You just nodded, letting Harvey take some deep breaths. You noticed his hands were shaking. He was shaking. What the fuck happened in Boston?

“Marcus called me up there to represent him for his divorce,” Harvey started, thumbs in his eyes. “He told me that it was because she had an affair. I was ready to go kick down her door and take their kids away myself. Turns out, he lied to me. She was divorcing him because he started gambling again and he told Haley not to tell Katie.”

Your blood ran cold, all remorse leaving your body for Marcus. How could he fucking do that?

“So, tell me this Yn. Why would my own god damn brother, who I spent my money on to build him a dream restaurant, lie to my fucking face? Not once. Not twice. Four times. Four opportunities he had to tell me and he waited till the last fucking second. I-I can’t even begin to describe how sick it makes me feel to have Haley be put in that position.”

“It is wildly unfair for her, and for their son,” you felt awful for them. They were the sweetest kids and didn’t deserve to have that weight on their shoulders.

“I mean, was he not apart of the fucking family when mom did that to me? Did he suddenly just show up on our doorstep one night looking for a place to sleep like a stray cat? No, he didn’t. He’s my fucking brother. He was there when mom did it to me. And he saw what it did to our family. What it did to me. He was the one trying to fix our fucking fucked up family. To piece it together after the fall out and he expects me to do the same when he did the one thing worse than practically fucking cheating on her.”

“Harvey I think that's a little-”

“Now he’s destroying his own life. No, not even destroying, destroyed. He has ruined all chances of working things out between him and Katie and honestly, I can’t be fucking bothered to watch it crumble to the ground. And the worst part of it is he had the audacity to ask me to win this case. He doesn’t deserve to win let alone ask me. What a selfish, lying son of a bitch-”

“Harvey,” you placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from walking away. He had been moving around animatedly, now up out of his seat and waving around. “Take a deep breath. Please.”

He did.

“Good,” You smiled softly.

He took another. And another. “Sorry… just- sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You came and stood in front of him, hands flat on his chest. “Let’s go and get you changed and we can keep talking through it. If you’d like.”

Though Harvey’s eyes were harsh, that anger wasn’t directed at you. You’ve dealt with him like this on more than one occasion, and you’ve learned to recognize the difference. He didn’t dare look at you the way he is now.

After taking his hand and leading him up stairs, you took your time undressing him so he could be more comfortable. Once upon a time he had told you that the feeling of your hands on him could make him forget anything and everything. It was only in your best interest to do that for him now. To calm him so he could see the full picture.

Starting with his tie, you walked to the closet and hung it up in the empty space from where you picked it out this morning. Much the same with the jacket, tossing his still crisp white-shirt in the laundry. He handed you his belt and shoes, and while you put them away, he took off his dress pants and put on sweats by the time you came back.

“Better?” You asked, placing his hands across your middle.

He smiled, “Better.”

Harvey was still sitting, but he rested his forehead against your stomach, just breathing. With calm hands you massaged his scalp and neck, his shoulders and arms. It was important to give Harvey his space at times like this, letting him speak when he wanted. Otherwise he’d just get defensive and shut down. That was not beneficial to either of you.

“I’m so fucking mad at Marcus, Yn.”

“I know, my love. I know,” You spoke softly, kissing the top of his head. “So am I.”

“I just don’t understand how he could do that after what mom did to me. I thought- I thought we were brothers again.”

His voice cracked, and you could feel the first tear drops soak through your shirt and cool your skin. Your stomach clenched and dropped. You know Harvey and Marcus have been rocky for decades, but since he forgave his mom and started rebuilding their relationship, things naturally got better with Marcus.

So much for all that hard work. And you had been so proud of him for taking those steps. And you knew the toll it took on him. Now it was all back at square one.

“I am so sorry, Harvey.”

“What the fuck do I do?”

You paused for a long while. “I don’t know.”

When he looked up at you, eyes all red and bleary, you wanted to fly to Boston and smack Marcus yourself for putting Harvey right back where he was when he was sixteen. He may not have been the one asked to keep a secret this time, but he knows what it’s like to be in that situation. To feel so pinned and powerless. The looming decision of whether he should betray his mom or dad, a constant threat, and either outcome will ruin the family.

“Are you up for listening to my ideas or do you still need to get things off your chest?” All you got was a shrug and a few spilled tears. “Okay, there’s no rush.”

“I just don’t know what to do, Yn. I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to do. I want to beat him into the dirt the most. I want to hold Haley and tell her that none of this was ever her fault and she is not the one to blame. Goddamn do I want to hug Haley right now…”

You had to close your eyes. You didn’t want to see Harvey in this position, especially because you knew what this did to him. It stirred up all those memories and emotions from decades ago. Now they were all at the surface, controlling every one of his thoughts. And there isn’t a whole lot that you can do to get them to stop.

“I think you’re angry.”

“You’re goddamn right I’m angry,” Harvey huffed, making you let out a weak chuckle.

“And I also think that I know you when you’re angry. And that you don’t think clearly when you are. So, how about we distract you for a while and then we get some sleep. Then, maybe in the morning, we lay it all out again and go over what we know. Look at all the facts and whatnot. Because, despite your very much warranted anger towards Marcus, he is still your brother. And family means more than anything to you, Harvey. I can’t let you spend the next thirty years in regret for not trying. You owe that to yourself. Not anyone else.”

“I don’t even know where to start with all this bullshit.”

“That’s where I come in,” You smiled, sitting in his lap with one leg on each side of his. “Look Harvey, you have every single right to be upset. I am pissed at Marcus for doing that to Haley. But I will not let this drive another cavern between you and him. The two of you have been through enough. He fucked up, and he knows it because you’re Harvey goddamn Specter and you told him he did. But you forgave him once. And you forgave your mom. It is worth a shot to hear him out, and I’m not saying it has to be right away either. Just eventually.”

Harvey’s brown eyes darted around your face, that tight line still on his lips. When you tilted your head and batted your lashes, he sighed out, nodding. “Okay, okay fine you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” your smile made him finally unclench the space between his brows. “It’s because I’m really good at knowing who you are, and knowing how to approach a situation. You’re good at being a kick-ass lawyer and I’m good at taming that kick-ass lawyer.” “You love it when I let that animal out of the cage,” he smirked, hands stroking down your thighs.

“If you refer to yourself as an animal in a cage again I will walk out that door and spend the night at Donna’s.”

“Okay okay,” he grinned ear to ear, pressing kisses on your cheek, then down your neck. “I’m sorry for being so… hostile. Thank you, Yn. For calming me down.”

“You’re welcome, my love.”

“I don’t know what it is that you do, but you make it all disappear.”

“It’s my secret,” you whispered, kissing his lips. “And I won’t ever tell.”

“I bet I could make you tell me,” Harvey winked and grabbed around your waist, taking you with him when he leaned back.

“Oh, is that a fact?” “No, but it is a challenge.”

He tangled his hand in your hair, bringing your mouth to his. He tasted like whatever cheap whiskey he had on the plane and mint. You let your body form to his and didn’t mind the way his tongue found yours. Harvey’s hands were gentle as they peeled away the cardigan on your shoulders, tossing it away to be picked up later.

He took his time, slowly stripping you and easing you on your back. You wrapped your legs around his waist and needed to have his mouth on yours again. He was such a good kisser. So thorough and precise with what he wanted to do to you.

And he was always very thorough.

Harvey placed kisses down your chest, down your stomach and to each hip.

“Babe-”

“Shh,” he hushed. “Just let me do what I want. You just lay back and look pretty. Fuck do you look pretty, my love.”

Your heart melted. Normally he had a wicked, dirty tongue but tonight was obviously different. He wanted something to focus on, and if that was going to be you, then so be it. You surely weren’t going to stop him from spreading your knees and tucking his head to your core.

If Harvey could do one thing for the rest of his life, he’d sure have a hard time picking between you and the law. While he loved his work, your mind and body were two things even the high of winning couldn’t compare to. Harvey loved you. Ferociously. With every part of his body he loved you.

His tongue circled your clit, and your hand went in his hair to keep him there. The laugh that tumbled from him was nothing short of star-seeing. One thing about Harvey is if you weren’t satisfied and thensome, neither was he. He loved making you cum on his tongue, loved how you tasted.

It wasn’t long before you warned him you were close, and he just hummed into you, vibrations making you arch up off the bed, tugging equally as hard on his hair as you did the sheets beside you.

“I will never get sick of making you feel good, Yn. I love that I am the one who gets to spend these moments with you.”

“Harvey,” you swooned, cupping his face to bring him back up so you could kiss him. Your scent was strong on his lips and made you only need him that much more. All it took was a few impatient grabs at his shirt to make him take it off so you could finally get your hands on that body of his.

All that time in the boxing gym surely paid off.

Harvey brough your knee up and pushed it flat on the bed, pulling the other one around his hip. He pushed in, chest to chest with you as he sat still for a few moments.

“I love you so much, Yn,” Harvey whispered, thumb training down your cheek, your neck. He slid it all the way down your arm and laced your fingers together, kissing them as he pulled back. He wouldn’t leave your lips alone, not that you wanted that in the slightest. He was all soft words and pleas of desperation. Telling you how good you felt.

It was like your wedding night all over again. When the two of you met, it had been in a fury of hands and tongues. All fast because there wasn’t a second to waste when it finally happened. But on your big day, he laid you down, just like this, and worshiped you all night long.

Every word from his mouth was just him telling you how much you meant to him, his body seconding that omission. He was so dedicated to you, to making you feel good. It was all long, smooth strokes of his body inside yours, the warmth of your combined breaths. Swallowing each other's noises of pleasure.

“I am so in love with you,” Harvey smiled. “I am so fucking in love with you.”

You couldn’t hide your smile if you tried. It wasn’t rare that Harvey was affectionate– per say– but this was an illusive moment. He wine and dined you whenever you asked, you were always his plus one anywhere in the world. But it was these small, yet enormous moments of intimacy that you cherished the most. This was a side of Harvey that took a very long time to bring to the surface. And he too realized the weight of just taking his time and being soft with you.

“I love you too, Harvey,” you whispered against his face, his mouth now busy with the side of your neck. Harvey couldn’t keep his hips slow for long, and they snapped to yours. Air pushed out of your mouth and right into his ear, right where it drove him crazy to hear what he did to you.

“Fuck, my love, if you keep making those sounds this isn’t exactly going to be how I-”

“Now it’s my turn to take care of you,” you responded, locking your ankles together behind his back.

A shiver ran through his shoulders and he dropped to his elbows, hips driving into you faster and faster. Harder. It didn’t take him long to reach his high, fucking you through it. His heart pounded underneath his skin so hard you could feel it. A slight sweat at the back of his head where hair met skin.

When he lifted his head, his eyes looked less… weighted. He looked much more himself. Muc more like Harvey and a little less like Mr. Specter.

You mentally patted yourself on the back.

There wasn’t anything you could do to convince him to not drag you into the shower down the hall. The warmth of the water, the heaviness in your body only made his fingers on your scalp that much better. He kissed all over, giving your ass a loving smack when getting out before wrapping a big towel around the both of you.

“Promise in the morning that we can do this all again and then I can make you a big breakfast?”

“Only if you promise that there will be sausage and bacon,” your eyes were droopy, but the smile reached them anyway.

“Good thing Postmates will go to the grocery store nowadays,” Harvey slipped one of his shirts over your head, straightening it out over your body. “You look so adorable in my clothes.”

“I know, why do you think I wear them when you’re gone?” “You wear my clothes when I’m gone?” You pff’ed out some air, “Don’t act like you don’t notice the suspiciously large pile of your laundry in the hamper when you come back.”

“I don’t think you know how happy that makes me, Yn,” Harvey’s smile was nothing short of pure adoration. He was never short on pure adoration when it came to you.

“Yes I do,” You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Why do you think I do it?”

“Because you know me. Really really well.”

“That I do.”

Harvey breathed out, shaking his head. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for something anyone would do for their husband.”

“Well, in my experience, most wives aren’t nearly as observant or as dedicated as you are, Yn. And I want you to know how much I appreciate you and everything you help me through when I don’t know how to help myself.”

Your eyes melted, much like your heart when he hugged you. Nice and tight and just how you liked them. You always felt impossibly safe with him, and his hugs were impossibly your favorite thing in the world.

Harvey would listen better in the morning. Especially after a good night's sleep. You just hope that all your efforts will lead him in the right direction. And that direction isn’t the clearest right now, and that’s okay. Both of you know it’s okay to not make a decision as big as something like this.

But you know Harvey will try. And that is all you can ask of him.

#harvey specter #harvey specter suits #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter smut #harvey specter fanfiction #suits smut #suits fanfiction #suits fanfic #suits tv #suits

669 notes · View notes