#HER HAIR CASCADING ELEGANTLY AROUND HER SHOULDER

[bleakmidwinter00]

Beyond The Spotlight

The Oscars red carpet was a river of flashing cameras, designer gowns, and an electric current of anticipation. As Lucy O’Connor stepped onto the carpet, she felt the weight of the moment settle over her like a second skin. The fabric of her teal gown clung elegantly to her frame, the silk straps delicate yet secure against her shoulders. The open back of the dress exposed just enough to be daring, the fluidity of the material catching the light with every step. Silver heels elevated her stride, her chestnut waves cascading down her back in soft, effortless waves.

The cameras snapped, a few voices calling her name - some tentative, as if they were still getting used to saying it. She was no Hollywood regular, no seasoned industry name. A year ago, she had been performing in small venues in Dublin, writing songs that lived in the quiet corners of the internet. And now? Now she was here. At the Academy Awards. Nominated for Best Original Song.

Lucy turned slightly, offering the photographers the shots they wanted, her posture poised yet natural. But just as she found her rhythm in the moment, the atmosphere shifted.

A ripple moved through the crowd. Then a wave. And suddenly, the flashing intensified, the energy becoming something entirely different. The press went wild.

Cillian Murphy.

A rare sight on the red carpet, his appearance tonight was enough to make seasoned reporters scramble for their best angles. He moved past the growing crowd, stepping onto the carpet with an effortless sort of presence. Dressed in a classic tuxedo, his bow tie loose at his neck, he looked entirely at ease - unaffected by the chaos he had just caused.

Lucy took a breath, resisting the urge to glance over. She wasn’t the type to be starstruck. But there was something about knowing she was directly in front of him, following the same path into the heart of the ceremony, that made her pulse tick just a fraction faster.

As she moved forward, she felt the weight of an unseen gaze.

Cillian stood back in the line of arrivals, watching as the woman in the teal dress stepped forward. He didn’t know her, but the way she carried herself - calm, composed despite the whirlwind around her - made him take a second look. Her hair caught the light as she turned slightly for the cameras, and there was something distinctly unmanufactured about her presence.

She was next in line for the interview section. As she approached the microphone, he listened - not because he was supposed to, but because something about her made him want to.

"Lucy, this is your first Oscars, and you're nominated for Best Original Song. Tell us about this incredible journey."

She smiled, her Irish accent warm yet steady. “It’s been a whirlwind, to be honest. A year ago, I was writing songs in my bedroom in Dublin. To be here now, with a song that’s connected with so many people - it’s surreal.”

“And this song, ‘Never Let Me Go’, has become a defining piece of the movie. Did you know, when you wrote it, that it would become this big?”

Lucy let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Not at all. When I wrote it, I was just trying to be honest. The film is about love, loss, and the weight of memories, and I wanted the song to capture that. It’s about holding onto someone, even when you know you have to let go.”

Cillian’s gaze remained fixed on her, his interest piqued by the way she spoke. She didn’t have the polished responses of Hollywood veterans, didn’t seem rehearsed or over-prepared. There was something refreshingly real about her.

The interviewer nodded. “And tonight, you’ll be performing it live.”

“Yes.” A flicker of nerves flashed in her eyes, though she masked them well. “It’s my first time performing on a stage this size, so no pressure.”

The interviewer laughed. “Well, we can’t wait. Lucy O’Connor, everyone.”

As she stepped away from the microphone, she turned slightly - and that was the moment her eyes met his. Lucy looked away first, stepping aside as he moved forward to take her place.

As the crowd filtered inside the Dolby Theatre, the grandeur of the space settled over Lucy in a way that made the moment feel even more surreal. She and her brother, Jamie, followed the ushers to their seats, the hum of conversation and excitement filling the air around them.

Jamie, dressed in a sharp black suit with a relaxed air about him, nudged her lightly as they sat down. “Not bad, eh?” he murmured, glancing around.

Lucy exhaled, smoothing her hands down the fabric of her dress. “Yeah, not bad at all,” she said, but there was an underlying tension in her voice. The weight of the night was pressing down on her now. It was one thing to walk the red carpet, to do an interview, to smile for the cameras - but sitting here, waiting for the ceremony to begin, knowing she would have to get up and perform in front of the entire industry? That was something else entirely.

Jamie seemed to sense her nerves because he leaned in slightly. “You’re gonna be brilliant, Lu. You always are.”

She shot him a grateful look. “Thanks, J.”

As she settled into her seat, adjusting her dress so it draped neatly around her legs, movement across the aisle caught her eye. Him.

He was sitting in the section across the aisle, a couple of rows from the front. A prime seat. Of course, he was a Best Actor nominee - one of the biggest names of the night. He belonged up there, among the legends and heavyweights of the industry. But despite being surrounded by Hollywood’s elite, he didn’t seem caught up in the pageantry. His tuxedo was sharp, but the loose bow tie at his neck gave him a slightly undone look, a quiet refusal to be overly polished. He sat with an ease that suggested he had done this countless times before, yet there was something in his expression - a certain focus, an awareness of the moment - that made it clear he didn’t take any of it for granted.

As if feeling the weight of her gaze, he turned in his seat, glancing up the aisle and for the briefest moment, their eyes met.

It was fleeting. A second, maybe less. But there was something in his expression - curiosity, recognition? - before he turned his attention forward again.

Lucy swallowed, pressing her lips together. Focus. She had bigger things to think about than whatever that had been.

The night kicked off as expected - an extravagant opening number, followed by a cascade of awards in the technical categories. The room was alive with excitement, each win met with enthusiastic applause, some more anticipated than others.

Across the aisle, Cillian sat, quiet and composed. He listened attentively to each speech, though he rarely reacted beyond a slight nod or a murmured word to the person seated beside him. If he was nervous about his own category coming up later, it didn’t show.

The ceremony continued, moving swiftly through major awards and live performances. Lucy listened intently as another Best Original Song nominee took the stage, their performance met with thunderous applause. It was a reminder - her time was coming. Soon, she would be walking up there herself, stepping onto that stage under the weight of millions of watching eyes.

Suddenly, a gentle nudge to her arm pulled Lucy out of her thoughts. She turned to see a production assistant crouching slightly beside her seat, headset in place, clipboard in hand.

“Lucy, we’re ready for you backstage.”

Slipping gracefully from her seat, she adjusted the folds of her gown as she stepped into the dimly lit side aisle. The production assistant guided her swiftly through the rows and toward a discreet exit near the stage. She kept her head high, shoulders back, even as her pulse drummed a little faster.

As she passed the front rows, she caught movement in the corner of her eye. A glance - subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable. Cillian. He had turned his head slightly, following her movement with quiet curiosity. Their eyes met for a split second. Not long enough for anything more than a brief acknowledgment, but something about the way he looked at her - calm, assessing, as if he were seeing her for the first time - made her spine straighten just a little more.

Then, just as quickly, she was gone.

Backstage was a flurry of controlled chaos. Crew members moved with silent efficiency, headsets buzzing with last-minute cues. A makeup artist did a quick touch-up to her lipstick, while another person checked the small in-ear monitor she would be wearing.

“Two minutes,” someone called.

Lucy took a slow, deep breath. She had prepared for this. She had rehearsed, refined, and visualised every second of this performance. The stage was set, the orchestra was ready, and soon, the lights would go up, and it would just be her and the music.

“Thirty seconds,” a stagehand signalled, motioning her toward the entrance to the stage.

The lights beyond the curtain shifted, the applause from the last segment fading into an expectant hush. The host’s voice echoed through the grand hall, introducing her and the song that had brought her here tonight.

Lucy stepped forward, feeling the warmth of the stage lights before she even saw them.

Then, as the first delicate notes of ‘Never Let Me Go’ filled the air, she took her place at the microphone, inhaled deeply, and let the world fade away. The notes were delicate and haunting as the piano echoed into the vast space of the Dolby Theatre. Lucy’s voice came in soft, almost fragile, weaving through the melody with an intimacy that made the enormous room feel impossibly small.

The song built slowly, a quiet ache embedded in every lyric. She sang of love slipping through fingers, of holding on even when time was cruel, of memories that refused to fade. Her voice was tender but sure, laced with raw emotion, threading seamlessly through the delicate instrumentation.

As the music swelled, so did she. The quiet ache transformed into something deeper, something urgent. Her voice lifted, soaring with controlled power, the intensity growing with each line. Every word pulsed with emotion, her conviction pouring into every note as she let herself get lost in it.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, her body moving instinctively with the rhythm. The orchestra rose behind her, the strings trembling, the piano striking through the stillness. The power of her voice now raged through the theatre, commanding the space, holding every single person captive in the palm of her hand. And then came the peak - the moment the song had been leading to. She closed her eyes, tipping her chin slightly upward as she held the final note, drawing it out, her voice ringing with raw intensity. It wasn’t just a performance - it was feeling, unfiltered and unrestrained, radiating through the room with staggering force. The sound reverberated, soaring, lingering -

Then, just as seamlessly, it softened.

The fire simmered, dissolving into something gentler, the echo of her voice fading into a whisper as the last few notes of the piano carried her to the end. The music ceased. The lights dimmed. Silence hung for the briefest moment.

And then - thunderous applause. The audience erupted. Lucy exhaled, her chest rising and falling as the weight of the moment settled over her. For a second, she was still, standing in the dim glow of the lights, the rush of adrenaline pulsing through her veins.

From her place on stage, she could see the faces in the front rows - some standing, others clapping with admiration.

And just across the aisle, in the second row from the front, Cillian Murphy sat, watching her.

Unlike the others, he didn’t immediately join the standing ovation. He sat there for a moment longer, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his eyes - something that made her chest tighten just a little.

Then, slowly, he lifted his hands and clapped. Not just polite applause. Something deeper. Something real.

Lucy inhaled sharply, her heart still hammering, and then turned away, slipping off the stage as the lights shifted back.

The host reappeared, seamlessly transitioning the audience back into the flow of the ceremony, but she barely heard the words. Instead, she stood just off to the side, out of sight, pressing a hand lightly to her stomach as she tried to steady her breath.

It had gone by so quickly. One moment she was stepping into the lights, the next she was lost in the music, pouring herself into every note, and now - now it was done.

She swallowed, exhaling through her nose. It had gone well. She knew it had gone well. But still, the nervous energy remained, tangled with the sheer magnitude of what she had just done.

A gentle hand on her arm snapped her back to reality. “Lucy, we’ll take you back to your seat now.”

She nodded, grateful for the guidance as she was ushered down a discreet hallway, back toward the theatre’s seating area. The distant hum of applause from the audience behind her slowly faded as she made her way back toward her section.

And then, as she stepped through the side entrance into the dim glow of the theatre, she felt all the eyes that flicked toward her.

A few whispered words of admiration passed between people as she moved down the aisle, a couple of familiar faces offering small, approving nods as she passed. She kept her head high, her expression composed, but beneath it all, her pulse remained rapid, her mind still caught in the echo of the song.

Jamie was already watching for her, standing slightly as she approached. “Bloody hell, Lu,” he murmured, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That was insane.”

She let out a soft, breathless laugh as she slid back into her seat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head as he clapped her on the shoulder. “You absolutely killed it.”

She barely had a moment to absorb that before movement across the aisle caught her attention. Cillian. Still in his seat, but now turned slightly, watching her. There was no grand expression of praise, no exaggerated reaction. Just him, looking at her with that same steady, unreadable gaze. And then…just the slightest nod. Barely perceptible, but there.

Acknowledgment.

Lucy held his gaze for a fraction longer than she meant to before she looked away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she shifted in her seat.

As the night unfolded, Lucy tried to settle back into her seat, but the lingering adrenaline from her performance made it impossible to fully relax. She followed the rest of the show with polite attention, applauding the winners, exchanging quiet remarks with Jamie, but beneath it all, a steady hum of anticipation coursed through her. Because her category was coming.

And then, finally, it did. The camera panned to the stage as the presenter - an acclaimed composer - stepped into the spotlight, the golden envelope in hand.

“And now, the nominees for Best Original Song.”

A reel of clips played on the massive screen above the stage, each song accompanied by scenes from the films they had been written for. Lucy barely heard the others, though she knew each track had its own powerful place in the lineup. Instead, she braced herself as the unmistakable opening notes of ‘Never Let Me Go’ filled the theatre once more, this time intertwined with scenes from the movie.

Her breath caught as she watched herself appear on the screen - her voice soaring over the imagery of the film’s most poignant moments. The montage faded, the applause swelling as the final nominee was announced. And then came the moment. The envelope was lifted. A delicate pause. A slight smile from the presenter.

“And the Oscar goes to…”

A heartbeat stretched.

“Never Let Me Go – Lucy O’Connor.”

For half a second, everything stopped. The Dolby Theatre erupted into applause, the cameras cutting to her face as she sat frozen in shock, wide-eyed and breathless.

Jamie was the first to react, grabbing her arm with an excited shake. “Holy shite, Lucy! You won!”

A stunned laugh escaped her lips before it truly hit. She had won. She had won an Oscar.

The moment jolted to life around her, and she stood shakily, her hands pressed to her chest in disbelief. The cheers were deafening, faces turning to her with admiration, some rising to their feet in applause. She barely processed it as she made her way down the aisle, the train of her teal gown sweeping behind her. As she passed the front rows, she caught movement in the corner of her vision.

Cillian was still seated, still composed - but clapping. Watching her. And this time, there was something unmistakable in his expression. A quiet sort of recognition, maybe even admiration. Then she was climbing the steps to the stage, accepting the golden statue with trembling hands, stepping up to the microphone as the room settled into an expectant hush.

She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head slightly. “I…I don’t even know where to start.”

A soft chuckle rippled through the audience.

“This is… surreal,” she admitted, her Irish accent thick with emotion. “I never thought a song I wrote in a small apartment in Dublin would bring me here. And to be part of a film as moving as this - I just feel incredibly honoured.”

She swallowed, gripping the statue tighter.

“To everyone who believed in me, to the director who trusted my music to help tell this story, to my family…”

She looked out towards Jamie who was grinning through watery eyes. “- I wouldn’t be here without you.”

Her gaze briefly flicked over the crowd, catching familiar faces, before she exhaled.

“And to anyone out there dreaming of this moment - of making music, of telling stories - just keep going.”

A final round of applause rose as the orchestra cued the exit music. Lucy took one last look at the audience before stepping away, the weight of the Oscar in her hands making everything feel a little more real.

As she made her way backstage, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

*****

As the night wound toward its climax, the final few categories brought a renewed wave of anticipation through the Dolby Theatre. Lucy, still settling into the reality of her own win, tried to focus as the last awards were announced. Best Director, then Best Actress - each met with roars of applause and emotional speeches that carried the weight of careers built over decades.

And then, finally - Best Actor.

The murmurs in the theatre quieted as the presenter, a legendary actor himself, took the stage with a knowing smile. This was the moment so many had been waiting for. The camera panned across the nominees, their faces appearing on the massive screen above.

Cillian’s name was read second.

His face filled the screen, his expression composed but unreadable, as the clip from his nominated performance played. The intensity in his eyes, the rawness in his delivery - it was no surprise he was a frontrunner. The scene ended, fading into the next nominee, and Lucy found herself sneaking a glance at him across the aisle. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t shift in his seat. If he was nervous, he didn’t show it.

Her fingers tapped lightly against her knee as the final nominee’s clip played. Then came the pause, the stretch of silence as the envelope was lifted, the anticipation thick enough to press against her skin.

“And the Oscar goes to…” The presenter opened the envelope, taking only a beat before reading the name. A smile flickered onto his face.

“Cillian Murphy.”

The Dolby Theatre erupted.

The applause was deafening, people rising to their feet almost immediately. Lucy felt her own hands come together, the energy of the room practically vibrating through her. Across the aisle, Cillian exhaled, a barely perceptible shift in his expression - surprise, maybe, or just the weight of the moment settling in.

Then he stood.

Lucy watched as he shook hands with those around him, accepting quiet congratulations as he made his way down the aisle. For the first time all night, the composed exterior cracked just slightly - just enough to reveal something real beneath it.

*****

As the ceremony wrapped, the winners were ushered backstage in waves, the buzz of excitement still thick in the air. Lucy stood with Jamie as an usher motioned for her to follow, guiding her through the side exit toward the winner’s lounge, where the engraved Oscars were being returned to their recipients.

She walked with purpose, though the weight of the night still hadn’t fully settled in. Every now and then, someone stopped her with a handshake or a quick word of congratulations - a producer, a fellow musician, even a few actors she had admired for years. It was surreal.

The energy inside the room was different from the main show - looser, more celebratory. The winners were scattered throughout the room, some holding their Oscars, others caught up in conversation. Staff moved efficiently, returning the now-engraved statues to their recipients.

A crew member spotted her and motioned her over. “Lucy O’Connor?”

She nodded, stepping forward as they carefully handed her her Oscar - now engraved with her name, solidifying the moment. She traced her fingers over the inscription.

Best Original Song – “Never Let Me Go” – Lucy O’Connor

A slow exhale left her lips. This is real.

Jamie leaned over her shoulder. “Now that’s something.”

Before she could respond, the room shifted slightly, another presence moving into the space beside her.

Cillian.

He was being handed his own Oscar, though he accepted it with quiet ease, his fingers running over the engraving much like hers had just moments before. Lucy felt her body still slightly. They had been in each other’s orbit all night - on the carpet, inside the theatre, in those passing glances. But now, standing side by side, awards in hand, there was no avoiding it. He glanced over at her, his blue eyes sharp even in the softer lighting. A beat passed.

Then, a small nod. “Congratulations.” His voice was calm, steady.

Lucy met his gaze. “You too.”

Another pause, heavier this time. She wasn’t sure why - maybe it was the weight of the moment, maybe it was just him - but something about this didn’t feel like just another passing exchange. Jamie, oblivious to whatever was unfolding, clapped his hands together. “Alright, this calls for drinks, yeah?”

Cillian barely reacted, his attention still on her for a second longer before he turned slightly, adjusting his grip on his Oscar.

She turned to Jamie, levelling him with a look. “Get me a gin and tonic, will you? I can’t stomach any more champagne.”

Jamie scoffed, shaking his head dramatically. “Gin and tonic? After winning an Oscar? God, Lu, have some dignity.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I’ll have dignity when I have a gin and tonic in my hand.”

Jamie smirked, clearly not done with his teasing. “Of all the drinks you could have, on a night like this - you go for a G&T? No whiskey? No fancy cocktail with a sparkler in it? No…”

“Just do it before I start full naming you in front of all these people,” she warned, arching a brow.

His smirk faltered. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She tilted her head. “Try me.”

Sensing he wasn’t going to win, he huffed and turned away, heading towards the bar. Cillian, still relaxed beside Lucy, suddenly looked amused. “What’s his full name?” he asked, intrigued.

Lucy glanced over, ensuring he was out of earshot and then leaned toward Cillian, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“James Francis Patrick Oisín O’Connor,” she revealed, her Irish lilt wrapping around each syllable with a teasing edge.

Cillian, mid-sip, nearly choked on his drink. He swallowed quickly, blinking at her in surprise. “Jesus, that’s…a lot.”

Lucy grinned. “I’m convinced my mam hated him at birth after putting her through a thirty-six-hour labour.”

Cillian winced. “Christ.”

“Me, on the other hand?” She gestured to herself with mock satisfaction. “Out in three hours. One middle name.”

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he lifted his glass again. “Well, I’d say you must have been the favourite, then.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” she quipped. “I like to remind him of that daily.”

Cillian smirked, taking another sip, eyes still on her. “I can see that.”

Lucy met his gaze, the easy banter settling between them like something familiar, something comfortable. And for a moment, the rest of the room - the buzz of the night, the fact that they were two Oscar winners standing here in the heart of Hollywood - faded just a little. This, whatever this was, felt effortless.

The moment between them hung in the air, light and unspoken, until the arrival of Cillian’s co-stars subtly broke it. A few of them - fellow cast members, still riding the high of their Best Picture win - approached with easy grins, calling his name, asking if he was coming to one of the after-parties.

Lucy glanced at them briefly before turning back to him, her expression composed, unreadable.

“Enjoy your night,” she murmured, her voice smooth, effortless.

Then, with a quiet grace, she turned away, her body shifting so that her back was now to him, exposing the smooth, bare expanse beneath the cascade of her chestnut hair.

Cillian’s breath slowed slightly, his glass poised near his lips but forgotten for a moment. The line of her dress dipped dangerously low, the silk clinging elegantly to her frame, the exposed skin a whisper of temptation.

His colleagues were talking - he knew they were talking - but for a brief second, his mind wandered elsewhere. The thought came unbidden, slipping through his consciousness like something inevitable.

The image of his hand trailing up her spine, fingers tracing the delicate ridges of her back, shifting her hair over one shoulder so his lips could find the nape of her neck. He could see it - feel it, almost - the warmth of her skin under his touch, the slow, deliberate press of his mouth against the soft dip where her neck met her shoulder.

And then, lower - his fingertips teasing over the short zip at the base of her spine, the smallest tug, the promise of something unravelling. Heat flickered through him, a sudden, visceral thought he hadn’t been expecting. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself back to reality, to the conversation happening around him.

“Mate, you coming or what?” One of his co-stars nudged his shoulder lightly.

Cillian blinked, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I’ll…yeah.”

He took another sip of his drink, steadying himself as he willed the thought away.

But even as he forced himself to focus, to answer, to move, the image of Lucy O’Connor’s back - of the way she had turned from him so effortlessly, unknowingly leaving that vision behind - lingered in the quiet recesses of his mind.

*****

The after party was exactly what he had expected - loud, glamorous, and filled with the kind of energy that came from people who had just spent the night winning, losing, or pretending not to care about either. Cillian had reluctantly agreed to come, not because he particularly wanted to, but because saying no had felt like too much effort after the rush of the night.

Now, he sat at a small table, half in the shadows, nursing a whisky as the world moved on around him. Conversations swirled, laughter rang out, champagne flowed endlessly, but he remained apart from it. Detached.

His fingers wrapped around the glass, the amber liquid catching the low light, but his mind was elsewhere. He thought back to her performance.

‘Never Let Me Go’

The way she had stood there, bathed in that soft, golden light, her voice curling through the theatre like something tangible. She had started soft, delicate - like a secret being told for the first time. And then, as the music swelled, so did she.

Her voice had commanded the space, raw and unrestrained. He remembered watching her from his seat, the way she had tipped her head back as she held the final note, eyes closed, completely lost in it.

It had been… captivating. Not just the song, not just the way she had performed it, but her.

And then, later, he had watched her win. Had watched the moment she realised her name had been called, the shock, the breathless laughter, the way she had held the statue in her hands like she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

And he had felt something.

Something that still sat low in his chest, even now, as he swirled his whisky in the glass and let his mind wander back to the quiet exchange they had shared after. The moment in the winner’s lounge. The way she had turned from him, unknowingly leaving him with an image he hadn’t been able to shake.

Jesus. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He had no idea what to make of any of this. All he knew was that, in a room full of the biggest names in Hollywood, with music thrumming through the walls and expensive champagne being poured at every turn - he wasn’t thinking about any of it. Just her.

His eyes flickered toward the entrance as another wave of people entered the party. He recognised many of them instantly - actors, producers, faces from the film that had brought Lucy here tonight. The people she had thanked on stage. He took another slow sip of his whisky, but his focus had shifted.

Was she with them?

The thought surfaced before he could fully process it. He shouldn’t have cared. Shouldn’t have even been looking. But something about the way the night had unfolded - the moments that had built between them, quiet yet lingering - made him wonder. His gaze swept through the group, taking in familiar faces, until…

There.

A flash of teal, weaving between them.

Lucy.

His grip on the glass tightened slightly, a slow awareness settling in his chest. She was here. Her hair, still styled in those soft waves, caught the light as she moved. The dress -the same one that had already burned itself into his memory - clung to her frame, the low-cut back making it impossible to ignore. She wasn’t trying to be the centre of attention, wasn’t forcing herself into the chaos of the party, but even still, she stood out.

His eyes tracked her movements before he could stop himself. She greeted a few familiar faces, offering warm smiles, exchanging words he couldn’t hear over the hum of conversation around him. And then, as if sensing the weight of his gaze, she glanced up and their eyes met.

Then, just as quickly, she turned away, engaging in conversation with someone else, as if she hadn’t just caught him looking. Cillian exhaled, slow and measured, tipping his whisky to his lips once more.

*****

After a while, Cillian realised he hadn’t seen her in a while. It wasn’t something he’d consciously realised until he glanced around the party and found that the familiar flash of teal was missing from the groups still celebrating. The noise had thickened, the room growing warmer with every passing hour, but the absence of her in the crowd pulled at something he couldn’t quite name.

He exhaled, leaning back in his chair before reaching for his jacket draped over it. As he slid it on, he glanced at the others at his table.

“I’m gonna take off,” he said, voice low but firm.

Predictably, a few groans of protest followed.

“Ah, come on, man -”

“You just won an Oscar, have a bit of fun -”

“We barely see you at these things -”

Cillian smirked faintly but shook his head. They knew him well enough to know this wasn’t his scene. He’d shown up, made the rounds, done his part. But he wasn’t the kind to linger in these settings longer than necessary. He muttered his goodbyes, nodding to a few familiar faces as he weaved through the party. As he stepped out into the foyer, the air was marginally cooler, the energy more subdued.

That’s when he saw her.

She was perched on a stool at one of the many bars, a glass in front of her, but something was off.

Her face - so composed, so effortlessly confident throughout the night - was tight with tension. Not obvious, but he noticed. Her shoulders weren’t as relaxed, her grip on the glass a little firmer, her eyes flicking sideways every few seconds in a way that told him she wasn’t comfortable.

Then he saw him.

A man beside her, leaning in too close, his posture too familiar, his voice low as he spoke.

Cillian didn’t recognise him - some industry type, maybe, or someone who had slipped into the party with the right connections. It didn’t matter. What mattered was her.

And the way she clearly didn’t want him there. Cillian didn’t think. He just moved. And Lucy almost felt him before she saw him. The shift in the air, the quiet presence behind her - something solid, something safe. And then, just as the man beside her reached up, fingers brushing against her arm in a way that made her skin crawl, she felt something else.

A different touch.

He slipped his hand across the bare expanse of her back, warm and steady, his fingers tucking lightly into her side as if they belonged there. And for a split second, something flickered through his mind - this is exactly how I imagined it would feel when she turned away from me earlier.

Then, low, quiet, he dipped his head towards her. “Hey,” he murmured, voice calm, assured. “You ready to go?”

Lucy blinked up at him, momentarily confused, until she caught the look in his eyes. That quiet, deliberate expression, telling her to go with it. He was giving her an out. Relief washed through her instantly.

“Yeah, I am,” she answered smoothly, offering a small, effortless smile as she reached for her bag.

The man opposite them - who had, up until now, been pushing his luck - finally seemed to pick up on the shift. The way Cillian’s presence had changed the dynamic. The way Lucy, who had been politely but tensely trying to remove herself from the situation, now had a clear way out.

The man hesitated. Then, sensing the moment slipping beyond his control, forced a polite smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

Lucy returned a brief, practiced smile. “You too.”

And then she stood, allowing Cillian to guide her away. His hand remained at her waist as they wove through the foyer, the touch not possessive, not forceful - just there. A grounding presence, solid and unwavering. He didn’t let go until they stepped fully outside, away from the mans watchful eye. The cooler air wrapping around them as the noise of the party faded behind the heavy doors.

Only then did he slip his arm away, stepping back slightly, hands sliding into his pockets. His blue eyes flickered over her, assessing.

“Sorry if I overstepped,” he said, voice quieter now.

Lucy let out a breath, smiling up at him. “No. I really appreciate it. I couldn’t seem to shake him.”

Cillian nodded once, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah. I noticed.”

There was something about the way he said it - simple, matter-of-fact, like he had been watching her for longer than she realised. Lucy tilted her head slightly. “How long were you standing there?”

His lips quirked slightly. “Long enough.”

Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something had shifted - something unspoken but felt. Finally, she exhaled, glancing at the waiting cars lining the curb.

“Are you leaving?” she asked.

Cillian nodded. “Yeah. This isn’t really my scene.”

She nodded, rubbing her hand along her arm, still feeling the phantom touch of the man she hadn’t wanted there. Cillian noticed the movement.

“Let me call you a car,” he said.

She hesitated. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he cut in, voice even. “Let me anyway.”

She studied him for a moment as he began pulling his phone from his pocket until her voice, soft and a little hesitant, made him pause.

“Umm…” Lucy started, shifting slightly on her feet. “Do you need to get back to your hotel…?”

His eyes flicked back to her, waiting.

She bit her lip briefly, then exhaled. “Can I buy you a drink?” A small, almost sheepish smile accompanied the words before she motioned loosely behind her. “Maybe somewhere a bit quieter… just as a thank you for…”

She trailed off, waving a hand toward the party they had just escaped.

Cillian didn’t respond immediately, his gaze steady, considering. She continued quickly, filling the space. “My hotel’s not far from here. It’s got a nice bar. Quiet…and I swear, I’m really trying not to make this as suggestive as it sounds.”

That made him smirk. Lucy laughed, shaking her head. “That was terrible, wasn’t it?”

Cillian let out a low chuckle, glancing down briefly before tilting his head back up at her. “A little.”

She groaned playfully. “Fantastic.”

Still, she looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He had planned to leave, to go back to his hotel, maybe have one last drink alone in his room before finally letting the night settle. But this felt different. This felt… interesting. He slipped his hands from his pockets, considering her for another second before he finally nodded.

“Alright,” he murmured. “One drink.”

Lucy’s eyes lit up, relief and amusement dancing in them.

“One drink,” she agreed.

The ride to her hotel was quiet but not uncomfortable. The city lights flickered through the window, casting soft glows of gold and blue against the darkened streets. Lucy sat back, her fingers absently smoothing over the silk of her dress as she let the hum of the car settle her. Beside her, Cillian was relaxed, one elbow resting lightly against the edge of the door, gaze flicking briefly toward her before returning to the streets outside.

Neither of them spoke much, but something about the silence felt intentional - like neither of them wanted to break whatever unspoken thing had settled between them since stepping out of that party together.

When they pulled up outside the hotel, Cillian followed her inside, past the grand, quiet lobby and toward the dimly lit bar tucked in the corner. It was warm, intimate, with only a handful of patrons occupying the sleek stools and leather booths.

Lucy led the way to a small table near the back, where the low golden light barely reached, and slid into a seat. Cillian followed, unhurried, settling across from her just as a waiter appeared. He was young, bright-eyed, probably eager to please given the kind of clientele this hotel likely attracted. He stood a little straighter when he saw who had just walked in.

“Good evening,” he greeted, polite but clearly trying not to look too starstruck. “What can I get for you?”

Lucy smiled, glancing at Cillian before answering. “Gin and tonic, please.”

Cillian smirked slightly at that but said nothing. The waiter nodded before turning to him. “And for you, sir?”

“Whiskey,” Cillian said simply. “Neat.”

“Of course. I’ll bring those right out.” The waiter left quickly, disappearing behind the polished bar.

A beat of silence. Then, he leaned slightly forward, resting an arm casually against the table.

“So,” he murmured, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Tell me, Lucy O’Connor…do you always lure unsuspecting men to hotel bars after winning an Oscar?”

She grinned. “Only the ones who save me from creeps at parties.”

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head, but the warmth in his expression never faded. The drinks arrived then, set down in front of them with quiet efficiency. The waiter left them with a polite nod, leaving them in the soft quiet of the bar.

Lucy took a sip of her drink, the cool bitterness of the gin and tonic grounding her after the whirlwind of the night. The bar was quiet, the music low, the kind of place where people spoke in hushed tones rather than the raucous energy of the party they’d just left behind.

Cillian’s whiskey glass resting loosely in his fingers. He looked comfortable, if a little tired, but still present in a way she hadn’t expected. She had assumed he would’ve left the party and disappeared into the night, yet here he was - sitting with her.

“I have to admit,” she said, setting her glass down, “I didn’t think you’d say yes to this.”

His lips twitched slightly, amused. “To the drink?”

She tilted her head. “You don’t seem like the stay out late for a casual drink with someone you barely know type.”

Cillian hummed, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. “I’m not, usually.”

Lucy ran a finger along the rim of her glass, watching him. “So, are you regretting it yet?”

Cillian met her gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “No,” he said simply.

Her chest tightened slightly at that. Not in a nervous way. In a way that made her aware of him, of the way his presence settled so easily into the space around her. She took another sip of her drink, swallowing down the warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Good,” she murmured. “I’d hate for you to suffer through my company.”

Cillian smirked, his thumb tapping lightly against his glass. “I think I’ll survive.”

And just like that, the conversation stretched on, slipping into something that neither of them seemed in a rush to end. Lucy reached up, absentmindedly fiddling with the diamond earrings that hung from her ears, the soft glow of the bar’s lighting catching the sparkle in them. It was a small movement, something done without thinking, but Cillian noticed it. He noticed everything.

She took another slow sip of her drink, her gaze momentarily flicking away, lost in thought. And for a moment, he let himself look. Really look. She had the kind of features that lingered - elegant but not forced, striking without trying to be. There was a quiet confidence in the way she carried herself, but beneath it, there was something else. A depth, an awareness, a sharpness that he knew wasn’t just for show.

Her chestnut hair, still loosely curled from the night, framed her face in soft waves, a few strands slipping forward over her shoulder. Her skin was smooth under the dim lighting, her lips slightly parted after her last sip of gin, a faint sheen of condensation left on her fingertips from the glass. She was beautiful. That much was obvious. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way she held herself. The way she watched people, read them. The way she had handled that moment earlier - poised, even when she had clearly been uncomfortable. She wasn’t just someone who had landed in the middle of all of this. She was aware of it. Of the power in a glance, in a smile, in a carefully chosen moment.

And yet, right now, sitting across from him in this quiet bar, away from the flashing cameras and the spectacle of the night - she just seemed… real. Lucy felt his gaze then, like a shift in the air, and slowly looked back up at him.

“What?” she asked, her voice quiet but curious.

Cillian took a sip of his whiskey, letting the warmth settle before answering. “Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, as if trying to decide whether or not to believe him. But then, instead of pressing, she smirked and leaned forward just a fraction. “You stare a lot,” she mused.

Cillian smirked right back. “You fidget a lot.”

Her fingers stilled against her earring for a beat before she exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Fair point.”

She exhaled and leaned in slightly, propping her elbow against the table as she twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. “So… tell me about you,” she said, her voice light, curious. “You’re from Cork, right?”

Cillian nodded, taking another sip of his whiskey. “I am. Am I catching a Dublin accent from you?”

She smirked. “Born and bred.”

His lips twitched slightly. “Thought so.”

She tilted her head. “Still got family in Cork?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I live just outside Dublin now, but my family’s still down there.”

Lucy hummed. “You get back much?”

“As much as I can,” he admitted. “It’s home, you know?”

Her gaze softened slightly as she nodded. “Yeah. There’s something about leaving Ireland that makes you feel it more, doesn’t it? The second you’re away from it, you start feeling like you need to claim it, even more than you did when you were actually there.”

Cillian chuckled at that, tipping his glass toward her slightly. “Exactly.”

They slipped into easy conversation from there, the warmth of familiarity threading through it. They talked about family, about home, about the little things that made Ireland feel like Ireland - things only someone who had grown up there would understand. The corner shops, the rain that never quite stopped, the very specific sense of humour that Irish people carried like second nature.

It felt natural, effortless, like they weren’t two people sitting in a fancy hotel bar after one of the biggest nights of their careers. Just two people, talking. And for the first time that night, it felt like the world outside of this conversation didn’t matter at all.

They finished their drinks at an unhurried pace, the conversation stretching between them in a way that felt effortless, like they could have gone on for hours without noticing. But eventually, the glasses sat empty, the ice melting slowly at the bottom.

Lucy glanced down at hers, running her finger over the rim before lifting her gaze back to him. “I suppose that’s the one drink done,” she murmured, a small smile playing on her lips as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Cillian smirked slightly, his fingers tapping absently against the side of his empty whisky glass. “It is.”

There was something lingering in the space between them - something unspoken but undeniable. The kind of thing that existed in the space between words, in the way her eyes held his just a second too long, in the way he hadn’t quite leaned back yet, as if neither of them was quite ready to walk away.

Lucy exhaled, glancing around briefly before looking back at him. “I’m glad you came.”

He studied her for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Me too.”

Another pause, but this one felt different. Like they were standing at the edge of something, waiting to see if either of them would step forward.

Lucy tilted her head slightly, her voice softer now. “You heading back, then?”

Cillian considered that for a second longer than he probably should have. He should go. That had been the plan. But as he looked at her, sitting across from him in this dimly lit bar, her teal dress still effortlessly draped over her, her presence still as magnetic as it had been hours ago - he realised he wasn’t quite ready for the night to be over.

“I’d like to stay,” Cillian said, his voice low, deliberate. Then he leaned in just a fraction, the kind of movement that felt natural, unforced. His blue eyes held hers, steady and sure. “I mean, if you want to get another… or two…”

Her lips parted slightly, the suggestion settling between them, stretching out in the quiet space of the bar. She didn’t answer right away. She just watched him. The way he said it - not just as a casual offer, but as something intentional. As if he wasn’t just asking about another drink. As if there was an unspoken question layered beneath it, one that neither of them had quite put into words yet. A slow smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“Well,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “It’d be rude to leave you sitting here alone, wouldn’t it?”

Cillian exhaled a quiet chuckle, his fingers tapping idly against the table. “Terribly rude.”

Lucy smirked, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. Then, without another word, she lifted her hand to catch the waiter’s attention. As he approached, she glanced at Cillian once more. “One more?” she asked, teasing.

Cillian leaned back slightly, smirking. “At least.”

Lucy let her fingers drift from her collarbone to the silk strap of her dress, absently adjusting it as she spoke. “I never did say thanks for saving me back there.”

Cillian’s gaze flickered to her fingers for the briefest moment before lifting back to meet hers. “You don’t have to,” he murmured.

But she shook her head and without hesitation, she reached across the table and placed her hand over his. It was warm, steady - deliberate, her expression softer now. “I do.”

Cillian’s fingers tensed beneath hers for half a second, just barely, before he let them relax. He didn’t move, didn’t shift away, just let her touch rest there, solid and unspoken. Lucy exhaled softly. “I didn’t feel like I could do anything without making a scene,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, more real. “You couldn’t have appeared at a better time.”

Cillian studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but there was something behind his eyes - something sharp, something knowing.

He turned his hand slightly under hers, just enough so that his fingers lightly curled around the side of her palm. “Timing’s everything,” he said simply.

The weight of the moment settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable. The bar, the people around them, the rest of the night - it all faded into the background.

All that existed was the warmth of her hand on his, the slow drag of her fingertips against his skin, the flicker of something unspoken hanging in the air.

Lucy suddenly straightened, as if catching herself, and slid her hand back, breaking the contact. “Sorry,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

Cillian’s fingers flexed slightly where her touch had just been, the warmth of it still lingering against his skin. But he didn’t push, didn’t question it. He simply tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You don’t have to be,” he said, voice even.

She let out a soft breath, reaching for her glass again, though she didn’t immediately take a sip. Instead, she let her fingers rest against the cool surface, her gaze flicking somewhere past him, like she was trying to ground herself. The shift between them was subtle, but it was there. A moment of something real, something unguarded, slipping between them before she had pulled herself back. Cillian didn’t look away.

“Lucy,” he said gently, drawing her focus back to him.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but she hesitated. Instead, she just exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Cillian smirked faintly, leaning forward slightly, just enough to close the space between them again. “I think you do.”

Lucy’s lips curved into a soft smile as she lifted her glass, taking a slow sip. “Do I?”

Cillian didn’t look away, didn’t let the moment slip. His gaze remained steady, unwavering. “Mm hmm,” he stated simply, his voice low, confident.

Lucy arched a brow, intrigued. “Care to enlighten me?”

She smirked, taking another sip, the whisky settling warm in her chest. Cillian exhaled a quiet chuckle, rolling the glass between his fingers. “I could.”

She tilted her head slightly, watching him, the tease still playing at the edge of her lips. “But?”

“But I think you already know,” he murmured.

Lucy let the words settle between them, the slow pull of something unspoken hanging in the air. She could feel it—the shift, the weight of his attention, the way he wasn’t just looking at her, but reading her.

She swallowed, the whisky lingering on her tongue, and smirked again. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Cillian smirked right back, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass. “Not always.”

Lucy leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the table. “But right now?”

He held her gaze, his smirk softening, his expression turning unreadable.

“Right now,” he murmured, “yeah.”

The way he said it - slow, deliberate - sent something warm curling low in her stomach.

And for the first time all night, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to tease him anymore. Lucy tilted her head, eyes glinting with something teasing, something challenging - but beneath it, there was honesty.

“What do you want me to say?” she murmured, her voice smooth, controlled. “You want me to tell you that I want you? That I’ve wanted you since the minute I saw you on that carpet?”

She watched him carefully, waiting for a reaction. And she got one. It wasn’t obvious - not something anyone else in the room would pick up on - but she felt it. The way his body stilled just slightly, the way his grip on his glass tightened, the way his gaze darkened ever so subtly, sharpening with something heavier than amusement. Cillian exhaled slowly, setting his whisky down with deliberate ease. He leaned in, resting his forearm against the table, his voice lower when he spoke.

“No,” he murmured. “I don’t need you to tell me.”

Since the moment she had turned from him on that carpet, since the moment she had looked at him across the aisle in the theatre, since the moment she had let her hand linger over his - he had known. And the way he was looking at her now? Made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, he had felt it too.

Lucy nodded, the decision settling within her. Then, without breaking eye contact, she threw back the last of her drink in one smooth motion, the warmth of it burning down her throat.

She stood, slow and deliberate, reaching for her clutch. “I think I’m going to head upstairs,” she murmured, adjusting the strap of her dress slightly. “Might have a drink on the balcony.”

Cillian didn’t move, didn’t react - not outwardly, at least. But his eyes tracked her, watching as she stepped toward the bar.

She rested her fingers lightly on the counter, glancing at the bartender. “Can you just charge those drinks to room 648, please?”

The bartender nodded, and she turned back, meeting Cillian’s gaze once more.

There was nothing in her expression that was rushed, nothing uncertain. Just a quiet, knowing offer woven into the moment. Then, without another word, she moved toward the door of the bar. She didn’t look back again. She moved through the dimly lit hallway, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she reached the elevator. She pressed the up button, then stood there, exhaling slowly as she waited for the doors to open.

Her heart wasn’t racing - not quite - but there was a slow, steady anticipation curling low in her stomach. She could still feel him back in the bar. The weight of his gaze. The silence of his decision forming.

She hadn’t rushed. She hadn’t needed to look back. Because if this was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be because of a glance over her shoulder or a playful smirk. It was going to be because he chose to follow.

The elevator chimed softly, and the doors slid open. She stepped inside, pressing the button for her floor. She turned slightly, her eyes drifting across the lobby and there he was, standing at the edge of the bar’s entrance, his hands still in his pockets, his expression unreadable - but his eyes locked on hers.

For a second, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, deliberately, he pushed away from the doorframe and started toward her. Lucy’s fingers hovered over the close door button, teasing, but she didn’t press it. She just stood there, watching him approach, and just as the doors started to slide shut, his hand reached out, catching them. He stepped inside, the space suddenly feeling smaller, warmer. Neither of them spoke.

As they got off the elevator on her floor, she walked towards her room, pulling her key card from her bag as she opened it up. She moved inside and held the door open just long enough for him to follow before she let it swing shut behind him, the soft click of the lock settling into the quiet space between them.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t look back as she moved toward the mini bar, slipping easily into the room’s low, golden light.

Cillian watched as she lifted two glasses, her movements smooth, practiced, before she reached for the whiskey. The rich amber liquid poured easily into each glass, the faint clink of ice against glass the only sound breaking the stillness.

Then, without a word, she stepped out of her heels, the soft sigh of her bare feet meeting the carpet making something flicker in his chest.

She lifted one of the glasses, turning toward him, her steps slow, deliberate. And then she was in front of him. Closer than they had been before. She held out the glass, and when he reached for it, their fingers brushed - just for a second, just enough for the warmth of her skin to press into his.

She took a slow step back, moving toward the balcony doors, the city lights casting faint shadows across the room. She reached for the handle, sliding it open. Without looking back, she stepped outside, the soft fabric of her dress shifting against her skin as she leaned against the railing. She felt him hesitate. Just for a second. But then, he stepped onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing against his skin as he let the door slide shut behind him. The distant hum of the city stretched out below, a quiet contrast to the stillness between them.

He placed his glass down on the small table beside them, but his focus wasn’t on the drink. It was on her.

Lucy stood at the railing, her fingers resting lightly against the metal, her gaze somewhere beyond the skyline. Then, in one slow, effortless movement, she reached up, gathering her hair and pulling it over one shoulder.

His breath slowed. The smooth expanse of her back, already lingering in his thoughts since the moment he saw her in that dress, was now right in front of him - bare, inviting, the silk of the gown dipping impossibly low, revealing the delicate curve of her spine.

His eyes drifted, drawn to the subtle way her skin caught the light, to the way the fabric clung in all the right places. He flexed his fingers, shoving his hands into his pockets, resisting the pull - the urge - to reach out. The tension between them was no longer unspoken. It was thick, palpable, stretching with every second that passed in silence. And Cillian wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand there without touching her.

Eventually, his hand lifted, fingers reaching out, hovering just above the smooth expanse of her back. He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before finally touching. His fingertips ghosted over her skin, barely a whisper of contact, tracing along the delicate ridge of her spine. Lucy inhaled sharply. Not loud, not exaggerated - just a small, barely perceptible hitch in her breath.

But he noticed.

His fingers trailed lower, slow and deliberate, tracing down to the base of where her dress dipped before dragging back up again, his knuckles brushing lightly against her skin as if memorising the feeling. She leaned into it - just the slightest shift, the kind of movement that wasn’t obvious but was felt.

Cillian swallowed, his gaze fixated on the way her skin reacted to his touch, the way goosebumps rose in the wake of his fingers. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low. Rough. “You knew I’d follow you up here, didn’t you?”

Lucy exhaled, turning her head slightly, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder, her eyes dark with something unreadable. “I hoped you would,” she admitted, her voice smooth, steady.

Cillian let his fingers drift higher, brushing the loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck, his thumb just barely tracing along her shoulder. Then, dipping his head slightly, his lips hovered – just- above her skin.

His breath was warm against her skin as he lingered, his lips lingering just above the nape of her neck. He had imagined this moment earlier - had felt the pull of it the second she turned away from him at the party, leaving him with the thought of tracing his mouth along the delicate curve of her spine.

And now, with her standing in front of him, her skin bare, exposed to the night air and to him, he finally gave in.

His lips grazed her skin - soft, deliberate. A barely-there kiss, more of a test than anything else, but the way Lucy inhaled, the way her body reacted to him, had something tightening in his chest. He felt the way she stilled beneath him, felt the way her breath came just a fraction sharper.

His hand, still resting against her back, splayed slightly, his fingertips pressing into the base of her spine as he traced another kiss, this time slightly lower. Lucy exhaled, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, offering him more. It was all the invitation he needed. His lips moved along her skin, trailing down the exposed curve of her shoulder, his breath warm against the cool night air. His fingers skimmed upward, teasing along the silk strap of her dress, as if testing how easily it might fall.

Cillian let out a slow breath, his lips still hovering just above her skin. His fingers traced idle patterns against her spine, his other hand still teasing the strap of her dress.

He let his fingers drift lower, his palm pressing lightly against the base of her back, his thumb skimming along the dip of her waist. He pressed another kiss to her shoulder, letting his lips linger against her skin before pulling back just slightly.

“I thought the second I touched you,” he admitted, his breath warm against her skin, “I wouldn’t want to stop.”

Lucy turned in his hold then, slow and deliberate, until she was facing him, her back now pressed lightly against the railing. Her eyes searched his, dark with something unreadable.

“And do you?” she asked softly.

His jaw tensed, his fingers flexing slightly at her waist.

“Not even a little,” he admitted.

Lucy smirked, tilting her chin up slightly, her fingers trailing down the front of his shirt. “Then don’t.”

Cillian’s restraint snapped. His hand came up, cupping the back of her neck as he finally closed the space between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was anything but careful. Lucy’s hands slid up over his shoulders, her fingers tracing the tense line of muscle beneath his shirt before curling around the fabric of his jacket. She didn’t rush - she savoured, feeling the way his body reacted beneath her touch, the way his breath grew heavier against her skin. The fabric slipped down his arms, and she caught it, gripping it for just a second before turning and dropping it onto the chair beside them, her movements fluid, controlled.

His hands found her waist again, his thumbs brushing slow, teasing circles against her skin where the dress dipped low at her back.

Lucy moved slowly, deliberately, beginning to undo each button of his shirt with a steady precision that made Cillian’s breath grow heavier with every passing second. She didn’t rush, didn’t fumble - just took her time, letting her fingertips graze against his skin as she parted the fabric of his shirt.

When the last button slipped free, she exhaled softly, her breath catching slightly as she took in the sight of him.

Her hands, unashamed now, travelled over the firm lines of his abdomen, her fingers tracing the defined muscles, the warmth of his skin beneath her palms making something tighten low in her stomach.

Her touch was soft but sure, her fingers pressing lightly against his ribs, dragging lower, memorising every ridge, every contour.

Lucy’s gaze flicked up to his, her lips parting slightly, as if she wanted to say something - but no words came. Instead, she turned away from him slowly, her body shifting as she placed her stomach against the cool metal railing. The night air kissed her skin, a contrast to the warmth still lingering between them. She reached up, gathering her hair in one fluid motion, pulling it over her shoulder to expose the bare expanse of her back once more. Then, just as smoothly, she glanced at him over her shoulder.

Inviting.

Cillian’s breath caught slightly. His fingers flexed at his sides as his eyes traced the exposed curve of her spine, the delicate slope of her shoulders, the way the silk of her dress clung to her waist. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck once more, his breath warm against her skin as his hands found the small zipper at the base of her spine. Slowly, deliberately, he slid it down. The soft hum of the zipper lowering was the only sound between them, apart from the steady rhythm of their breaths.

Lucy remained still beneath his touch, her hands resting lightly on the railing, her body pliant, waiting.

His fingers slipped beneath the delicate straps of her dress, tracing over her shoulders as he touched her gently, coaxing her to turn back toward him. She did, moving effortlessly, until she was facing him once more, her eyes dark, expectant.

Cillian held her gaze as he gripped the straps, pausing for just a moment, giving her the chance to stop him. With one smooth motion, he pulled the straps down, letting the fabric slip over her skin, revealing her bare to him. His breath stilled. He had imagined - fantasised - about this moment in fragments all night, but nothing compared to the reality of her standing in front of him now, illuminated only by the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the balcony.

Lucy exhaled softly, her fingers lifting to rest lightly against his chest, waiting for him to say something, to do something. Cillian swallowed, his voice low, rough when he finally spoke.

“You are,” he murmured, his hands sliding up her sides, his touch reverent, “fucking breathtaking.”

Lucy kissed him deeply, her body pressing against his as she gently guided him backward. He let her, following the movement, his hands exploring every inch of exposed skin he could reach. His fingers reached behind him, fumbling for the sliding door, and with one firm push, he sent it open. The cool air of the balcony faded as they stepped inside, the dim glow of the hotel room wrapping around them. And then, just as smoothly, she pushed him onto the bed.

Cillian barely had time to react before he was sinking into the mattress, watching as she turned to the window. Her dress, still resting around her hips, swayed with the motion as she reached for the curtains, drawing them closed, sealing them in. When she turned back to him, her gaze was steady, unwavering. She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, stopping just in front of him. He instinctively rested his hands on her hips, his grip firm as his fingers curled into the silk gathered around her waist. He tugged the fabric down inch by inch, letting it glide over the curves of her body before finally letting it slip past her hips, falling in a whisper of silk to the floor.

He pulled back slightly, his breath still uneven, his hands still resting at her sides. But when he looked at her, really looked, his eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

The entire night.

On the carpet, in the theatre, walking the stage, standing beside him at the bar -

She had been completely naked beneath that dress.

His gaze dragged slowly down her body, taking in every inch of her now bare before him, before flicking back up to meet her eyes. Lucy smirked, watching the realisation settle over him, a quiet, knowing satisfaction dancing in her expression. Cillian let out a slow exhale, his jaw tightening as his hands flexed at her waist.

“Jesus Christ, Lucy,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost wrecked.

She tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering behind her darkened gaze. “Problem?”

Cillian let out a low, breathless chuckle, shaking his head as he traced his hands over her bare skin, possessive now, as if he needed to make up for the fact that he hadn’t known before.

“Not even a little,” he admitted, voice thick with something deeper.

Then, in one fluid motion, his hands gripped her thighs, lifting her effortlessly before laying her down onto the bed beneath him. Her legs parted slightly, a silent invitation, as she propped herself up on her elbows, watching him. Cillian moved to stand at the edge of the bed, his hands moving to the buttons of his trousers. He worked them open, his movements unhurried but deliberate, the weight of her gaze making his pulse drum harder beneath his skin. He pushed the fabric down, letting them fall to the floor.

Lucy’s eyes flickered downward, her breath catching just slightly as her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Her gaze lingered, dark with something raw, something undeniable.

Then, lifting her chin slightly, she met his eyes again and said, without a hint of hesitation -

“And those.”

A demand. Not a request. Cillian exhaled sharply, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest, but there was nothing playful in the way he looked at her now - only heat, only want, only her. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, his movements slow, measured, letting her watch, letting her wait.

Then, without breaking her gaze, he pushed them down.

And from the way her lips parted, from the way her breath hitched just slightly, he knew he had her exactly where he wanted. He moved, climbing onto he bed, his hand drifted slowly, deliberately, trailing down the soft curve of her body as he deepened the kiss. His fingers traced over the dip of her waist, the smooth expanse of her stomach, before sliding lower.

Lucy gasped against his lips as he found her, his touch firm but teasing, parting her legs with ease. He groaned softly, feeling just how ready she was for him, how her body responded instantly to his touch.

“Fuck, Lucy…” he murmured against her lips, his breath warm, voice thick with something wrecked, something desperate.

She arched into him, her nails scraping lightly down his back as he circled his fingers over her with slow, torturous precision. Her head tipped back, exposing her throat to him, and he took advantage of it immediately, his mouth moving to her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against her skin. Her breath hitched, her hips shifting beneath him, chasing more, and Cillian smirked against her skin.

“Patience,” he teased, his voice rough but playful, even as he applied more pressure, coaxing another gasp from her lips.

He moved down her body with slow, deliberate intent, his lips leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses across her skin. His fingers never stopped moving, never stopped working her, keeping her on edge, keeping her breathless beneath him.

Lucy’s head tipped back against the pillows, her body arching as he pushed her legs further apart, settling himself between them. His mouth trailed lower, teasing along her stomach, his breath warm, possessive, as he pressed kisses down the soft inside of her thighs. She gasped, her fingers threading into his hair, tugging slightly, urging him on.

Cillian smirked against her skin, lingering, savouring, dragging out the anticipation until he felt her legs tremble slightly beneath his grip. Then, finally, his mouth found her. Lucy let out a sharp, choked moan, her back arching as he devoured her, his hands gripping her thighs as he pulled her against him. Cillian groaned low against her, the sound vibrating through her body, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to her core.

“Oh my God, Cillian,” Lucy gasped, her voice breaking as pleasure surged through her.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, holding him exactly where she needed him, her hips shifting instinctively toward his mouth, toward the devastating rhythm of his tongue. Cillian groaned in response, the vibration sending another wave of sensation through her. His hands pressed firmly against her thighs, keeping her spread open for him, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. He was relentless, his mouth working her with expert precision, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deep, consuming pressure that had her gasping, begging for more. Lucy writhed beneath him, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts, her body burning from the inside out.

“Cillian – fuck - ” she choked out, her back arching as she pulled at his hair, her thighs trembling against his grip.

He loved hearing her like this. Loved knowing that he was unravelling her completely, dragging her higher, pushing her closer. And when he finally slipped his fingers back inside her, curling just right, his name tore from her lips again, wrecked and desperate, as she shattered beneath him.

Cillian didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Not until he had wrung every last drop of pleasure from her, not until she was gasping, trembling, her body completely undone beneath him.

Only then did he finally pull away, his lips trailing back up her body, his mouth brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Say it again.”

“Cillian,” Lucy whispered into his ear, her voice soft but wrecked, still breathless from everything he’d just done to her.

Cillian exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against hers as he let himself feel the moment, the warmth of her skin against his, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way she still trembled slightly beneath him. His hands skimmed over her sides, slow and reverent, as if memorising every inch of her.

“Fuck, Lucy…” he murmured, his voice thick, raw. He exhaled sharply, his body tense above hers, his self-control dangling by a thread. But before he could respond, before he could even think, her hand slipped between them, wrapping around him, her touch firm, knowing.

Cillian groaned low in his throat, his forehead pressing against hers as his hips jerked slightly into her grasp, the sensation of her hands on him unravelling him completely.

“Lucy…” he breathed, his voice strained, wrecked, as he fought to hold onto the last shred of restraint he had left. She smirked, just slightly, her thumb stroking along his length, slow, teasing, torturous.

“Tell me you want me.” she murmured, her lips brushing against his, teasing but needing, too.

Cillian’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping her hips tight as he hovered over her, his breath heavy, uneven.

His lips barely ghosted over hers as he whispered, his voice low, possessive. “I need you, Lucy.”

Then, with one smooth, fluid motion, he guided himself against her, teasing her just enough to make her gasp, and then, he pushed inside. Lucy’s body reacted before she could even think - her hips lifting, meeting him halfway, her legs wrapping firmly around his waist, pulling him deeper. A gasp escaped her lips, pleasure shooting through her like wildfire as her body adjusted to the stretch of him, the perfect way he fit against her.

Cillian groaned, his forehead nearly dropping to her shoulder, the sensation of finally being inside her too much and not enough all at once. His fingers tightened against her hips, holding her there as he tried to steady himself. Her hand slipped up, finding his cheek, her fingers curling against his skin as she forced him to look at her.

“Cillian,” she whispered, her breath hot, her eyes burning with something deep, something real.

His blue eyes flickered open, dark, wrecked, locking onto hers. He felt everything in that moment - the way she held him, the way her body clung to him, inviting, demanding. The way she needed him just as much as he needed her. Lucy swallowed hard, her thumb stroking along his jaw, her voice softer now, but no less certain.

“I want to see you.”

Cillian swore under his breath, something breaking in him at her words, at the way she was undoing him completely.

Then, with a deep, measured breath, he pulled back slowly - just enough to make her feel it - before thrusting forward again, setting a rhythm that was deliberate, intense, unrelenting. Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, Cillian’s thrusts deep and relentless, pulling soft cries from Lucy’s lips each time he hit exactly where she needed him. Her nails raked down his back, her legs tightening around his hips as she gasped, her breath breaking apart with every movement.

“Cillian…” she gasped, her voice breathless, desperate. “Keep going, God - harder.”

Cillian groaned, his jaw tightening, his control hanging by a thread as he obeyed, gripping her hips and driving into her with more intensity, more force, pulling another sharp, wrecked moan from her lips. He felt the exact moment she unravelled beneath him, the way her body tightened, clenched, her back arching as her release hit her like a wave. She cried out, gripping onto him, holding him there as she shattered around him.

“Fuck, Lucy,” he growled, his rhythm faltering as the sensation of her pulsing around him nearly undid him right then and there. But he held on, barely, chasing his own release, his breath ragged against her skin.

Lucy didn’t let him think, didn’t let him slow. Her lips found his, kissing him deeply, hungrily. Then his cheekbones, his jaw, trailing kisses along his skin as he groaned against her mouth.

And then, as his movements grew erratic, as his restraint slipped entirely, she nipped at his earlobe, tugging lightly with her teeth before whispering, “Let go, Cillian.”

That was it. His breath caught, his hands gripped onto her, and with one final, deep thrust, he broke. His release crashed over him like a tidal wave, a guttural groan tearing from his lips as he lost himself in her completely, his body tensing, then shuddering against hers as he gave in.

Lucy held him through it, her hands soothing over his damp skin, her lips still pressing soft, lingering kisses along his jaw as his breath slowed, his body still pressed perfectly against hers.

Cillian let out a slow breath, his body still pressed against hers as he reluctantly pulled out of her, the loss of contact making them both ache just slightly.

Lucy exhaled softly, shifting onto her side as she pulled the sheet up over herself, tucking it beneath her arms. The silk of it barely covered her, but she wasn’t in any rush to fix it. She was too warm, too wrecked, too content.

Cillian moved beside her, mirroring her position, one arm bent beneath his head as he watched her, his expression softer now, calmer.

Then, out of nowhere, she laughed.

Not forced, not exaggerated - just genuine.

She shook her head, glancing up at him, her eyes still heavy-lidded from pleasure but shining with something else.

“I don’t understand any of this night,” she murmured, amusement lacing her tone. “I woke up this morning on my own, getting ready for an awards show I’ve spent twenty years watching on TV… and now…”

She gestured vaguely between them, her fingers brushing over his bare chest before dropping to the mattress.

“I don’t know how I got here.”

Cillian leaned in, pressing his lips to hers again, slow and lingering. “Don’t overthink it. Just…be here.”

They lay there, her wrapped up alongside him as he trailed his fingers up and down her spine. They spoke, about the night, about life back in Ireland, about anything until his hand shifted down around her hip, pulling her to him, his grip firm but unhurried, his hand slipping into her hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands as he kissed her. His other hand traced the curve of her waist, his palm warm against her bare skin, possessive in the way he held her.

He broke away just enough to murmur against her lips, his breath hot, voice thick.

“I knew from the minute I saw you,” he confessed, his forehead pressing lightly to hers, his fingers tightening in her hair, “I wanted you.”

Lucy’s breath caught, her hands sliding over his chest, holding him now, as if grounding herself. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her body still warm, still humming from the way he had touched her before.

Her fingers traced along his collarbone, her gaze locked onto his. “And now that you have me?”

Cillian smirked, but it was softer this time, something deeper lurking beneath it. His hand slid down, pressing firmly into the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.

“Now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers, “I’m not fucking done with you yet.”

Lucy laughed softly against his lips, the sound teasing, light, but cut off almost instantly when Cillian’s hand moved. He slid his fingers between her legs once more, finding her with ease, his touch confident, knowing exactly what she needed. Her breath hitched, the laughter melting into a sharp gasp as her body reacted instantly, her thighs parting just slightly to give him more.

Cillian smirked against her mouth, his fingers moving with slow, torturous precision, dragging through her heat before pressing exactly where she needed him.

“Not laughing now, are you?” he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, but full of something darker, something wrecked.

Lucy swallowed hard, her fingers gripping onto his shoulders as pleasure curled through her, wiping away every ounce of composure she had left.

“Cillian…” she gasped, her body arching into his touch, chasing the friction, chasing him.

His lips found her jaw, his breath hot against her skin as he worked her open again, pushing her closer, his control over her absolute.

“Christ, I love the way you say my name like that,” he growled, pressing deeper, curling his fingers inside her in a way that had her breaking beneath him.

Lucy let her body surrender completely to him as she lay back against the sheets, her legs falling open, welcoming him in a way that left no room for hesitation.She wanted this. Needed this.

Needed him.

Cillian saw it and felt it, and with a slow, deliberate smirk, he rewarded her by slipping in another finger, stretching her further, his pace steady but relentless as he began to move down her body.

Lucy gasped, her back arching as her hands clutched at the sheets, pleasure surging through her at the added pressure, the delicious way he worked her body with ease.

“Fuck, Lucy…” Cillian groaned, watching her fall apart beneath him, completely open, completely his. He loved seeing her like this - raw, undone, completely at his mercy. His lips found her thigh, kissing, nipping, teasing as his fingers continued their slow, devastating rhythm. Her breath came in short, desperate bursts, her body trembling, chasing the release he was so clearly holding just out of reach.

“Cillian…” she gasped, her hands reaching for him now, her voice thick, pleading.

Cillian exhaled a rough chuckle, dipping his head lower, pressing his lips just above where she needed him most.

“Tell me what you want, Lucy,” he murmured against her skin, his fingers curling inside her just right, making her cry out. Her hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as she pulled him toward her.

“I want you,” she breathed, her voice wrecked, desperate.

Cillian groaned, his self-control shattering. Lucy continued to tug him toward her with a need that was no longer restrained, no longer teased…it was demanding. Her hips lifted to meet his mouth, seeking more, chasing the pleasure he was giving her, and Cillian let her…let her guide him, let her take what she needed. And fuck, he loved it.

His grip on her thighs tightened as he anchored her, keeping her exactly where he wanted, exactly where she wanted. His tongue worked her expertly, with the same relentless precision as his fingers had, flicking, devouring, sending shockwaves through every inch of her. Lucy gasped, her body shaking, her fingers tightening in his hair as she tried to hold onto something, anything, but she was already slipping, already teetering on the edge.

“Cillian…fuck.” she gasped, her breath breaking, her thighs trembling against him.

Cillian groaned against her, the vibration sending another wave of heat rushing through her. He could feel it…how close she was, how her body was already tightening around him, already there. And when she cried out his name again, her back arched, her breath catching as pleasure consumed her.

Lucy barely let herself breathe before she moved, shifting with purpose, determination, flipping the moment entirely as she pushed him onto his back. Cillian let out a rough groan, caught off guard for half a second, but fuck, he let her. Welcomed it. His hands went to her hips instinctively, but she wasn’t waiting for him to take control. Her lips crashed into his, claiming, tasting herself on his tongue as she straddled him, pressing herself against him with no hesitation, no patience.

Her mouth moved from his, trailing down his neck, her lips and tongue dragging against his pulse, his collarbone, the firm lines of his chest, lower.

Cillian’s head tipped back against the pillows, his breath coming in short, sharp exhales, his fingers twitching against the sheets.

And then…

Her mouth took him. His control shattered. Cillian swore, his fingers tangling in her hair, his back arching slightly as her lips wrapped around him, her tongue tracing, working him with zero teasing, zero hesitation…just pure, deliberate intent.

His thighs tensed, his grip tightening in her hair, his head falling back again as he struggled to hold himself together.

“Jesus, Lucy.” he groaned, his voice completely wrecked, his breath ragged as she kept him on the very edge, pushing him just far enough before pulling back, before denying him his release.

Cillian let out a breathless, desperate laugh, shaking his head, his fingers trailing to her jaw as she moved back up his body.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, his lips crashing into hers again.

Lucy smirked against his mouth. “Not yet.”

And then, with one slow, smooth motion, she sank onto him, taking him completely. Cillian swore, his fingers gripping onto her hips as his breath vanished entirely. She moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, rolling her hips in a way that sent sharp waves of pleasure spiralling through both of them. Cillian’s hands roamed over her body, his palms sliding across her stomach, up to her chest, feeling her, memorising her, his fingers tracing every curve as she moved on him.

His thumbs brushed over her as he groaned low in his throat, watching her completely lost in the moment, her body rocking against him with effortless, intoxicating ease. Lucy’s breath came heavier, her hands gripping onto his chest for support as she set her pace, her thighs tightening around him. Cillian exhaled sharply, his fingers digging into her hips, his head pressing back against the pillows as he let her take what she needed, let her control this moment, let her ruin him.

“Fuck, Lucy…” he groaned, his voice raw, strained.

She smirked down at him, her movements steady but unrelenting, rolling her hips in a way that made his jaw clench, his breath stutter.

“You like that?” she teased, breathless, her hands sliding up his chest, nails scraping lightly against his skin.

Cillian let out a strangled, breathless chuckle, his hands tightening at her waist. “Love it.” he admitted, his voice thick with need.

Lucy leaned down, her lips brushing against his jaw, her breath hot against his ear.

“Then don’t hold back.”

Cillian growled low in his throat, his control slipping entirely at her words.

And then, he flipped them, pinning her beneath him, taking her the way they both needed. Lucy gasped, her breath catching as Cillian hooked both of her legs over his shoulders, his grip strong, possessive, using her body for leverage as he drove into her. The angle sent a shockwave through her, pleasure shooting straight to her core, her back arching off the bed as she cried out, her fingers scrambling to grip onto something, anything.

Cillian groaned, his jaw clenching as he watched her unravel beneath him, completely open to him, for him. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he set a relentless rhythm, deep and devastating, pushing her higher, harder, refusing to let either of them breathe.

“Fuck, Lucy,” he growled, his voice wrecked, raw with need. “You feel so fucking perfect.”

Lucy couldn’t even form words, could only let out a strangled moan, her hands gripping onto his wrists, her nails biting into his skin as she took everything he was giving her. He shifted slightly, adjusting, and fuck, that was it.

Her head fell back, her body tightening around him, her thighs trembling as pleasure crashed over her like a tidal wave, ripping through her as she came apart beneath him, his name breaking from her lips.

Cillian felt it…the way her body clenched around him, dragging him closer to his own release. His grip tightened, his pace faltering as he chased it, his breath ragged, his rhythm turning desperate. With a strangled groan, his body shuddered, his grip on her tightening as he spilled into her, completely wrecked, his breath stuttering as he lost himself entirely.

He hovered over her, his forehead pressing to hers, his breath heavy, uneven, their bodies still tangled, still pulsing in the aftermath.

The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, both of them spent, wrecked and ruined in the best possible way.

[timothyslucy]

lucy chen staircase reveal when, hm? WHEN???

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

You Should Have Listened

Soft Mommy!Agatha Harkness x Mean Daddy!Rio Vidal x bratty!fem!reader

Word count: 2.5K words

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Overstimulation, Power Play, Orgasm Denial/Control, Degradation, Consensual Non-Consent (CNC), Choking (Light Breath Play), Rough Handling, Punishment Kink, Brat Taming

Authors notes: My first time writing Rio and she'll be added to my list of characters I'll write for~

The tension in the air was thick, simmering with the consequences of your behavior throughout the day. You'd been testing their patience from the moment you woke up—snarky remarks, sly smirks, brushing off their warnings with a flippant attitude.

Agatha’s eyes, usually calculating and sharp, were now darker, and her lips curled into a smile that promised retribution. Rio, on the other hand, wasn’t smiling at all. The quiet intensity in her gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

“Is this how you want to end your day?” Rio’s voice was low, dangerously calm, her brown eyes narrowing on you from across the room. She stood with her arms crossed, muscles tense beneath her tailored suit, exuding a dominant energy that made your heart race. Her presence commanded authority, and you could tell she was done playing your games.

Agatha, perched elegantly on the arm of a chair, tilted her head, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder. “You’ve been quite the little brat today, haven’t you?” she purred, her voice laced with dark amusement. “I think it’s time you learned some respect.” Her smile widened as she looked at Rio. “Don’t you agree, darling?”

Rio’s jaw clenched as she stepped closer, towering over you. “I’ve had enough,” she growled, her voice dripping with authority. “You’ve been begging for this all day, and now you’re going to get exactly what you deserve.”

Before you could respond, Rio’s hand was around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you who was in charge. “On your knees,” she ordered, her eyes daring you to disobey.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, testing the limits just once more. But that was all it took for Rio to tighten her grip slightly, her eyes blazing with warning. “Now.”

Your knees hit the floor, heart pounding in your chest. Agatha’s soft laughter echoed through the room as she watched the scene unfold, clearly enjoying every moment. “Good girl,” she cooed, her voice condescending as she stood up, walking over to stand beside Rio.

“You’ve been playing games, little one,” Agatha said, her fingers trailing along your jaw as she circled around you. “But now? Now we get to play our game.”

Rio’s hand moved from your throat, grabbing your chin to force you to look up at her. “And trust me,” she said, voice rough with restrained anger, “you’re not going to enjoy it nearly as much as we will.”

This was the consequence of pushing them too far. And deep down, as much as you feared what was to come, you knew part of you had been craving this all along.

With Rio the punishments were long and harsh. So the moment the words, "I think since she wants it so badly maybe we should overstimulate her?" Came out of her mouth to Agatha you were squirming.

The moment Rio's words hung in the air, your stomach twisted with anticipation. Overstimulation. You knew exactly what that meant, and your body reacted immediately, squirming under their combined gaze. A nervous whimper slipped from your lips as Rio’s grip on your chin tightened, her eyes dark with intent.

Agatha’s laugh was soft and cruel, sending shivers down your spine. She walked around you slowly, her heels clicking against the floor, creating an echo that only intensified the tension. "Oh, I like that idea," Agatha purred, her eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Since she’s been such a brat, it’s only fair we give her exactly what she’s been asking for… more than she can handle.”

You could already feel the heat building within you, the fear and desire twisting together in a way that made it hard to breathe. Rio’s expression was unreadable, her face set in a hard line as she watched you struggle. There was no softness in her now—just the unyielding force of her authority. She had warned you, given you chances to behave, and now it was time to pay the price.

"Look at her," Agatha said, amusement dancing in her voice as she came to stand behind you, her fingers trailing down your back teasingly. "Already squirming and we haven’t even touched her properly yet.”

Rio’s lips curled into a small, dangerous smile as she knelt in front of you, her face inches from yours. “You wanted to push us all day. And now that you’ve got our attention, you’re going to wish you hadn’t.”

Without warning, Agatha’s hand slid into your hair, pulling your head back roughly, exposing your neck. “No more of your little games,” she whispered into your ear, her breath hot against your skin. “Now it’s our turn.”

Rio’s eyes flicked up to Agatha’s, a silent exchange passing between them before she turned her full attention back to you. “We’re going to take you apart, piece by piece,” Rio said, her voice low and authoritative. “And you’re going to take it, every last bit of it. No whining, no begging for it to stop.”

Agatha’s grip on your hair tightened as she forced you to look at Rio. “She’ll beg,” Agatha said with a smirk. “But we won’t be listening, will we?”

Your heart raced, the reality of your punishment sinking in. Rio’s hands were already trailing down your body, her touch firm but calculated. The sensation sent electric pulses through you, and you tried to hold still, knowing how much worse it would be if you squirmed too much. But the moment Rio’s hand slipped between your thighs, teasingly light at first, you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped.

“She’s already soaked,” Rio said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Guess she really does want this.”

“Of course she does,” Agatha cooed, her tone mocking as she let go of your hair and moved to kneel behind you. She pressed her body against yours, her breath ghosting over your neck as her hands roamed your sides. “She can pretend all she wants, but deep down, this is exactly what she craves. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of Rio’s touch, but Agatha didn’t seem to need a reply. Her teeth grazed your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you,” she whispered. “We’ll make sure you get exactly what you deserve… over and over again.”

And with that, Rio’s fingers pressed harder, slipping inside you, slow at first but deep. You moaned, your body tensing under the sudden intrusion, but it was only the beginning. Rio’s dark eyes locked onto yours, her gaze never wavering as she set a pace that was relentless, her fingers moving in a rhythm designed to push you closer to the edge.

Agatha’s hand snaked around your waist, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin while her lips found the sensitive spot on your neck. “No holding back now,” she murmured, her voice a dangerous promise. “You’re going to give us everything.”

The pleasure built quickly, too quickly, and you found yourself struggling to breathe, your body teetering on the brink. But just as you were about to fall over that edge, Rio stopped, pulling her hand away with a smirk as you gasped in frustration.

"Not yet," she said darkly. "We’re just getting started.”

A frustrated whine slipped from your throat, your body shaking with the denial of release. Agatha chuckled darkly behind you, her breath hot against the back of your neck as her hand wandered lower, fingers ghosting just over the spot where you needed her most.

"You’re going to learn patience," Agatha whispered, her voice a mixture of menace and playfulness. "You’ve been so eager, so desperate for attention all day. Now we’ll give it to you—but not in the way you want."

Rio leaned back slightly, still kneeling in front of you, her dark eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction as she watched you squirm. “I told you,” she said, her voice steady and firm, “you’re not getting out of this until we decide you’ve had enough.” Her fingers teased your inner thighs, dangerously close but never giving you the satisfaction of more.

You tried to hold still, knowing it would only drag this out, but the combination of Agatha’s lips on your neck and Rio’s agonizingly slow touches had you trembling with need. Your breath came out in ragged gasps, and despite yourself, you shifted, trying to get more, but Rio’s hand pressed firmly on your thigh, keeping you still.

“Look at her,” Agatha purred, her lips curving into a smirk as she watched you struggle. “So needy, so desperate. It’s almost pitiful.” Her fingers slipped lower, just barely brushing over your clit, the brief contact sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You whimpered, hips jerking involuntarily, but Agatha pulled her hand away just as quickly, leaving you gasping in frustration. “Patience, little one,” she cooed mockingly, her voice dripping with condescension. “We’re nowhere near done with you yet.”

Rio’s fingers returned, slipping inside you again, but this time, her pace was torturously slow, dragging out every movement. She watched every twitch of your body, every gasp that escaped your lips, and she took her time, deliberately keeping you on the edge without ever letting you tip over.

“You’re going to beg by the time we’re done,” Rio said softly, her tone laced with a dangerous promise. “Beg for release, beg for mercy. But it won’t come until we’ve wrung every last ounce of control from you.”

Agatha’s laughter was low and amused as her hand came to rest on your throat, her grip just tight enough to remind you of your place. “And when you do beg,” she whispered into your ear, “we’ll make sure you remember exactly who you belong to.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the weight of their control pressed down on you. They weren’t going to let you off easy—not after the way you’d pushed them all day. Agatha’s fingers returned, this time stroking your clit with feather-light touches that made you arch against her, desperate for more.

“Such a needy little thing,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear as she spoke. “But you’ll take what we give you. Nothing more.”

Rio’s pace quickened suddenly, fingers pumping in and out of you with precision, and the combined sensation of her and Agatha’s teasing touches had you spiraling toward release again. Your body tensed, breath catching in your throat as the pleasure built, unbearable and all-consuming.

But just as you were about to fall apart, Rio stopped again, pulling her hand away, leaving you gasping, trembling, and completely undone.

“Not yet,” she growled, eyes dark with amusement as you let out a strangled cry of frustration. “You don’t get to finish until we say so.”

Agatha’s grip tightened on your throat as she chuckled softly. “Oh, you poor thing. Don’t worry, you’ll get there eventually… but only after you’ve earned it.”

The frustration overwhelmed you, your body aching with the need for release, but you knew better than to beg. They’d been so clear—any sign of weakness would only fuel their cruelty further. Still, your legs trembled, your breath hitched, and despite your best efforts, a desperate whimper escaped your lips.

Agatha’s lips curved into a wicked smile at the sound. “Hear that, Rio? She’s already starting to break.”

Rio’s hand came up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip. “Oh, she’ll break,” Rio said, voice low and deadly, “but not until we’ve had our fun.”

Her hand trailed back down between your legs, fingers slipping inside you once more with a roughness that made you gasp. This time, there was no teasing, no slow build. Rio’s pace was brutal, fingers thrusting deep inside you with a rhythm designed to push you toward the edge with terrifying speed.

Agatha’s fingers danced over your clit, circling, pressing, never giving you a moment of reprieve. Every nerve in your body was on fire, every muscle straining against the overwhelming sensations they were forcing on you.

You were teetering on the brink, the pleasure so intense it almost hurt, your mind spiraling as you struggled to hold yourself together. But there was no escape—not with Agatha’s hand tight around your throat, not with Rio’s relentless pace, not with both of them so focused on breaking you completely.

“You’re so close, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Agatha whispered, her voice like silk against your ear. “So close to giving in. To falling apart for us.”

Your body betrayed you, hips bucking against Rio’s hand as the pressure built and built, pushing you to the very edge of sanity. Your breaths were shallow, gasping, as the pleasure became too much, your mind hazy from the overwhelming sensations.

Rio’s eyes met yours, her gaze hard and unforgiving. “Come,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Come for us now.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order. And the moment the words left her mouth, your body responded, finally letting go. You cried out, back arching, every muscle tensing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, so intense it left you trembling and breathless. The orgasm ripped through you, relentless and overwhelming, pushing you to the point where you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—couldn’t do anything but feel.

But they didn’t stop.

Agatha’s fingers kept working your clit, drawing out every ounce of pleasure as Rio’s thrusts didn’t slow, didn’t falter. You were still riding the high of your release when it became too much, the overstimulation hitting you like a shock to your system. You squirmed, tried to pull away, but there was no escaping their control.

“Ah, ah,” Agatha teased, her grip on your throat tightening slightly as she kept you in place. “We’re not finished with you yet.”

The sensations became unbearable, your body writhing with the intensity of it all. You whimpered, legs shaking as another orgasm built, faster this time, the pleasure merging with the pain of overstimulation until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Look at her,” Rio growled, her pace merciless as she pushed you through the second wave of pleasure. “Falling apart so beautifully.”

You were too far gone to respond, your body shuddering as another climax ripped through you, your mind a haze of white-hot pleasure and overwhelming exhaustion. Agatha’s grip finally loosened as she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, her voice a purr in your ear.

“There’s our good girl,” she cooed softly, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “Now you’ve learned your lesson.”

Rio’s fingers finally slowed, drawing out the last of your pleasure before she pulled away, leaving you breathless and trembling on the floor. She wiped her hand on a nearby cloth, her expression cool and collected as she stood up, towering over you once more.

“You’ll behave tomorrow,” Rio said, her voice dark and certain, “or this will seem like mercy compared to what we’ll do next time.”

Agatha smiled sweetly as she knelt beside you, her hand brushing a lock of hair from your damp forehead. “But don’t worry, darling. If you do behave,” she murmured, “we might even be nice to you.”

You lay there, exhausted and utterly spent, as they both stood over you, their presence still commanding, still powerful.

You’d pushed them too far, and they had broken you, exactly as promised.

[elryuse]

Miss Me Pt.2

Yandere Wonyoung X Male Reader

Tags : Yandere, Obsession, Posessive, Kissing, Edging, Creampies, Biting, Seduction, Marking, Non Consensual Sex (Reverse Rape) Words : 5,428 Words

A Continuation of Miss Me. A Commision By My Friend @Pizza_anon From Ko-fi. I Hoped You Liked it, Enjoy.

For a while, you thought you had finally escaped her.

Wonyoung was nothing more than a ghost in your past, a name you refused to utter, a memory you buried so deep it almost felt like she had never existed.

After that ill-fated date—after seeing her again across that dimly lit restaurant—you ran. Not just from her, but from everything. From the lingering pain, the suffocating paranoia, the scars she left on your body and mind.

You changed everything. Your name, your address, your entire life.

A quiet town far removed from everything you once knew became your sanctuary. Here, no one whispered rumors about her, no one looked at you with pity, no one asked about the girl who used to own you.

At last, you had peace.

Or so you thought.

The Devil Returns It had been a simple errand—just a quick trip to the store.

You carried the grocery bags up the steps of your home, the late afternoon sun casting golden hues against the walls. You exhaled slowly, reveling in the quiet, the stillness that you had fought so hard to find.

But the moment you stepped inside, something felt off.

The air was wrong.

Cold. Unsettling.

And then, you saw it.

Your window—open. The curtains swayed gently, the breeze chilling your skin.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage, and a sinking feeling settled in your gut. You set the groceries down, every nerve in your body screaming at you to turn around and run.

But then, you heard it.

The soft clink of a wine glass being placed on the table.

You turned your head slowly—

And there she was.

Wonyoung.

Sitting at your dinner table, legs elegantly crossed, a glass of red wine in her delicate fingers.

She looked the same, yet somehow different.

Her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulder in effortless waves. The dim lighting of your home cast shadows across her perfect face, making her look almost ethereal.

She swirled the wine in her glass, her crimson lips curving into a wicked smile.

Then, she spoke.

"Miss me?"

Your blood turned to ice.

A year.

A whole fucking year of running, of rebuilding your life, and yet, here she was.

As if she had never left.

As if she had always known where you were.

And at that moment, as the weight of her presence suffocated you, something inside of you snapped.

If Wonyoung could never leave you alone in this world—

Then maybe it was time to fight back.

Your footsteps echoed against the dimly lit pavement, your breath coming out in ragged gasps as you moved through the empty streets.

Run. Just keep running.

The cold night air bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill that clawed at your spine—the phantom touch of a past that refused to die.

Wonyoung.

Her voice still clung to your ears, Miss me? slithering into your mind like a poison you couldn’t purge.

That date…

That fucking date.

It had never left you.

Not even for a second.

You thought you had been healing. Thought you had finally clawed your way out of the abyss she had thrown you into. But the second you saw her again—

The second you heard her voice—

It all came flooding back.

The pain. The betrayal. The torment she put you through.

It wasn’t just the physical scars she left behind. No, those were the least of your worries.

It was what she did to your mind.

How she twisted every thought, every emotion, until you doubted your own sanity.

How she made you feel like you were the problem.

How she smiled at you in one moment and tore you apart in the next.

It hurt.

It fucking hurt.

And as you ran through the dark, your heart pounding in your ears, you realized something.

You weren’t running from her.

You were running from yourself.

Because deep down, in the darkest part of your soul—

You were terrified that you would never escape her.

That no matter how far you went, no matter how hard you tried—

She would always find you.

And worse than that…

Some twisted part of you feared that when she did—

You wouldn’t have the strength to push her away.

The door clicked shut behind you as you stepped into your apartment, locking it instinctively. The dim glow of the streetlights filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. Everything was silent—too silent.

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as exhaustion weighed down on you.

Tired.

You were so fucking tired.

Tired of running.

Tired of looking over your shoulder.

Tired of feeling like no matter how far you went, she would always be there.

You leaned against the door, your fingers gripping the doorknob as you tried to steady yourself. But your mind wouldn't let you rest.

The memories clawed their way to the surface.

That night.

The way she had looked at you from across the table, her lips curling into that knowing smirk.

The way her voice dripped with honeyed venom as she whispered your name, making you feel like you were still hers.

And the way she—

Your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the images away.

No.

You had to move forward. You had to get away from her.

But how could you escape something that had already sunk its claws so deep into your soul?

You forced yourself to move, stepping further into the apartment.

Everything was as you left it. The couch, slightly disheveled from where you had sat the night before. The coffee table, still littered with an unfinished book and a cold cup of tea. The faint hum of the refrigerator in the background.

It was supposed to be your space.

Your safe haven.

And yet, it never felt like it.

Not when the ghosts of your past lingered in every shadow, in every breath you took.

You dragged yourself to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water with shaky hands. The cool liquid did nothing to settle the unease churning in your stomach.

As you set the glass down, you caught your reflection in the dark window.

The tired eyes. The weight of years of torment etched into your expression.

You wanted to fight back.

You really did.

But how could you fight against something that had already consumed you?

Because even now, even after everything she had done to you—

Some sick, twisted part of you still felt like you belonged to her.

And that terrified you more than anything.

The water in the pot bubbled furiously, steam rising in thick clouds as you dropped the instant ramen noodles into the boiling liquid. The scent of artificial broth filled the small apartment, a pathetic attempt at comfort after a night like this.

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you leaned against the counter. The exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. The weight of it bore down on your shoulders, suffocating and relentless.

How long do I have to keep living like this?

The sound of chopsticks clinking against the bowl filled the silence, but it did little to drown out the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.

Wonyoung.

No matter how much you ran, no matter how many times you told yourself you were free—

She always found a way back in.

Your grip on the countertop tightened.

You needed to be stronger.

You needed to fight back.

But just as that thought formed, a sound pierced the silence.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your body froze.

It was late. Too late for anyone to be visiting.

And yet, the knocking came again. Slow, deliberate, taunting.

Your breath hitched. A cold shiver ran down your spine as you forced yourself to move toward the door, each step heavier than the last.

You already knew.

Somewhere deep inside, you already fucking knew.

But the moment you twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open—

Your entire body shattered.

Because there she was.

The door creaked softly as Wonyoung stepped inside, her presence filling the small space like a storm cloud ready to burst. Her eyes locked onto yours, unrelenting, as if daring you to look away. You couldn’t. Your body was rooted to the spot, your mind screaming at you to do something—anything—but your limbs refused to obey.

She closed the door behind her with a soft click, the sound echoing in the silence like a death knell. Her perfume—that same floral, intoxicating scent that still haunted your dreams—washed over you, sickeningly sweet and suffocating.

“You didn’t answer,” she said, her voice low and velvety, yet laced with a dangerous edge. She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that felt like a countdown to something inevitable. “Do you miss me?”

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell her to leave, to scream, to do anything but the words caught in your throat. All that came out was a strangled sound, barely audible. Her smirk widened, and she took another step forward, closing the distance between you until you could feel the heat radiating from her body.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. Her hand reached up, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. The touch was soft, almost tender, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “You look tired. Have you been thinking about me?”

You wanted to pull away, to slap her hand aside, to tell her to stop. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Her touch was like a drug, and despite everything, some part of you craved it. The realization made you sick to your stomach.

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “I’ve missed you. More than you know.” Her breath was warm against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “You belong to me. You always have.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but before you could react, her hands were on you, gripping your shoulders tightly as she pushed you back. You stumbled, your legs giving out as she forced you down onto the bed. She climbed on top of you in one fluid motion, her dress riding up her thighs as she straddled your hips.

“Wonyoung—” you started, but she cut you off with a harsh groan at the back of her throat.

“Don’t,” she hissed, her eyes blazing with a fire that made your blood run cold. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this. Don’t pretend you don’t want me.”

Her hands moved quickly, undoing your pants with practiced ease. You tried to protest, to push her away, but she caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head with a strength that left you breathless.

“You’re mine,” she growled, her voice low and filled with a possessiveness that sent a shudder through you. “You’ve always been mine. And you always will be.”

Her other hand dipped between your legs, fingers brushing against the fabric of your boxers, and you couldn’t suppress the involuntary gasp that escaped your lips. She smirked, her eyes boring into yours as she leaned down, her lips brushing against your neck.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice soft but commanding. “Just let go. Let me take care of you.”

Her lips moved lower, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of your neck as she bit down lightly, drawing a sharp gasp from you. Her hand slipped inside your boxers, fingers wrapping around your length, already hard despite the chaos raging in your mind.

“Wonyoung—” you tried again, but she cut you off with a harsh moan.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her grip tightening as she began to stroke you slowly, her fingers moving with a practiced precision that left you trembling. “You don’t get to talk. You don’t get to think. You just get to feel.”

She leaned back slightly, her eyes never leaving yours as she positioned herself over you. Her free hand lifted the hem of her dress, revealing the lace of her panties. She pulled them to the side, her breath hitching as she lowered herself onto you, taking you in one smooth motion.

You groaned, your head falling back against the pillow as she began to move, her hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that was both familiar and devastating. Her hands found your chest, nails digging into your skin as she leaned forward, her breath hot against your ear.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly with exertion. “Just like that. Just like old times.”

Her pace quickened, her movements becoming more urgent as she rode you with a ferocity that left you breathless. Her nails dragged across your chest, leaving red marks in their wake, and she bit down on your neck again, harder this time, drawing a sharp cry from you.

“Say it,” she demanded, her voice harsh and commanding. “Say you’re mine.”

You shook your head, your body betraying you as you arched into her, your hips meeting hers with a force that made her gasp.

“Say it!” she snarled, her nails digging into your skin as she leaned back, her eyes blazing with a wild, almost feral intensity.

You couldn’t fight it anymore. The words spilled from your lips, unbidden, trembling with a mixture of shame and need.

“I’m yours,” you choked out, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing.

She smiled, a cruel, victorious smile that sent a chill down your spine. “That’s right,” she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re mine. And you always will be.”

Her pace slowed, but her movements became more deliberate, more intense. She leaned down, her lips brushing against yours as she whispered, “Now come for me.”

The command was all it took. Your body tensed, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you gave in, completely and utterly. She followed soon after, her body shuddering against yours as she buried her face in your neck, her breathing ragged and uneven.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the sound of your labored breathing. Then, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn.

“Don’t forget,” she whispered, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine. And I’m not letting you go. Not ever again.”

The silk scarves slid around your wrists with a soft, almost imperceptible hiss, their texture cool against your skin. Wonyoung’s hands worked with practiced ease, tying intricate knots that were tight enough to hold you in place but not so tight that they hurt. Her movements were deliberate, her fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. You wanted to pull away, to resist, but the look in her eyes—sharp, predatory, and utterly in control—made it impossible to move.

“There,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry as she finished the last knot. “Now you can’t run away. Not that you ever could, really.”

Her lips curved into a smile, one that was both alluring and dangerous. She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear as she whispered, “But I think you like it when I take control, don’t you? Admit it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say a word, her lips were on yours, silencing you with a kiss that was both demanding and sweet. Her tongue teased the seam of your lips, and when you finally relented, letting her in, she deepened the kiss with a moan that sent heat straight to your core. Her hands roamed over your chest, her nails scraping lightly against your skin as she explored every inch of you.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss. She didn’t say a word as she slowly, deliberately, began to trace your body with her tongue. Her lips pressed against your neck, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. Her tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, and you couldn’t suppress the involuntary shiver that ran through you.

“You taste so good,” she murmured against your skin, her voice low and husky. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

She continued her slow descent, her tongue laving over your chest, her lips brushing against your nipples in a way that made you shudder. Her hands were everywhere, touching, teasing, exploring every inch of you as she worked her way down your body. When she finally reached your hips, she paused, her fingers curling around the waistband of your pants.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, her voice a whisper as she looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire.

You should have said yes. You knew you should have said yes. But the way she looked at you, the way her lips curved into that familiar, predatory smile, made it impossible to say anything but, “No.”

Her smile widened, and without another word, she pulled your pants down, freeing your already hard cock. Her eyes darkened with desire as she took you in her hand, her fingers wrapping around you in a firm grip. Her thumb brushed over the tip, spreading the precum that had already gathered there, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips.

“You’re so ready for me,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry as she stroked you slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. “And I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Before you could respond, she was on top of you, her body pressing against yours as she positioned herself over you. Her hips moved slowly, deliberately, as she lowered herself onto you, taking you in inch by inch. The feeling of her warmth enveloping you was almost too much to bear, and you couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped your lips.

“That’s it,” she murmured, her voice low and husky as she began to move, her hips rocking against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Let go. Just feel me.”

Her movements were slow at first, almost teasing, as she adjusted to the feel of you inside her. But as her pace quickened, her hips began to move in a way that drove you wild. She moaned your name, her voice low and sultry, as her hips rocked against yours, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“You feel so good inside me,” she murmured, her voice low and husky as she leaned down, her lips brushing against yours. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. You wanted to resist, to push her away, but the pleasure she was giving you was too much to ignore. Her hips moved in a way that drove you wild, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“Come for me,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry as her hips moved against yours in a way that drove you wild. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. You wanted to resist, to push her away, but the pleasure she was giving you was too much to ignore. Her hips moved in a way that drove you wild, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“Do it,” she commanded, her voice low and dangerous as her hips moved against yours in a way that drove you wild. “Come for me.”

The command was all it took. Your body tensed, a wave of pleasure crashing over you as you gave in completely and utterly. She followed soon after, her body shuddering against yours as she buried her face in your neck, her breathing ragged and uneven.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the sound of your labored breathing. Then, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn.

“Don’t forget,” she whispered, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine. And I’m not letting you go. Not ever again.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. You wanted to resist, to push her away, but the pleasure she was giving you was too much to ignore. Her hips moved in a way that drove you wild, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“Do it,” she commanded, her voice low and dangerous as her hips moved against yours in a way that drove you wild. “Come for me.”

The room felt suffocating, her perfume still clinging to the air like a ghost of the past. Wonyoung’s eyes bore into you, her lips curling into that same predatory smile that once sent shivers down your spine. But this time, the shivers felt different—less of fear, more of disgust.

”I’ve thought about it,” she began, her voice smooth and deliberate, like honey laced with poison. ”And I’ve decided. I’m ready. Ready to make you my husband.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and absurd. You blinked, your mind struggling to process what she had just said. Her husband? After everything she had done? After the lies, the manipulation, the infidelity? Your chest tightened, a wave of anger rising inside you like a tempest.

”You’re out of your damn mind,” you said, your voice low but firm.

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, tilting her head as if she were amused by your defiance. ”Oh, come on. You know this is what we’ve both wanted. We’re meant to be together.”

”No,” you snapped, your voice rising. ”We’re not. You destroyed whatever we had. You cheated on me, manipulated me, hurt me. And now you think you can just waltz back into my life and decide to marry me? Who the hell do you think you are?”

She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor with that same confidence that had always made her seem untouchable. But this time, you weren’t falling for it. You stood your ground, your fists clenched at your sides.

”I’m the one who knows you better than anyone,” she said, her voice soft but laced with a dangerous edge. ”The one who can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. You’ll never find anyone else who understands you like I do.”

”You don’t understand me,” you shot back. ”You never did. You just wanted to control me, to own me. And I’m done with that. I’m done with you.”

Her smile faded completely now, replaced by a look of genuine confusion. She stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch your arm, but you jerked away. Her touch felt like fire, but not the kind you wanted.

”What are you saying?” she asked, her voice wavering for the first time. ”You can’t just leave me. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

”I’m not leaving you,” you said, your voice cold. ”I already left you. Three years ago. And I’m not going back.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked almost… vulnerable. But it was fleeting, quickly replaced by that familiar intensity. She dropped to her knees, her hands clutching at your pants as she looked up at you with pleading eyes.

”Please,” she begged, her voice cracking. ”Just forgive me. I can change. I’ll be better. I’ll do anything. But I can’t lose you. You’re the only one who’s ever really mattered to me.”

Her words should have softened you, but they didn’t. Instead, they made you angrier. How dare she? How dare she act like she cared, like she loved you, when all she ever did was hurt you?

”You don’t love me,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. ”You just love the idea of owning me. But I’m not yours anymore. I’ll never be yours again.”

Her grip tightened on your pants, her nails digging into the fabric. Tears welled up in her eyes, but they didn’t make her any less dangerous. ”You don’t mean that,” she whispered. ”You’ll come back to me. You’ll see. There’s no one else out there who would want you. No one who would love you like I do.”

Her words cut deep, but they didn’t break you. Not this time. You looked down at her, your jaw clenched, and shook your head.

”You’re wrong,” you said, your voice quiet but filled with resolve. ”I deserve better than you. And I’m going to find it. But first, you need to get out of my life. For good.”

She stared up at you, her eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, she looked like she might argue, might try to manipulate you again. But then, slowly, she let go of your pants and stood up. She took a step back, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words had finally crushed her.

”You’ll regret this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ”You’ll see. You’ll come crawling back to me.”

”I won’t,” you said, your voice firm. ”Now get out.”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching yours for any sign of weakness. But there was none. You stood tall, unyielding, and for the first time, you were in control.

Finally, she turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the floor with a rhythm that felt oddly final. You watched her go, your heart pounding in your chest, but you didn’t stop her. Not this time.

As the door closed behind her, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The room felt lighter, the air easier to breathe. You sank into a chair, your hands trembling, but your mind was clear.

You had made the right choice. You were free.

But as you sat there, a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over. That Wonyoung wasn’t the type to just walk away. She would be back.

And when she did, you’d be ready.

The air outside felt different now. Lighter. As if the weight you had carried for so long had finally begun to lift. It had been weeks since Wonyoung walked out of your apartment that night, and though the scars of the past still lingered, you were finally taking control of your life again.

You started working again, finding solace in the routine. The office buzzed with life, a world filled with people who didn’t know your past, who didn’t see you as the shattered person Wonyoung had left behind. It was refreshing. For the first time in years, you weren’t looking over your shoulder.

More than that, you were getting out more often—grabbing drinks with coworkers, going to the gym, even walking through the city without the constant paranoia that she was lurking in the shadows.

And, for once, you were enjoying life again.

But the past had a cruel way of finding you, even when you least expected it.

It started small.

An odd feeling. A fleeting sensation of being watched.

The first time it happened, you were leaving work late at night. The office building cast long shadows under the flickering streetlights as you stepped out onto the pavement. You had been scrolling through your phone, replying to a message from a friend who had invited you out for drinks.

And then—

That prickle at the back of your neck.

That familiar, sinking weight in your gut.

You turned, scanning the sidewalk, the alley across the street.

Nothing.

You shook your head, forcing a chuckle. Don’t be ridiculous. She’s gone.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

Days passed, and the unease only grew. You would notice the same car parked across from your apartment complex too many nights in a row. Or a familiar scent—her scent—lingering in the air when you entered your favorite café.

Still, you brushed it off. It had to be paranoia. After all, she had left.

Hadn’t she?

A Message From the Past Then, one evening, after a long day at work, your phone vibrated with a notification.

You barely glanced at it as you tossed your bag onto the couch, but something about it made you pause.

An unknown number.

"Thinking about you."

Your breath caught in your throat.

It couldn’t be.

You hesitated before opening the message fully, hoping—praying—it was some mistake. A wrong number. A coincidence.

But as soon as you opened the text, a second message came through.

"Did you miss me?"

A chill ran down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around your phone.

No.

No, no, no—

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you stared at the screen, the words burning into your mind like a scar reopening.

It had to be her.

It was always her.

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay calm. You wouldn’t let her shake you again.

You deleted the message without responding.

You blocked the number.

And then, gripping your phone like it was the last lifeline to reality, you told yourself—

It’s over. She can’t hurt me anymore.

But deep down, you knew—

Wonyoung wasn’t done with you yet.

The next time you saw her, something inside you snapped.

It was late—too late for visitors—when the knock came at your door. At first, you ignored it, pretending not to hear, pretending you weren’t home. But the knocking persisted, slow and deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey.

Then, that voice.

"Miss me?"

The words sent a wave of exhaustion through you, but this time, there was no fear. No hesitation.

Just rage.

You swung the door open, and there she stood—Jang Wonyoung, draped in another black gown, her lips curled into that sickeningly sweet smile. Her beauty, once mesmerizing, now felt suffocating. Poisonous.

"You," you muttered, your voice low, heavy with something even you didn’t recognize.

She took a step forward, her hand reaching for you, but you didn’t let her.

For the first time, you didn’t freeze. You didn’t cower. You didn’t let her dictate how this night would go.

Your hand moved before you could think.

SMACK!

The sound echoed through the hallway, ringing in your ears.

Wonyoung staggered back, her head snapping to the side as her cheek turned a deep, angry red.

She didn’t speak.

For the first time, she was speechless.

Your chest heaved with heavy breaths as you clenched your fists, watching her carefully. If she expected you to regret it, she was dead wrong.

"I’ve had enough," you said, your voice raw, unshaken.

She blinked, slow and disbelieving, before her lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

"You hit me," she murmured, as if testing out the words.

"Yeah. I did."

A quiet chuckle escaped her lips, but there was no amusement in it. She straightened, her fingers brushing the stinging mark on her cheek.

"Finally growing a spine?" she asked, tilting her head. "Took you long enough."

Your jaw tightened. "What the hell do you want, Wonyoung?"

She stared at you, eyes dark and unreadable. "You know what I want."

"No. I really don’t." You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "I don’t want you. I don’t want whatever this is. I just want to be free."

Her expression flickered, just for a second, and for the first time, you saw something you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before.

Hurt.

But you didn’t care.

Not anymore.

"You don’t mean that," she whispered, but there was no confidence in her voice this time.

"I do." You stepped back, gripping the edge of the door. "I don’t care what you do anymore. Go ruin someone else’s life. I’m done being your plaything."

She didn’t move.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring at you, searching for something in your face.

Then, slowly, she straightened her posture, regaining that cold, unreadable mask.

"Fine," she said at last, voice detached, distant. "If that’s what you really want."

You nodded. "It is."

A pause.

Then, she turned on her heel, walking away without another word.

You stood frozen, listening to the click of her heels against the floor until the sound faded into silence.

And just like that—

She was gone.

You shut the door and locked it, leaning against the wood as a shaky breath escaped your lips.

For the first time in what felt like forever—

You were free.

[soulofapatrick]

Snap into place - Azriel x female reader

Summary: You meet Azriel and the mate bond snaps into place

Words: 2.7K

Warnings: None really; heated make out session

Notes; debating on a smutty part two...

Y/N's POV

I land softly in the grand dining room of the House of Wind, the air thick with the scent of fresh herbs and a hint of something sweet. Rhysand’s arms release me gently, and I steady myself on my feet, my heart racing from the exhilaration of flying through the skies of Velaris. The room is filled with soft, glowing light, casting an inviting warmth over the beautifully arranged table. A high ceiling adorned with intricate carvings seems to echo with laughter and conversation.

Before I can take in my surroundings fully, a stunning figure catches my eye. A woman with long, flowing blonde hair and striking features stands nearby, wearing a form-fitting red dress that barely conceals anything in the front. It clings to her curves, exuding confidence and allure.

“Ah, my cousin,” Rhysand announces, his voice filled with warmth. “This is Morrigan—though everyone just calls her Mor.”

Before I can respond, Mor crosses the room in a heartbeat, pulling me into a fierce hug. Her laughter is bright and infectious. “Welcome! I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaims, her voice a melodic blend of mischief and sincerity. I feel an instant warmth in her embrace, a sense of belonging I didn’t expect.

“Thank you,” I manage to say as she releases me, taking a step back with a bright smile that makes her appear even more radiant.

Feyre steps forward, her expression friendly and open. “Let me introduce you to my sisters,” she says, guiding me toward a small group nearby.

Nesta stands with her arms crossed, an aura of guardedness surrounding her. She meets my gaze with a sharp look, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders. “You’re Rhysand’s guest?” she asks, her tone skeptical.

“Yes,” I reply, trying to match her intensity with a friendly smile.

Elain, their sister, smiles softly at me. She has an ethereal quality, with gentle features that instantly make me feel at ease. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she says sweetly, her voice warm and inviting. “If you need anything, please let me know.”

I nod, feeling a flicker of appreciation for her kindness.

Cassian stands next to Nesta, his muscular frame radiating strength and energy. He grins widely, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just don’t let her intimidate you,” he teases, motioning toward Nesta. “She’s really just a big softie at heart.”

“Hardly,” Nesta retorts, rolling her eyes but the corners of her mouth lift slightly.

As they all welcome me, I feel a tug in my chest, an inexplicable pull that draws my attention across the room. I turn my head, and my breath catches in my throat. Another Illyrian soldier stands there, much like Cassian but not. His arms are crossed over his toned chest, looking out the large windows at the stars. His dark hair catches the light, and there’s an air of quiet strength about him. He seems lost in thought, his posture relaxed yet commanding.

“Azriel,” Rhys speaks to his friend, his tone light but expectant. “Won’t you greet our guest?”

Azriel turns slowly toward me, and I find myself momentarily entranced. He is classically beautiful, though nearly unreadable, an enigma wrapped in shadows. He stands tall, his dark hair tousled and framing his face perfectly. Golden-brown skin gleams softly in the warm light, and his massive Illyrian wings are folded elegantly behind him, giving him an imposing yet graceful presence. The planes of his face are striking—high cheekbones, a strong jawline—carved by years of rigorous training. His hazel eyes, a blend of green and gold, hold a depth that makes my breath catch.

As our eyes lock, that tugging sensation in my chest intensifies, pulling me closer to him, and then—snap. It’s as if an invisible bond has snapped into place, an undeniable connection that leaves me momentarily off-balance. I stumble, my breath hitching, and I reach out instinctively for support.

Rhysand’s violet eyes widen with concern as he steps closer, his hand steadying me. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.

I nod quickly, but my attention is drawn back to Azriel, who steps toward me in large, graceful strides, closing the distance between us with an effortless fluidity that only heightens the charged atmosphere.

He reaches out, taking my right hand in his scarred one, the warmth of his touch igniting a thousand sensations within me. Then, with a deep bow, he bends slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice low and velvety, wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

At his touch, a wave of emotions floods through me. I can feel everything he feels—an undercurrent of fear at this unexpected connection, a deep anticipation for my response, and there, beneath it all, an undeniable want and lust that makes my cheeks heat with embarrassment. It’s as if our souls are whispering secrets to one another, threading together in an intricate dance of intimacy and longing.

I try to pull my hand back, overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions coursing through the bond, but he holds my gaze, and I find myself rooted to the spot, caught in the depths of his hazel eyes. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying, a whirlwind of sensations that leaves me breathless and wanting more.

I glance down at Azriel’s scarred hands, tracing my thumb along the rough texture of his skin. The warmth of his touch sends a soft shudder through him, and I feel it travel down the bond between us—a wave of heat that washes over me, igniting something deep within. It’s an intimate gesture, one that feels both innocent and charged with unspoken promises.

But suddenly, I feel something else—claws prying at the edges of my mind, a persistent probing that sends a shiver down my spine. I snap my head to the side, my eyes landing on Rhys and Feyre. Rhys stands with his head tilted slightly, a focused expression on his face as he tries to break through my mental shields, searching for what I’m thinking and sensing what’s happening between Azriel and me.

“Rhys!” I snap, my voice sharper than intended. “Get out of my head!”

His bright violet eyes widen in surprise, but there’s no malice behind his glare—just concern and curiosity.

I squeeze Azriel’s hand slightly, seeking comfort in his presence as I feel the bond shift, allowing a flicker of privacy to return. With a subtle sigh, Azriel finally lets me go, his grip loosening but the warmth lingering on my skin.

With the weight of too many eyes on me, I feel exposed and overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of it all. I take a step back, my heart racing. “I need some air,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. Without waiting for a response, I move toward the balcony, seeking solace in the open air. The stars shimmer above me, bright and unyielding against the velvet backdrop of the night sky. The cool breeze nips at my skin, sending a shiver through me, and I realize with a pang that I shouldn’t have let Feyre dress me up so much; the delicate fabric feels too thin against the chill.

I take a deep breath, looking up at the stars, trying to quell the turmoil in my head. They are more beautiful than I ever imagined, each twinkling light a reminder of the vastness of the world beyond this moment. The Night Court is far more peaceful than anyone ever says it is, a soothing embrace of tranquility that wraps around me, lulling my racing heart.

But then, just as I begin to gather my thoughts, I feel the presence behind me. Scarred hands rest on the balcony railing between mine, and a solid body presses against me, immediately calming the raging thoughts and anxiety within me. It’s as if now that Azriel has been found as my mate, he can calm me with just a touch. My parents always told me stories about mates, about how their presence could soothe even the most tumultuous of storms.

Suddenly, I’m no longer cold. The heat radiating from him envelops me, grounding me in the moment. I seem to fall back against him instinctively, feeling the solid strength of his body as he envelops me in a comforting warmth. I breathe him in—the scent of dark wood, cool night air, and something uniquely him that sends my heart racing anew.

I take a deep breath, letting my eyes slide shut as the back of my head rests against his shoulder, feeling his presence wrap around me like a protective shroud. I can’t help but open my mind to him, allowing our connection to deepen. I show him every thought I’ve ever had about mates—the way my parents were so perfectly entwined, the love that seemed to glow around them like a beacon. I share my awe from moments ago, the overwhelming rush of emotions when our eyes first met.

I can feel him absorbing my thoughts, understanding the weight of them as they flit through our bond like soft whispers. And as I let go of my worries and fears, I realise that in this moment, with Azriel, everything feels right. The bond between us is no longer just a connection; it is a sanctuary.

When I finally open my eyes, I realize it’s not just Azriel’s presence wrapping around me but his massive wings have unfurled, forming a dark cocoon around us. They block out the view of the dining room and the curious gazes of the others, creating a sanctuary that offers me the privacy I’ve always craved, especially in gatherings like this one. I’ve never liked being the center of attention, and now, in this moment, I’m grateful for his instinct to shield us.

His wings are magnificent—dark and leathery, reminiscent of a bat’s, stretching wide to envelop us in shadow. The texture is smooth yet powerful, each wingbone prominent and elegant. I slowly turn to face him, our bodies close but still connected through the warmth of his wings. His arms remain on the balcony railing, and the soft look on his face takes my breath away. There’s something in his gaze, a mix of vulnerability and fierce desire, that makes my heart race.

I reach out tentatively, fingers brushing against one of his wings. At my touch, he lets out a breathy sound, a mixture of surprise and something deeper. A surge of sexual want travels straight through the bond between us, igniting every nerve ending in my body and leaving me breathless.

Azriel’s hazel eyes flutter open a moment later, the warm color gone so dark they’re almost black, filled with an intensity that makes me shiver. His voice is low and gravelly as he speaks, the words rolling off his tongue like a whispered secret. “I need to kiss you.” There’s a desperation in his tone, almost like a plea, and my hands instinctively reach up to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms.

In that moment, everything else fades away, and it’s just the two of us in our private world. His hands finally move, wrapping around me with a possessive tenderness that makes my heart leap. He pulls me closer, pressing my hips into the balcony railing, creating an exhilarating friction between us. One hand weaves into my hair, the other slips to my thigh, lifting my leg and wrapping it around his waist as if to draw me even nearer.

And then, as if the world outside has disappeared, he dives down and kisses me like I’m the oxygen he needs to breathe. His lips are soft yet insistent, sending sparks of electricity through my body. The taste of him is intoxicating—warm and rich, like dark chocolate laced with a hint of something sweet. With every brush of his mouth against mine, I feel my heart race, igniting a fire within me that spreads from my chest to my fingertips, making me dizzy with desire.

I can’t seem to get enough of him. My hands instinctively roam over the contours of his back, searching for a break in his Illyrian armor, eager to find hot, bare golden skin beneath. I’m met only with cool metal and the hard lines of his physique, a growl of frustration escaping me when I can’t reach my destination. The sound draws a deep chuckle from him, vibrating through our connection and sending shivers down my spine.

As we pull apart just enough for him to speak, I’m breathless. “I have waited hundreds of years for you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion and longing. The weight of those words settles over us, filled with the gravity of a bond forged over lifetimes.

Before I can process what he means, he surges forward again, crashing his mouth against mine with a heat and passion that sends my mind reeling. I feel every dip and curve of his body pressed against mine, the solid strength of him overwhelming me in the best way possible. I don’t care how hard the railing is digging into my back; everything Azriel is consuming me, and I want him—no, I need him—right here and right now.

A low sound of agreement rumbles in his chest, deep and resonant, making my insides flutter with excitement. But just as I lose myself in the warmth of his embrace, a sudden clearing of the throat outside our cocoon of wings startles me, and I yelp with fear, pulling back from the kiss.

“Darlings!” comes the voice, sickly sweet and teasing. Rhys’. “As hot and amusing as this is, please do whatever this is somewhere else where your mental shields won’t go down and blast unwanted thoughts my way.”

I glance over at Rhysand, who stands just outside the shadow of Azriel’s wings, a smirk playing on his lips. His violet eyes dance with mischief as he takes in the scene, clearly amused by our moment. I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, my heart still racing from both the kiss and the unexpected interruption.

Azriel's presence remains a steady anchor behind me, the heat radiating from his body enveloping me in a comforting embrace. Despite Rhys's teasing, I can’t shake the feeling of exhilaration coursing through my veins.

Without breaking the intense gaze between us, Azriel flips Rhys the bird over his shoulder, a smirk dancing on his lips. It’s a surprisingly playful gesture from someone as serious as him, and it sends a flutter of laughter through me, lightening the tension in the air.

Then, with a sudden and fluid motion, he scoops me up in his arms, mirroring how Rhysand had carried me here. The world shifts around us as he cradles me against his chest, his hold firm and secure. My heart races, not from the shock of being lifted, but from the thrill of what’s to come.

He strides out of the House of Wind, his powerful legs propelling us into the night, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his dark wings. I let my head rest against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—woodsmoke and night air, a mixture that calms me even as my pulse quickens. Anticipation and want settle deep in my bones, intertwining with the warmth radiating from him, making it hard to think straight.

What does my mate have planned for us once he gets me to his bed? The mere thought sends butterflies swirling in my stomach, a mix of excitement and nerves. I close my eyes, surrendering to the feeling of safety in his arms, relishing the electric connection that pulses between us.

With each step flap of his wings he takes, I feel the promise of the night stretching out before us, a canvas of endless possibilities. All I can think about is how I’ve finally found him—my mate—and everything is about to change.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[lymericslimerick]

The Night, She calls Me | 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗏𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

The Iudex of Fontaine had never been known to stoop to lowly "human" desires, up until now.

warnings .ᐟ smut(?), making out, Neuvillette gets stabbed, blood drinking, descriptions of a knife being pushed out of a wound, Neuvillette's very much insane, reader is vaguely vampiric, yandere-esque

1.4k words | she/her pronouns. the aftermath can be seen here

The moonlight shone through the radius window looming over the alcove, shining a spotlight on the two bodies intertwined under its glow. Clothes were scattered on the floor, a mechanic’s jacket and dress shirt haphazardly thrown to the wayside and a coat, adorned with elegantly drapes pieces of fabric befitting of only the highest authority thrown across the room like it was shot out of someone’s hand in a flurry. Two pairs of hair clips, ornate and sharp thrown at the foot of the nook as one body pulled the other impossibly closer, arms wrapped around the other in a vice grip.

They’re kissing, one side restrained and fragile as she halfheartedly matched the crazed, animalistic need of the other who’s all fangs and tongue, kissing like he wants to consume after years of starvation. Two vibrant blue antennae glow and stand on their own on his head, almost covered by the waterfall of formerly proper long hair, now an unkempt mess of spiky pieces and interrupted cascades.

A dance of the tongue for a beat, and the more human other speaks. “Chief Justice.”

Immediately, “Dearest, sweetest, please call me by my name.”

She ignores it, pulling him closer by his cravat. He makes a noise of childish excitement, bordering on a whimper as eyes older than the soil of the earth stare at her with an intensity that could rip the skin of the bones of any other being. “Monsieur.” His lips tremble as he captures her in another kiss, hands coming up to clasp the sides of her face as if to goad her into melting like he was, urge her to fall like he has.

Her hands go up and touch the sides of his neck and Oh, he is on fire. The skin she touched is singed and burnt with her, a drop of hell on the pristine landscape of heaven as he struggles to gasp and pant at the feeling. O’ light, O’ void, the feeling. The feeling was consuming, numbing his brain further as she kept her hands there, fingers kneading and prodding like she wanted to feel the raw flesh and blood and power of his person on her hands. He can’t help it, he bares his fangs and tries to bite into her kiss, consume her like she consumes him.

She pulls her hands away and he fully whines, antennae rigid as it sticks close to his head much like an angry animal. She brings her hands to clasp over his own and he feels like they have mangled them, tainted them so only her touch would form them back to what they once were. He lets out a shaky exhale, “My joy, My beloved, My life’s queen…” He wants to wail and thrash as his lips chase the feeling of hers. She is cruel, depraved.

“Quiet,” She mumbles into mouth and he keens, ducking his head into her shoulder. “Be still, let me do this.” He takes a laboured breath into her as he feels her hand separate from his, feels as it reaches into the pocket of her pants. He can’t bring himself to care as she opens her mouth wider, giving him an anchor to latch onto, an outlet to express his carnal desire. He eats and eats at her mouth like he’s a man shackled by earthly desires, like he isn’t the Iudex of Fontaine, the supreme authority of all waters but a weak, puny little thing single minded in his pleasure.

So good. So good. Sogoodsogoodsogoodsogoodsogoodsogoodsogoodso goodsogoodsogoodsogoodsogoodso-

He feels the blade’s presence before he sees it, and he sees the blade before he feels it. He stills while he feels the blade around archaic flesh, feels his entire being bloom and settle around the blade held in the hands of his beloved. He lets his mouth open around hers in surprise as she looks at him with a beautifully deep gaze, beautifully cold eyes, and the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen in his entire life. A small, lithe little thing that didn’t even look like it was wholly directed at him, instead directed at the blue blood coursing down the wound in his chest. But Oh, the joy of seeing her like this. The joy that she’s smiling at him.

She’s looking at him, she’s looking at him, she’s smiling, she’s happy. He feels himself smile, shaky and full of fangs. “H-hah.. Hah..” He throws his head back onto the alcove with wide eyes, draconic pupils crazed and shaking. He feels himself be consumed by her fire, the need coursing through his veins bringing him to a higher plane. “…Hah..!”

“I hope you don’t mind this too much, Monsieur.” He feels her voice in his veins, and she feasts. Her tongue licks at the dripping blood from his wound, trailing up to the source. His mouth opens and a silent scream escapes him, not from pain or from fear, from a primal instinct he hadn’t felt in all of his rebirth. This instinct feels like he’s been returned home, returned to a place where he’s one of everyone, a single drop in a vast ocean instead of a tsunami approaching a small sea settlement. His eyes roll up into his head as he feels his dearly beloved lap up more of him with the fervor of someone dying, someone starved. Might this mean he and his beloved were feeling the same things? He shudders at the thought. How wonderful it was that he was brought to heaven by being defiled and his beloved by consuming the water that coursed through his veins.

Regrettably, he feels himself running dry. His primordially sculpted body wasn’t as keen on becoming a feast for his other as he was, skin stitching together and muscles flexing to reject the blade lodged in his chest as it slowly pulls out of him. The squelching noises coming from his chest made him whine, biting his lip so hard he draws more blue blood. He desperately wants his love to drink from the would he’s currently chewing deeper into. He hears her ‘tsk’.

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t bleed as much as I wanted you to,” She mutters. “Your body isn’t like others, is it .. Neuvillette?”

The door rattles with the might of Neuvillette’s scream. His eyes roll back into his head , his antennae glowing blue and vibrant as he comes untouched in his pants. Faintly, He hears the pipes in the bathroom burst and the faint yell of a guard, followed by exclamations of confusion and fear both outside and inside the Palais Mermonia. In his peripheral view he sees lights switch on around the buildings surrounded the Palais, his divine hearing flooding with exclamations of “The pipes burst!” “Get the food off the table! it’s flooding!”. Above him, his beloved chuckles. “How cute.”

Neuvillette feels himself laugh alongside her, euphoric and trite. So unbecoming. The knife is completely removed from his chest and safely pocketed into her pants, the tight imprint of them against her thigh almost making Neuvillette come again. She brings a hand up to her own mouth to wipe the blue ichor off her lip, licking the residue off it. He faintly registers how she looks more full of life, formerly lifeless (s/c) skin looking more vibrant and warm and her (e/c) eyes looking bright.

Neuvillette can’t bring himself to care at all, instead marvelling at her beauty against the moonlight. His life, his love, full of him. He shudders as he feels the waters temper, murmurs of citizens grateful that their water had stopped flowing with such fervour ringing in his head. Little did they know, they needed to thank his beloved for it, thank her for every divine thing that happened tonight. She extracts gloves from her pocket and sheathes her hands, muttering under her breath about “Feeling bad” or “regretting she had to get relief like this” and “This should be enough.. I swear I won’t bother you again, Monsieur.”

What?..

He feels dread creep into him as she continues on, reclothing herself with a sense of urgency she does not need. Doesn’t she know this Palais belongs to her now? Doesn’t she know He belongs to Her now? He feels himself sputter and babble while she looks back at him, the worst sort of look in her eyes. The look of leaving.

“Thank you so much for letting me get some relief, Monsieur. Have a good evening.”

On her way back, the storm that had formed almost instantaneously threatened to flood Fontaine once more. The roads of Fontaine filled with water cloying at her ankles as if it were alive, as if it was begging her to come with them. She paid them no mind.

[atlasthegreatest]

Love Game / Jang Wonyoung x Female Reader

Wonyoung needs a date for an exclusive Valentine’s event, so she convinces her friend Y/n to pretend to be her girlfriend. They both treat it like a game—holding hands, feeding each other chocolate, making everyone swoon—but when the night ends, things between what is real and fake start to blur together.

Word count: 3928

Warnings: Fake dating. Friends to lovers. Fluff. Soft angst(?).

The invitation had arrived in the most extravagant way possible—a velvet box, tied with a satin ribbon, containing a single golden card. The Lumière Valentine’s Gala, an exclusive event for the most elite names in the industry, and, of course, Jang Wonyoung was on the guest list.

But there was one problem.

“You need a date?” Y/n repeated, leaning against the café table as Wonyoung stirred her iced Americano with deliberate slowness.

“Mm. Technically, no. But everyone who’s anyone is bringing a partner, and I can’t show up alone,” she said, tapping her straw against the rim of the cup. “It’d be… embarrassing.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “You’re Jang Wonyoung. Since when do you care about what people think?”

“Since people started making a big deal about who I’m dating,” the idol countered smoothly. “If I go alone, they’ll start rumors. If I go with someone suspicious, they’ll start worse rumors.”

“And I’m… not suspicious?”

“You’re safe,” Wonyoung corrected, pointing her straw at the woman. “A friend. Someone I can trust. We pretend to be in love for one night, steal the spotlight, and walk away untouched by scandal. It’ll be fun.”

Y/n considered it. The idea of fake dating Wonyoung—who was effortlessly elegant and intimidatingly beautiful—felt surreal. But the way she was grinning, eyes twinkling with mischief, made it impossible to say no.

“…Fine. But if you make me wear something ridiculous, I’m backing out.”

Her laugh was light and victorious. “No promises.”

————————

The gala was straight out of a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers bathed the ballroom in golden light, and a string quartet played softly in the background as elegantly dressed guests danced and mingled.

Wonyoung was breathtaking. A sleek red gown hugged her frame, her long hair cascading over her shoulders like silk. She turned to the tall woman by her side, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

“You clean up well,” she mused, looping her arm through Y/n’s.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Y/n replied, earning a playful nudge.

The game began the moment they stepped inside.

Wonyoung leaned in close when she spoke, her breath warm against Y/n’s ear. She intertwined her fingers with hers so naturally that it sent a shiver up Y/n’s spine. When a photographer asked for a picture, Wonyoung turned to Y/n with soft, expectant eyes—so the tall woman placed a hand on her waist, pulling her just a little closer.

And then there were the chocolates.

“Here,” Wonyoung plucked a heart-shaped truffle from a tray, holding it between her fingertips. “Open up.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Y/n muttered, but she obeyed, letting herself be fed the decadent chocolate. Wonyoung’s lips curled into a smirk as she dabbed Y/n’s lip with her thumb.

“You had something there,” she said innocently.

Gasps and whispers followed them both throughout the night. Wonyoung’s performance was flawless, and Y/n found herself playing along with equal ease.

But as the evening stretched on, something shifted.

Wonyoung wasn’t just pretending to be close—she was leaning into Y/n’s warmth, laughing at her quiet jokes, squeezing her hand just a little tighter.

And when the final dance came, her fingers hesitated before lacing behind Y/n’s neck. The soft melody wrapped around them like a secret, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded.

Wonyoung looked up at Y/n, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

“…This was supposed to be a game,” she murmured.

“Was it?” Y/n asked, heart pounding.

Wonyoung didn’t answer. Not with words, at least. But the way she rested her head against the tall woman’s shoulder, just as the last note played, told Y/n everything.

Something about tonight wasn’t fake.

And maybe—just maybe—it never had been.

———————-

The car ride back was quiet. Not awkward, not tense—just quiet.

Wonyoung sat beside Y/n, her head resting lightly against the seat, her fingers toying with the edge of her dress. Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of gold and red, a soft contrast to the way Y/n’s heart still thundered from the events of the night.

This was supposed to be a game.

Wonyoung words echoed in Y/n’s head, twisting into something more complicated than either of them had intended. It had been fun, effortless even—laughing at the stolen glances, indulging in the attention, leaning into the script of a perfect romance. But somewhere between the teasing smiles and the way Wonyoung had held Y/n during that final dance, the lines had blurred.

Y/n wasn’t sure where reality ended and the game began anymore.

And judging by the way Wonyoung kept stealing glances at her when she thought Y/n wasn’t looking, maybe she wasn’t sure either.

The car slowed to a stop outside her apartment complex. Wonyoung hesitated before unbuckling her seatbelt, her fingers stilling as if debating something.

“You’re not going to make me walk you to your door, are you?” Y/n teased lightly, trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

The other woman rolled her eyes but smiled. “I could demand the full fake date experience,” she mused. “You know, lingering goodnight, dramatic parting words…”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It does.” Wonyoung let out a soft laugh, but then she turned to Y/n, the playfulness in her gaze dimming slightly.

A pause.

“…Did you have fun?” Wonyoung asked quietly.

The question was simple, but the way she said it—almost cautious, almost vulnerable—made Y/n’s chest tighten.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “Did you?”

Wonyoung looked at Y/n for a long moment, her dark brown eyes searching for something even she wasn’t sure of. Then, finally, she nodded.

“Yeah.”

Silence again.

Y/n wasn’t sure what she expected—some kind of grand confession? A realization that this whole thing wasn’t as fake as they both thought? But Wonyoung just exhaled a slow breath, before reaching for the door handle.

Then she paused.

In the dim glow of the streetlights, she turned back toward Y/n, hesitating only for a second before leaning in. It wasn’t a kiss—not quite. Just a brush of warmth as she pressed a fleeting touch against the tall woman’s cheek. Close enough that Y/n could feel her breath, close enough that she could still catch the faint scent of vanilla and roses clinging to her skin.

When Wonyoung pulled back, she smiled—small, almost secretive.

“Goodnight,” she murmured, before stepping out into the cool night air.

Y/n sat there, frozen, as she disappeared through the doors of her apartment building.

The game was supposed to end the moment she walked away.

So why did it feel like something had just begun?

—————————

If they were going to keep this up, there had to be rules. That’s what Wonyoung had said.

She had drafted them over coffee later that week, tapping them into her notes app with the precision of someone crafting a business contract.

Rule #1: Public displays of affection are allowed—but only when necessary.

(“Necessary according to who?” Y/n had asked. “Me, obviously,” Wonyoung had replied, flipping her hair dramatically.)

Rule #2: No catching feelings.

(“That’s the most important one,” Wonyoung had said, not quite looking at Y/n. “This is all just for fun.”)

Rule #3: The game stops the moment one of us wants out. No hard feelings.

Y/n had agreed. It had seemed simple enough. Logical. A way to keep things in control.

So why did it already feel like the rules were breaking before the game even started?

The first test came a week later at an exclusive industry event—a launch party for a luxury fashion brand. The second Y/n walked in with Wonyoung on her arm, eyes turned. Whispers followed.

“Everyone’s looking at us,” Y/n murmured, adjusting her cuff as she walked beside the idol.

“Good.” Wonyoung smiled, slipping her hand into Y/n’s. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

And just like that, she led Y/n into the performance.

The way Wonyoung leaned into her when she laughed. The way she let her brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze flickering up to meet Y/n’s in that perfect, practiced moment of tension. The way she absentmindedly played with the hem of her sleeve, a soft touch that made Y/n’s heart stutter, even if hers didn’t.

It was flawless. Effortless.

So why did it feel so real?

The night blurred into flashes of conversation, champagne toasts, stolen glances that lasted too long. Then, somewhere between polite greetings and the weight of the attention on them both, Wonyoung whispered,

“Follow me.”

She led Y/n through a back door, out onto a private balcony overlooking the glittering city skyline. The air was crisp, cool against the tall woman’s skin.

“You okay?” Y/n asked, watching as the other woman leaned against the railing.

Wonyoung nodded, but there was something distant in her expression. “It’s just… a lot sometimes.”

The admission was quiet. Uncharacteristic.

Jang Wonyoung was untouchable. Confident. Always in control. But here, beneath the city lights, she just looked… tired.

Y/n hesitated, then, without thinking, reached out—her fingers brushing hers against the railing. A small, grounding touch.

Wonyoung glanced at their hands, her lips parting slightly. Then, before Y/n could pull away, she held on.

Neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hum of music from inside.

“…This feels different, doesn’t it?” she said finally, so quietly Y/n almost missed it.

Y/n’a pulse jumped.

“Wonyoung—”

Before the woman could finish, the door behind her opened. A couple of guests stepped out onto the balcony, catching sight of them both.

Wonyoung’s expression shifted in an instant—masking whatever had just been there with something dazzling, effortless. She turned to the tall woman, voice light and teasing.

“Should we give them a show?”

Y/n barely had time to react before Wonyoung reached up, cupping her face like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then—

She kissed her.

It wasn’t deep, wasn’t dramatic—just a soft press of her lips against hers, fleeting yet devastating. Y/n’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she forgot this was supposed to be fake.

But then Wonyoung pulled away, her gaze searching Y/n’s for something she wouldn’t say out loud.

The guests murmured behind them, their excitement obvious. Exactly what Wonyoung had wanted.

She smiled like nothing had changed.

But as Wonyoung led them back inside, her hand still in hers, Y/n couldn’t ignore the unfamiliar warmth blooming in her chest.

Judging by the way Wonyoung’s fingers trembled slightly against hers—

Maybe she couldn’t either.

————————-

Y/n should’ve been used to the rumors by now.

After the party, the internet exploded. Pictures of Wonyoung kissing her spread like wildfire, headlines ranging from excited to downright intrusive.

“IVE’s Wonyoung confirms secret romance?”

“Who is Wonyoung’s mystery girlfriend—and how long have they been together?”

For days, Y/n’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Even her own friends started texting her.

Hyunjin: “There’s no way you pulled Wonyoung.”

Giselle: “Teach me your ways.”

Yujin: “Did you SERIOUSLY start dating Wonyoung and not tell me?”

“It’s fake.”

Yujin: “LOL sure.”

“It is.”

Yujin: “Then why does she look at you like that in the pictures?”

Y/n didn’t have an answer to that.

And truthfully, Y/n didn’t know how to act around Wonyoung after that night.

The game had rules. Rules she made. But she was breaking them just as much as her.

And now? Now Y/n couldn’t stop thinking about the way she kissed her. Not in front of cameras, not under the eyes of strangers—but after. That split second where her gaze had lingered, like she was questioning it too.

It wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

Y/n didn’t see Wonyoung until three days later.

She showed up unannounced, knocking at Y/n’s apartment door like she hadn’t turned her entire world upside down.

“Let’s go out,” she said as soon as the tall woman opened the door.

Y/n blinked. “What?”

“Let’s go out,” Wonyoung repeated, stepping inside without waiting for permission. She was wearing an oversized hoodie and a baseball cap, casual enough that she could blend into a crowd. “No cameras, no industry people. Just us.”

“…Is this a test?”

The woman rolled her eyes, plopping onto Y/n’s couch. “We always hang out outside of the game. Why are you acting weird?”

Y/n folded her arms. “I don’t know, maybe because you kissed me in front of an entire party?”

Wonyoung didn’t flinch. Didn’t look guilty. But she did hesitate—just for a fraction of a second.

“That was necessary,” she said smoothly. “People were watching.”

“Was it also necessary to hold my hand when no one was looking?” Y/n shot back.

That finally made her pause.

Y/n watched as the woman bit her lip, her usual confidence faltering. Then, just as quickly, she plastered on an easy smile. “You’re overthinking things.”

“I don’t think I am.”

A beat of silence.

Then, softer—almost like she was testing the words, Wonyoung said:

“…Do you want to stop?”

Y/n swallowed.

She should’ve said yes.

Y/n should’ve reminded her of Rule #3—the moment one of them wanted out, the game ended, no hard feelings.

But instead, Y/n found herself shaking her head.

“…No.”

Wonyoung exhaled, as if she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.

“Good,” she murmured, standing up and grabbing Y/n’s wrist. “Because I still need you.”

Wonyoung pulled her out the door before Y/n could process what that meant.

———————-

That night, they walked through the city like they used to—before the game, before the rules. Just two people, laughing, stealing bites of each other’s street food, teasing like nothing had changed.

Except something had.

Because this time, when Wonyoung looped her arm through Y/n’s, it wasn’t for show. When she rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder while they sat by the Han River, watching the city lights flicker against the water, there were no cameras, no audience.

And when she whispered, almost absentmindedly,

“This feels nice.”

Y/n knew she wasn’t talking about the night.

She was talking about them.

————————

It was getting harder to pretend.

The game had rules, but neither of them were following them anymore.

Somewhere between the staged hand-holding and the stolen glances that lasted too long, Y/n stopped knowing what was real and what wasn’t. Wonyoung was still Wonyoung—dazzling, confident, untouchable. But now, when she reached for her, when she leaned against her like it was the most natural thing in the world, there was a hesitation in her eyes.

A question neither of them dared to ask.

And yet, neither of them wanted to stop.

The moment everything cracked was late one evening at her apartment.

Y/n had stopped by after practice, both too tired to go out, too comfortable to part ways just yet. The city outside was alive with its usual neon glow, but inside, the world was still.

Wonyoung was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, scrolling through her phone with one hand while the other absentmindedly traced circles against Y/n’s wrist. A habit she had picked up without realizing.

Neither of them spoke. The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable—it was easy. Familiar.

And that was the problem.

Because this wasn’t supposed to feel like home.

“Do you ever think about what would happen if we actually dated?”

The question slipped out before Y/n could stop it.

Wonyoung’s hand stilled against her skin.

Y/n felt her tense, though Wonyoung kept her gaze on her phone. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n lied. “Just wondering.”

A pause.

Then, finally, Wonyoung looked up at her.

There was something unreadable in her expression. “We’d be a disaster.”

Y/n let out a short laugh. “Wow, don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”

“I’m serious.” Wonyoung sat up, setting her phone aside. “Dating me is… complicated. You know that.”

Y/n knew. Of course, she knew. Wonyoung was always in the spotlight. Always under scrutiny. Loving her wouldn’t be easy.

But the way she said it—like she was warning you like she was warning herself—made Y/n’s chest tighten.

“…What if it wasn’t?” The woman asked, her voice quieter now.

Wonyoung exhaled, running a hand through her hair. For a second, she looked like she wanted to say something—something real—but then she shook her head, forcing a small smile.

“We’re just playing a game,” she reminded Y/n.

Right.

A game.

Then why did it feel like neither of them were winning?

Y/n tried to push the conversation out of her head. She really did.

But it lingered. It followed her into every interaction, every moment where Wonyoung touched her like she didn’t mean it, only to pull away like she did.

And then, one night, she broke the one rule Y/n thought she’d never break.

It happened after an award show.

The after-party was buzzing, music loud, the air thick with champagne and flashing lights. Wonyoung had been by Y/n’s side all night, as expected, playing the role of the perfect girlfriend.

But something was different.

She was closer than usual. Her fingers traced absent patterns against Y/n’s palm when she held her hand. Her laughter was softer, almost shy, every time the tall woman leaned in to whisper something in her ear.

And then, when she thought no one was watching, she kissed Y/n.

Not for show. Not because she had to.

Just because she wanted to.

Y/n’s breath hitched. Wonyoung pulled back just slightly, her forehead resting against hers.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, barely above a whisper, she asked,

“Can we pretend for just a little longer?”

And against all logic, against every alarm blaring in Y/n’s head—

But then, instead of doing what her head was telling her, Y/n found herself whispering back,

“Okay.”

———————-

It was getting harder to ignore.

The way Wonyoung reached for Y/n when she didn’t have to. The way she lingered a second too long when Y/n said goodbye. The way her fingers curled around hers absentmindedly, as if she had forgotten this was supposed to be fake.

And worst of all? The way Y/n let her.

Because she was just as guilty.

Every time Wonyoung smiled at Y/n like she was her world, every time she whispered her name in a way that made Y/n’s heart stutter—she let herself believe it. Even if it was just for a moment. Even if Y/n knew better.

They were past the point of pretending.

The next time it happened, there were no cameras. No eyes watching. No need for a performance.

It was late—far past midnight. The city had settled into a quiet hum, the world outside slipping into that space between exhaustion and peace.

Wonyoung had invited Y/n over after another event, neither of them ready to part ways just yet. She had changed out of her elegant dress into an oversized sweater, her bare feet curled beneath her as she sat beside Y/n on the couch.

She looked different like this. Softer.

Less like Jang Wonyoung, the idol, and more like just Wonyoung.

“You’re staring,” Wonyoung murmured, not looking away from the TV.

“You make it hard not to,” Y/n admitted.

Wonyoung’s lips curved into a small smile, but there was something different in it—something almost hesitant.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the quiet hum of the movie playing in the background, long forgotten.

Then, Wonyoung shifted. Slowly, deliberately, she turned toward Y/n, her eyes searching Y/n’s for something the other woman wasn’t sure she could give her.

“…Can I ask you something?” Wonyoung said softly.

Y/n nodded.

She hesitated. Then—

“What if we stopped pretending?”

Y/n’s heart stopped.

Everything stilled.

Wonyoung’s fingers curled around the fabric of her sweater like she was bracing for something. “I know what I said before,” she continued voice barely above a whisper. “That it was just a game. That we wouldn’t cross that line.”

A pause.

“But I think I already have.”

The weight of her words pressed against Y/n’s chest, leaving her breathless.

She should’ve responded. She should’ve said something—anything. But all Y/n could do was look at Wonyoung, the girl who had blurred the lines between reality and fiction until they didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

And then, before Y/n could think, before she could stop herself—

Y/n closed the distance between them.

The kiss wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t careful, wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t for anyone else but them.

It was real.

Wonyoung exhaled against Y/n’s lips, her fingers threading through the tall woman’s hair, pulling her closer. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the rumors. Not the game. Not the fear of what came next.

Just Y/n.

Just this.

And maybe—just maybe—this had never been a game at all.

Bonus Chapter:

Wonyoung was terrible at being subtle.

Y/n realized this when she started looking at her differently. When she stopped letting go of her hand, even when no one was watching. When she stole her hoodies, despite having an entire designer wardrobe at her disposal.

When Yujin caught the two of them in the middle of one of their not-so-fake-anymore moments and smirked like she had known all along.

“You’re both so obvious,” she had said, arms crossed, amusement written all over her face.

Wonyoung, who was currently wearing Y/n’s sweater, sitting way too close to her on the couch, blinked innocently. “What do you mean?”

Yujin raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally wearing her clothes.”

“So?”

“And you’re looking at her like they hung the stars in the sky.”

Wonyoung opened her mouth to argue—but then promptly shut it.

Y/n tried to hide her laugh.

Yujin just rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I don’t even know why you two pretended for so long.”

Wonyoung hesitated at that. Her fingers curled slightly against Y/n’s sleeve, her usual confidence wavering for just a second.

“…I think I was scared,” she admitted quietly.

Y/n glanced at her, surprised by the honesty.

Yujin, too, seemed taken aback. Her teasing expression softened. “Of what?”

Wonyoung’s grip on you tightened. She didn’t look away when she said,

“Of it being real.”

The words hung in the air. Heavy. Honest.

And then, before Y/n could respond, Wonyoung turned to her, her gaze warm in that way that still made Y/n’s heart skip a beat.

“But I’m not scared anymore,” she added, softer now.

Something inside Y/n melted.

Yujin groaned. “Okay, that’s cute, but I’m leaving before you guys start making heart eyes at each other.”

Wonyoung laughed, leaning into Y/n’s side. “Too late.”

As Yujin left, muttering something about “sickeningly in love people”, Wonyoung turned back to the tall woman, her smile still lingering.

“So,” she mused, lacing her fingers through Y/n’s. “What do we do now?”

Y/n squeezed Wonyoung’s hand, letting her thumb brush over her knuckles.

“Whatever we want,” she said.

And this time—

There were no more rules.

[the-fiction-witch]

By The Fire

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 12 Word Count -1250

Fictional Advent Day Twenty Five

Elrond stood before the ornate mirror, carefully finishing his preparations for the evening. He slipped into his fine garments, the rich fabric of his deep blue robes shimmering slightly in the light. The white accents along the edges of his attire, highlighting the intricate patterns woven into the cloth. As he pulled on his tall, polished boots, the soft leather hugged his calves snugly.

Once properly dressed, he moved to the dresser, where he selected his prized pin brooch. It glinted in the firelight, and he attached it to his robes with a steady hand. Next, he turned his attention to the bedside table, where several rings lay waiting. Each ring was unique, adorned with different gemstones that caught the light and sparkled as he slipped them onto his fingers. With a final glance in the mirror, he ensured his hair was perfectly arranged.

“Are you almost ready, my love?” He called out,

Elrond turned and found himself unable to hold back his wide smile,

The chambers were enveloped in a warm and inviting ambience, thanks to the multitude of sweetly flickering candles that adorned every surface. Their soft glow danced across the room, casting gentle shadows that wavered like whispers against the intricately carved walls. The fire in the grand hearth crackled with vigour, sending sparks into the air as it devoured the seasoned logs, its warmth spreading throughout the space and wrapping it in a comfortable embrace.

Beyond the leaded glass windows, the enchanting elven city lay cloaked in midwinter snow, a blanket of glistening white that softened the edges of the towering spires and delicate rooftops. The snowflakes twirled and swirled gracefully as they descended, creating a delicate ballet against the backdrop of the city's majestic architecture. Icy tendrils of frost framed the stained glass windows, where vibrant depictions of the sea and sky came to life, the colours glowing like jewels under the ethereal candlelight within the chamber.

Y/n settled comfortably on the plush couch, her shoes elegantly set aside, her flowing gown that cascaded around her. The fabric, a beautiful blend of deep blue and pure white, mirrored the attire worn by Elrond. Adorning her neck and wrists was an array of silver jewellery, each piece delicately crafted, glimmering softly against her skin,

Her hair was a masterpiece in itself, styled into luxurious curls and intricate braids that framed her face. A stunning golden branch hairpin held the tresses away from her features. With gentle hands, Y/n cradled her swollen baby bump, her fingers moving in soothing circles, instinctively comforting the little ones nestled within her.

Elrond scoffed as he went over kneeling in front of her and resting his hands on her own to feel her bump’s movements. “Why must you do this?”

“Do what?” Y/n laughed,

“Look so distractingly gorgeous.” He chuckled kissing her nose,

“I cannot help it,”

“I know you can’t,” he smiled, “But with your sweet bump you’re utterly irresistible.”

Y/n chuckled and allowed him to savour his time stroking the bump, “Must we go?”

“What?” he chuckled,

“Must we go today? I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind if we didn’t attend, just say the baby is too tired.”

“As adorable as that would be, you know we can’t my love.” He cooed, “Come, you know you’ll enjoy yourself.” He smiled taking her hands and helping her to her feet, “And you know how they love the snow.” he chuckled giving her bump a kiss,

Elrond smiled and helped her into her warm boots and wrapped the thick robes around her,

“Elrond! We’ll be fine.” she laughs,

“I still worry,” he cooed kissing her forehead, “Shall we my love?”

“We shall,” she nodded as she wrapped her hands around his bicep, laying her head on his shoulder and snuggled up,

Elrond grasped her hand firmly, their fingers entwined as they stepped out of their chambers. Together, they meandered through the serene, snow-covered city, the world transformed into a winter wonderland. The towers rose majestically, their spires resembling the peaks of an elaborate cake, each adorned with a delicate blanket of powdered sugar-like snow. Fluffy flakes danced gently from the sky, settling softly on the vibrant plants, ancient buildings, and the wise, weathered elven statues that stood sentinel, their features softened by the snow's embrace.

As they walked, warmth glowed from within the cosy windows of nearby homes, casting flickering shadows that played upon the pristine landscape outside. The air was filled with a tranquil hush broken only by the sound of their footsteps crunching softly on the thick carpet of snow. Together, they savoured the quiet beauty of their surroundings, a perfect reflection of the peacefulness in their hearts.

Finally, they arrived at the grand gardens where many high elves gathered savouring the traditional midwinter wines as they prepared for the feast. Musicians plaid the soft and knelt yule songs as the snow fluttered down.

Many lords and ladies came to greet them wishing sweet futures and cooing at Y/n’s bump. Many of these lords and ladies had never spoken of much less to Elrond on account of his birth and social status but all now flocked to them with warmth and joy to hear tales of her pregnancy and any news of names, kicks and arrival dates for their children.

But Y/n and Elrond staid close never leaving each others arms happy to discuss their children till dawn if needed.

The feast was soon called,

“My Daughter,” Gil-galad called opening his arms to pull Y/n into a strong hug,

“Father,” she cooed,

“How are you fairing?”

“Just fine Father, they're very happy and excited.” she cooed stroking her bump, “And Elrond is taking very good care of us,” she smiled clutching Elrond’s arm once more,

“I do my best, my love.” He smiled giving her forehead a soft kiss,

“I admit I have concerns, how well a half-elf can aid such a-”

“Father.” She warned, “He aids us perfectly,”

“That brings me peace.” He nodded,

Everyone sat at the large carved table enjoying the treats and rich meats ceremonial for this time of year. All engaging in idle chat about the festivities for the whole of the long and slow meal.

When darkness truly came to fall, all the high lords and ladies gathered in the garden before the large tree that had been growing since last yule, Elrond wrapped his arms around Y/n and set his chin on her shoulder, his hands on hers as they sat on her bump as they stood by the fire. 

They shared some tender kisses watching as the tree was set aflame and the high lords and ladies began to celebrate, they watched as the flames engulfed the tree sending the bright light into the sky and causing the snow to sparkle and glitter like diamonds, 

“Y/n, My love?” He cooed,

“Yes, Elrond darling?” she smiled,

“The next yule we have, they will be with us.” He whispered into her ear, giving her bump a soft stroke,

“They will,” she nodded, “next yule we’ll get to hold them up to see the yule tree.”

“We will. I’ll happily sit them both on my shoulders every yule for the rest of my life if I must.”

“You will?”

“I will, my love.” He nodded, “And perhaps in a few more yules I’ll get to hold your sweet bum again?”

Y/n scoffed, “We’ll see, at least let me get these two out first!” She chuckled,

“Of course,” He cooed, “Happy Yule my Love,”

“Happy Yule darling,” she smiled

The two shared, a soft and tender kiss, and a warming stroke to her bump. 

[sweetyluvs]

Hi niomi<3 i’m kinda shy to share my thoughts but.. what about abby eating you out and sucking your boobs with her hair down? sorry if it’s weird!!

awh hi bby! its not weird at all! in fact, i loved this thought sm. thank you for sharing

you loved it when abby let her hair out of her long braid. The curls from the twists allows her hair to fall so elegantly, flowing down her back and shoulders like an angel. She knew you loved it, and she knew you liked it when she touched you with it down.

"mhm.. does it feel good, baby?" she muttered against your sopping pussy, your eyes wide and breaths heavy from the pleasure- throat too dry to reply; abby receiving only a nod she barley made out. your perfectly done nails held your baby pink bedsheets for life, pleasure eating you full with every swipe of her tongue and slurp of her mouth. "ngh— abby.." you barley managed to whimper out when she hit your clit in a certain way. she only grunted against you, the vibration of the low tone causing you to moan, the feelings coursing through you. "I.. I think i'm..” you didn't even have to finish, her hands immediately grabbing your hips tighter to shove you down harshly on her face, her lips coated in your slick. You moaned loudly, eyes tearing up. "d'worry, i'll make you feel so good."

you watched as she ate your pussy as if it was her final meal, hair sliding off her back and into her face- her tongue was everywhere, hitting every spot you knew you had at the same time- how? you had no idea. but fuck. you wanted more.

"abby.. abby.. abs- i.." your eyes couldn't leave her face, hazed over with desire. "go ahead, sweet. you obeyed, her tongue flipping up in a certain way- your orgasm flooding you like a wave. You moaned, throat mixing with a small scream, hands turning red from grabbing your sheets so tiahtlv. Abbv hadn't halted her mouths movements. still fucking you through your orgasm. you slammed your eyes, heaving heavy breaths. Abby finally left you after a moment, trailing wet, sloppy kisses from your pleased cunt to your hips, your stomach- small, breathless giggles leaving you, soon hitching when she wrapped her warm mouth around the sensitive nub of your nipple,You gasped, chest subconsciously jerking up for more friction, earning a teasing laugh from the blonde, her hair cascading down her shoulders, some falling on your stomach. you couldn't help but grab it, slipping your pretty pink nails through her blonde locks as shd sucked your tit, small hums leaving her mouth, the vibration had you turned on all over again. and she knew it.

[kvysvdilla]

𝑩𝑬𝒀𝑶𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻

idol/Jk x supermodel/reader -Aria Jeong-

GENRE: Romance | Fluff | Celebrity life

Chapter 01

The faint hum of a hairdryer filled the spacious dressing room, mingling with soft chatter and the clinking of makeup brushes against palettes. Aria Jeong sat poised in front of the mirror, her long legs crossed elegantly as the hairstylist put the final touches on her glossy, voluminous waves. Dressed in a silk robe with the initials “AJ” embroidered in gold, she exuded effortless grace—a true image of a supermodel at the height of her career.

Aria Jeong. Born in Seoul in 1998, she had taken the world by storm with her ethereal beauty, striking runway presence, and magnetic personality. She wasn’t just a model; she was a global sensation. With campaigns for Calvin Klein, Gucci, and Chanel under her belt and regular appearances at events like the Met Gala, Victoria Secrets, and even Paris Fashion Week, she had become one of the most recognizable faces in fashion. And now, here she was, preparing for her latest photoshoot for the cover of Vogue.

Aria’s skin, smooth and flawless, glistened under the studio lights as she was pampered by a team of professionals. Her long, dark hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, ready for the dramatic styling that would complete the look. She had been through this routine hundreds of times, but today felt different—there was something electric in the air, something that made her heart race just a little bit faster.

“Aria, you’re going to look amazing for this cover,” Mia, her hairstylist, said with a smile. “We’re going for a bold, confident look today, something that screams high fashion.”

Aria smiled softly, her lips curling into a graceful expression as Mia continued to work. “I trust you, Mia. You always know what’s best,” she replied, her voice steady and calm.

The photographer, Alex, moved around the room with his camera, adjusting the lighting and checking the angles. “How’s the hair, Mia?” he called out, looking over his shoulder.

“Almost done. Just a few more minutes,” Mia answered, finishing the final touches.

Meanwhile, Aria’s assistant, Claire, entered the room with her tablet in hand. “Aria, the fitting for the Victoria’s Secret show is set for tomorrow morning, and the team from Calvin Klien wants to meet you later this afternoon to discuss the upcoming campaign. They’re expecting us at 2 PM. Oh, and don't forget the L'Oréal photoshoot after the meeting.”

Aria nodded in acknowledgment, her focus still on the mirror. “Got it. We’ll be there. Thanks, Claire.”

Claire smiled and quickly left the room, while Aria closed her eyes for a moment, silently preparing herself for the busy day ahead. This was her life now—packed schedules, back-to-back photoshoots, meetings, fittings, and the constant push to stay at the top of the fashion world.

But she had worked hard to get here. Years of dedication, countless hours spent perfecting her craft, and a determination to succeed had brought her to the pinnacle of the modeling industry. Aria Jeong had become a name known around the world, but to her, it was all just the beginning.

“Alright, Aria,” Alex called, snapping her out of her thoughts. “It’s time. Let’s get you into the first outfit.”

Claire returned with a clothing rack filled with various options, including sleek dresses, bold prints, and intricate designs. The first outfit for the photoshoot was a stunning black velvet dress with a deep V-neckline and a dramatic slit that revealed her long, toned legs. It was a classic, elegant look, just the kind of thing that would make the cover of Vogue unforgettable.

Mia and other staffs helped Aria slip into the dress, adjusting the fit around her waist as Aria stood tall and composed. “You look stunning,” Mia said, stepping back to admire her work.

Aria smiled in the mirror, her sharp eyes meeting her reflection. “Thank you Mia.”

As Aria stepped onto the set, the photographer and lighting crew were ready, their eyes focused on her every move. The studio was filled with soft light, creating the perfect ambiance for the photoshoot. Aria stood still for a moment, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline. She had done this countless times, but there was always something exciting about being in front of the camera, especially for such a prestigious magazine.

The session began, with Aria effortlessly striking pose after pose. Each movement was fluid, graceful, and deliberate, her body an instrument of perfection as the camera snapped away. She had mastered the art of photography—how to look natural while maintaining an air of elegance, how to convey emotion with just a tilt of the head or a slight shift in posture.

“Beautiful, Aria,” Alex called, his voice full of admiration. “You’re absolutely nailing it. Let’s switch to the next look.”

Mia quickly ushered in the next outfit—a shimmering silver gown that hugged Aria’s figure in all the right places. As Aria changed, she glanced at her phone, checking the time. The day was moving quickly, and she had a tight schedule ahead of her. Between the photoshoot, meetings with various brands, and a rehearsal for the upcoming American Music Awards, she knew it was going to be a long day.

But that was the life of an international supermodel, and Aria had long ago accepted that.

As the photoshoot continued, the minutes turned into hours. Aria remained focused, switching from outfit to outfit, posing with poise and confidence, never once breaking her professional demeanor. There were moments when the intensity of the work started to take its toll, but Aria pushed through—this was her dream, her career, and nothing would stop her.

After wrapping up the Vogue photoshoot, Aria was led into a private space where she could take a breather. The sound of the bustling studio faded as she collapsed onto the plush sofa with her casual outfit that she had changed. It was black button up crop top, pair it with a dark blue tight jeans and a black high heels boots. The weight of a full day’s work already starting to settle in. She checked her phone—Claire’s message about the meeting with Calvin Klein at 2 PM echoed in her mind. It was already 2:30.

The minutes had slipped by quicker than expected, and now it was time for the next task at hand. She had barely time to catch her breath before her assistant appeared at the door. “Aria, your car is waiting. We’re heading to the Calvin Klein office for the meeting,” Claire said, a soft smile on her face, knowing how little time Aria had to rest between her appointments.

Aria nodded, running a hand through her hair and standing up. “Let’s go.”

They walked out into the bustling lobby, where the driver opened the car door for her, and they headed to the Calvin Klein headquarters. As Aria sat back in the plush seat, her thoughts wandered briefly to her upcoming meeting. Calvin Klein had always been a major name in her modeling career. This was more than just a meeting—it was a chance to solidify her place in the industry as one of the most sought-after supermodels.

The car ride was a blur of thoughts, and soon they arrived at the sleek, modern Calvin Klein building. Aria’s high heel boots clicked against the polished marble floors as she entered the building, greeted by a receptionist who led her to the private meeting room. Claire went ahead to ensure everything was ready for the meeting, leaving Aria alone for a moment to gather herself.

The door opened shortly after, and two representatives from Calvin Klein walked in—one, a tall man in his early forties named Mr. Lawrence, who was the head of marketing, and the other, a young woman, Chloe, who had recently joined the team as a creative lead.

“Aria! Thank you for joining us today,” Mr. Lawrence greeted, his voice warm but professional. He gestured for her to sit at the conference table. “We’re really excited to have you on board for this new campaign. We’ve seen your recent work, and you’re exactly what we were looking for.”

Aria smiled politely and nodded, settling into her seat. “I’m honored to be a part of the team.” she said so elegantly.

Chloe, the creative lead, spoke up next, her voice filled with enthusiasm. “For this campaign, we want to capture the essence of modern luxury while maintaining an accessible, everyday feel. It’s all about sophistication but also comfort. The collection is inspired by urban landscapes, so we’re hoping to do something bold and edgy.”

Aria nodded, already visualizing the looks they were describing. The Calvin Klein aesthetic was always sleek and minimalist, but this concept sounded more daring—something that would challenge her versatility as a model. “I like the idea. Bold and edgy is something I’m always up for,” she said, her confidence shining through.

Mr. Lawrence glanced at Chloe before turning back to Aria. “We were hoping to get your thoughts on some of the outfits we’ve picked out. For this campaign, we’re focusing a lot on outerwear and layering, which is right up your alley, considering your experience in high fashion and your collaborations with brands like Gucci and Chanel.”

Chloe clicked through her tablet, bringing up the first few designs on the screen. “This is one of our favorite pieces,” she said, showing Aria an oversized trench coat with dramatic shoulders, paired with tailored trousers. “We’re thinking of using this for the cover image. It’s chic and timeless, but the exaggerated silhouette gives it a very fresh, contemporary look.”

Aria studied the design, picturing herself wearing it. “I love it. I can definitely see this working well with the overall theme.”

The meeting continued, with Mr. Lawrence and Chloe discussing details, such as the photography style, location for the shoot, and the timeline for the campaign. Aria’s mind was engaged, but there was a part of her that couldn’t help but drift away every now and then.

Aria quickly refocused as the conversation shifted to the logistics of the shoot. “We’re planning to do some behind-the-scenes footage for social media as well,” Chloe explained. “It’ll be part of a bigger campaign, so we’ll need to make sure we capture a bit of your personality—how you interact with the clothing, how you move in it. It’ll give the brand a more authentic feel.”

Aria nodded thoughtfully. “I’m excited to be part of that. I always enjoy showing the more relaxed side of things, especially in a campaign as dynamic as this one. It makes it more personal for the audience.”

Mr. Lawrence smiled. “That’s exactly the kind of energy we’re looking for. We want people to see that you’re not just a model, but someone who lives and breathes the essence of what Calvin Klein stands for.”

As the meeting wrapped up, Claire entered the room to let Aria know it was time to head to the next appointment. Aria stood up, shaking hands with both Mr. Lawrence and Chloe. “Thank you both for taking the time today. I’m looking forward to what we’ll create together,” she said, smiling warmly.

After the productive meeting with Calvin Klein, Aria’s day continued its whirlwind pace. She quickly slipped into the waiting car, her mind still buzzing with excitement from the campaign discussion. The next stop on her packed agenda was a photoshoot for L’Oréal, one of the most prestigious makeup brands in the world.

The ride to the L’Oréal studio was a short one, but enough to give her a few minutes of much-needed peace. As the car pulled into the parking lot, she straightened her posture and mentally prepared herself for what would undoubtedly be another busy, high-energy shoot. It had become second nature for Aria to slip into model mode, but there was still a level of excitement every time she worked with a brand she loved. L’Oréal, with its bold and timeless beauty, had always been a dream partnership.

Once inside the spacious studio, she was greeted by a team of hair and makeup artists who had already set up their stations, ready to transform her into the perfect L’Oréal muse. She made her way to the makeup chair, where a plate of fresh salad and an iced peach tea awaited her. She didn’t even need to ask for it anymore—it was always there.

“Yum, this looks perfect,” she said with a smile, grabbing her fork and taking a bite of the salad.

The makeup artist, a cheerful woman in her mid-thirties named Maria, chuckled as she began applying foundation. “You really know how to eat healthy, Aria,” she teased, carefully dabbing at her face with a brush. “But honestly, you’re always glowing, so I guess you have some magic tricks.”

Aria laughed, rolling her eyes. “Oh please, no magic tricks here. It’s all about water, veggies, and a bit of luck.”

As she continued eating, Aria casually flipped open the novel she had been reading during her downtime—The Night Circus, a fantasy story filled with mystery and enchantment. The plot was as gripping as ever, but her attention was soon distracted by the light chatter around her.

“I swear, every time I walk into a store, L’Oréal’s new collection is everywhere,” Maria mused, her hands expertly shaping Aria’s brows. ���I love their packaging! It’s always so fresh and sleek.”

“I know, right?” Aria replied between bites of salad, nodding in agreement. “It’s why I love working with them. They’re a brand that understands the balance between timelessness and modernity. They really know what women want.”

“Speaking of women,” Maria continued, “did you hear that they’re planning a huge campaign for next spring? They’re supposed to release a new product that’s going to blow everyone away.”

“No way! That sounds amazing,” Aria said, putting the book down for a moment, genuinely intrigued. “What’s the product? Something new for the lips?”

Maria nodded excitedly. “Exactly! A new lipstick that changes color with your mood—like those mood rings, but for lips.”

“That’s so cool,” Aria said, amused. “I’d love to be part of that campaign.”

Before Maria could respond, the door to the dressing room swung open, and Claire, Aria’s assistant, rushed in. Her face was a mixture of excitement and disbelief, and she was holding her phone tightly in her hand, like she’d just gotten news she wasn’t entirely prepared for.

“Claire?” Aria asked, eyeing her assistant’s wide eyes. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Claire didn’t waste time with pleasantries. She immediately walked over to Aria, a bit out of breath. “Aria… you’re not going to believe this,” she said, her voice almost shaky. “I just got off the phone with the AMA’s event manager… they want YOU as one of the announcers for this year’s show.”

For a moment, the entire room fell silent. The makeup artist paused, the brushes in mid-air, as the rest of the staff turned to look at Claire with wide-eyed expressions. Aria’s heart skipped a beat, the sudden surge of excitement making her momentarily forget to breathe.

“You’re joking, right?” Aria asked, half-laughing, half-stunned. Her hand flew up to her mouth as she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She felt like her world had just shifted.

“No,” Claire said, shaking her head in disbelief. “They’re serious! They want you to announce awards during the show. It’s huge, Aria. The biggest award show of the year—and you’re going to be there… on stage.”

The rest of the staff gasped in shock. “That’s incredible!” Maria exclaimed, her eyes widening. “You’re going to be on stage at the AMAs! With all those amazing artists—this is a huge deal!”

The words sank in slowly. Aria blinked a few times, her hand still covering her mouth in disbelief. She never thought her career would take her to this moment. The American Music Awards—one of the biggest and most prestigious events in the industry. And she had just been asked to be a part of it.

“Wait, wait. Are you sure?” Aria asked, her voice soft but filled with wonder. She needed to hear it again to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“Positive,” Claire confirmed, a huge grin spreading across her face. “They said it’s all official. You’re one of the chosen announcers. They’ll send over the details in the next few days.”

Aria, still in a bit of shock, sat there for a moment, processing everything. A wave of emotion rushed over her—happiness, excitement, and disbelief all rolled into one. This was it. This was the next step in her career.

The room erupted in cheers, the staff exchanging high-fives and congratulations. Aria couldn’t help but laugh, a wide grin on her face. She was overwhelmed but thrilled at the same time.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked at Claire. “The AMAs. This is a huge opportunity.”

“You deserve it,” Claire said, her voice filled with pride. “All your hard work has paid off.”

Aria turned back to the staff, her smile never fading. “Thank you all,” she said, her voice a little shaky from the excitement. “This means so much to me.”

Maria, the makeup artist, was the first to offer her congratulations. “Well, I guess you’ll have to wear something extra special for that night, huh?”

“Oh, definitely,” Aria replied with a playful smile. “I’ve got the perfect outfit in mind.”

As she continued to prepare for her photoshoot with L’Oréal, Aria couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. But even more than that, she felt a growing sense of excitement about what the future held. The AMAs were just the beginning, and she was ready for whatever came next.

Chapter 02 --- Back to Series Masterlist

[elryuse]

ISLAND PT. 4 Yeji

ITZY X MALE READER

Tags : Beach Sex, Public Sex, Intimacy, Cowgirl, Riding Creampie, Creampie, Romance, Smutty Smut Smut

For My Other ISLAND Stories Please Kindly Check it Over Here.

The sun filtered through the thin curtains of Y/n's hotel room, casting a warm glow over the messy sheets and discarded clothes strewn across the floor. The faint hum of the air conditioner mixed with the muffled sound of waves crashing outside. Y/n groaned as his alarm blared from his phone, pulling him reluctantly from his deep slumber. He reached out blindly, slapping the device until the noise stopped, then let his arm flop back onto the bed.

Damn, I overslept, he thought, rubbing his eyes as he tried to shake off the haze of sleep. His body still carried the pleasant ache from the previous night’s escapades—Yuna had been insatiable, her curiosity turning into pure, unfiltered desire. But now, it was morning, and the world outside his cocoon of pleasure was waiting.

As he blinked his eyes open, he noticed someone sitting at the edge of his bed. It was Yeji, her long legs crossed elegantly as she leaned back on one hand, watching the television mounted on the wall. She hadn’t noticed he was awake yet, her attention focused on the drama playing out on the screen. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulder in soft waves, and she wore a casual oversized sweater that slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the delicate curve of her collarbone.

“Good morning,” Y/n croaked, his voice rough from sleep. He yawned widely, stretching his arms above his head.

Yeji turned her head, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “Morning,” she replied softly, her voice smooth and melodic. She reached for a tray on the bedside table and handed it to him. “Here. I brought you some breakfast. The buffet closed already, so I grabbed whatever I could.”

Y/n sat up, propping himself against the headboard as he accepted the tray. A plate of fluffy scrambled eggs, toast, and a small bowl of fruit greeted him, alongside a steaming cup of coffee. “Thanks,” he said, offering her a grateful smile before digging in.

She watched him eat for a moment, her gaze lingering on him in a way that made him feel both comfortable and slightly self-conscious. Then, almost casually, she said, “The others want to go to the beach later. It’s just across the resort. We figured since we’re here, we might as well enjoy it.”

Y/n hummed around a mouthful of toast, nodding as he chewed. The idea of spending the day by the ocean sounded perfect—relaxing, refreshing, and maybe even a little indulgent. Once he swallowed, he gave her a thumbs-up. “Sounds good. Count me in.”

Yeji’s smile widened at that, her cat-like eyes sparkling with amusement. “Great. I’ll let them know.” She stood gracefully, smoothing out her sweater before heading toward the door. Just as she reached for the handle, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Don’t take too long, okay? We don’t want to miss the best part of the day.”

He chuckled, raising his coffee cup in a mock salute. “I’ll be ready soon. Promise.”

With that, she slipped out of the room, leaving Y/n alone once more. He finished his breakfast quickly, savoring the last sip of coffee before setting the tray aside. As he got out of bed and started getting dressed, his mind wandered to the possibilities the day might hold. The beach, the sun, the girls… This is going to be interesting, he thought, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

---

By the time Y/n stepped out of the hotel lobby, the rest of ITZY was already gathered outside, chatting animatedly among themselves. Ryujin and Chaeryeong were playfully bickering about something, while Yuna giggled beside them, her cheeks flushed as she avoided eye contact with Y/n. Lia, ever the calm one, was scrolling through her phone, though she looked up and smiled when she noticed him approaching.

“Ah, finally! Took you long enough,” Ryujin teased, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore a loose tank top paired with denim shorts, her toned legs on full display.

“Got held up,” Y/n replied with a wink, earning a giggle from Yuna and an exaggerated eye roll from Ryujin.

“Let’s just go already,” Chaeryeong interjected, grabbing Ryujin’s hand and tugging her toward the path that led to the beach. “I want to see if the water’s as clear as they say it is.”

The group followed the sandy trail, the sound of waves growing louder with each step. When they finally arrived, the sight took their breath away. The ocean stretched out endlessly, its crystal-clear waters shimmering under the bright sunlight. Palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze, and the white sand felt warm beneath their feet.

“Wow,” Yeji murmured, her eyes wide as she took it all in. “This place is… beautiful.”

Ryujin wasted no time kicking off her flip-flops and running toward the water, letting out a loud whoop as she splashed into the waves. Chaeryeong and Yuna followed suit, laughing as they chased after her. Lia, meanwhile, found a spot to lay out a towel and stretch out under the sun, her sunglasses perched on her nose.

Y/n stood at the shoreline, feeling the cool water lap at his feet. He took a deep breath, savoring the salty air. This… this was paradise. But before he could fully relax, he felt a presence beside him. Turning his head, he saw Yeji standing there, her hands clasped behind her back as she gazed out at the horizon.

“You’re not going to join them?” he asked, gesturing toward the others, who were now waist-deep in the water, splashing each other like children.

Yeji shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Not yet. I like taking my time.” She paused, then added, “Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”

That caught his attention. He turned to face her fully, tilting his head curiously. “Oh? About what?”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, she seemed to hesitate. But then, she stepped closer, her voice lowering so only he could hear. “About… us. About everything that’s been happening between you and the members.”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. So she knows, he thought, though he wasn’t entirely surprised. Yeji was observant, always noticing things others might miss. Still, he stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

“I’ve seen the way they look at you,” she went on, her tone thoughtful but not accusatory. “And the way you look at them. It’s… intense. Passionate. But I can’t help wondering… where does that leave me?”

Her question hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded. Y/n searched her face, trying to gauge her emotions. Was she jealous? Curious? Something else entirely? Before he could respond, she took another step closer, closing the distance between them.

“I’ve spent so much time being the leader,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Always making sure everyone else is okay. But sometimes… I just want to be selfish. To have something—someone—for myself.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine. Without thinking, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Yeji…” he began, but she cut him off.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, her lips curving into a slow, sensual smile. “Show me.”

His breath hitched at the boldness in her gaze, the unspoken challenge. And then, with a subtle shift in her stance, she pressed herself against him, her lips finding his in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. It was different from the playful kisses he’d shared with the others—this one carried a depth, a raw need that left him reeling.

When they finally pulled apart, her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and desire. “Now,” she said, her voice low and sultry, “let’s see if you can keep up with me.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and began walking along the shoreline, her hips swaying with every step. Y/n stared after her, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but one thing was certain: today was going to be anything but ordinary.

Yeji’s hand tightened around Y/n’s as they left the others behind, her long legs carrying them further down the beach. The golden sand shifted beneath their feet, warm from the relentless sun, and the sound of crashing waves grew louder with each step. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her lips curling into a sly grin. “You trust me, don’t you?” she asked, her voice playful but laced with something deeper—something that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Of course,” Y/n replied, though his heart was pounding in his chest. There was an electricity in the air between them, unspoken but undeniable. Yeji had always been the leader, confident and commanding, but now there was a new edge to her demeanor—one that made his throat dry and his palms sweat.

She led him to a hidden cove, its entrance partially shielded by jagged rocks and tall seagrass. The moment they stepped inside, the world seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of them and the rhythmic crash of waves against stone. The cove was bathed in sunlight, the water sparkling like liquid sapphire, and the air was thick with the salty scent of the sea.

Yeji turned to face him, her eyes darkening as she took a step closer. Her fingers brushed against his chest, tracing the line of his collarbone before moving to the buttons of his shirt. “You’re overdressed,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. One by one, she undid the buttons, her touch deliberate and unhurried. When the last button came undone, she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall to the sand. Her hands slid down his chest, her nails grazing his skin lightly, eliciting a soft gasp from him.

Yeji was different, he realized. She wasn’t just seeking pleasure; she wanted control. Every movement, every glance, held a purpose. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. “Your turn,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin. Her tone was a command, not a suggestion, and Y/n felt his body respond instinctively.

He reached for her, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the hem of her tank top. She tilted her head, watching him with a mix of amusement and approval as he pulled it over her head. Her swimsuit clung to her curves, the fabric damp from the sea breeze, and Y/n couldn’t help but stare. She smirked, clearly enjoying the effect she had on him, and guided his hands to the clasps of her bikini top. “Go on,” she urged, her voice a sultry purr.

With shaky fingers, he undid the clasps, and the fabric fell away, revealing her perky breasts, the nipples already hardened by the cool air. Yeji let out a soft sigh, arching her back slightly as his hands explored her, tracing the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips. She stepped back, her movements fluid and deliberate, and began to slide her shorts down her legs. Y/n’s breath hitched as she revealed herself fully, her body glistening under the sun.

She approached him again, her hips swaying hypnotically, and pressed herself against him. His hands instinctively went to her waist, gripping her tightly as she ground against him, her heat pressing into his growing hardness. “You’ve been busy with the others,” she said, her voice dripping with mock jealousy. “But today… you’re mine.”

Her lips captured his in a searing kiss, their tongues tangling as she pushed him backward until his knees hit the edge of a smooth rock. She broke the kiss, her eyes locking onto his as she gently pushed him down until he was seated. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she straddled him, her thighs caging his hips. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Let me show you…” she breathed, “…how I like it.”

Y/n’s hands gripped her hips as she began to move, grinding against him with a rhythm that was both teasing and maddening. Her breath hitched, her lips parting as she threw her head back, sunlight catching the beads of sweat forming on her neck. She was relentless, her movements growing more urgent as she sought her own pleasure, all while keeping him on the edge.

“Yeji…” he groaned, his voice strained with need. Her name escaped his lips like a prayer, and she smiled wickedly, savoring the way he trembled beneath her. She leaned in, capturing his lips once more, her tongue delving deep as her hips continued to move. The sound of the waves echoed around them, blending with their ragged breaths and muffled moans.

Finally, she reached down, her fingers wrapping around his length as she positioned him at her entrance. “Don’t hold back,” she commanded, her voice breaking slightly as she sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch. Y/n’s hands flew to her hips, gripping her tightly as she took him fully, her walls clamping around him in a vice-like grip. She let out a low, satisfied moan, her body shuddering as she adjusted to his size.

Then, with a slow roll of her hips, she began to ride him, her pace steady and controlled. Her hands roamed over his chest, her nails leaving faint red lines as she moved. Y/n could do nothing but surrender to her rhythm, his groans mingling with hers as the tension between them built.

The heat of the sun above, the cool mist from the waves, and the intensity of her gaze—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. Yeji’s pace quickened, her thighs gripping him tighter as she chased her release. “That’s it…” she gasped, her voice trembling. “Just like that…”

Her climax hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing around him as she cried out, her nails digging into his skin. The sensation of her tightening around him pushed Y/n over the edge, and with a guttural groan, he spilled himself inside her, his vision blurring as waves of pleasure crashed over him.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Yeji collapsed against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder as they both tried to catch their breath. The sound of the waves seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the rapid thud of their hearts.

After a moment, Yeji lifted her head, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of satisfaction and something softer—something that made his chest ache. “Not bad,” she murmured, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Yeji’s lips crashed against Y/n’s with a hunger that left him breathless. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if she couldn’t get enough of him. “I’ve been waiting for this,” she whispered between kisses, her voice trembling with desire. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted you? How much I’ve needed you?”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and he felt himself hardening again beneath her. She shifted her weight slightly, grinding against him as if to remind him of exactly what she was capable of. His hands instinctively found her waist, gripping her tightly as she leaned back just enough to guide his hands higher.

“Touch me,” she murmured, her voice low and commanding. “Love me.”

Her hands moved his until they were cupping her breasts, the softness of her skin a stark contrast to the firmness beneath. Y/n obeyed without hesitation, his fingers sliding over her nipples, teasing them until they hardened under his touch. Yeji’s breath hitched, and she arched her back, pressing herself further into his palms.

“Like that… yes,” she moaned, her head falling back as he leaned forward to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. His tongue swirled around it, coaxing another sharp gasp from her before he bit down gently. The sound she made—half a moan, half a whimper—was almost enough to break his composure entirely.

But Yeji wasn’t done. Her hips rolled against him, her wetness dripping onto his length as she teased him mercilessly. “Fuck me,” she demanded, her voice trembling with need. “I want all of you.”

Y/n didn’t need to be told twice. His hands tightened on her hips as he guided her down onto him, inch by torturous inch. Yeji gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she took him fully, her walls clenching around him like a vice. For a moment, they stayed still, their breaths mingling as they adjusted to the sensation.

Then, slowly at first, Yeji began to move. Her hips rose and fell in a steady rhythm, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of them. Y/n’s hands roamed her body, tracing every curve as if committing her to memory. He could feel the tension building inside him, but he forced himself to hold on, determined to make this last.

“You feel so good,” Yeji moaned, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”

Her plea was all the encouragement he needed. His hands gripped her hips tighter, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, matching her pace stroke for stroke. The sound of their bodies coming together echoed in the cove, mingling with the crash of the waves against the shore.

Yeji’s thighs trembled as she rode him, her pace quickening as she chased her release. “I’m close,” she gasped, her nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks. “So close…”

Y/n could feel her tightening around him, her climax imminent. With a groan, he let go, giving in to the pleasure that had been building inside him. Yeji cried out as she came, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her. The sensation pushed him over the edge, and with a guttural groan, he spilled himself inside her, his vision blurring as he gave her everything he had.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Yeji rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed as she tried to catch her breath. “That was… incredible,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Y/n chuckled softly, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You’re incredible,” he replied, his voice hoarse from exertion.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms as the world around them faded away. But then, slowly, Yeji lifted her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Round three when we get back to the resort?” she teased, her lips curving into a wicked smile.

Y/n groaned, unable to suppress a laugh. “You’re going to kill me,” he said, though there was no real complaint in his tone.

Yeji just smirked, leaning down to kiss him once more before climbing off him and reaching for her clothes. As she dressed, Y/n couldn’t help but admire the way the sunlight caught her skin, making her glow as if she were something otherworldly. When she was done, she turned to him, holding out a hand to help him up.

Together, they made their way back to the group, their steps slow and leisurely. Ryujin was the first to notice them, her eyes narrowing as she took in their disheveled state. A slow smirk spread across her face, and she nudged Chaeryeong, who was lounging nearby.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to join us,” Ryujin drawled, her tone dripping with amusement. “Enjoy your little walk, Yeji?”

Yeji blushed furiously, but she held her head high, refusing to give Ryujin the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassed. “None of your business,” she shot back, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way her voice wavered.

Ryujin laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, I think it’s very much my business. You two look… refreshed.”

Chaeryeong giggled, hiding her face behind her hands as Yuna glanced between them, curiosity shining in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” she asked innocently, though the faint blush on her cheeks suggested she might have an idea.

Ryujin winked at Yuna, her grin widening. “Oh, nothing, baby girl. Just grown-up stuff.”

Yeji groaned, burying her face in her hands as Y/n chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Alright, alright,” he said, trying to diffuse the situation before Ryujin could embarrass Yeji further. “Let’s get back to the resort. I think we could all use some rest.”

As they started walking back, Yeji leaned into him, her voice low so only he could hear. “I meant what I said earlier,” she murmured, her breath warm against his ear. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Y/n smirked, his hand squeezing her hip gently. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But even as they walked, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were far from over. Not with Ryujin’s knowing looks, or the way Yuna kept glancing at him with that same curious expression. And definitely not with the promise Yeji had made about round three…

As they approached the resort, Ryujin fell into step beside him, her smirk never fading. “You know,” she said casually, “if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up spoiling her.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “And what makes you think I haven’t already?”

Ryujin laughed, shaking her head. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/n. But hey…” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “If you ever want a little break from Yeji, you know where to find me.”

Before he could respond, she sauntered ahead, leaving him with a teasing wink and a whirlwind of thoughts. Yeji’s grip on his waist tightened, and she shot him a playful glare. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned, though there was no real heat in her tone.

Y/n just smiled, pulling her closer as they stepped into the resort. The day was far from over, and if the looks he was getting from the others were any indication, things were about to get even more interesting…

[hinatahyugacute]

The shadow hokage and his lady Uchiha

In the soft glow of Konoha’s twilight, a silhouette stood atop the Hokage's office, cloaked in darkness as he surveyed the village. Sasuke Uchiha, the Shadow Hokage, had taken this position silently—no official title, no grand announcement. His role was more discreet, one that protected Konoha from dangers lurking in the shadows, far from the public eye. Though Naruto held the formal title of Hokage, everyone knew that without Sasuke, the village wouldn’t enjoy the same peace.

He felt a familiar warmth as he sensed another presence joining him on the rooftop. Turning slightly, he saw Hinata Uchiha, her lithe form gracefully moving toward him. The soft purple of her kimono flowed elegantly around her, a delicate contrast to her husband’s dark attire. Her long indigo hair cascaded over her shoulders, the color deepening as the dusk darkened into night.

“You came,” Sasuke murmured, his voice a blend of appreciation and mild surprise. In the silence of their bond, they often communicated without words, but tonight, it seemed he wanted to hear her voice.

Hinata smiled gently, a warmth in her eyes that softened her husband's perpetually stoic demeanor. “Of course,” she replied softly. “The children are asleep, and I wanted to see you.”

Sasuke turned, stepping closer to her as the village lights began to twinkle below. He felt the weight of his duties and responsibilities slip away in her presence. Together, they shared a silent understanding; though their lives were wrapped in duty and sacrifice, they found solace in each other. Sasuke reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek.

“It’s peaceful tonight,” he said, more to himself than her. Konoha, the village that had taken so much from him, had also given him everything he’d needed in the end: family, purpose, and a sense of belonging he’d never expected to find. And Hinata—Hinata had been there, quietly supporting him, loving him unconditionally. She was his steady light.

Hinata nodded. “It’s peaceful because of you, Sasuke. You’ve kept this village safe in ways most will never understand.” Her voice was soft but filled with pride, and she looked up at him, her lavender eyes reflecting her deep admiration.

“I don’t do it for them,” he replied, a rare flicker of vulnerability in his tone. He pulled her closer, allowing himself the indulgence of her warmth. “I do it for you. And for the children.”

Hinata’s eyes softened, her hand resting over his heart, feeling its steady beat beneath her palm. “You’ve given so much. Sometimes I worry…”

“Worry?” he repeated, his dark eyes searching hers.

“About the toll this takes on you.” She bit her lip, hesitating. “I know you would never speak of it, but I can feel the weight you carry, Sasuke. You protect everyone… but sometimes I wish you’d let yourself rest.”

Sasuke lowered his head, their foreheads touching, and let out a small sigh. “I know,” he whispered, almost inaudible. “But some things can’t wait.” His fingers tightened around hers, as if grounding himself in her presence. “And this… role… it’s something I chose. For our family. So that you, Sarada, and little Itachi can live in peace.”

Hinata’s expression softened, and she pressed her lips gently to his. It was her way of reassuring him, showing her support without words. The stars above them twinkled brighter as the night deepened, and in that moment, Sasuke felt something he’d rarely allowed himself to experience—contentment.

A sudden rustle below broke their silence, and they both looked down, their instincts sharp as they scanned the ground. A stray cat, prowling through the empty streets, gave them a curious glance before trotting away. Sasuke smirked, his hand lingering on the hilt of his sword. “Seems like the only threats tonight are the four-legged ones.”

Hinata chuckled softly, a sound that Sasuke found himself cherishing. “Then perhaps, my dear shadow, we can enjoy a moment of peace together.”

Sasuke relaxed, letting go of the tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. They sat on the edge of the rooftop, side by side, Hinata leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She placed her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the stillness.

In the distance, they could hear the faint laughter of villagers, the sound of life carrying on peacefully below. Sasuke allowed himself a rare smile as he looked at the woman beside him. She had been his strength, his calm in the storm, his constant when everything else felt like it was slipping away. With her, he could be Sasuke, not the feared last Uchiha or the village’s shadow guardian—just a man who had fought to protect the ones he loved.

As the night deepened, Hinata lifted her head and looked up at him. “You’ve always been the shadow, Sasuke, but I hope you know you are loved by the light.”

Her words struck a chord deep within him, a part of him that he’d long kept hidden away. He knew he was difficult to love, that his life was far from easy to share. But Hinata had seen the worst of him, his brokenness and his strength, and she had chosen to stay.

Sasuke cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheek. “I don’t deserve you, Hinata,” he said softly. “But I’ll protect you. Always.”

They shared a quiet moment, their breaths in sync as the stars continued to watch over them. Hinata placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, her lips lingering as she whispered, “And I’ll be here, always. Just like this.”

In the silence that followed, they simply held each other, lost in the profound comfort that only they could provide one another. In that moment, Sasuke felt complete. The man who once wandered in search of vengeance had found something far greater—someone who understood him, and a love that could withstand any shadow.

As they sat together under the vast sky, the weight of their shared history, their struggles, and their love wove around them, binding them closer. They were two souls who had found peace, even in the silence, even in the darkness. And as long as they had each other, they knew they could face whatever came next.

[elyssialumengard]

Alastor x Reader : Fragile Link ( Part 2 )

______________________________________________

Link to the first part for those who haven't read it :

https://www.tumblr.com/elyssialumengard/741783404758073344/alastor-x-reader-fragile-link-part-1?source=share

Summary : In this chapter, Charlie presents his redemption hotel project to (y/n), an powerful overlord. Alastor, with his own motives, tries to persuade (y/n) to become involved in their confrontation against Adam.

______________________________________________

Taku knocked a second time, but the silence remained implacable.

Tangible anxiety flashed across his face as he prepared to strike a third time, softly saying :

- My Lady, may I come in ?

Getting no response, he made a face that the two people behind him did not see. Charlie frowned at Alastor, wondering what was going on. The radio demon tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, wondering why (y/n) was slow to respond, when usually, she was so responsive. He could sense her presence, so it wasn't due to a mistake in location.

The demon, under the overlord's orders, did not hesitate to not ask permission, instead deciding to carefully push open the door. He entered, Charlie and Alastor on his heels, where the blonde was amazed by the clean layout of the place.

The room was bathed in soft, calming light that filtered through the thin curtains, letting in the golden rays of the artificial sun. The walls were painted in light tones, accentuating the brightness of the room and creating a warm atmosphere. Delicately framed paintings adorned the walls, bringing an artistic touch to the whole.

At the back of the room, a solid wooden desk was placed, on which were placed a kettle, a selection of fine teas in pretty metal boxes, delicately decorated porcelain cups, as well as small biscuits arranged on a plate.

Two plush sofas were placed opposite each other in the center, separated by a glass coffee table on which were a few magazines and a vase filled with fresh flowers. The elegantly patterned cushions added a touch of color and comfort to the seating.

Shelves full of books stretched along one of the walls, offering a varied selection of reading material for all tastes. Potted plants were scattered here and there, bringing greenery and freshness to the room.

In this welcoming and peaceful environment, (y/n) stood near a window, her back, silently contemplating the landscape through the glass, absorbed in her thoughts.

Approaching with growing concern, Taku called out to him again. Hearing this time, (y/n) gracefully pivoted towards them, revealing her strangely angelic appearance, which always disconcerted those who saw her for the first time.

Her hair, as white as fresh snow, flowed in silky cascades around her face, framing delicate, celestial features. His gaze, both gentle and penetrating, could have probed the deepest souls. Slight wrinkles framed her eyes, testifying to the countless trials she had endured. Fine deer antlers stood on the top of his head, rather large, extending back, adorned with light beads that had been made for her decades ago.

She was wrapped in a long taupe gray t-shirt, loose and flowing, the long sleeves of which fell almost delicately over her slender hands. The hem of the garment caressed the bottom of her buttocks while she had taken care to slip the front into her straight black fabric pants, thus defining her silhouette. A navy blue belt, carefully adjusted, captured the whole in subtle harmony. On her feet, sandals matching the color of the belt, with black wedge heels, seemed to extend the slender line of her legs.

Despite the apparent casualness of her outfit, she emanated an aura of dignity and serenity, giving her presence a natural nobility and captivating maturity.

Yet, despite the brilliance of her beauty and the imposing aura that surrounded her, an enigmatic fragility seemed to emanate from her, as if the burden of the entire world rested on her proud shoulders. Silent tears beading from her white eyelashes, sliding slowly down her cheeks, leaving in their wake sparkling traces on the porcelain of her skin.

Faced with this heartbreaking vision, Charlie's heart ached with empathy. She could almost feel the pain and suffering emanating from (y/n), even though she didn't know her.

Ignoring Charlie and Alastor, (y/n) walked towards Taku who was walking towards her. Their gestures betrayed a deep and ancient familiarity. She held out a trembling hand, which Taku took tenderly, placing his other hand on her hip for support.

Tears continued to fall down (y/n)’s cheeks as she begged for comfort.

- Taku... I am gripped by doubt and torment... Did I make the right decision ? Was I right to act this way ? She whispered in a broken voice. My heart breaks thinking that another member of my family will suffer loneliness and fear because of the consequences of my actions.

Taku looked at her affectionately, his hand gently stroking hers to comfort her.

- You acted according to your duty. He replied in a soothing voice. Lynn broke established laws. It has threatened the balance that you have so ardently preserved. You had no choice but to punish him.

An encouraging smile appeared on Taku's lips, trying to ease his mistress' pain.

- Your wisdom and prudence have protected our family and our territory. Don't let the burden of your decisions torment you. We are all at your side, aware of the rules, ready to support your choices, however difficult they may be.

(y/n) closed her eyes, feeling the tears continue to fall down her cheeks despite her efforts to hold them back.

- I know, Taku... I realize that none of you hated me for that, that I did what had to be done, but... But that doesn't lessen the pain. She whispered, letting out a sigh of sorrow.

Taku, still close to her, dried her tears delicately, his fingers tenderly caressing her skin. He moved even closer, trying to offer her whatever comfort he could in this moment of torment and vulnerability, no longer caring at all about the guests.

Observing this touching scene, Charlie was overcome by an emotion mixed with surprise and fascination. She didn't expect such intimacy between Taku and (y/n), but she couldn't help but find it magnificent, given the evidence of the deep attachment between them.

While as far as Alastor was concerned, he felt a surge of rage wash over him, his fingers tightening around the top of his cane with increasing intensity. His sinister smile widened, tinged with a dark glow as he observed this lesser demon, acting as if he was entitled to such closeness.

A shadow passed through his eyes, mixing jealousy and desire for possession.

- Remember this, my Lady. Your wisdom has always brought us serenity and protection. Your decisions were dictated by necessity and prudence. He continued in a soothing voice, trying to ease her pain.

(y/n) listened carefully to her advisor's comforting words, her expression relaxing slightly under his influence. However, when she heard the crackles of the radio growing louder in the room, her eyes suddenly widened, recognizing the sound with a disturbing certainty.

- Alastor, I advise you to control your emotions. Taku intervened, diverting his attention to the demon. I did not grant you an audience here, with my Lady, for you to cause trouble.

Alastor bit back a growl, his stag horns growing slightly in response to his growing frustration.

- I'm not the one who starts the trouble, my dear Taku. He replied, his gaze burning with a dark glow. But no matter, I wouldn't want to spoil your little intimate moment with your precious overlord. He added acerbically, his pupils narrowing, leaving more room for the black of his eyes.

Before Taku could respond, a bitter cold suddenly filled the room, dropping the temperature several degrees and obscuring the surrounding light. (y/n)'s silver eyes glowed menacingly as she stared at Alastor with an icy intensity, filled with hatred and menace.

Detaching itself slightly from Taku, (y/n)'s aura transformed into a terrifying presence, imbuing the room with a heavy and sinister atmosphere. His antlers grew larger as did his shadow which expanded, morphing into a tight grip around Alastor's body, immobilizing him. All this happened in barely the blink of an eye. Alastor's mischievous smile froze, becoming more awkward as he tried to keep his composure.

Charlie, panicked, let out a little cry of fear when she saw Alastor in danger. (y/n) walked towards him with determined steps, her piercing gaze staring at him intensely. Once in front of him, the same size, she addressed him in a cold voice :

-What are you here for, radio demon ?

Aware of the palpable threat in the air, Alastor responded with feigned confidence :

- Just to chat, my dear overlord. I come as a friend, as always.

- As friends ? She replied, an icy glint in her eyes. You have no friends here. You only have enemies waiting for the right moment to destroy you.

A shiver ran down Alastor's spine, but he kept his composure, his sinister smile stretching slightly across his face.

- Oh, but my dear, it's a shame. I'm sure we could get along if you gave me a chance.

(y/n) stared at him with contempt.

- You don't belong here, Alastor. And if you even think for a moment about sowing chaos in my territory, know that I will make you regret every second of your existence.

When Alastor should have fought back or tried to defend himself, a subtle observation revealed to him an unsuspected truth, escaped everyone's attention. The shadow's hold on him, although similar to that of his memories, was not as stifling or threatening as he had thought. He felt within himself the possibility of freeing himself from it, if he really wanted to. Staring intently at the face of the woman he had come to meet, he noticed that the tears had stopped flowing, giving way to an expression valiantly fighting against fatigue.

Smiling even more, he decided to lighten the atmosphere with his usual sarcastic humor.

- Let's see, my dear, you take me for a more belligerent demon than I really am. He said, giving a mocking smile. I'm here on a much more interesting matter than causing chaos. Actually, I'm here to introduce you to someone !

(y/n) arched an eyebrow, her expression hardening even further.

-And who is this person you are talking about ? She asked in a biting voice.

Alastor let out a small laugh, turning to Charlie with a theatrical nod.

- Allow me to introduce you to Princess Charlie Morningstar, heir to the throne of Hell and the founder of the Hazbin Hotel !

Charlie, feeling a little uncomfortable under (y/n)'s unforgiving gaze, gave her a shy smile and bowed slightly.

- Hey… Nice to meet you, Lady (y/n). She said in a calm but respectful voice.

( y/n ) looked away from Alastor to stare at Charlie, his expression softening slightly. She observed the young princess with a mixture of curiosity and evaluation, taking the time to look her over from head to toe, making her slightly uncomfortable, feeling as if the one who was taller than her she probed the depths of his soul.

- Charlie Morningstar… She whispered, repeating the name as if to engrave it in her memory.

As (y/n) scrutinized Charlie with growing interest, a resolve seemed to arise within her. With a graceful gesture of her hand, she dispelled the shadow that still enveloped Alastor, thus freeing the demon from his yoke. The temperature of the room and its brightness returned to their natural balance, while (y/n)'s deer antlers returned to their initial size.

(y/n), now more relaxed, conformed to the rules of etiquette, respecting them. A gracious smile graced her lips as she gave Charlie a salutation of gracious solemnity, bowing her head slightly in respect.

- The pleasure is shared, Princess Charlie. She replied in a soft but confident voice, getting up. It is an honor to welcome you to my modest home. Please forgive me for the vulnerable and aggressive version of myself that you may have encountered. Under no circumstances should she be present in the presence of royalty such as yours.

Charlie was pleasantly surprised by the sudden change in (y/n)'s attitude, feeling more comfortable in her presence. She bowed respectfully in gratitude, acknowledging the courtesy of the Overlord of Hell, not being used to being shown so much respect.

(y/n) then turned towards the couches, inviting Charlie to sit down.

- Please sit down, Princess Charlie, you must be tired from all this walking. She declared in a friendly voice, gesturing elegantly to the sofa.

Charlie nodded politely and sat down, his gaze following Alastor who stood behind the back of the sofa, his teasing smile still hanging on his lips. Meanwhile, (y/n) sent a command to Taku.

- Taku, please prepare some tea for our guest. She ordered in a calm but authoritative voice, as she sat down her turn, opposite Charlie who was standing straight, playing with his fingers.

Taku nodded silently, bowing slightly before walking over to where the teapot and cups were set out. He prepared the tea with silent skill, discreetly observing his enemy out of the corner of his eye.

As for Alastor, he remained unfazed by the presence of the one he would like to see dead, his expression still teasing, his gaze sparkling with undisguised malice as he observed the scene with palpable amusement.

Once the tea was ready, Taku approached Charlie and handed him a cup with a respectful gesture.

- Your tea, Princess Charlie. He announced in a neutral voice, placing it in front of her on the table, before serving (y/n), who thanked him with a warm but moderate smile.

Charlie thanked him with a grateful smile and took the cup carefully, feeling the comforting warmth of the liquid against his fingers. She took a small sip, savoring the soothing taste of the tea. (y/n) observed him with a slight smile, then suddenly declared, breaking the silence that had fallen :

- If I may say so, you look exactly like your father, Lucifer.

Charlie, astonished, looked at her in surprise.

- Do you know my father ? She asked with a hint of disbelief, unsure of what to think.

(y/n) nodded slightly.

- We met on a few rare occasions. She replied in a calm voice, full of reflection. But I must admit that I don't particularly hold it in my heart. Although I understand that he is overwhelmed by the illness of depression, especially since the departure of Lilith, your mother, I firmly believe that a king, even if he did not choose this destiny, must above all think to his subjects and be ready to sacrifice himself for them. Unfortunately, your father doesn't always seem to understand this, letting innocent people perish every year and condemning all sinners indiscriminately.

A nervous laugh escaped Charlie's lips at this unexpected revelation, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, trying to hide his growing confusion. Another heavy silence settled in the room, (y/n) doing everything to ignore the presence of Alastor, who reveled in his reaction.

After taking a sip, the hostess asked in a friendly but curious voice :

-And if not, can you inform me of your coming here, princess ? I must admit that I never imagined such a thing happening.

Charlie felt a surge of intense excitement course through her body as she jumped to her feet, the surge in her voice ready to burst into song to introduce her hotel of redemption. Her eyes glowed with palpable determination as she prepared to share her vision with those in the room.

- Oh uh yes ! Let me introduce you to my hotel that rehabilitates fishermen ! She began in a vibrant, almost musical voice. A place where the most lost souls can find redemption and inner peace.

His momentum was abruptly interrupted by the authoritarian voice of (y/n), which ended his tirade :

- There is no room for songs here, princess. Please forgive me for interrupting you, but I believe that there is a time for everything, including songs. If this is serious, you can present things differently.

Charlie, disappointed by the abrupt interruption of her creative momentum, sat up slowly, stammering an excuse. Alastor raised an eyebrow and said in a voice tinged with sarcasm :

- Are you sure about that, (y/n) ?

Ignoring Alastor's remarks and the hostile glances exchanged between him and Taku, (y/n) focused on Charlie, noticing his growing state of stress. Telling herself that his condition was because of her, with natural grace, she offered him a soothing smile and said softly :

- There's no reason to stress, princess, I didn't want to upset you. However, I can't stand the music anymore.

Hearing this, Alastor's smile became colder and more sarcastic. Charlie, looking at the woman in front of her, sighed, her shoulders slumping. She still had a hard time realizing that she was here, sharing tea with the person she considered an example to follow. As a result, she could not hold back from sharing her adoration for the overlord.

- You know, I've always heard about you. Rumors say that you are almost as powerful as my father, but that you have chosen a different path. A path of compassion and helping others.You have made pacts with sinners, protecting them and guiding them through the troubled waters of life. It's incredible. Everyone talks about you, but we never see you. You might almost think you're a legend. And yet here I am, facing you, realizing that you are very real. I admire you so much. It's like meeting my idol. Your strength, your generosity... It's inspiring. I mean, who else could boast of having (y/n) as an ally ? That's... That would just be amazing.

As Charlie's excitement began to skyrocket again, (y/n) gave him a kind look and said gently, touched by his words :

- Calm down, princess. Thank you for your admiration. Breathe, I am fully listening to you.

Charlie, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, outlined his plan with frankness tinged with nervousness. She honestly admitted that it was her fault that the purge had been brought forward six months, explaining that in a month Adam and the exterminators would come to see them first. Unable to hide her anxiety, she admitted that she did not know what to do in the face of this critical situation.

-And so… Alastor brought me here to get your help, apparently. She added, casting an uncertain look at Alastor.

( y/n ), staring skeptically at Alastor for the first since this exchange, raised an eyebrow, expressing doubt about the demon's intentions. In a calm but direct voice, she asked him :

- Do you really think you'll help Charlie with his hotel ? Do you believe in this idea of redemption ?

Alastor replied with a hint of amusement in his voice :

- Ah, my dear (y/n), believe in redemption ? It’s like believing in Santa Claus ! However, I see Charlie's little project as an entertainment opportunity. And maybe, who knows, a few souls to collect for eternity. But don't get me wrong, I'm here to save his project, it shouldn't be broken too quickly. I was even the one who chose the name of the brand, the “Hazbin Hotel”!

Faced with Alastor's response, Charlie felt disappointed and blasé, her face betraying her displeasure. She had hoped to find a sincere ally in him, but his words had reminded her of the dark and detached nature of the one who accompanied her today.

(y/n), turning to Taku with a serious look, asked him if the information provided by Alastor was true. Taku nodded soberly, confirming that according to his informants, the stated facts were accurate. (y/n) bowed his head slightly in recognition towards Taku before turning back to Charlie.

- I see… And what do you want from me, princess ?

Alastor spoke up to propose a solution to the situation.

- You know, (y/n), with your power and your army of fishermen, you could put an end to all this. You could even come to the aid of other potential members of what you insist on calling your “family”. He said in a convinced tone, looking at his nails, keeping a straight posture, not wanting to slump against the backrest even if he wanted to, wanting to keep a good face in front of her.

In a gesture of controlled serenity, (y/n) gently raised her hand to interrupt him, before falling gracefully on his knee. Closing her eyes briefly, she gathered her thoughts before responding in a calm but resolute voice :

- I understand your point of view, but I refuse to put the members of my family in danger for a matter that does not directly concern them. Here we are safe.

(y/n)'s reply, although delivered with apparent confidence, does not quite succeed in convincing Alastor, accustomed to detecting chinks in the armor of his interlocutors. He had subtly noticed the change in expression on the overlord's face. A smirk tugged at his thin lips, his eyes sparkling with biting amusement as he prepared to further explore the cracks in (y/n)'s confidence.

- You sure about that ? He asked, his voice softly tinged with a veiled threat. Think about it my dear. Things change, alliances break, and even your fishermen could find themselves caught in the tumult of this impending war.

He remained silent for a moment, letting his words permeate the atmosphere, then he continued in a calm but incisive tone :

- Imagine for a moment that Adam's forces are getting closer. Do you really think they will stop indefinitely at the gates of your pocket dimension ? That your precious fishermen will be spared from their fury ? No, my dear (y/n), your security is only an illusion in this constantly moving world. And if you refuse to act now, you may bitterly regret it when the flames of war lick the walls of your refuge.

He paused, letting his words resonate in (y/n)'s mind, before concluding with a sardonic smile :

- Of course, I do not underestimate your ability to protect your domain. But it's always good to consider all possibilities, even the darkest ones. After all, prudence is the mother of safety, right ?

Alastor knew how to tug on the heartstrings of high-ranking demons like (y/n). He used his charisma and sharp rhetoric to sow doubt in the overlord's mind, giving her a different perspective on the situation and pushing her to consider more aggressive actions to protect her rule and honor.

Before Charlie could intervene with his own arguments, Taku, faithful servant, spoke in a respectful but determined tone.

- My Lady. He began in a voice full of devotion. I understand the arguments made by this nuisance, but I implore you, do not let fear and uncertainty dictate your actions. You are the force that unites us, the light that guides our steps in the darkness. Your prudence is our shield against the chaos that always threatens to engulf us. Yes, times are uncertain and threats are many, but it is precisely in these times that your leadership is most crucial. Acting in haste, under the influence of fear, would only hasten our downfall. Let us remain faithful to our strategy, to our vision of the future. With your wisdom and wise judgment, we will overcome whatever challenges come our way. Because if you choose to engage in this confrontation, you risk losing more than you could gain. Your place is here, alongside yours, to protect our home and guide our destiny. Don't let the words of a manipulative demon sow doubt in your mind. We trust you, my Lady. And as long as you stay strong, so will we.

His hand, resting confidently on (y/n)'s shoulder, testified to his unwavering support, while he awaited his suzerain's decision with respectful patience, trusting in her wisdom and in her ability to make the best decisions for them.

(y/n) turned her gaze towards Taku, letting her face rest on her hand which was placed next to her on the backrest, fighting against the wave of sadness which invaded her at the thought of Lynn, that she had punished for a recent transgression. Alastor, carefully scanning the scene, felt a pang of annoyance as he noticed the proximity between them, a proximity that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

However, her attention was diverted by something that seemed to escape the others, when she raised her arm slightly, to take Taku's hand which was on her shoulder. Another curious and interesting detail, which added to the confirmation of his suspicions. (y/n) raised his face towards Charlie, letting go of his advisor's hand, placing his arm back at his side. In a gentle voice, she expressed her regrets.

- I'm sorry, princess, but I can't help you in this matter. She declared with compassion. I can't afford to put any member of my family in danger, let alone drag them into this.

However, she offered Charlie a glimmer of hope by adding :

- However, if your hotel survives, I will be happy to support you by visiting your establishment. I could then assess whether it truly constitutes a safe haven for those who seek redemption under your protection.

This compromise seemed to assuage Charlie's disappointment, giving him an encouraging outlook for the future of his project. She couldn't hold back her joy and literally jumped with contentment, her eyes shining with excitement.

- You are serious ? Really ? She exclaimed, both surprised and delighted by the powerful overlord's proposal.

(y/n) nodded gently, a kind smile stretching her lips.

- Yes I am. If your hotel manages to offer a path to redemption, then some members of my family may feel drawn to that possibility. And as a worthy leader, it is my duty to help them as best I can. She declared with dignity, thus expressing her noble vision of responsibilities.

Charlie's eyes lit up even more, splashed with a mixture of admiration and gratitude.

- It's incredible ! Thank you so much, (y/n) ! You won't regret it, I promise ! She exclaimed, letting her gratitude and determination to make her project a success shine through.

Sensing Charlie's imminent departure, (y/n) smiled slightly, appreciating his enthusiasm and determination.

- I wish you good luck, princess. Do your best to save your hotel. She told him sincerely, recognizing the passion that animated the young woman.

Charlie, moved by these words, bowed respectfully to (y/n) like a fan to an idol.

- Thank you, thank you very much ! I will not disappoint you ! I will do everything to find a solution to save him, you will see ! She promised passionately before heading towards the exit, carrying with her a mixture of excitement and newfound enthusiasm, not caring if Alastor followed her or not.

Alastor remained still, staring at (y/n) with a mixture of interest and challenge in his glowing gaze. Taku, seeing that the conversation was coming to an end, turned to Alastor with a cold and bitter expression, suggesting in a scathing tone :

- It's time for you to go, demon. Your presence is no longer required.

But Alastor didn't seem to react to Taku's words, keeping his attention entirely focused on (y/n). He let out a little sarcastic laugh, before announcing in a quiet voice but full of innuendo :

- In fact, I intend to talk a little more with (y/n).

She turned her attention to him, with a neutral air, while he announced :

-And one-on-one this time.

______________________________________________

Author's note : Well, I guess there will be a part 3, right ? I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it, and that (y/n)'s character captivated you. Stay tuned for the next part !

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Lingerie & Leather~

hi everyone! so this is a gift for @taradiddled! i hope you like it, it's short and sweet! i have wanted to write Ada for a while and i thought this would be the perfect surprise for you!

@adamsappleweek

Sighing to herself, Ada shifted, arching her back with a wince as the familiar burn settled across her spine from hours hunched over her desk. She ran her fingers over the delicate patterns on the parchment before her, her plush lips tilted into a crooked smile as she tilted her head thoughtfully. Her thick, cascading curls, a rich blend of chestnut and fiery auburn, spilled over her shoulder like a waterfall. In her long, slender fingers, she twirled a pencil, adding the smallest, most intricate details to her design. Her golden eyes, framed by long, lush lashes, shimmered with concentration, every flicker hinting at her meticulous focus.

A faint glimmer caught the soft glow of her reddish horns, which poked from the top of her head and gleamed with a golden sheen. Black, rose-like webbing wrapped around them, forming a crown she didn’t particularly enjoy wearing but wore nonetheless because Lucifer had insisted—no, begged—her to.

“Mama!” A small voice chirped from the doorway, drawing Ada’s gaze. She looked up just in time to see her little girl, Charlie, standing in the doorframe, one tiny foot fidgeting on the carpet.

“Mama?” Charlie’s voice was softer this time, eyes round and full of wonder.

Ada rolled her shoulders, a satisfying crack breaking the silence as she stood, setting down her pencil with a gentle sigh. She walked over to her daughter, her heels making a soft, padding sound against the plush carpet.

“Charlie, what are you doing up, sweetheart? You’re supposed to be in bed,” she said, a warm smile gracing her lips. “Where’s your father?”

Charlie scrunched her face, pouting with an adorable defiance that made Ada’s heart melt. “Papa fell asleep.”

“Oh, did he now?” Ada chuckled softly, scooping Charlie up and settling her on her hip.

In the warm lamplight, she could see how much her daughter resembled Lucifer, from the shimmer in her golden eyes to the faint blush of red on her cheeks. But that wild hair—that was all Ada. Dark brown and tinged with auburn, Charlie’s curls bounced as she wriggled, her little hands reaching to touch the delicate black roses on Ada’s horn-crown.

“Mama, your work is sooo pretty!” Charlie exclaimed, pointing to the papers scattered on Ada’s desk with a reverent "ooo."

Ada’s heart warmed, and she bounced Charlie slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“Thank you, baby,” she murmured, “But you’re much too young to understand it yet.”

“I can’t wait until I’m big like Mama!” Charlie pouted, snuggling into Ada’s neck, her small arms wrapped tightly around her.

Laughing softly, Ada carried her down the dimly lit corridor, her steps light but purposeful. She soon reached the twins’ bedroom, pausing in the doorway with an amused sigh.

The sight was too precious: nestled in the rocker between two small beds, Lucifer, the King of Hell himself, was fast asleep, his head tipped back against the chair. A children’s storybook rested on his lap, the pages crinkled where his large hand had relaxed against them. Snuggled into his chest, their son, Abel, was just as deeply asleep, his tiny hand clutching a handful of his father’s shirt.

Across the room, Charlie’s bed was a dreamy nest of pink and lavender, the curtains draping elegantly from the bedposts, while Abel’s was a cozy combination of blue and green, almost glowing in the low light.

Ada quietly tucked Charlie into her bed, pulling the lavender covers up to her chin and kissing her forehead. “Now, little one, it’s time for sleep. You can’t be up all night again, you hear me?”

Charlie made a small pout but rolled over, clutching her plush unicorn, her eyes already drooping. Ada brushed a curl from her face, smiling as her daughter settled in.

Turning her attention to Lucifer, Ada moved over to the rocker, watching his peaceful expression, a soft smile teasing the corner of her mouth. She leaned down, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, and whispered, “Luci, my love, it’s time to wake up.”

Lucifer stirred slightly, one eye cracking open, the golden hue catching the dim light in the room. He smiled drowsily, his voice rough with sleep as he murmured, “Mmm...I was just resting my eyes.”

“Oh, were you?” Ada teased, raising a brow as she folded her arms, her lips curving into an amused smile.

“Just giving the little prince here some company,” he mumbled, reaching up to rub his eyes before looking down at Abel, still snuggled against him, fast asleep. Lucifer’s gaze softened, and Ada felt her heart flutter at the rare gentleness in his eyes.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” Ada said softly, chuckling as she gently pried Abel from his father’s arms, tucking him into his own bed. She placed a kiss on her son’s golden hair, his little fingers still curled as if holding onto his father even in his dreams.

Straightening up, Ada extended a hand to Lucifer, who took it with a grin.

“You know, my dear queen,” he whispered, pulling her close and sliding his arm around her waist, “I think I could get used to this kind of work shift.”

He glanced back at the children, then met her gaze, his smile turning into something softer, deeper.

“Oh really?” Ada murmured, her eyes glinting as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Does the king of hell enjoy bedtime duty?”

“With you? Every single night,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Lucifer quietly closed the door behind them, casting a playful look in Ada's direction, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He raised his brows suggestively, giving her a grin as wicked as it was endearing.

"So...what do you say we make a little brother for Charlie and Abel?" His voice was a low murmur, full of humour and the promise of more.

Ada’s snort echoed softly in the hallway as she playfully swatted his shoulder.

“Or maybe a little sister?” she countered with a grin.

Lucifer’s grin only widened, his eyes dancing with laughter as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. With a light lift onto his hooved feet, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, a warm, lingering kiss that made her melt.

She sighed contentedly as they parted, though she shook her head with a gentle laugh. “I still have work to do today, Luci.”

He groaned, his pout almost comical as he raised an eyebrow. “Still? You’ve been at it all day.”

“Oh, please.” Ada chuckled, giving him a knowing smile as she raised a brow at him. “As the king of hell, you of all people should understand how demanding these jobs can be. I would’ve thought you’d appreciate it; with all those endless meetings you’re always complaining about.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, letting out a low groan.

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered, looking tortured. “They’re so incredibly stupid. How many times do I have to hear complaints about the temperature in the seventh circle?”

Ada laughed softly, leaning up to kiss his cheek, her lips brushing the soft warmth of his skin.

“Yes, but you still go, don’t you? Just as I still need to get my work done.” She softened her tone, looking up into his eyes. “It’s important to me.”

Sighing, Lucifer finally gave a reluctant nod, one hand sliding up to tuck a curl of hair behind her ear.

“Alright, alright. But please, don’t stay up all night.” His eyes softened as he added, “I don’t want to find you asleep at your desk again.”

Ada grinned, her eyes sparkling.

“But you’re always so sweet, carrying me to bed when you find me there,” she teased, leaning in with a soft smile.

Lucifer purred, his tail swishing with delight, wrapping around her waist as he gave her a warm, lopsided grin.

“Well, what can I say? I love you.” His voice softened on the last two words, his gaze holding a rare gentleness.

Ada pressed her lips to his, feeling his familiar warmth, his solid presence enveloping her. “I love you too,” she whispered back.

They stayed there in the quiet hallway, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and he whispered,

“You know, Ada, I’m so glad you chose me. All those years ago…back in Eden.” His voice held a note of reverence, of gratitude, and of something she knew he didn’t often let himself express.

Ada’s eyes softened, her fingers tracing over the line of his jaw.

“I’d always pick you, Luci. I jumped into Hell with you, after all,” she said, her voice warm and unwavering. “Even when the angels offered to ‘cleanse’ me, to take away everything I loved about you…I chose you.”

He pulled her closer, his eyes fierce and full of love, as if to remind her he’d never let her go.

“And you know I’d burn the whole of Eden down for you,” he murmured, his voice almost a growl.

With a smile that was equally fierce, Ada took his hand, squeezing it as they began to walk down the hallway together.

“Good. Because Eden was overrated anyway,” she teased, laughing as his fingers laced through hers, both of them content to walk this path together.

Lucifer walked her back to her office, his oversized duck-themed pyjamas drawing a smile from Ada every time she glanced at him. The pyjamas, an amusing blend of bright yellows and adorable little webbed feet printed across the fabric, softened his usually intense demeanour, making her heart squeeze. He’d chosen them for fun, but Ada knew he loved the comfort of them as much as she adored seeing him in them. She stopped just before the door, leaning up to give him a kiss that was both warm and lingering.

“Goodnight, my sweet duck,” she teased with a grin, which earned a deep chuckle from Lucifer as he ruffled her hair.

With one last affectionate glance, Ada slipped back into her office and shut the door behind her. The moment she was alone, a sigh escaped her lips, her golden eyes sweeping over the mannequins that filled the room. Each figure displayed a beautifully crafted piece of lingerie, made with as much care and vision as anything she had ever created. Ada’s office was alive with colour—delicate pastels, rich jewel tones, and bright, whimsical shades—each creation as unique as the women she made them for. She knew the impact they could have; she had watched firsthand as her lingerie brought a confidence and pride to those who’d once felt unworthy or hidden.

When Ada first arrived in Hell and saw how painfully self-conscious many of the female sinners were—both sinners and hellborn—she’d been moved to change that. She’d witnessed too many of them avoiding mirrors, ashamed of how they looked, sometimes even apologizing for simply existing in their own bodies. Many had told her how they couldn’t bear to undress in front of their lovers, hating the sight of their forms, whether human or altered in their fall.

One sinner in particular had looked at Ada with envy, her eyes sad as she whispered, “I wish I could look like you.”

It was then Ada’s mission had begun. She’d wanted to create something that could remind these women of their own beauty, their own worth, to bring pride and joy back to what they saw in the mirror. She’d poured her soul into her work, using every colour imaginable—soft pinks, regal purples, daring reds, and lively greens, each piece designed to flatter and embrace the body in a way that felt freeing and empowering. Her collections were crafted with every kind of fabric: delicate lace, soft netting, and ribbons, all styled to make a woman feel as beautiful as she truly was.

Ada’s work quickly gained traction, and soon even imps and hellborn women began to purchase her designs, each piece tailored to make them feel stunning in their own unique forms. Her heart swelled each time she heard someone say, “I feel beautiful in this,” or saw a sinner leave her shop standing a little taller, more radiant than before.

Stretching her arms above her head, Ada crossed her office, her gaze settling on her desk where her latest designs waited. Her eyes softened as she took them in. There were the softer, almost fairy-like pieces with pastel silks and lace, designed for those who wanted to feel delicate, like princesses. She loved the feminine elegance of these; they embodied a quiet beauty that she knew some sinners longed for. And yet, across her range, she also had bolder, darker pieces—black satin with intricate embroidery, exotic patterns that held a more sensual allure for those seeking confidence and strength.

But she wanted to create something for everyone.

Humming softly, Ada ran her fingers over the sketches and paintings sprawled across her desk, each one holding a piece of her heart and soul. Her golden eyes flickered up, glancing at the mannequins around her office, the silent figures draped in her finished designs. She moved towards one particular mannequin near the back of the room, hidden behind a curtain. She kept this piece out of view, especially when her little ones wandered in; while the others resembled elaborate swimsuits in their innocent eyes, this one was far too risqué for them.

She drew the curtain back with a slight hesitation, revealing a set made of black leather—different from anything else she’d crafted. This piece was bold, daring, its intricate design weaving leather straps with delicate metal accents. It had been a special request from a famous imp, someone Ada knew was popular among the hellborn, though she knew little about her other than her reputation as a popstar. Ada had accepted the commission, intrigued by the challenge, but as she looked at it now, she felt a pang of uncertainty. There was a fierceness to the set, a raw confidence she admired, but something about it didn’t yet feel complete.

Pushing her curls back from her face, Ada turned away from the hidden piece, deciding to take a break and focus on one of her more delicate creations. She walked over to a mannequin clothed in a pale blue lace set, complete with soft, frilled accents around the hips. This one was different—a more romantic piece, carefully crafted to flatter with elegance and subtle charm. Ada felt her lips curve into a smile as she gently removed it from the mannequin, running her fingers over the delicate lace and soft fabric.

She slipped out of her own clothes, carefully putting on the set, adjusting it with gentle fingers. When she was finished, she stepped in front of the full-length mirror, taking a deep breath as she examined her reflection. She turned, twisting to check every detail, every stitch and frill. The fabric hugged her frame, the lace settling softly against her skin, accentuating the natural curve of her waist and hips.

The pale blue complimented her auburn curls and golden eyes, and she felt a quiet pride at how well the design had turned out. It was simple but beautiful, a piece that could make anyone feel as delicate as a rose but as confident as a queen.

The soft pale blue lingerie fit her like a glove and hugged all the right curves. It was split into two sections, her chest appeared slightly too big for the top which meant Ada had to readjust it consciously, but the bottoms were beautiful.

Ada tapped her chin, “I think it needs stocking. Pretty netted ones, with ribbons around the thighs that connects to the frilly tutu sections~”

Ada turned in the mirror, noting small adjustments that could make the pale blue set even better. She wanted the frills around the hips to sit a bit higher, and the lace near the bust could use a touch more symmetry. Grabbing her black notebook, she scribbled down each idea in her elegant script, sketching tiny diagrams alongside her notes until she felt satisfied with her plan.

Carefully removing the blue set, she moved on to another piece she’d been eager to try on—a full-body set in pure white, designed to feel ethereal. She slipped it on, marvelling as the fabric settled against her skin, its soft glow illuminating the intricate lace patterns that travelled up her stomach to her chest in delicate, swirling frills. A ribbon held it all in place, tied gently at the back of her neck.

She turned around to inspect the ribbon work, sweeping her hair over her shoulder to check that the lace wasn’t pulling or threatening to unravel. It seemed just right, hugging her frame perfectly without any strain. Ada smiled to herself, a glint of mischief in her golden eyes.

“Maybe I should add wings,” she murmured, amused at the thought. “Make it a true ‘angel’ set.”

The idea made her chuckle. She imagined displaying it as the “Angel of Desire” set—innocent yet irresistible, a bit of celestial sweetness wrapped in temptation. In Hell, something angelic would practically fly off the shelves. The idea was a delightful irony: in a place filled with those who once craved heaven’s gates, her “angel” lingerie could give them a little piece of that dream. And if anyone could pull off such a tongue-in-cheek design, it was her.

Ada continued working through her designs, slipping into each lingerie set one by one and noting small details that needed adjustments. She made notes about lifting certain straps, adding extra lace along the hems, and sometimes simply noting how beautiful the piece felt when worn. Her black book was quickly filling with sketches, notes, and ideas as she moved with her usual focus and grace.

Eventually, her golden eyes landed on the leather set, still hidden behind the curtain. She pursed her lips, eyeing it warily. This piece was a bold departure from her usual style, with its dark leather straps and sleek metal accents, each detail crafted to exude power and edge. Despite her careful craftsmanship, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Perhaps it was the lack of softness she typically infused into her designs, or maybe it just needed her personal touch.

Taking a deep breath, Ada approached the mannequin, placing her hands on her round hips and tilting her head thoughtfully as she studied it. She puffed out her chest a little, tapping her chin as she mused. Maybe…maybe she needed to see it on herself to understand it better. To feel if it could embody the kind of confidence she wanted her clients to experience.

Slowly, Ada removed the leather set from the mannequin, running her fingers over the material. It was soft yet structured, with a sleekness that was certainly different but not without its own allure. Piece by piece, she slipped into the set, adjusting each strap and clasp until it fit snugly around her curves. The leather hugged her frame in a way that was unapologetically bold, a fierce contrast to the lace and frills she was accustomed to.

Once fully dressed, she turned to the mirror, eyes widening slightly at her reflection. The dark leather emphasized her figure with a powerful edge, its sleek lines contrasting with her warm, golden eyes and wild, auburn curls. Ada couldn’t help but smile, her confidence growing as she adjusted a strap on her shoulder, taking in the look from every angle.

Her chest was too big for the leather lingerie, it squished her breasts together and made them look even bigger. Ada wiggled her nose; it was a little untasteful. She turned herself, looking at her behind and grumbled. The leather lingerie was pulling at her ass too tightly, her butt cheeks were falling out and there was nothing to cover it like her laced ones.

Huffing in frustration, Ada turned herself around to untie the leather piece, but her movements froze as a cold wave of panic washed over her. The straps were unforgiving, refusing to budge despite her best efforts. Her golden eyes widened in disbelief as she tugged harder, the leather clinging to her body like a second skin.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered, her heart racing as she pulled and twisted, but it was no use. It was like the set had been enchanted to stay on her forever.

Running her hands down her face, Ada paced around her office, feeling the walls close in on her. Her cheeks flushed, and she slid her hands through her hair in frustration, glancing towards the door with a crooked frown.

“Shit,” she muttered again, her mind racing. There was only one thing to do.

Shuffling her feet, she grabbed the curtain she used to hide the leather set and ripped it down in a fit of desperation. Wrapping it tightly around herself, she stepped up to the door, inhaling deeply as if bracing for battle. She hoped no servants in the mansion would catch a glimpse of her ridiculous predicament. Pulling the curtain even tighter around her, she stepped out into the cool corridor and speed-walked towards her and Lucifer’s shared bedroom chamber.

Keeping her eyes on the floor, Ada hurried along, her cheeks growing warmer as she caught sight of a few startled servants.

“Why?” she whined to herself, her pace quickening into a sprint. “I knew I shouldn’t have touched this damn set!”

With a burst of energy, she flung open the door to their chamber, slamming it shut behind her. At that moment, Lucifer looked up from where he was sprawled on their queen-sized bed, a mix of curiosity and concern on his face, eyebrows raised.

“Ada, love, what’s wrong?”

He lay on his stomach, legs kicking playfully in the air as he read a magazine, his golden curls falling into his eyes. Ada stepped toward the bed, her face turning a deeper shade of crimson as she caught sight of what he was looking at.

“Really?” she asked, her voice a mix of incredulity and embarrassment.

Lucifer smiled brightly, the kind of smile that made her heart flutter, even in her mortification.

“You look beautiful,” he said, glancing back at the magazine and holding it up proudly. “You look beautiful in all of them.”

It was her latest issue featuring her lingerie line, where she had stepped in as the model when the original had gotten sick.

“You’re so embarrassing,” Ada groaned, her hands covering her face in a futile attempt to hide.

Lucifer let out a hearty laugh, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked back at the photos., “I’m gonna keep these.”

“Lucifer, this is not the time!” she exclaimed, a mix of laughter and exasperation bubbling up inside her. She wobbled slightly as she tried to keep the curtain wrapped securely around her. “I need your help! I’m stuck in this thing!”

The impish grin on his face shifted into a more serious look, and he sat up on the bed. “What do you mean, stuck?”

“I can’t get it off!” Ada admitted, her voice tinged with desperation. “You have to help me.”

Lucifer rose from the bed, his expression now a blend of concern and amusement. “Alright, let’s see what we can do, my little fashionista.”

Ada tightened the curtain around herself, her face heating to the point where she could almost feel steam rising from the top of her head. She puffed out her cheeks and gave him a warning look. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

Lucifer beamed sweetly, standing before his wife, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dare laugh at the love of my life.”

Ada stared into his demonic eyes, a mixture of frustration and affection swirling within her. She relaxed her grip on the curtain, slowly opening it to reveal the leather lingerie set she had tried on and gotten stuck in.

Lucifer’s eyes widened, his face growing a delightful shade of pink, his gaze becoming glassy and hooded. There was no laughter—thankfully—but he looked as if his mind had short-circuited.

“Um, Luci?” Ada blinked, waving a hand in front of his face. “You still in there?”

Lucifer jumped, blinking furiously as if waking from a dream. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Sorry, um, did you say you were stuck in th-that?”

Ada nodded, a smirk playing at her lips. “Yes, my chest’s too big for it, and my hips are too round.”

He made a strangled sound from the back of his throat, his gaze flitting over her figure. “You still look beautiful.”

Ada laughed, the sound bubbling up like champagne. “You think I’m beautiful in whatever.”

Lucifer grinned, his charm unshaken. “Well, it’s true. Anyway, for me to, er, get it off... I...”

Ada clicked her tongue, a playful glint in her golden eyes. “Rip it. I don’t care.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened in shock. “What? Really? But you worked so hard on it!”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “I hate it. I’m going to make a new one.”

His expression turned blank for a moment before he suddenly knelt before her, his clawed hands pressed together in a gesture of supplication.

“Um, Luci? What are you doing?” Ada asked, confusion knitting her brow as her golden eyes grew large and round.

“I’m praying,” Lucifer made a soft sound, a mix between a hum and a prayer. “Give me a moment.”

Ada stifled a laugh, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Praying? For what? You’re the devil, aren’t you?”

His face darkened in a comically exaggerated manner, and his lips curled into a wide, sharp-toothed grin. In the blink of an eye, his eyes glowed a fierce blood red, horns erupted from the top of his head, and his demonic wings unfurled, bursting forth with hellfire that fizzled around him like a living aura of mischief and power.

Ada burst into laughter, clutching the curtain tighter around her. “You like the idea that much?”

He winked at her, his grin widening. “A bit of destruction has its charm. Besides, it’s not every day I get to rescue my beautiful wife from a fashion disaster.”

“More like causing one,” she teased, shaking her head as she tried to regain her composure. “But alright, let’s do it!”

With a theatrical flourish, Lucifer brandished his claws, his playful demeanour making the moment feel like a grand performance. “On the count of three, then!”

“One... two... three!”

With a swift motion, he pounced.

Later that night, the flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across their luxurious queen-sized bed, the remains of the curtain and leather lingerie strewn haphazardly around the chamber, remnants of their earlier chaos. Ada and Lucifer lay curled together, the warmth of their bodies creating a cocoon of comfort. She hummed softly, a gentle melody that intertwined with the soft rustle of sheets, while Lucifer absentmindedly played with her hair, weaving his fingers through the long, thick curls that shimmered like molten gold and copper in the dim light.

“Luci?” she began sweetly, her voice a soft lilt that pulled his attention away from the strands of hair in his hands.

Lucifer hummed in acknowledgment, his red and gold eyes shimmering with curiosity.

“I should probably tell you, but I’m five weeks pregnant,” Ada confessed, a teasing grin creeping onto her lips.

In an instant, Lucifer froze. His eyes widened in disbelief, the shock transforming into something brighter, almost ethereal. He grabbed Ada by the shoulders, gently yet firmly, moving her so they were sitting up together, his expression a blend of hope and excitement.

“You’re what?” he gasped, the words tumbling from his lips in a breathless rush. “You’re not messing with me, are you?”

Ada shook her head, her grin widening. “Of course not. I’m being serious. I’m pregnant again.”

Lucifer gasped in surprise, his face lighting up with joy. Without a second thought, he pulled her into a tight embrace, his warm purr reverberating in his chest as he buried his face in her neck.

“Oh, Ada! I’m so happy!” he exclaimed, the joy in his voice like a melody of its own.

Ada giggled, squeezing him back just as tightly.

“This time, it better be one baby and not twins,” she teased, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze, her golden eyes sparkling with mischief.

Lucifer’s expression shifted to one of playful contemplation, his lips curving into a cheeky grin. “But think of all the fun we could have with twins again! Double the chaos, double the love!”

“Luci, we already have a toddler and a pair of twins!” Ada laughed, her cheeks flushing with affection. “One baby would be a nice change of pace.”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, his fingers still gently tracing patterns on her arm. “But can you blame me for wanting a little bit of mayhem? I mean, look at our family; we’re practically the poster children for adorable chaos.”

Ada rolled her eyes, but the smile on her lips betrayed her. “Fair point. And who knows? Maybe we’ll have a little boy this time,” she mused, leaning into him as she relaxed against the pillows. “I wouldn’t mind having another mini-Lucifer running around.”

Lucifer's eyes sparkled with excitement, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Or a little girl who’s just as fierce as her mother. Can you imagine? She’d have both your fire and my charm.”

Ada’s heart swelled at the thought. “A little princess who can scare off all the other suitors with just a glare,” she said, laughter dancing in her voice.

“Exactly! And don’t forget the rose thorns,” he added with a cheeky wink. “That way, no one would dare come close.”

The playful banter filled the room with warmth, the love between them a tangible thread weaving their hearts together.

“Promise me one thing?” Ada said, her voice suddenly serious yet tender.

“Anything,” Lucifer replied, his tone earnest as he held her gaze.

“Promise that no matter how many babies we have, we’ll always find time for each other, for us.”

Lucifer’s expression softened, his heart swelling with love for her. “I promise, Ada. You and I are the heart of this family. No matter how many little ones we welcome, you will always be my first love, my anchor.”

She smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly, a whisper of warmth that lingered on their lips. The world outside their chamber faded away, leaving just the two of them—two souls intertwined in the beautiful chaos of love, family, and the promise of a new life blossoming between them.

[luxtout]

Flames Unveiled (Chapter 1- Leather and Letters- Aegon II Targaryen X (Bastard Velaryon) Reader X Aemond Targaryen

Summary: After six years living away from Kings Landing, you and your family are summoned back, for reasons unknown. Your mother, Rhaenyra, has different plans for you. You swore to always protect your family, but at what cost?

Warning: Cursing, angst, injuries

The air was sweet as you stepped out of your chambers, a gentle breeze brushing against your legs and sending a shiver down your spine. The place you've called home for the past six years was eerily quiet, not even your younger brothers were awake in these early morning hours. Normally, the songs of dragons would awaken you, but on this particular morning, the silence was unnerving.

The corridor echoed with each step you took, the faint sound of your dress grazing the floor causing your fingers to clench the fabric. You finally heard the soft murmur of your mother, Rhaenyra, speaking in Valyrian.

As if she sensed your approach, her voice hushed, waiting for you to open the large wooden door to the viewing room. A sense of curiosity overcame you as you wondered if someone else was in there with her. Your hand brushed the ridged doorknob, twisting it gently, as if you intended to surprise her. You could hear her mumbling in Valyrian.

You pushed open the heavy door, a rush of cold air meeting your face. Rhaenyra stood beside a massive wooden desk, engrossed in reading a parchment.

"Skoros iksos sīr secret ao līs whisper se ȳzaldrīzes isse nonnative ēngos?" What is so secret that you must whisper and speak in a nonnative tongue? Your lips curled upwards as you noticed her jump at the sound of your voice. She was dressed in a deep red gown with black accents around the skirts and collar, her hair elegantly braided on her head, creating a crown-like effect.

"Gōntan nyke wake ao, tala?" Did I wake you, daughter? Her voice was soft and genuinely concerned.

You quickly shook your head, your smile softening as your hair cascaded over your shoulders. "Daor. Nyke istan worried everyone ēdan geptot issa." No, I was worried that everyone had left me. It was a genuine fear that occasionally plagued you, which caused you wake in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat, fearing your family had disappeared. You kept your head down, lacing your fingers together, trying to ignore Rhaenyra's gaze.

"Your Valyrian has improved significantly. It is good for the future heir to the Iron Throne to know the ancient language." You were lost in your thoughts, not realizing that Rhaenyra had approached you, gently taking your hands in hers. Her smile was warm and comforting, knowing the challenges you faced as the eldest daughter, with high expectations from everyone in the court and beyond.

"Mother, you have not named an heir yet," your smile faltered. "The last I heard; Grandsire has been in good health. Why discuss such politics?"

Your mother's eyes softened, and her smile waned ever so slightly, a change so subtle that only you would notice. Her hands left yours suddenly, and she held your face in a surprising manner. "You're right, my love. Let's have breakfast."

She guided you out of the room, but you couldn't help but steal a glance back at the parchment left on the desk, a raven perched beside it. You were about to voice your concerns, but by then, you were already walking down the hall, entranced by the delicious aroma coming from the kitchen.

Entering the dining room, a long wooden table stretched from wall to wall, a fireplace at the far end of the room warming your cold hands. The curtains were drawn, allowing natural light to filter through the windows, while candles on the table illuminated the carefully set place settings by the handmaidens.

The cook's assistants hurried around, bearing plates of various meats, such as bacon, pork, and sausage, alongside bowls of porridge and poached eggs. The meal was complemented with cheese and bread. The table's centerpiece featured a colorful array of fruits, and you couldn't resist plucking a grape from its vine.

Your stomach rumbled in anticipation as they finished and bowed to your mother, then to you. You wanted to sit down and devour everything in sight, leaving nothing behind, but you waited for your brothers to join you, wherever they might be.

"It's best that you allow your handmaidens to assist you with dressing," Rhaenyra began, "and perhaps let them brush your hair."

She did not glance in your direction, already seated and waiting for her sons. You looked down at your dress, a simple blue gown adorned with gold embroidery, resembling tree leaves, you thought. Your hand instinctively went to your hair next, where knots had formed at the nape, although your mother couldn't see it beneath the cascade of waves falling to your waist. Your hair was brown, but a streak of white at the front of your hairline framed your face like an artist's touch.

"I can manage on my own. I am not a child; I am seventeen years of age, soon to be eight-"

Your words were abruptly cut off as you saw disappointment in your mother's eyes. "Exactly. You are a woman grown, yet you dress and act like a child."

Biting your lip, you tried to hold back hurtful words. "If you didn't make me leave, I would be a properly educated woman like you want!" Rhaenyra remained silent, her expression reflecting her sadness.

Footsteps echoed as your brothers entered the room. Jacaerys and Lucerys walked in silently, their hair in disarray, and their clothes looking unkempt. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at your mother, but she smiled slightly, conceding defeat. You were well aware of how you were treated differently; your brothers could do whatever they pleased, say anything they want, fuck whoever they want, while you, a lady, were constantly reminded of what not to do, what not to wear, and how not to speak. It was fucking annoying.

"Good morning, Y/N!" Luke greeted you with a smile as he took a seat next to Rhaenyra. He reached for the mead, but she swiftly pushed it out of his reach.

"Good morning, Luke, Jace. Finally, you've awakened." You tried to suppress your anger, but, in an instant, your previously hungry stomach felt completely satisfied. Nonetheless, you loaded your plate with bacon and eggs, deftly taking most of the fruit before Jace could protest.

"Where is Daemon?" Luke asked, looking around with a fork halfway to his mouth.

All eyes turned to your mother, who cleared her throat awkwardly. "He is... not here. He will be back before nightfall."

Luke nodded and continued with his meal, hummed appreciatively as he took another bite. Jace, on the other hand, nearly ignored his utensils entirely, and your mother had to intervene with a stern, "Jace."

The cries of your younger brothers could be heard as Joffrey ran into the room, with a wet nurse following close behind. "Ma, Aegon and Viserys won't drink their milk, they just cry."

A chuckle escaped your lips as Joffrey described the morning ordeal with the infants. Rhaenyra tried to explain that they didn't yet understand the timing of their meals, still being quite young.

"Come, Joffrey," You pulled out a chair with your foot, earning a disapproving look from your mother. "I'll make you a plate."

Joffrey eagerly hopped around the table and climbed into the chair. You filled his plate with fruits, porridge, and bacon, although he protested about the eggs, which he didn't like.

Seeing the heartwarming sight, your mother offered a gentle comment, "You would be a beautiful mother."

It was barely a whisper, but it caught your attention. "May I be excused? I would like to fly Lyrax; he has been quite stubborn of late."

Silence filled the room as Rhaenyra nodded, and you quickly left, heading towards the door.

Dressed in your riding leathers, you hadn't taken more than a few steps before someone called your name.

"Y/N!" Turning around, your brother raced after you. "Wait!"

You slowed your pace as you continued weaving your hair into a braid, "What is it, Jace?"

His steps quickened, and he finally caught up to you. "Mother wants me to recite the Targaryen lineage... in Valyrian."

"What does that have to do with me?" You laughed as you finished your braid, noticing his softening expression. "When I get back, I will help."

Jace spun you around, wrapping his arms around you. "Thank you for this, sister!"

You nodded and made your way to the "Dragon Pit." It wasn't as grand as the one in King's Landing, but it served its purpose in keeping your dragon safe. "Lyrax! Māzigon naejot issa, Lyrax," you called. His cooing and heavy steps greeted you as he approached. His scales were white and light gray, resembling the moon, with eyes a shade darker than black.

"Sȳz, Lyrax. Ivestragī īlva sōvegon." Good, let's fly. He lowered himself so you could mount, and you grabbed the reins. "Sōvegon."

Lyrax took a running start, leaping into the air and spreading his wings. The wind whipped through your hair as you gripped the reins with leathered gloves. He soared beyond the clouds, gliding with outstretched wings.

There was one word in Valyrian that you had always wanted to command Lyrax with, something your mother would kill you for and feed your remains to Syrax.

"Dracarys!"

Your voice echoed as you felt the vibrations from your dragon's throat, spitting a ball of fire. Unknowingly in awe, you found yourself heading too close to the flames, the heat burning your leather, but you didn't mind. You held your hand in the fire until Lyrax descended.

Taking a breath, you looked back at the puff of smoke. "Good boy, Lyrax." You were surprised to find that your leather had melted off, and your skin was singed but not blistered. It felt similar to sitting too close to a fire in the winter, leaving your skin hot but not scalded.

When you landed, you gave Lyrax one last hug before he went to feed, and you tended to your hand. To your amazement, it was as if nothing had happened, despite your expectations of blistered skin.

As you walked up the dirt and stone pathway, you noticed Daemon waiting. "Mother said you would be back by nightfall."

He smirked. "Nyke istan, yn nyke kesīr sir." I was, but I'm here now.

You bowed your head and said, "Indeed, lead the way."

Daemon's smirk made your skin crawl, and your hatred for him boiled within you. You missed your father, Laenor, who used to take you on walks around King's Landing, singing songs and teaching you dances. He was full of life, whereas Daemon was devoid of joy.

Entering the drawing room, you heard Valyrian as you noticed Jace and your mother. He looked up from the table, his hands propped up against the edge, giving you a dirty look.

"Tell me, who was Aegon Targaryen?" She inquired, a smirk forming in the corners of her mouth as she watched her son struggle.

"Aegon nyke..." He began, but the pronunciation proved challenging. "Aegon nyke istan..."

"Aegon nyke istan se ēlī targārien naejot conquer se unite se sīkuda dārȳti hen vesteros. Ziry rode se zaldrīzes balerion se zōbrie dread. Zȳhon reign marked se beginning hen targārien dynasty isse vesteros," you offered, unable to witness your brother's struggle any longer. Aegon I was the first Targaryen to conquer and unite the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. He rode the dragon Balerion the Black Dread, and his reign marked the beginning of the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros.

Your words caused Daemon to chuckle, and you earned a sympathetic sigh from Rhaenyra. "How else is Jace going to learn if you do it for him?"

You removed the other leather glove with a sigh. "My apologies, dear brother. Please continue." Jace cracked a smile at you as you took a seat nearby. He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but your mother interrupted.

"Actually, I have to inform you both of something important..."

You sat up attentively. "Would you like me to fetch Luke?"

She raised her hand to stop you. "No, it will be quick. I have received a letter. It's from... the Queen."

You sprang from your seat, and Jace moved closer to you. "Is Grandsire all right?"

Rhaenyra put an end to your questions, saying, "He is fine." You scanned the room, trying to grasp the issue. "Then what, mother?"

She gritted her teeth. "She wants you to be in court. She wants us all home." You noticed her voice quiver with emotion. Daemon had an amused smirk as he observed your perplexed expressions.

"Back to King's Landing? After all these years?" Jace's voice held bewilderment, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events.

"The Queen is a woman that no one can understand, her reasoning for many things is questionable. Mother, when do we leave?" You couldn't hide your excitement, finally escaping this dreaded isle and returning to what you considered home - your true home.

"Tomorrow at daybreak." Your mother's decision to leave made sense, which explained Daemon's presence now, and why he remained silent, akin to a snake.

You were ready to rush out the door to start packing, but Jace's voice shook. "Are they going to be civil?" It didn't take long for you to connect the dots; the question was about your uncles. The last time you were all in King's Landing, there was an incident, and someone lost an eye...

"Jace... I..." Your mother was at a loss for words, an unusual occurrence, but Jace had no intention of listening to whatever she might have said as he rushed past everyone and into the hall. You wanted to say something, but first, you needed to console your brother.

"Jace! Brother!" You raced after him, the sound of your boots clicking with each step. He paused for a moment, turned around, his fists clenched, and his lips pressed tightly together.

"Dear brother, do not let the past weigh you down. Perhaps they have matured? Maybe they are now men grown..." Your statement turned from a question to a plea. The last time you saw your uncles, they were calling you all... bastards.

"You have too much faith in them, sister. You always try to see the better in people," Jace said with a smile, lifting his hand to your face.

Yes, your optimism might well be your downfall.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Dethrone - Chapter 10

Summary: Their betrothal is announced at court and they discuss their thoughts and plans on how to go about the ascension. First stop on the tour is Storms End and Aemond can barely control his temper with a useless Lord Borros. Aemond tries to keep his composure around his needy betrothed.

Warnings: 18+, bathing together, oral(f receiving), fingering, nudity, thigh riding, half of a handjob, swearing, mention of murder, political plotting?

Authors Note: I’m going to lock in on this fic and start editing it quicker (i say this to myself everyday 😵‍💫), he looked so good in ep 4 it’s crazy

Word Count: 4.5k ?

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

“Princess, I have your dress!” Kaenna calls from the other side of the door, knocking waking me and Aemond.

“One moment!” I reply falling out of the bed as the sheets tangle my legs.

“Princess?” Kaenna asks worriedly.

“Kaenna please give me a moment! I’m putting a robe on!” I call out rising from the ground to see a smirking Aemond.

“Into the tunnels now!” I whisper pointing at the entrance.

Aemond chuckles and grabs his pants putting them on with haste. I have my robe on and approach the door. I wave at Aemond telling him to hurry up before Kaenna gets too curious. Aemond is shutting the door to the tunnels as I open the main one.

“I’m sorry, I’ve slept in.” I say yawning pulling the door shut behind her.

Kaenna brushes past me and makes her way into my chambers. She’s holding a gown bag and hangs it up near my wardrobe. She takes in the messy state of my room and looks at me knowingly.

“How long has he been staying in here with you?” Kaenna asks crossing her arms.

“What are you talking about?” I ask brushing her off walking over to the gown bag.

“Aemond. That’s his jacket. Is it not?” Kaenna points to a jacket that is indeed Aemonds.

“He left it here last night.” I reply flatly not trying to give anything away.

“Hm.” she eyes me suspiciously. “I found a seamstress who was able to make your vision come to life.” she opens up the gown bag showing me the work of art.

“It’s absolutely breathtaking and exactly what I wanted.” I say in awe of the beautiful gown in front of me.

The gown itself is a dark blue it’s almost black. It has two twin black dragons coming down over the shoulder. They both create a plunging neckline and meet in the center. The sleeves come to a point and has a loop that wraps around my middle fingers. The dress clings to my body, yet flows elegantly around me.

Kaenna helps me put the gown on and it fits perfectly. She brings out a box and hands it to me. I open it and inside is a beautiful sapphire necklace that she helps place around my neck. She braids a small crown on my head but leaves the rest of my hair cascading down my back.

“You look absolutely beautiful.” Kaenna smiles at me affectionately.

“Thank you.” I smile hugging her tightly.

“Do you want me to pick up your chambers while you’re at court? Or will I find other items that belong to Aemond?” she asks raising an eyebrow.

“If you could, I would appreciate it.” I say with tinted cheeks. “You most likely will find more of Aemonds belongings here.” I say truthfully as I head towards the door.

I open the doors and Aemond is standing outside of them waiting for me. He’s at a loss for words as he takes in my gown. He stalks around me like a predator circling his prey and hums in appreciation.

“You look absolutely divine, my Queen.” he dips his head down to whisper in my ear offering small kisses. “May I escort you to court?” he pulls back and offers me his hand which I accept.

We walk down to the throne room in no rush, relishing in each other’s company. People are still making their way into the hall as we turn the corner. I’ve never considered who I’m to stand with at court. I’m suddenly overcome with nerves and anxiety over what to expect and what could be expected of me today at court.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Aemond asks softly before we enter the hall.

“Who do I stand with? Do I have to go by them? Is it intrusive if I stand with you? Do we stand alone together? I should’ve been asking you more questions about court and-“ he cuts me off from spiraling even further.

“Stand with me and it matters not who we stand by.” he turns me so I’m facing him. “We are just having our betrothal announced to the council and the public who attend. We have nothing to say or do. I would never allow you to make a fool of yourself.” Aemond reassures me putting his hands on my shoulders and smiling softly to me.

“Thank you.” I look up at him appreciatively.

We walk in together and stand next to Alicent with our heads held high. I can feel Jace and Luke staring at me as I stand with the family members that they despise. The murmuring in the hall comes to a close as Viserys is announced and walks up the throne. He sits down and declares the floor open.

I quickly find out how dull court is. Hearing everyone drone on is making me tired. I fidget with my fingers trying to find a way to stay awake and alert. Finally I hear Viserys begin to make our announcement.

“Our lost princess has found love with my son, Aemond. They are to be wed after their tour to celebrate with the realm.” Viserys announces joyously causing a rush of cheers and scattered whispers to go through the hall.

I feel eyes on me from all over the room and I step closer to Aemond. This tour is news to me, although I’m quite excited to explore with Aemond. Celebrating with the realm will allow us a great opportunity to make the connections needed for ascension. Viserys stands and dismisses us as he leaves the hall.

“Did you plan that?” I ask looking up at Aemond.

“You said you wanted to fly and see the great house atop Vaelys. If you don’t want to we can cancel.” he says worried, searching my eyes thinking he made a mistake.

“No no! I would love to see the great houses at your side.” I beam up at him, unable to contain my excitement.

“Congrats brother.” Aegon booms slapping Aemond on the shoulder. “You’ll finally have somewhere to stick it besides your fist.” His words cause me to frown knowing how much they’ll affect Aemond.

I tug Aemond away from Aegon to avoid the fight that was bound to happen. Ser Criston comes up to us as we’re leaving and says Alicent would like to speak to us in her chambers. He leads us up there in silence and offers his congratulations as he opens the door for us.

“Congratulations!” Alicent coos pulling me into a hug first and then Aemond. “You two make such a beautiful couple.” she says sincerely taking us in as her smile broadens.

“Thank you mother.” Aemond replies hushed trying to hide his blush.

“Look at you!” Alicent quips. “I’ve never seen you so shy and bashful before my son!” she laughs as she goes to lounge on a chair.

“Mother,” Aemond groans rubbing his face.

“Hush now,” Alicent motions us to join her sitting. “You both will leave out on the tour in two days time. You’ll be visiting most of the great houses in hopes to make connections. I will not have you visit Runestone if you don’t wish it. You may if you want, but it is completely up to you. Overall, I’m anticipating this tour lasting around three turns of the moon.” Alicent begins filling in some of the details we were unsure of.

“Three turns of the moon?” Aemond asks as I raise my eyebrows at how great that length of time is for us to be traveling alone.

“Indeed my love.” Alicent says nodding. “It will end on Dragonstone with a traditional Valyrian wedding ceremony to unite you two in the old ways. This is a major opportunity for you both to create strong alliances and make dear friends. Invite nobles of high standing to the ceremony so many can bear witness.” my brain begins to calculate if she knows our plans due to her choice of words.

“I’m blown away by your generosity and planning Alicent.” I smile warmly at her trying to assess her body language.

“Thank you, Princess. If you both do well this may help set other plans in motion quicker than expected.” Alicent says giving us a pointed look.

I can’t help my eyebrows scrunching together at her words. I’m quick to change my expression and offer her a smile once more. What plans could she be possibly talking about? I look over to Aemond curiously as he smiles and pulls me closer to him. Alicent fills us in a few more details and dismisses us shortly after. Aemond escorts me out of her chambers and down the hall.

“This dress is absolutely breathtaking.” Aemond leans down to whisper in my ear.

“What plans was she speaking of?” I inquire raising my eyebrow, still not able to shake that conversation out of my head.

“What do you think, Your Grace?” Aemond asks playfully.

“You have told her of our plans to ascend the throne?” I hurriedly whisper. Has he not thought to discuss telling Alicent with me? I calm my voice and my temper and look to him expectantly.

“Of course. We would make much better rulers, no?” Aemond cocks his head to the side.

“Come,” I say pulling his hand. “This is no place for this discussion.” I say leading us to my chambers.

When we enter my chambers I’m relieved Kaenna has managed to clean up our mess. I see a pile of Aemonds clothes neatly folded on a chair with a note on top.

“Lie to me again princess and I’ll ground you like I used to. These are far too many clothes to simply be “left” here. - Kaenna, who raised you.”

I toss the note back onto the pile of clothes and let out a long exhale. So now Kaenna is going to lecture me the next time she sees me. I wonder how she’ll take the news of me and Aemond traveling the realm alone. I turn to Aemond and wait for him to start explaining himself.

“What are these plans that you’ve discussed with your mother then?” I ask crossing my arms, voice slightly clipped.

“I’m assuming they’re similar to the ones you were planning out the other morning on your own.” he hums sprawling back on my chase lazily.

“Enlighten me.” I say claiming the chair across him throwing my legs up on the table.

“Time out the right deaths and disappearances and we’ll have a clear path to our coronation.” Aemond says leaning back and studying me.

“Beginning with Aegons disappearance?” I cock my head watching his emotions.

“Indeed.” a smile begins to form on his face.

“Then Helaena and their children’s disappearance.” I add starting to go down my mental list that I’ve been forming.

“Mm, I hadn’t thought of that.” Aemond raises his eyebrow smiling at me.

“Which is why this conversation should have happened between us first. This is our future. I like having your mother as an ally and supporter but we should have spoken to her together.” I know my anger is seeping through my words and I don’t intend them to be so stern.

“I did not mean to undermine you. From this moment further it will just be us discussing these plans.” he says looking to me.

“Thank you.” I smile softly.

We continue planning and moving events along a timeline. Speaking this aloud and making plans to actually seize the throne captures my breath for a moment. I have never been able to actively make plans to make my dream finally come true. I smile finally feeling some sense of purpose having all of the pieces fall into place.

“We will have a clear path to coronation with these plans. This tour will be a great tool for us to ensure it’s smooth.” he hums offering me insight to his ideas as well.

“I would still like to be able to enjoy this tour.” I won’t miss this opportunity to see new things that I’ve only been able to read about.

“Of course, my love. We shall see it all and do whatever pleases you. They are celebrating us. We get to decide when we want to have advantageous conversations.” he assures nodding his head.

“There hasn’t been a royal tour in a while, we must make a good impression.” I think out loud.

“Everyone will love you and you won’t even have to try.” Aemond hums. “And we’re bringing our dragons, they’ll have no choice but to love us.” he chuckles lowly.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

The past day and a half has been chaotic as everyone is preparing Aemond and I, along with both of our dragons, to go on a tour. Gowns are made in haste so I can wear a new one at each house I visit. Kaenna helps pack my trunks for me all the while giving me a stern talking to about sharing chambers with Aemond before we are wed. She relents about the sleeping situation when it comes to the tour and makes Aemond swear to her I won’t be out of his sight.

“Of course. I promise no harm will come to her.” Aemond swears bowing his head.

I say a final goodbye to Kaenna before we exit our chambers. We walk slowly through the streets taking in Kings Landing before we’re gone for three moons. Once we reach our dragons, Alicent and Daemon come into view. They’re standing awkwardly by each other and look uncomfortable in each others presence.

“I expect you both to be on your best behavior and to show off the strength of this house. Make friends, but stay aware of your surroundings. Stay with each other and you both will be safe, I know this.” Alicent says grabbing our hands and squeezing them.

“Don’t make a fool of yourself and in turn make a fool out of me.” Daemon offers no other words and simply leaves.

“Tonight you will dine at Storms End and enjoy the Stormlands for the next week. Do your best to make allies and please take care of each other.” Alicent smiles softly.

“We will be fine mother.” he hums smiling down at me.

Alicent pulls us into one last hug and waves to us as she leaves. Aemond checks to make sure our bags have been secured. What we can’t carry on dragonback we have being sent to the houses to await our arrival. When he’s satisfied that everything is tied down and packed he walks over to me. He pulls me into a fierce kiss as I mold to his body.

“Let’s start our conquest, my Queen.” Aemond kisses my neck as he pulls back.

We mount our dragons and enter the skies. My hair whips wildly around me as I lean my body to adjust to our angle. Vaelys slips into a leisurely glide meeting Vhagar.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

We approach the Storms End in the late afternoon and begin lowering down to an empty patch of stone. Vhagar lands first as Vaelys circles the castle before landing next to her. Aemond and I collect our bags to bring down from our dragons and place them on the ground.

“Allow us!” a servant appears with a couple more trailing behind of him.

“Thank you.” I reply warmly offering them a smile.

They bow their heads in response and bring our bags into the castle. Aemond and I slowly walk into the main hall hand in hand. I’m blown away by the architecture of the halls and can’t stop myself from looking around and taking it all in.

“Wait until you see the other houses.” Aemond says casually, unimpressed almost.

“I can’t wait to see them all.” I say turning to him smiling. “Where are we going?” I ask realizing I’ve just been following him as we walk the halls.

“No idea. If we would’ve been greeted when we arrived, we would probably be in our chambers by now.” Aemond says slightly annoyed.

“My Prince! My Princess!” a voice calls from behind.

“Who might you be?” Aemond raises an eyebrow at what appears to be another servant.

“Lord Borros’ advisor. I’m here to escort you to him.” he says ushering us his way.

“Were we not important enough to merit a proper welcome?” Aemond says squinting his eye.

“Curious, I was thinking the same thing.” I agree cocking my head.

“I apologize for any dis-“ he’s cut off.

“I will hear it from Lord Borros himself.” Aemond silences him as we finally approaching him.

The servant leads us to the main hall and we’re greeted by Lord Borros lounging in his house seat. When he finally deigns to acknowledge us he sits there expectantly staring at us.

I know we are supposed to try our best to create alliances but this man is acting foul and I don’t necessarily think I would care for him as an ally. When I turn to look at Aemond he seems to be mirroring my sentiment.

“Good afternoon, Lord Borros. Thank you for hosting us, you have a beautiful home.” I politely smile trying to break the tension.

“It’s my honor.” he responds as if he couldn’t care less. He looks us over and then turns back to his servants. He continues to ignore us and I can feel my temper rising to match Aemonds next to me.

“Then I’m sure you’ll be absolutely bereft to hear we will only be staying for 2 nights instead of a week.” he finishes surprising me with the drastic change in time spent here.

“Terribly sorry to hear that.” Lord Borros tosses out at us. “My servant will show you to your chambers. Dinner will be at 7.” he finishes waving a hand towards us in dismissal.

The anger radiates off of both of us and I can see the terror it’s causing in the servant who’s leading us to our chambers. He lets us know our bags have been brought up and to simply ask if we need anything. I thank him sincerely before I shut the door.

“I think we should leave here now. That man won’t be won over with dinners.” Aemonds anger is still radiating off of him.

“I think we should try and stay for the two nights. Not for him, for me. I wish to look around and explore.” I turn to him hopeful eyes.

“Of course. I would not rob you of that.” He rises and walks to me taking my hand in his. “You deserve to be treated better than this and I’m disgusted with that beast of a Lord.” his temper starts to rise again.

“We have time before dinner to decompress. Come, lay with me.” I take his hand and lead us to the bed in hopes of simmering down.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

The dinner went exactly as expected and I had to talk Aemond out of having us leave immediately after. I don’t expect a warmer greeting in town but I still wish to see this part of the continent. We’ve sent word to Sunspear that we will be arriving earlier than expected and are awaiting their reply in the morning.

“My king,” I whisper into Aemonds ear. “when we rule we can have him replaced if he remains a problem. He’s nothing.” I smile as I kiss his neck.

“You’re ruthless.” he chuckles as his hands start to untie my dress.

We walk to our bathing chambers in a tangle of rushed kisses and flying clothes. We’re both breathing heavily as we reach the large tub filled with hot water. A blush rises to my cheeks as I fully take in his naked body for the first time.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Aemond growls lowly guiding me backwards towards the tub.

“You’re beautiful.” I breathe out looking up at him through my lashes reaching out to touch him.

“In the tub.” he shakes his head mischievously and backs me up to the edge of the tub.

I pout and slowly sink into the water as Aemond rummages through a basket. He sets out some candles and lights them. He walks back over to the me and brings along soaps and oils. He trails a hand across my back as he passes me to sit next to me in the large tub.

“I truly think you are the most handsome man I’ve met.” my voice barely audible as I trail my hand on his thigh next to me.

“Viktorya.” he warns grabbing my wrist.

“You’re right, we shouldn’t waste the hot water.” I say sarcastically as I reach over him intentionally grazing my chest on his to reach the basket.

We bathe in silence as we each steal quick glances at the other. I rise from the bath, unabashed, in search of a towel. I hear Aemond get out after me and a moment later he’s wrapping me in a towel. I turn to him and see that he has a towel wrapped low around his hips.

“Let’s go to bed.” he hums kissing the top of my head.

Aemond pulls us backwards toward the bed while attempting to dry me off. He sits down and moves to the other side so I can get in. He rests back against the headboard and I rise and move to straddle his thigh surprising him. He inhales sharply as my core meets his bare thigh.

“Gods,” his hands fly to my waist as he looks to me with a darkened eye.

He slowly starts guiding me on his thigh. I moan as I grind down causing my hands to fly to his chest at the surge of pleasure that washes over me. My towel falls back on the bed fully exposing me to him. Aemonds breathing becomes more ragged as his fingers dig into my waist.

Our lips meet in a clashing kiss. He nips at my bottom lip and slips his tongue in my mouth as I gasp. One of my hands slide down his chest to move the towel out of the way when he stops my hand from its destination.

“I want you to feel good too. Just use my hand instead of yours tonight.” I whisper breathlessly kissing his jaw.

Aemond moves his hand from mine and unties his towel. The towel falls and I take in the full length of him. His tip is hard and red and I reach out to help relieve him. When my hand finally wraps around him, he lets out a pleasure filled sigh.

I resume rocking on his thigh and moan into our kiss. I squeeze him earning me a moan in return. I collect the beads of come that have appeared at the tip and slide them down his length. He groans into my mouth as my fingers linger and tighten around his tip before sliding down again. He removes my hand and pushes me back on the bed hungrily. He crawls over my body until we’re face to face.

“No more of your naughty hands before I lose control.” he breathes out before he kisses me.

He kisses down my neck and between my breasts. He makes his way to one of my nipples and sucks it into his mouth. He grazes his teeth on my sensitive bud and I arch my chest into his mouth. He chuckles and brings his sinister mouth to my other nipple.

“Aemond,” I whine as he trails kisses down my torso.

“Yes my love?” he looks up at me from between my thighs.

“Touch me, please,” I beg lifting my hips towards him.

“It would be my pleasure.” he smirks softly licking his way up my slit.

I cry out as his tongue flicks across my clit. He feasts upon me as if I’m the true first meal of this tour. He quickly slips two fingers in me and I immediately clench around them. I cry out at his brutal pace and throw my head back into the pillows losing myself.

“Fuck Aemond, yes, please please,” I cry out as my legs begin to shake.

My cries of pleasure seem to spur him on even more and his tongue begins quick teasing patterns on my clit. I grind myself against his tongue and fingers as I come with his name spilling from my lips. He slows allowing me to feel every moment of my high.

“You’re so beautiful when you come on my mouth.” Aemond says full of adoration petting my hair.

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

I wake up to Aemond peppering kisses across my face and the sun peeking through the curtains. I slowly stretch and begin to sit up. As the blankets fall around me my chest is left bare.

“Beautiful.” Aemond looks as if he’s worshipping me.

We get dressed and slowly make our way to the dining hall to get something to eat in passing. As we’re on our way out of the castle we are given a letter sealed and addressed to us. Sunspear expresses their excitement and states they would be honored to host us earlier and longer than anticipated.

We make our way to the city with a new sense of enthusiasm. We start to explore the streets and shops as the sun begins to rise in the sky. The locals are more friendly and welcoming than expected. We eat at the food stalls and I stop and buy some jewelry from some local vendors. Aemond purchases himself a dagger while near the forge and compliments their craftsmanship.

We return to the castle only to drop off our bounty and change to celebrate with the city for dinner. Winning over the city and its people can be just as rewarding as winning over its Lord or Lady. As we dine with the locals we ask them about life here and how they treated. We listen intently for hours into the night.

We plant a seed of doubt in the people as we tell them of our departure in the morning. We tell them Lord Borros wasn’t welcoming and no longer wanted to host us. Listening and confiding in the locals will make it much easier if we need to replace Lord Borros.

We make our way back to the castle well after moonrise and begin packing our belongings. Once we’re ready to leave in the morning we retire to bed.

Although this first stop didn’t go as planned, I think it was still successful. We gained the people’s trust and planted some seeds. I’m hoping that the stay in Sunspear will be more welcoming and enjoyable.