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inevitablysomber-dark · 1 month ago

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Loki's Sweet Treat

Dividers by @jiyascepter

Dark!Loki x Honey!Reader

About 20k words, so tread carefully

Honey Duval navigates the treacherous world of high society, facing family tensions, personal struggles, and Loki's dark interest in her. As she tries to protect her family's fragile reputation, Honey finds herself entangled in dangerous power plays and secrets that threaten her future.

Warning:

This story contains graphic content that may be disturbing to readers, including themes of sexual assault, manipulation, and emotional abuse. Explicit scenes involving non-consensual encounters, coercion, and power dynamics are present, which may be triggering for some readers.

The sun streamed in through the tall windows of Lady Jane's sitting room, casting a golden glow on the well-dressed women gathered for tea. The gentle clink of China and the murmur of conversation filled the air, yet I couldn’t help but feel entirely out of place. I lingered at the edge of the room, blending into the wallpaper as I clutched my teacup, regretting my decision to come to this wretched party.

Of course, I had little choice. My family, the Duvals, were barely clinging to their status, and everyone knew it. The invitations I received weren’t because I was welcome, they were because everyone wanted to bask in the schadenfreude of watching the once-prominent Duval family teeter on the brink of losing everything. That’s why I found myself at yet another gathering, pretending to fit in while my family’s fortunes slipped further through our fingers.

Lady Jane, our host, sat near the center of the room, surrounded by her usual crowd of sycophants. I wasn’t sure which was worse, her thinly veiled hostility or the saccharine sweetness she used to mask it. Either way, she made my skin crawl and today, her vitriol was aimed squarely at the Royal Family of Asgard.

“Can you believe it?” Lady Jane sneered, her voice carrying across the room. “That woman, Cyan, is to be our future queen? It’s an outrage! A commoner, raised among peasants, is supposed to marry the crowned prince? What are they thinking?!”

Her audience murmured their agreement, some nodding so vigorously I wondered if their heads might fall off. They all knew better than to cross Lady Jane, who was still nursing her bitter disappointment over not being chosen by the prince herself.

“I was so certain Thor had his eye on me,” Jane continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “But instead, they choose a woman without breeding, without class! Imagine Queen Freya’s humiliation.”

One of the ladies beside her leaned in. “I’ve heard the queen is mortified. She’s so ashamed of the match that she barely speaks of it.”

I tried to tune out their gossip, but it was impossible. This was what passed for entertainment among women like Jane,tearing down anyone who dared to rise above their station.

I took a small sip of tea, my gaze wandering to where my younger sister, Saffron, sat. She was newly debuted, and though she carried herself with grace, I knew she felt as out of place as I did. It was hard not to, with the ever-looming threat of our family’s collapse hanging over our heads.

“The only good thing to come from this debacle,” Jane’s voice cut through my thoughts, “is the ball they’re throwing to celebrate the engagement. At least we’ll get a grand event out of it.”

The other women tittered with laughter, clearly enjoying the idea of a lavish ball more than the prospect of a common-born queen.

And to think," Jane added, her voice lowering, "there were times Thor would have done anything to get under my skirts. What a shame he felt the need to settle for Cyan."

The room erupted into gasps and giggles, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. The audacity. The rumor about Lady Jane and Thor had been swirling for ages, but I had my doubts. If Thor had ever entertained such an affair, he certainly wasn’t entertaining it now.

I leaned back against my chair, feeling invisible and detached from their world of petty gossip and social climbing. The Duvals may have been struggling, but at least we hadn’t descended to Lady Jane’s level of desperation. Not yet, anyway.

As the conversation continued to swirl around me, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was like for someone like Cyan, entering a world that was waiting for her to fail. And as much as I despised Lady Jane’s cruelty, I also feared for what might be in store for me and Saffron. After all, even those who seemed untouchable could easily be cast aside.

The tea party was a spectacle of opulence, an excuse for the nobility to gather and show off their status. I sat toward the edge of the gathering with Saffron, doing my best to blend into the background. It wasn’t difficult, most of the women here treated us as though we didn’t exist. I should’ve known better than to come, but Mother had insisted we make an appearance. As if mingling with these people could somehow save the Duval name.

I heard the snickers before I even focused on the conversation.

"Honestly, it’s a miracle the Duvals are still being invited to these things," Lady Margaret said, her voice unnecessarily loud. She made no effort to lower her tone, her words clearly meant for my ears. "You’d think they’d have the good sense to keep a low profile instead of parading their desperation."

The other women laughed, their voices high and cruel. Saffron’s face turned pale beside me, her fingers nervously clutching her tea. I clenched my fists under the table.

"They’re just biding their time, hoping to sell off one of those pretty daughters to keep the estate afloat," Lady Sharon added, her gaze flickering over to us briefly. "Though I doubt anyone of real consequence would be interested."

The comment hung in the air, and the group of women dissolved into more laughter. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. They weren’t even trying to be subtle. It was as if our very existence amused them, as if our struggles were a source of entertainment.

“Pathetic,” Jane sneered. “Trying to scrape by with the little dignity they have left.I would have never invited them had mother not insisted”

The tension within me snapped.

I stood up slowly, forcing my hands to unclench. "It’s curious, Lady Jane," I said, my voice calm though every word was sharpened with intention, "how loudly you speak about dignity when it’s something you’ve long since thrown away."

The laughter died abruptly, and all eyes turned to me. Saffron looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. But I had reached my limit.

Jane blinked, her mouth tightening. "Excuse me?"

I stepped forward, refusing to be intimidated. "I’ve heard the rumors, Jane. Everyone has. You thought lying on your back would secure yourself a crown, as if a few stolen moments beneath a prince would make you queen." I let the words sink in, watching as Jane’s composure faltered. "It’s rather tragic, really, how you’ve convinced yourself that by spreading your legs, you could spread your influence."

There was a collective gasp from the group, their mouths hanging open in shock.

Jane’s face went pale, then flushed a deep crimson. “You—how dare you speak to me like that!”

"I dare because it's the truth," I said coolly, holding her gaze. "You gamble with your pride, and yet here you are, no crown, no prince, no claim, just a scorned woman who can’t seem to grasp why a prince didn’t choose her."

The room had gone deathly silent. Saffron was staring at me, wide-eyed, and the other ladies looked like they couldn’t decide whether to intervene or flee. Jane’s face contorted with fury, but before she could spit out a retort, I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice.

"Next time you want to mock someone’s struggles, Jane, make sure your own failures aren’t quite so obvious."

I straightened up and walked back toward my seat, feeling every pair of eyes on me. Saffron looked at me as though I’d just declared war on the entire room, her hands trembling in her lap.

I could feel Jane’s burning stare, her dignity in tatters, but she said nothing. She couldn’t. The truth had been laid bare, and no amount of biting retort could salvage her pride now.

"Saffron, let’s go." My voice was steady, though my heart still raced from the confrontation. I guided my sister out of the room, her arm linked through mine, and we stepped out into the cool air, away from the judgment and venom of those who thrived on misfortune.

We were still the subject of their gossip, still teetering on the edge of ruin. But I wouldn’t let them crush us. Not without a fight.

Baroness Helena Duval, my mother, paced the drawing room, her eyes sharp and angry as she threw a furious glance at me. My father, Reginald, stood at the window with his back to us, silent, as was his usual stance when my mother unleashed her wrath.

"I can't believe you! Every invitation we had received, every opportunity to mingle with those that could possibly save us, gone!" she shouted, her voice trembling with rage.

I remained silent, standing in the corner with Saffron beside me, while my mother focused all her ire on me. "Do you understand what you've done? Lady Jane is connected to half the nobility in the kingdom! And what do you do? Confront her about her...fraternizing with the Crown Prince?"

She spat out the last words as if they were poison, her tone as biting as ever. But I wasn’t about to apologize, not to Lady Jane, and certainly not for speaking the truth.

Helena's sharp eyes flicked over to Saffron, softening just a touch as she sighed deeply. "Why can't you be more like your sister? Graceful, quiet, and demure. Everything a young lady should be."

Saffron, at those words, dropped her head in shame, and my heart clenched for her. I knew she hated when our mother used her as an example, especially because "graceful and demure" really meant spineless. Saffron had told me that, late one night when we were younger, and ever since then, whenever someone praised her, I knew she felt nothing but shame.

I reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze, letting her know I understood. I wasn’t offended by my mother’s words; I knew this was simply how she thought. To her, Saffron was the perfect daughter, the one who played her role quietly, and I- well, I was the one who didn’t know when to keep my mouth shut.

My mother’s sharp eyes softened momentarily when she noticed me grab Saffron’s hand, but her anger was far from gone. She let out a deep, exasperated sigh, shaking her head before turning to me, her voice dripping with frustration.

“What in God's name possessed you to confront Lady Jane in the first place?” she asked, her tone sharp, though not quite as biting as before.

I raised my chin, meeting her gaze directly. "She called us pathetic," I said simply.

She paused, her eyes flickering with something close to understanding. For a brief moment, the fury drained from her face, and she almost looked sympathetic. Almost.

"I understand your frustration, Honey. Truly, I do," she admitted, her voice gentler now. "But jumping straight into social suicide...was that really the best course of action?"

I bit my tongue, looking down at my feet. No, it wasn’t.

"We are on the verge of losing everything," she said, her voice softer but filled with a different kind of anger. "This was our chance, Honey. The ball, the invitations...they were supposed to help secure our future. Now-now we are outcasts. Again."

I said nothing, knowing full well she wasn’t looking for a reply. But deep down, I couldn’t regret my actions, not when I thought of the smug look on Lady Jane’s face as she droned on about her imagined place in the royal court.

As my mother left the room in frustration, I turned to Saffron, squeezing her hand again. The weight of the world felt like it was pressing down on both of us, and there didn’t seem to be any easy way out of it.

“At least we won’t be wasting any more money on dresses and jewelry,” I muttered under my breath.

At that, my father let out a hearty laugh, walking up to the both of us but locking his gaze on me.

“You realize what you did could ruin us, right?” His voice carried a mixture of amusement and warning.

I dropped my head, swallowing the knot in my throat. “Yes, Father,” I answered, my voice begrudging but respectful.

He grunted, smirking as he leaned down to kiss both Saffron and me on the forehead.

“Don’t worry too much, my dear. We’ll get through this, like we always have,” he said, his tone light, almost dismissive of the severity of the situation.

It didn't erase the weight of my mother’s words or the danger we were in, but my father’s confidence, misplaced or not, eased the tension for moments as brief as these.

The Duvals were enjoying a rare moment of quiet in their living space. Saffron and Mother were embroidering by the window, their needles gliding through fabric with delicate precision. Father and I sat side by side, each absorbed in the local news when our butler, Gerard, suddenly burst into the room, his face flushed with excitement.

"Baroness, Baron! You’ve received an invitation from the palace!" he announced, holding the crisp, cream-colored envelope as though it were made of pure gold.

Mother looked up from her embroidery, visibly shocked. "An invitation?" she murmured, her voice barely hiding her surprise. I could see it in her eyes, she had resigned herself to a quiet fall from grace, expecting our family to fade into the background without further notice. Yet here was a summons, proof that the royal family had not completely turned its back on us.

Father reached for the envelope, breaking the royal seal. He cleared his throat before reading aloud: “You are cordially invited to the engagement party of the Crown Prince Thor and his fiancée Cyan.”

A surprised chuckle escaped my lips. Of all the people to be engaged to a prince, it was Lady Cyan. She had no title and no noble lineage to speak of, yet here she was, about to marry the future king.What a fairytale. The invitation, unsurprisingly, didn’t mention any title for Lady Cyan, she had none yet, but once she married Thor, she would become the Crowned Princess.

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of delight. Deep down, I couldn’t deny my penchant for stirring the pot of intrigue. And watching someone like Cyan, a peasant girl, rise to a position of power was sure to throw the entire class system into chaos. And with our family teetering on the edge of ruin, what was the harm in finding a little entertainment before we were booted from high society?

The evening of the party arrived quickly. The Royal Garden was breathtaking, every inch of it meticulously prepared for the grand affair. Saffron and I stood by the fountain, sipping champagne and enjoying the soothing trickle of the water as we waited for the royal family to make their entrance.

When they finally appeared, the crowd gasped in awe. King Odin and Queen Freya entered first, regal as ever, their presence demanding respect. Hela and Loki followed, each exuding their own form of royal authority. And then, the couple of the hour, Prince Thor and Lady Cyan.

I nearly choked on my champagne when I saw Lady Cyan.

She looked... awful.

Her hair was down but tangled and unbrushed, her makeup was smeared and unflattering, and worst of all, she wore a dress that had been popular last season, as if she hadn’t noticed the fashion had moved on. Even her shoes were an insult,flats, when everyone knew a proper royal event required heels. It was clear to me that the palace maids had set her up for failure, likely encouraged by none other than the ladies in waiting, who were no doubt snickering behind her back.

A quick glance toward Lady Jane confirmed my suspicions. There she was, surrounded by her loyal gaggle of women, all of them giggling into their gloves like schoolgirls. I could practically hear the whispers, whispers that Jane herself had probably orchestrated.

Yet, even as Cyan stood there, a vision of royal disaster, Thor remained unfazed. He looked at her as if she were the only person in the room, his eyes filled with love and admiration. It was almost endearing, in a sickening sort of way.

When the time came for the royals to mingle, I made sure to stay out of the way. I had no intention of angering Mother any further after the debacle with Lady Jane. Saffron, naturally, trailed behind me like a shadow, her shy demeanor making her hesitant to stray too far. She chattered quietly about a romance novel she’d been reading with her friends, her soft voice blending with the music that floated through the garden. Just as she was getting to a particularly juicy part, where the Duke of the novel had finally caught the Princess in a compromising position, our mother appeared, with Duke Bruce Banner in tow.

Mother’s smile was painfully forced as she practically pushed Saffron into Duke Banner’s path. "Saffron, darling, the Duke was just asking about you," she cooed, already working her magic to arrange yet another another potential match for her favorite child. Despite Saffron’s beauty,for some reason her shy and quiet nature had kept many potential husbands at bay, one would think they’d enjoy it.But Mother wasn’t one to give up easily.

I stood back, watching the exchange with a knowing smile. Saffron might be the favorite, but she hated being paraded around like this. I gave her a sympathetic glance before turning my attention elsewhere. I had no interest in finding a match tonight, especially not when I was feeling like a mere observer to a world that was slipping away from us.

While Mother busied herself with Saffron and the Duke, I slipped away, seeking solace at the border where the Royal Garden met the Royal Forest. The sounds of the party grew distant as I found a quiet bench beneath a cluster of trees, my thoughts swirling as I sipped the last of my champagne. This engagement party was a disaster for Lady Cyan, and no doubt her ascension would continue to be entertaining, if nothing else, it would distract the nobles from our impending downfall.

The sound of a timid "Oh" pulled me from the quiet of my thoughts. I turned my head and found the future Crowned Princess standing a few feet away, wringing her hands and staring at me with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt," Lady Cyan stammered, already stepping back as though she had committed some great offense.

“Nonsense,” I replied, rising from my seat near the edge of the garden. “If anything, I am intruding on your walk.” I bowed my head before making my way elsewhere, but she quickly spoke again, her voice hesitant.

“Could you stay? I mean... if you don’t mind.”

I paused, unsure if I should humor the girl or retreat to the quiet, I had sought. Yet when I looked at her, there was something in her manner that reminded me of Saffron, fragile, in need of protection, utterly ill-suited to the cruel ways of this world. With a slight nod I sat back down, on bench, and she hurried to sit next to me. How unflattering for a future queen.

We sat in comfortable silence at first, the air between us light but unspoken words hanging on the edge of her lips. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn't realize the noble world could be so cruel."

I glanced at her sideways. “Prince Thor did not warn you?”

She looked down, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. “He didn’t have time, considering how he picked me from a crowd.”

Now, that caught my attention. “How do you mean?” I asked, leaning in slightly.

Lady Cyan glanced around as if to ensure we were alone, then spoke in a lowered tone, “I used to be... a lady of the night.” She cast her eyes to the ground. “Thor was just a regular customer. I never got the chance to see the royal family, so I didn’t know who he really was. He didn’t use his name either, he just called himself Donar.”

I barely managed to conceal my surprise. This was... extraordinary. “How did you come to be his fiancée?” I asked, genuinely intrigued now.

Lady Cyan sighed. “I was out one morning buying groceries for my mother when a knight seized me and pulled me into a carriage with Thor. That’s when he told me who he really was. He said he wanted me to marry him.”

I blinked, trying to suppress a laugh. “And you thought this was... what? A joke?”

“At first, yes,” she said with a small, embarrassed chuckle. “The next thing I knew, my mother and I were having breakfast with the king and queen.”

Now, this was beyond amusing. I had always known Prince Thor to be impulsive, rumors about him were legendary, but this? This was another level entirely. A peasant marrying into royalty was scandalous enough, but a former courtesan? The whole system was bound to erupt. I could hardly contain my amusement.

Lady Cyan frowned slightly, noticing my reaction. “What’s so funny?”

I gave her a knowing look. “Oh, it’s nothing... except how very on-brand this is for Prince Thor. You should be careful, though. That bit of information? You should keep it to yourself.”

Her eyes widened in panic. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

I waved a hand. “Of course not. But be warned, others won’t be so kind. You’d best keep quiet about your past if you want to survive this court.”

Lady Cyan nodded, her expression softening into one of gratitude. “I was just... so grateful to be here. To wear such fine clothing...”

I looked at her more closely. And her ungodly look “Who dressed you for tonight?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

“Hela had some of her ladies-in-waiting help me,” she replied.

I sighed, shaking my head. “Don’t let them help you again. They made you look ragged, and it was likely intentional.”

Her face fell. “I had a feeling when everyone started laughing at me... The servants say awful things when they think I’m not listening. That Lady Jane should have been Thor’s bride. They don’t know why he chose me.”

My blood boiled. “Fuck them,” I said without thinking.

Lady Cyan gasped, clearly shocked by my language. I rolled my eyes. “Listen, you need to build your own court. Your own ladies-in-waiting, your own servants,and most importantly your own thick-skin. As long as these current people remain, they will never respect you, and they will always try to make you look the fool.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know if I can do that...”

I gave her a stern look. “Do you want to be treated like this for the rest of your life?”

She fell silent.

“You’re going to be queen one day. Prince Thor would give you anything you ask for, that I could clearly see, so use that power. Snuggle up to him, get what you need, and make yourself comfortable. You’ll be here for a long time, Lady Cyan. You might as well rule in comfort.”

She nodded slowly; her gaze thoughtful. I could tell she was unsure of herself, but if she had any hope of surviving this world, she would need to learn quickly. And if I had to give her a push in the right direction, so be it.

“Cyan!” A voice cut through the stillness of the garden, deep and unmistakably male.

Both of us turned toward the sound, and soon enough, Prince Loki stepped into view. His presence carried the same shadowy grace as always, but this time, his gaze briefly flickered to me before settling on Cyan.

“Your fiancé is looking for you,” he said smoothly, though his eyes lingered on me a moment longer. “I suggest you go calm him before he sends out a search party.”

“Oh, right! Of course!” Lady Cyan hurriedly stood, her flustered movements betraying her nervousness. I rose to my feet as well, out of courtesy.

“Thank you so much for the advice...” Lady Cyan paused, her brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Honey. Honey Duval.” I offered my hand, knowing full well it was improper, but she didn’t seem to notice. She shook it with the casual grace of someone entirely untrained in court etiquette.

“I’m Cyan,” she smiled, her warmth genuine if not misplaced.

“I know” I retort, a smile on my face

I made a mental note: the girl would need to refine such small gestures if she hoped to command any respect in the court. There was more to being a princess than simply having the prince’s affection.

I watched as she hurried away, her pace quickening as she no doubt rushed to find her fiancé before he acted on Prince Loki’s warning. Once she disappeared into the crowd, I turned, ready to find my family, only to realize Prince Loki hadn’t moved. He was still standing near, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

I immediately curtsied. “Prince Loki,” I murmured, trying to sound composed as I stood straight again, preparing to make my exit.

But before I could take a step, his voice stopped me cold. “I haven’t dismissed you yet.”

I froze, the weight of his words pulling me back in place. “Duval,” he repeated, his voice low and deliberate, letting the name roll off his tongue as though it were some kind of secret he was savoring. Then he moved toward me, closing the distance until he was standing mere inches from my face.

Prince Loki was an intimidating man, far more dangerous than most cared to admit. I’d heard the stories, of course, of the legendary battles between him and Prince Thor, the ferocity with which they fought their enemies and, at times, each other. And though I prided myself on my resolve, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of fear. His presence, so dark and calculated, was enough to unsettle even the strongest of wills.

“You are of a house with status,Barons, I believe?” His words were a statement, not a question, as though he already knew the answer.

“Yes, Prince Loki,” I replied, forcing myself to keep my voice steady.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with a cruel amusement. “So, then you should’ve known better than to extend your hand to the future ruler of Asgard.”

I stiffened at the reprimand. I knew I’d made a mistake, but hearing it so coldly from his lips made it sting all the more. He sighed dramatically. “But I suppose... what else could one expect from a falling house?”

His words were a dagger. Before I could stop myself, my spine straightened, and the retort slipped from my lips without a second thought. “Nothing as bad as one would expect from a treacherous prince.”

The moment the words escaped me, regret surged through my veins like ice. I had struck too close to the truth, to the rumors that still clung to his name even after all these years. I knew of Loki’s dark history, how, as a young man, he had once betrayed Asgard by siding with Jotunheim in a fit of jealousy, trying to seize the throne from King Odin and Prince Thor. Though he had redeemed himself by turning around and conquering Jotunheim, earning back the trust of the kingdom, the title of “Treacherous Prince” still lingered in whispers.

Personally, I wouldn’t be so quick to forgive someone who’s so eager to switch sides.

Realizing my mistake, I immediately began to apologize, my voice rushing out in a panic. “Prince Loki, I didn’t mean-”

He squinted, annoyance flashing in his eyes, but to my surprise, there was amusement as well. His lips curled into a smirk; his expression unreadable. “Bold,” he murmured, stepping even closer. “But foolish. You may Go.”

Then, before I could react, he grabbed me, pulling me roughly against his chest. My heart pounded as he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “Remember, I have more power than you. And with that power, I can do far more damage.”

He released me with a shove, and I stumbled back, fear and dread gripping my heart. The reality of what I’d just done washed over me like a tidal wave. Loki was not the type of man to forgive easily, and I had just signed the Duval family’s death warrant with my reckless words.

Terrified, I hurried away, my mind racing as I realized just how dire our situation had become. If Loki so wished, he could destroy us with a single utterance, and I had just given him reason to do so.

Several weeks had passed without a single word from the palace. It was strange, the quiet. The Duvals had not received any invitations to events or gatherings, but oddly enough, things seemed to be looking up,at least on the surface. Duke Banner’s interest in Saffron had become more obvious with each passing day. Bouquets of delicate flowers arrived regularly, along with boxes of sweets, each one more decadent than the last. He must have somehow learned of Saffron’s love for such indulgences. While I found his eagerness unsettling, Mother insisted it was nothing to be concerned about, calling it a sign of his devotion.

But I could see the confusion in Saffron’s eyes. She didn’t know how to respond to the Duke’s affections. Her heart was too gentle, too uncertain. She was torn between her own feelings and the expectations placed upon her. I couldn’t blame her,I had my own storm to contend with.

Prince Loki. The memory of our confrontation still hung over me like a dark cloud, heavy and foreboding, threatening to break at any moment. I had said nothing to Mother, choosing instead to wait for the inevitable disaster. Confiding in her would only shatter this brief illusion of peace.

That afternoon, Saffron and I were sitting in the garden, playing a quiet game of spades, trying to enjoy the mild weather. The gentle breeze was soothing, if only for a moment. But then, a sharp, piercing scream cut through the calm.

Both of us snapped our heads toward the commotion, just in time to see Mother rushing toward us, the head maid trailing closely behind. Her hands waved an envelope above her head, the royal crest glinting in the sunlight.

My stomach lurched. This was it. The reckoning I had feared.

Saffron, always attuned to my unease, clasped my hand under the table, offering silent comfort. She knew everything that happened with Prince Loki. We told each other everything.

Mother reached us, breathless, her eyes wide and brimming with excitement. “Honey!” she exclaimed, waving the envelope as if it were a priceless relic. “You’ve been summoned to the royal palace!”

I froze, my heart pounding. What?

Mother continued, her voice filled with barely contained glee. “You’ve been called to interview as a lady-in-waiting for the future queen!”

The words barely registered. “What?” I whispered, my voice thin and shaky. I glanced at Saffron, seeing my own disbelief reflected in her wide eyes. Surely this was some kind of cruel jest.

But Mother, oblivious to the shock etched on our faces, began reading the letter aloud. The future queen, Cyan, had personally selected me for consideration. Me. Out of all the girls. The words blurred together as my mind drifted back to Loki. Had he said nothing? Was this a game?

Mother’s excited voice pulled me back to the present as she finished reading, her arms suddenly wrapping around Saffron and me in a tight embrace. “This is it! Things are finally looking up!” she squealed, her joy almost tangible. “This is exactly what we needed!”

I remained silent, my thoughts spinning out of control. This invitation, no, this summons,could either be our salvation or the final blow that brought everything crashing down. And somehow, I knew… this wasn’t a coincidence.

I sat across from Lady Cyan in the quiet Receiving Room, the silence hanging heavily between us. She fidgeted, her fingers tracing the edge of her chair, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of the moment. I waited, wondering if she would speak first, but when it became apparent she was at a loss, I decided to break the silence.

"Your Highness," I began, keeping my voice measured, "is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

Lady Cyan blinked, as though startled by the question. "Oh," she replied softly, her uncertainty palpable. "I... I’m not really sure what I should ask. I requested that the Queen and Princess Hela be present, but they... well, they refused."

She seemed embarrassed by the admission, and I realized, once again, how out of place she must feel here. The future Queen of Asgard, yet still lost within the complexities of court.

"Would you like me to guide you, Your Highness?" I offered gently, knowing she needed a nudge.

She nodded, looking relieved. "Yes, please."

"Well," I began, "what do you think of me as a candidate so far?"

Lady Cyan straightened in her chair, her posture suddenly more formal. "I like you. I think you would have my back. Even Loki agrees."

“Prince Loki?” I asked

She nodded “Yes, in fact when I mentioned That I would like to get my own Ladies in Waiting, he suggested you as the first one.”

How Curious.

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her directness. "Right.” I chose then to ignore the mention of Prince Loki “So then,Why do you like me, and how do you believe that would benefit you in the court?"

She hesitated before speaking again, her voice quieter, almost vulnerable. "Since I arrived at the palace, I’ve felt like an outsider. No one truly talks to me, except Thor. The conversation we had in the royal garden…" she trailed off, as if collecting her thoughts. "It felt real, like I could tell you anything. And when you advised me not to spread the truth of my past, I felt... safe. You didn’t judge me, and you kept your word so far. I haven’t heard any whispers of it since. That’s why I feel like I can trust you."

She glanced down at her lap, her tone sincere but unsure, as if she feared I might turn her words against her. There was a certain naivety about her, but it was clear she was trying to navigate the treacherous waters of the court. I folded my hands in my lap and smiled softly.

"So you met me and felt that I could be useful to you?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.

Lady Cyan's eyes widened, shaking her head frantically. "Oh no, I don’t want you to think I’m using you."

I couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at her flustered reaction. "That’s the system, Your Highness. Everyone in court uses everyone else to further their own agendas. If you are deemed useless, they’ll find a way to cast you aside."

Lady Cyan nodded slowly, absorbing my words like a student eager to learn. She seemed to be coming to terms with the harsh reality of her new life. This wasn’t the world of commoners she once knew; here, survival depended on alliances and strategic moves.

"So," I pressed on, "since you already had a good impression of me during our first meeting, what is it you’re trying to confirm now, in this interview?"

Lady Cyan shifted, clearly embarrassed again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Well... I wanted to hire you immediately, but Queen Freya said that was nonsense. She told me I should at least have an interview with you first."

It was clear that Queen Freya expected me to decline her request. After all, who in their right mind would willingly work under a former commoner, especially with my family teetering on the brink of ruin? But the Queen, in all her wisdom and grandeur, had overestimated my penchant for pride and underestimated the deep-rooted vitriol I held for the very system that sought to throw me and my family to the dogs.

I couldn't help but smile at her honesty, and there was something endearing about her candor. It was clear she was out of her depth, but there was potential in her, potential that could be nurtured if handled correctly. I leaned forward, my tone reassuring.

"Then, Your Highness, you have my word. If you choose to have me by your side, I will ensure you have what you need to succeed in this court. But remember, loyalty goes both ways. I will protect you, but I ask for the same in return."

Lady Cyan met my gaze, her expression softening with relief. "I understand, Honey. Thank you."

I nodded, knowing that from this moment forward, I had entered a dangerous alliance. The future Queen would need more than just trust; she would need strength. And if I was to help her navigate the world she had been thrust into, I would have to play this game carefully, for both our sakes.

My first week working under Lady Cyan, I made it clear that I was there to observe. She agreed, a bit relieved, I think. I spent the week silently watching the way the servants treated her, the way the butlers undermined her every word, and how Hela’s ladies-in-waiting, who were temporarily assigned to her, blatantly ignored her.

Lady Cyan mostly ate alone with her mother, and when they did, it was pitiful. They served them meals that even my own family, on the verge of ruin, would refuse. But when she dined with Prince Thor, everything was immaculate, like a magic switch had been flipped. Even Prince Thor’s courtiers, the ones supposed to show respect to the future queen, treated her poorly.

And then there was the mountain of paperwork they threw at her, expecting her to understand and manage the upkeep of the palace without any guidance. It was clear that she was not only doing her work but the work of Hela’s ladies-in-waiting as well.

I had seen enough.

"Why haven’t you hired the new staff after I told you to?" I asked her one afternoon.

She sighed; exhaustion etched into every feature. "I haven’t had the time," she said.

"Of course you haven’t," I retorted. "You’re buried in work that doesn’t even belong to you."

As I watched her, overwhelmed and far too thin, I was reminded again of Saffron. Someone kind, gentle, and easily taken advantage of. This was more work than I’d intended to take on, but someone needed to help her.

"First things first," I said, taking hold of her wrist gently. "We’re hiring you a personal chef. You’re entirely too thin, and it’s obvious the kitchen staff has no intention of keeping you healthy."

"Will I be able to?" she asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "I don’t know. What do your funds look like?"

"Oh, I don’t—"

I didn’t let her finish. I strode over to her desk, pulling out her accounting book. As I read through the pages, it was clear. The funds allocated to Lady Cyan were being skimmed, and heavily. According to the records, she was eating lavish meals, wearing the latest fashions, and buying expensive jewelry. And yet, here she was, sitting in a handdown dress, malnourished and mistreated.

"When was the last time you spent any of the funds given to you?" I asked, holding the book up to her.

Lady Cyan’s face crumpled in confusion. "I didn’t know I was receiving any funds. Prince Thor didn’t tell me."

I shut the book with a sharp thud. "He’s not supposed to. That’s the job of his courtier. His courtier was meant to show you how to manage your paperwork, how your finances work, and how to oversee your responsibilities, both in maintaining the palace and fulfilling your duties to the kingdom."

Cyan blinked, clearly overwhelmed. This explained everything. No wonder she hadn’t hosted any balls or tea parties, and why she was wearing tattered clothing.

"Someone is stealing from you," I said firmly, my eyes narrowing as I considered the possibilities. "And I’m willing to bet the accountant knows exactly who."

I shut her books and tucked them under my arm, turning to Lady Cyan with a calm but firm expression. “Show me where accounting is.”

She perked up immediately. “Oh, okay.” She started to stand, but as soon as she did, I noticed her posture was completely atrocious, slouched shoulders, head bowed. I stopped her with a slight raise of my hand.

“Before we continue, straighten your back, stretch your neck, and hold your head high,” I instructed. Lady Cyan blinked at me but did as I asked. I spent a few moments adjusting her posture, teaching her how to carry herself with dignity. She still moved with a bit of awkwardness, but with practice, she would improve.

As we made our way to the accounting office, I trailed behind her, as any good lady-in-waiting would. When we arrived, Lady Cyan politely asked the receptionist, Miss Elara Merton, if she could meet with Lord Gregor Voss.

Merton barely glanced at us and replied with obvious disdain, “He’s busy.”

I felt my temper flare. “Well, that’s too bad,” I said, stepping past her and bursting into the office. I had no patience left. Lady Cyan was being mistreated at every turn in this castle, and I couldn’t help but think had it been me the castle would have long ago been set ablazed.

There was Lord Voss, in all his disgrace, caught mid-act with a woman who was most certainly not Lady Voss. The woman, mortified, hurriedly gathered her things and bolted from the room.

“What the hell?” Lord Voss spluttered, adjusting his trousers.

“The future Queen of Asgard wishes to speak with you,” I said coolly.

He looked past me and saw Lady Cyan, standing in the doorway, her expression a mixture of shock and expectancy.

“I’m busy,” he repeated, sounding more defensive than before.

“Oh, we can see that,” I replied, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the scene. I couldn’t wait to tell Saffron about this later.

I ushered Lady Cyan into the room as Miss Merton approached, trying to assert some sort of authority. I stepped up to her, meeting her eyes with an intimidating glare that left no room for argument. “Step back,” I said, my tone commanding. Intimidated, she complied, and I shut the door behind us.

I walked up to Lord Voss and fixed him with a stare. “Tell us who has been taking money from Lady Cyan’s funds.”

Voss blinked, taken aback by the direct question, but he quickly regained his composure. “Lady Cyan has been making purchases on her own,” he said with a practiced smoothness. “Just check her accounting book. Her ladies-in-waiting bring in the necessary—"

“So, Hela’s ladies-in-waiting are stealing from Cyan?” I cut in sharply.

“I did not say that,” he stammered. “I was simply—"

“Of course you did,” I interrupted, holding up the accounting book I had taken. “Jewelry, clothing, shoes, and food, purchases made with her funds. Yet, look at her.” I gestured toward Cyan, who stood looking pale and tired, her dress ill-fitting and her frame almost fragile. “She wears none of it, and she’s thin as a pencil. The ladies-in-waiting have been making these purchases for themselves. They are stealing from her.”

“Baroness Duval—” Voss began.

“That’s my mother,” I said, flashing him a cold smile. “Just call me Lady Honey.”

“Right,” Voss muttered, leaning in to whisper, “Lady Honey. Between you and I, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was hoarding it all.”

That was the last straw. I grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close enough that he could see the fire in my eyes. Cyan gasped softly behind me.

“Listen here, you pathetic excuse for a man,” I hissed. “If you do not tell us who’s been stealing from the future Queen of Asgard, the next person walking through those doors will be the Crowned Prince Thor himself.” His eyes widened in fear, and I pressed further. “Or maybe I should let Lady Voss know exactly what you’ve been up to at work, since we all know who truly runs your household.”

Voss paled and quickly surrendered. “Okay, okay, it is Lady Vivienne, a maid named Kelly, and Lord Cyril Vance.”

“How spineless.” I shoved him back, wiping my hands of his filth. With a gentle voice I turn to Lady Cyan “Let us go.” as I have her walk ahead of me

I opened the door for her, and she walked out with her head held a little higher than before. When we returned to her office,she collapsed into tears, overwhelmed by the realization of how many people had been betraying her.

“Lady Vivienne is one of Princess Hela’s ladies-in-waiting, and Lord Cyril Vance is Thor’s courtier,” she sobbed. “What am I to do now?”

I embraced her gently, offering comfort before I spoke firmly. “You fire them.”

She stops to look at me, as if I’d said something ridiculous “I can’t do that,” she protested, shaking her head.

“Then ask Prince Thor to do it,” I suggested.

“But I—”

“Listen, Lady Cyan,” I interrupted softly but seriously. “You need a completely new court. Not only are they insulting you, but they’re also stealing from you. I understand you don’t want to rattle the cage, but you must do the uncomfortable things now so that you can be comfortable later. You have power now. Use it.”

She paused, considering my words. Then, with a hesitant nod, she whispered, “Okay.”

For the next several months, Cyan had gone on a thorough firing spree, and anyone she couldn’t directly remove was replaced for personal matters, leaving them slowly edged out. I was with her every step of the way, ensuring that each word she spoke was met with the respect and dignity she deserved.

The first major task was sending Hela back her ladies-in-waiting. Lady Cyan, with newfound confidence, informed Hela that Vivienne had been embezzling money from her books. I made sure to advise her to suggest Hela check her own accounts. It wasn’t long before Lady Vivienne was escorted from the palace in disgrace.

Thor’s reaction to Lord Cyril’s involvement in stealing from Lady Cyan was nothing short of fury. He dismissed Cyril immediately, along with the maid Kelly, their reputations shattered beyond repair. No person of prominence would dare to hire them again.

During these palace changes, I cleverly slipped in a word about the kitchen staff feeding Lady Cyan slop. If anyone should have a personal chef, it was her. Prince Thor did one better, he replaced the entire kitchen staff, ensuring that the finest food was prepared for everyone in the palace. He made it very clear that if anyone was served less than what was expected, they would face the gallows. Since then,Lady Cyan’s figure has filled out, and she looks much healthier, with her own strength returning.

She also found herself a new accountant. Prince Thor and I convinced her not to continue relying on Voss, given his negligence. Instead, I helped her hire a young man named Edric Hale. He seemed sharp, rigid, and incredibly thorough, like someone who wouldn’t let anything slip by unnoticed. And I was right, Edric was so good at his job that he not only fixed inconsistencies within Lady Cyans books but uncovered six more individuals committing fraud under the royal name. It wasn’t long before Voss was removed from his post, and Hale was promoted to Royal Financial Advisor.

Even Prince Thor’s courtier was replaced, as I recommended Sir Alistair Graves during the hiring process.He was tall, unsettling, and mysterious, Alistair's appearance drew questions from Prince Thor and Lady Cyan alike, but Alistair soon proved himself to be an invaluable asset.I was right again.

Surprisingly, Thor and Alistair developed a close bond, despite his eerie demeanor.

After all this, Lady Cyan finally had time to hire her own ladies-in-waiting. To my amusement, Lady Jane and Lady Sharon applied for the position. Needless to say, they weren’t hired. I took personal joy in turning them down during the vetting process. Instead, Lady Cyan appointed Lady Natasha Romanoff and Lady Pepper Potts, both competent and trustworthy. As the wedding drew closer, the palace bustled with preparations, fully ready to receive her as the Crowned Princess of Asgard.

The first time I noticed Queen Freya's distaste for me, it was subtle, a cold glance from across the room as I sat with Lady Cyan during a court gathering. At the time, I thought nothing of it. Surely, a queen had more important matters to concern herself with than a mere lady-in-waiting. But as the weeks passed, it became clear: it wasn’t just a glance,it was a warning.

Every time Lady Cyan made progress, especially with my guidance, Queen Freya's irritation grew more obvious.

I remember standing in the corner of the throne room when Vivienne was escorted out by the guards. Queen Freya had been across the hall, watching. Our eyes met briefly, and in that moment, I saw a flash of something, annoyance, perhaps even hatred. I had facilitated that firing, and she knew it.

Later, as I escorted Lady Cyan from the council room, the Queen called out to me, her voice smooth as velvet but sharp as a blade.

"Lady Honey," she began, forcing me to turn back. "You've done such a... thorough job cleaning up the mess around the palace." The way she said "thorough" was laced with disdain. "Though, I do wonder, have you left anything for Lady Cyan to do herself?"

I bristled at the remark, but I kept my expression neutral. "Her Highness has made all the decisions. I simply advised her where necessary." I could not allow my mouth to ruin this for me.

The Queen smiled that thin, humorless smile of hers. "Of course. But do be careful. A lady of your... talents should know when to step back. We wouldn’t want to overshadow the future princess, now, would we?"

The words cut deeper than intended. She wasn’t praising me. She was warning me. I was doing too much, and that didn’t sit well with her.

As Lady Cyan continued to gain confidence, Freya’s hostility grew. When Thor replaced the kitchen staff, I could see the Queen’s patience slipping further. I once overheard her speaking to Hela’s remaining ladies-in-waiting about how “some people simply don’t know their place” as I passed through the halls. I had no doubt she was referring to me.

It all came to a head during one of our morning meetings. I was assisting Cyan with the latest preparations for her upcoming wedding, ensuring all the details were perfect, when Queen Freya entered the room, her presence like a sudden frost in the air.

"Lady Honey," she addressed me without looking directly at Cyan. "It seems you’ve become quite indispensable. How fortunate for Lady Cyan."

I curtsied, though my stomach twisted. I knew what was coming.

"You've certainly made an impression," she continued, her voice sharp, "but one wonders if you've made the right kind."

There was no mistake in her meaning. I had been far too effective in my role, far too supportive of Cyan. Queen Freya wasn’t just irritated anymore, she was furious.

Unfortunately, during all of this, I had to deal with Prince Loki breathing down my neck. He insisted on my company far too often, even intruding on Lady Cyan’s morning teas, meant for us to go over her itinerary. He was relentless.

One morning, after Loki had finally left, opting to go train I couldn’t hold back. “That man is infuriating,” I muttered, still editing the itinerary.

“You mean Prince Loki of Asgard?” Lady Romanoff asked with a smirk.

“Who else?” I replied, shaking my head.

“I think it’s sweet that he’s found interest in you,” Lady Potts chimed in, her words slightly tentative. “And, well, at least you’d know your future is secure if you married him.” She was prone to putting her foot in her mouth without realizing it.

I gave her a sharp look but let it pass. “Did you manage to find a venue for the next royal tea party?”

“Oh, right,” she said, quickly handing me a sheet of paper. “Here’s the list of available venues for the date we need. I’ve marked the ones that would be most appropriate.”

Despite her occasional blunders, Potts was excellent at her job. I could always count on her efficiency.

With new ladies-in-waiting and the right servants, Lady Cyan was finally surrounded by a supportive circle. Her transformation was undeniable, and I was proud to have played a role in it.

Lady Cyan’s soft voice broke my thoughts. “Would it be so wrong to consider Prince Loki?”

I nearly scoffed. “If I were interested, perhaps it wouldn’t be.”

“I think you should give him a chance,” she suggested, her large doe eyes gazing at me earnestly.

I sighed. I was ready to dismiss the notion entirely, but those eyes… “I’ll think about it,” I conceded, though the thought made me cringe inwardly.

“That’s all I ask,” Cyan said with a sweet smile.

I shook my head, standing up. “I’ll be back. I need to confirm a few numbers with Edric.” I made my way to the door, hearing the giggles of the other ladies as I left the room.

It took a tremendous amount of work, but for the first time, I felt I had done right by Lady Cyan. She had a proper support system now, and she was ready to step into her role as Crowned Princess of Asgard.

As I walked down the palace halls toward accounting, my footsteps slowed as I passed the training grounds. There, shirtless and glistening with sweat, was Prince Loki, sparring with one of the knights. His lean, muscular form moved with precision, and I begrudgingly admitted to myself, yes, Prince Loki was a very handsome man. But he was oh so arrogant.

Not to mention, something about him made me uncomfortable, a discomfort I couldn’t quite shake. It was the same feeling I got around Duke Bruce and, on occasion, even Prince Thor. Maybe it had something to do with their high positions of power or the way they carried themselves with an air of control. Whatever it was, I had no interest in exploring it further.

Before I could turn away, I caught Loki’s eye. His gaze locked onto mine, and a sly smirk spread across his face as he waved. My heart skipped a beat, but not from admiration, it was more like a warning bell. I quickly dispersed, pretending not to notice, and rushed down the corridor toward Lord Hale’s office.

After finishing my business with Lord Hale, I made my way back to Lady Cyan’s chambers, feeling a sense of relief that the conversation had gone smoothly. But midway through my return, I found myself stopped by none other than Loki himself.

“May I help you, Prince Loki?” I asked stiffly, my posture rigid as I forced myself to remain composed.

A playful grin adorned his face, and his tone was laced with flirtation. “Oh, nothing in particular, just wanting to chat with the pretty girl who’s managed to turn the palace upside down.”

I straightened my spine. “You mean right side up,” I corrected coolly.

Prince Loki chuckled, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the air between us. “Well, regardless. Tonight, I’m headed to a gathering. A close friend of mine is planning to ask for a woman’s hand in marriage. Quite the event.And I was wondering if you’d like to attend” he pushes a lock of my hair behind my shoulder. “With me.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to attend,” I replied curtly. “I have a gathering of my own tonight.”

He chuckled again,as if he had some kind of secret, clearly entertained by my formality. “Well, shoot. I’m sure we’ll find a way to get together sometime.”

I forced a polite smile. “Of course.” I curtsied briefly, making it clear the conversation was over, and headed back to Lady Cyan’s chambers, the unsettling feeling from earlier creeping back into my chest.

“Do you want me to say something?” I’d asked her multiple times, my voice filled with the urge to protect her, but she always refused, her shy voice barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” she’d insist, and despite my frustration, I respected her decision. So tonight, as always, I played the role of silent protector, standing close to her, watching her every move, and his.

The party was filled with the usual noble chatter and laughter, but I found no comfort in it. Saffron’s uneasy smile, her fidgeting hands, and Duke Bruce’s ever-watchful eyes were the only things I could focus on.

I was lost in my thoughts when I felt someone brush close behind me, their breath warm against my ear. “Hello, Honey.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.Prince Loki. Of course. His voice carried that teasing edge, filled with amusement and arrogance, as if this was all a game to him.

I glanced over my shoulder, my irritation barely concealed. “Are you following me, Prince Loki?” I asked, my voice sharper than intended.

He chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on me as though he found the situation endlessly entertaining. “Following you? No, darling, I’m here for a special moment.”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten. “And what moment might that be?” I asked, my words clipped.

His smirk widened as he casually nodded toward the center of the room. “That one,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.

I followed his gaze and froze. My heart sank as I saw Duke Bruce Banner on one knee, proposing to Saffron in front of the entire room. She stood there, pale and trembling, but with all eyes on her, there was no way out. Her lips moved in slow motion, forming the dreaded word. “Yes.”

Applause filled the room as the crowd celebrated the engagement, toasting to their future. Saffron’s eyes darted toward me, wide with panic, but all I could do was stare, powerless to stop what was happening.

Loki leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “Congratulations on your sister’s engagement,” he said, his smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth. “It seems Duke Banner will soon be family.”

I turned to him, my jaw tight with barely concealed rage. “You knew this was going to happen.”

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Bruce is a close friend of mine. He’s been planning this for some time.”

I swallowed my anger, trying to keep my composure as I watched Saffron, my heart aching for her. Loki’s smug smile felt like salt in the wound. “Enjoy your evening, Lady Honey,” he added, his tone mocking. “I’m sure there will be more surprises to come.”

With that, he walked away, leaving me standing there, helpless as my sister’s fate was sealed before my eyes.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of stress and unanswered questions. Saffron’s engagement to Duke Banner weighed heavily on my mind, though she insisted everything was fine. I knew better. Every night she would come to me, her face tight with worry, sharing how uncomfortable everything made her feel. I’d offered her an out, told her we could make a formal request to call off the engagement, but she refused. She was too afraid of disappointing our parents, especially our mother.

“Everything will be fine,” she’d said with that fragile, hopeful look in her eyes. It made me furious, but I couldn’t force her hand. All I could do was stand by her, ready to step in if things went too far.

And then there was Lady Cyan. Rumors had spread quickly about her being ill, though I had my doubts. Something about it felt... off. The palace was rife with gossip, and yet Prince Thor, always the picture of calm, didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he appeared more focused than ever.

My attempts to see her had been blocked at every turn. Alistair, ever the watchful guard, was always there, standing between me and the answers I sought. A time where I’d tried to visit her, I was met with him stepping out of her chambers just as I approached. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for me.

“Lady Cyan is resting,” he’d said, his tone polite but firm. His cold, calculating eyes met mine without so much as a flicker of guilt. I couldn’t stand how easily he lied to my face. "She needs her privacy."

“She’s been resting for weeks,” I shot back, frustration bubbling in my chest. “Surely she could spare a moment?”

Alistair didn’t blink, didn’t falter. “Her health is delicate. If you truly care for her well-being, you'll give her time.”

His words were a steel wall, and I had no choice but to retreat, fuming. But I didn’t stop trying. Each day, I attempted to get close, whether it was checking in through the maids or attempting another visit myself,but Alistair was always there, standing guard like some immovable sentry.

Pepper and Natasha told me to let it go, that if Prince Thor said she was unwell, it was best to leave it at that. But I couldn’t. Something in my gut told me that there was more to it. And as the days passed, that gnawing suspicion only grew stronger.

It didn’t help that Loki seemed intent on feeding into my doubts, though his information came in small, tantalizing pieces. Each time we crossed paths, he would drop a hint, a little morsel of knowledge that made my curiosity burn brighter. He never gave me the full picture, just enough to keep me coming back for more.

I had just finished reviewing some paperwork with Edric when I stepped out into the hallway. Prince Loki was there, casually leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. His eyes immediately found mine, that familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“Lady Honey,” he greeted, his tone smooth. “Busy day?”

“Always,” I muttered, not in the mood for small talk. “Do you need something?”

He pushed off the wall, sauntering over to me, his presence impossible to ignore. “Not at all. Just curious how Lady Cyan is faring.” His voice dropped ever so slightly, hinting at something beneath the surface.

I stiffened, trying to mask my surprise. “She’s unwell, or so I’ve been told,” I replied carefully, eyeing him. “You would know that if you bothered to ask.”

Prince Loki chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to grab my chin. “Oh, I ask plenty of questions, my dear. Just not to the right people, apparently.” His touch lingered longer than necessary, and before I could say anything, he stepped back with a knowing smile. “Keep an eye on her,” he added, his tone soft but carrying weight.

Before I could respond, he was already walking away, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Days had passed, and Prince Loki’s cryptic comments continued to nag at me. I was heading down the palace corridor, lost in thought, when I felt a sudden arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side embrace. Prince Loki again.

“You always seem so tense, Lady Honey,” he teased, his voice close to my ear. “What has you so worked up this time?”

I tried to wriggle free, but he held me firmly in place, his warmth both irritating and oddly comforting. “Prince Loki, I have work to do,” I grumbled. “This isn’t the time.”

He laughed, his grip loosening but not completely letting go. “Is it ever? You’re always working, always investigating. I wonder... what would you do if you found something you weren’t supposed to?”

I stilled at his words, the weight of them sinking in. He knew something. “What are you implying?”

He smiled down at me, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Let’s just say... not everyone in the palace is who they seem. Keep digging, and you might be surprised at what you find.”

I pulled away from him, trying to regain my composure. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re delightful,” he replied with a wink before walking off, leaving me even more frustrated than before.

I was pouring over documents late one evening when Prince Loki appeared out of nowhere, his presence once again unsettling but familiar. He stood behind me, his hand lightly resting on my back as he leaned in.

“Still working, I see,” he murmured. “Do you ever rest?”

I tensed at the closeness, but his hand was gentle, not imposing. “Someone has to do the work around here,” I replied dryly, not looking up.

“Hmm,” he mused, his fingers lightly tracing down my spine before lifting away. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re just looking for something you shouldn’t be finding.”

I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. “Are you ever going to just tell me what you know, or are you going to keep playing these games?”

Loki smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Where’s the fun in that, my dear? Sometimes, the best discoveries are made through patience... and persistence.”

Before I could respond, he was gone again, leaving only the faint warmth where his hand had been.

I stormed through the palace halls, my frustration building with every step. This was the fourth time I’d been turned away from seeing Lady Cyan, and I wasn’t about to let Alistair dismiss me again. My pulse quickened as I approached her chambers, my mind already preparing for a confrontation.

As soon as I reached the door, there he was, Alistair, standing outside with his arms crossed, as if he were waiting for me. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but I could see the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Move aside,” I said sharply, not caring how harsh I sounded. “I’m seeing Lady Cyan whether you like it or not.”

Alistair didn’t flinch. Instead, he sighed and straightened, blocking the entrance with his large frame. “Young One,” he began in that infuriatingly calm voice, “how many times must we go through this? Lady Cyan is ill, and Prince Thor is taking excellent care of her.”

“That’s nonsense,” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. “Every time I’ve tried to see her, it’s been the same excuse. Do you think I’m some fool who will just let it go because you keep repeating the same thing? Lady Cyan hasn’t been seen for days!”

His gaze didn’t waver. “And she won’t be seen until she’s recovered. Now, go back to your duties.”

I clenched my fists, anger bubbling in my chest. “I’m not a child, Alistair! Don’t treat me like one just because you don’t have the decency to tell me what’s actually going on. You think I’m blind to what’s happening?”

Alistair stared at me, unfazed by my outburst. Then, to my utter fury, he reached out and gently patted me on the head, as if I were some bothersome child. “Young One,” he said, a hint of condescension in his tone, “you should focus on your own work and let Prince Thor handle LadCyan. You’re only going to exhaust yourself meddling in things you don’t understand.”

I slapped his hand away, my blood boiling at the insult. “You can’t keep me away from her forever, Alistair.”

He merely shrugged, unfazed. “Perhaps not, but for now, you should go. I won’t tell you again.”

My teeth ground together, but I knew I couldn’t push him further without making a scene. I had no choice but to turn around and leave, but the fire of frustration burned deep in my chest. I wasn’t going to let this go, not by a long shot.

As I walked away, I could still feel Alistair’s patronizing pat on my head, and it only fueled my determination. Something was wrong, and I was going to find out what.

The royal wedding was only a few days away, and I’d reached my breaking point. The palace had become a den of whispers and secrets, and it seemed that the closer we got to the wedding, the more the air thickened with lies. I had tried everything, pushing past Alistair, confronting Prince Thor’s other courtiers, even pleading with Lady Natasha and Lady Pepper to help me get to LadyCyan. But all paths led to closed doors.

And Prince Loki with his cryptic words, his teasing smiles, and half-baked hints. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I stormed through the palace halls, not caring who saw me. My feet led me to the Royal Garden, where I knew he’d be. He always found some quiet corner to lounge in, away from the royal duties he couldn’t be bothered with. Sure enough, there he was, seated by the fountain, leaning back like a man without a care in the world. He hadn’t seen me yet, his eyes closed, hands resting in his lap.

“Prince Loki!” I hissed, my voice cutting through the peaceful evening air. His eyes snapped open, a smirk already curling his lips as he straightened, watching me approach.

“Well, well, Lady Honey. I was wondering when you’d come seeking my company,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. He pushed off the edge of the fountain and stood, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What brings you to me so... heatedly?”

“I’ve had enough of your games,” I spat, my fists clenched at my sides. “Tell me what’s going on with Lady Cyan.”

His smirk deepened, and he took a few slow steps toward me. “And what makes you think I’ll just give you the answers you seek?”

“Because you know something!” I shouted, unable to contain my frustration. “You’ve been dropping hints for weeks, playing with me like a cat with a mouse, and I’m done! I need to know what’s happening to her!”

Prince Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by my outburst. He circled me slowly, as if appraising me. “Oh, my dear Lady Honey, I do know many things. But nothing comes for free in this world.”

I turned to face him, my heart pounding in my chest. “What do you want?”

He stopped in front of me, his gaze locked on mine, intense and unwavering. “A kiss.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“A kiss,” he repeated, his voice low and velvety. “Give me one, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

I stared at him, stunned. This was a new game. A dangerous one. “You’re joking.”

His eyes darkened, and the smirk on his face faded slightly, replaced with something more... possessive. “I never, Lady Honey.”

I hesitated, my mind racing. A kiss? For information? It felt wrong. But I had to know. I needed to understand what was happening, why Cyan had suddenly vanished behind locked doors, why everyone was pretending everything was fine.

With reluctance weighing heavily on me, I nodded. “Fine.”

Loki’s smirk returned, but this time it was darker, more victorious. Before I could even prepare myself, he stepped forward, his hand snaking around my waist and pulling me against him. His grip was firm, and the heat of his body was overwhelming. He didn’t hesitate , his lips crashed down on mine, strong and possessive, swallowing my breath. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was raw, and claiming. His hand moved to the small of my back, pulling me even closer, while his other hand gripped my neck, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.

I gasped against his mouth, but he didn’t relent. His fingers dug into my waist, his body pressing me tightly against him as if he couldn’t bear to let me go. His lips moved with a fierceness that stole the air from my lungs, and when I tried to pull back, his grip tightened, holding me in place.

The kiss grew rougher, more demanding. His hand slid from my waist to my hip, his fingers brushing dangerously close to my thigh. He groped me as if I were his to take, his hold possessive, his body commanding.

My mind screamed at me to push him away, but my body was paralyzed. My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear and something else , something I didn’t want to name. His lips moved over mine, devouring me, until I was left breathless, gasping against him.

When he finally pulled back, I was dizzy, my knees weak. I could hardly catch my breath as I stared up at him, my lips swollen, my body trembling from the intensity of it all. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and hungry, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

“Well, Lady Honey,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “A deal’s a deal.”

I tried to steady my breathing, still reeling from the kiss. “Tell me,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

But Loki didn’t move away. Instead, he stayed close, his hand still firmly gripping my waist. He tilted his head slightly, brushing his nose against mine in an almost affectionate manner, a contrast to the possessive way he had kissed me moments earlier.

He pressed his lips softly to my forehead, lingering for a moment as his breath fanned over my skin. “Thor has been spending a lot of time with Cyan,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. “Alone. Uninterrupted. But she’s not ill. Not at all.”

His hand slid lower, caressing my side as he spoke, his lips brushing against my hair. “They’ve been keeping her in her chambers, but it’s not for the reasons you think.”

I pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. “Then why?” I asked, my voice trembling.

Loki’s grip tightened for a moment, his eyes locking with mine. “Because she’s trapped, just like you, little honeybee. Thor has no intention of letting her go.”

I stared at him, a sinking feeling of dread filling my stomach.

The day after my tense encounter with Loki, I finally managed to see Lady Cyan. She was glowing, radiant even, but her expression, her eyes, told a different story. As soon as I laid eyes on her, I rushed forward and embraced her tightly.

“Are you alright?” I asked, my voice low, laced with concern.

Pepper and Natasha, standing nearby with knowing smiles, seemed to think my worry was misplaced. “Honey, had been worried sick about you,” Natasha said, her tone light, almost dismissive of the tension that clung to me. It was as if they were brushing off the entire ordeal.

“I’m fine,” Lady Cyan answered, but her eyes,they were haunted. Despite her soft smile, there was a sadness there that pulled at my chest.

I nodded, but I didn’t believe her. Something was wrong, and as the days leading up to the wedding crept by, I tried to coax her into talking. She remained tight-lipped, her melancholy growing more apparent, but she wouldn’t say a word.

Prince Loki, who had been dropping hints and playing his games, was nowhere to be found during this time. It should have unsettled me, but I was too focused on Lady Cyan to care.

Then, the day of the royal wedding arrived. It was the grandest affair Asgard had ever seen, extravagant, dazzling, and utterly flawless in its execution. Everyone was there, dressed to the nines, and the entire kingdom celebrated the union of Crown Prince Thor and Princess Cyan.

But then, during the reception, Princess Cyan disappeared.

I knew where to find her.

I followed my instincts, weaving my way through the palace grounds until I reached the Royal Forest. There, in the center of the garden, was a bench where she sat, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed uncontrollably.

“Princess Cyan?” I whispered as I approached. She looked up at me, her eyes red, streaked with tears.

Without a word, I sat beside her, wrapping my arms around her trembling frame. “What’s wrong?” I asked gently, stroking her hair as she cried.This was meant to be the happiest day of her life. Or so I’ve heard.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes as she extended her hand. “Do you know what this is?” she asked, showing me her wedding ring.

I frowned. “It’s your wedding ring, of course.”

She shook her head, her hand trembling. “No, Honey, it’s a Vowthorn.”

Confusion filled me as I studied the ring more closely. My blood ran cold as I saw it—tiny thorns lining the underside, almost imperceptible unless you looked carefully.

“What do you mean?”

She sniffled again, and before I could stop her, she tugged at the ring. To my horror, pieces of her skin began to tear as she tried to remove it. Blood welled at the edges, and I quickly grabbed her hand to stop her. “Princess Cyan, stop!” I cried, my heart pounding.

“I can never take it off,” she whispered, her voice broken. “I’m bound to him, Honey. Forever.”

My eyes widened as I stared at her bloody finger, my stomach churning with revulsion. The thorns had sunk into her flesh, marking her, chaining her to Prince Thor in a way far crueler than I could have imagined.

“Princess Cyan.”

Alistair’s voice broke through the moment, his presence looming as he stepped out from the shadows of the trees. “Your husband is looking for you,” he said calmly, as if nothing was amiss.

Princess Cyan wiped her eyes, standing slowly as she gave me one last, heart-wrenching hug. “Thank you for everything,” she whispered, her voice hollow.

I held her tightly for a moment before releasing her, watching helplessly as she walked toward Alistair. He smiled, cold, knowing, and I could only stand there, frozen, as he gently escorted her back to the party.

I felt my heart twist, anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Do you understand now?”

Prince Loki had emerged from the shadows, lurking like the serpent he always was. I didn’t bother looking at him, my gaze still fixed on the spot where Cyan had disappeared, her broken form haunting my thoughts.

If I were being honest, I didn’t fully understand. Not yet. But there was one thing I was almost certain of.

“He’s harming her,” I said aloud, unable to shake the memory of her fear, the wedding ring that tore into her skin when she dared to remove it. “But why? I thought he loved her.”

Loki’s laugh was sharp, cutting through the stillness of the forest. It grated on my nerves, and I finally turned to stare at him. “What’s so funny?”

He stepped closer, his smirk both infuriating and dangerous. “Hardly harming her,” he corrected, his tone dripping with amusement. “There may be a bit of pain involved, yes... but the pleasure, from what I’ve heard, is immaculate.” His voice deepens

I rolled my eyes, my patience thinning. “What in gods’ name are you babbling about, Loki?”

He chuckled darkly, as if I were some naïve child. “Thor is playing a different game, Honey. One where control is disguised as love, and desire is wrapped in thorns. You see, your dear crowned prince has no intention of letting his bride go. Not ever.”

My stomach twisted. "That doesn't explain the ring. The pain."

Prince Loki's gaze softened, almost mockingly. “Ah, but pain and pleasure often intertwine. Thor’s made sure she feels both, he wants her to be bound to him in every way. The ring, the restrictions, they serve a purpose beyond mere possession. It’s a reminder. That no matter how much she may try to escape, she’ll always come back to him.”

I clenched my fists, anger rising in me like a tide. "You're saying he's... manipulating her into staying?"

"Isn't that what marriage often is?" Loki raised an eyebrow, his voice deceptively light. He moved closer, until the heat of his body was almost touching mine. "But don’t think of it as cruelty. In Thor’s eyes, it’s love. Just a... particular kind."

I felt sick. "And you? Do you condone it?"

Prince Loki leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “I don’t condone or condemn. I observe. And I act when it suits me.” He paused, his voice lowering to a whisper. "As I’ve been observing you."

A shiver ran down my spine. His presence, his words, it was all too much. I stepped back, trying to put distance between us, but Loki only smirked, as if he enjoyed seeing me unsettled.

He gestured toward the path Princess Cyan and Alistair had taken. “If you really want to know what’s happening, you’re asking the wrong questions. Thor loves her, yes, but his love is one that consumes, one that binds. Just like the ring on her finger.” His eyes gleamed. "The real question is, how far will he go to keep her?"

Before I could even think of leaving,Prince Loki’s slender fingers grab around my neck, his grip deceptively strong. He yanked me closer, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek, his body pressing against mine in a way that made my stomach churn with both fear and an unexpected flicker of something else, something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Now, then,” Loki whispered in a voice as smooth as velvet, his lips barely brushing my ear. “I think I’ve waited long enough.”

“Let go of me!” I demanded, my voice shaking but defiant as I pushed against his chest, trying to create distance. But it was no use, he barely moves, his frame lean yet unyielding as if carved from stone.

“Now, now, little Honey,” he purred, his tone dripping with a sick sort of amusement. “You’ve been so curious about what’s happening to sweet Cyan... I think it’s only fair I show you ”

His lips descended on mine with a force that took my breath away. I gasped, my body instinctively tensing at the sudden invasion. His mouth claimed mine without hesitation, his kiss demanding, harsh, and unforgiving.

My hands pressed against his chest, trying to create some distance between us, but it was futile. Loki was everywhere. His fingers gripped my waist tightly, pulling me closer as though he intended to merge us into one being. His other hand roamed, sliding down my back, groping and kneading as if he were staking his claim.

The heat of his body was overwhelming, and I could feel his fingers curling into the fabric of my gown, tugging me impossibly closer. His lips moved against mine, rough and unrelenting, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a dominance that made my knees buckle.

"L-Loki—" I tried to speak, to push him away, but my voice was swallowed by the intensity of the kiss. He groaned against my lips, his hand trailing lower, grabbing my hip and squeezing with enough force to make me gasp.

"Shh," he whispered, his lips brushing mine in a cruel mockery of tenderness. "You’ve wanted this, Honey. Don’t pretend otherwise."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, but before I could respond, his mouth was back on mine, stealing my breath once more. His hands slid down to my backside, gripping and pulling me against him in a way that left no space between us. I could feel every inch of him, his body pressed tightly to mine as if he couldn’t bear to let me go.

His lips left mine only to trail down the side of my neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along my skin. I whimpered as he nipped at my collarbone, his teeth grazing my flesh just enough to send a bolt of heat through me.

"You’re mine now," he growled against my skin, his voice low and possessive. "Don’t think for a second you can escape me."

His hands roamed freely, tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips, and the dip of my back. His touch was rough, insistent, as though he was marking me with every stroke of his fingers. My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear, and confusion

I've never done anything like this before, I’ve never been exposed to anything like this before. For the first time in my life, I feared what would happened next.

Loki's grip tightened, his hands digging into my flesh as if daring me to try and escape. But there was no escape. Not from him. Not from this.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, filled with an intensity that made me want to run and hide. His thumb traced the line of my jaw as he smirked down at me, his lips swollen from the kiss.

He shoved me hard, sending me crashing to the ground. My head smacked against the cold earth, a sharp pain shooting through my skull as the world spun for a moment.

Using my confusion as an opportunity, Loki climbed on top of me, forcibly lifting my skirts and ripping apart my undergarments.

“Wait” I called out “Loki! Please! No!” my pleas falling on deaf ears as I heard and felt him shuffle about.

I tried to get up, but this only caused Loki to grab my neck once more, shoving my head back into the ground. The pressure on my neck causing me to still.

All at once, I feel a searing pain in my nether regions, and Loki growls with what I can only assume is pleasure. I begin digging my nails into his arm and dragging them down. Tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

The anguish squeezing every bit of breath I had in my body.

He takes one look at my face, at the agony and discomfort he was causing, and he laughed loudly.

“You are a virgin?” he asks, shock laced into his voice.

I swallow, whimpers escape me as I try to breathe through the torment.

“And you worry about the whore?”

He begins moving his body against mine the pain sharp, and persistent, a deep, stretching discomfort catching me off guard. Distress overtaking me as tears fell down my face. It felt as if a fresh wound had been torn open, and he was mercilessly digging into it, over and over, each movement sending waves of torment through me.

A pressure that started small but grew with every motion, my muscles tensing instinctively. It wasn’t just the physical sting; there was an emotional weight behind it too. A feeling of vulnerability, of crossing a threshold I could never return from. It was unbearable, and far from pleasant, a blend of confusion and distress mixed with the ache.

With every grunt and growl Loki worked to steal away my innocence. I became tired, my arms dropped to my side as I allowed him what he wanted. I still cried to myself wondering when this would be over.

He removed his hand from my neck, planting both firmly on to the ground as he worked to move faster. Finally, just when I felt that I could take no more he lets out a final roar pushing himself as deep as he could inside me, causing me to cry out in pain,before collapsing on my worn body.

"See?" he whispered, his voice a low growl. "I told you, Honey. You’re mine."

I stared up at him, panting, my mind still spinning from the events that occurred.

He stood, fixing himself before leaving me on the ground with a chuckle.

I had never felt so ashamed, to allow something so awful to happen to me. I move into a fetal position, wondering where I went wrong.

Afterwards when Prince Loki stood up and fixed his garments I chose to lay on the ground for what felt like hours, my body aching, my mind swirling in the haze of disbelief. Used, humiliated, and utterly broken, I could hardly muster the strength to move. The cool earth beneath me felt foreign, much like the shell of my own body. I wanted to scream, to cry, but the exhaustion and shame anchored me to the ground.

Eventually, reality clawed its way back in. I still had to go home. As battered as I was, I couldn’t allow myself to be found like this. I still had my family’s dignity to uphold, fragile though it was. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to block out the vile memories of what had just happened. Loki's touch lingered on my skin, searing like a brand I’d never erase. But I had to get up. I had no choice.

With trembling arms, I pushed myself off the cold ground. Every movement sent a fresh wave of soreness through my body. My dress was filthy, covered in dirt and torn in places. My hair, usually so neatly kept, hung in tangled clumps around my face. I wiped at my cheeks, but the tears had long since dried. I felt like a ghost of the woman I was when I arrived.

My legs shook as I took one step, then another. My body protested, but I bit back the groan of agony and pressed on. I couldn’t afford to be found here. Not like this.

It was a miracle no one had come across me. The palace grounds had plenty of hidden corners, but in this state, I felt exposed, vulnerable. With every faltering step, I felt the weight of what had been stolen from me. I was no longer Honey Duval, the thorny, snarky daughter of a struggling Baroness. I had become something else entirely.

After what seemed like an eternity, I reached the entrance of the palace. There were still people milling about, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that raged inside me. I kept my head low, pulling my ruined dress around me to hide the worst of the damage. I prayed that no one would take a second look, that no one would notice the way I limped toward the line of carriages.

I spotted an empty one, its driver standing idly by. I approached him as steadily as I could, my voice a ragged whisper as I asked, “Take me home.”

The driver, with barely a glance, helped me inside, and I sank into the seat, every muscle in my body screaming for rest. The door shut, and with the soft lurch of the carriage, I felt myself collapse inward.

I managed to stumble my way through the door without a soul in sight. The house was still and quiet, no sign of my family. Of course, they were all still at the wedding. My parents, Saffron, even Bruce, none of them would have noticed I was missing yet. That gave me some relief, though it was fleeting.

The servants had long retired to their quarters for the night. There was no one to see me in this state, no judgmental eyes to pry at my disheveled hair and filthy gown. I was grateful for the emptiness of the estate.

I moved quietly through the halls, each step painful, my body still aching from the night’s cruelty. When I finally reached my room, I shut the door behind me, leaning my back against it and letting out a ragged breath. My legs gave out from under me, and I slid to the floor, my dress pooling around me in a tattered mess.

I could still feel Loki’s hands on me, the weight of his body, his mocking smile as he took everything I had left. A fresh wave of nausea rolled over me, and I pressed a hand to my mouth, fighting back the bile that threatened to rise.

I was falling apart.

With shaking hands, I dragged myself to the mirror, catching sight of the wreck I had become. My eyes hollow, my hair tangled and dirty, my dress in ruins. I could barely recognize myself.

I stripped off my ruined dress, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Every inch of my body ached, bruises I hadn’t noticed earlier now flaring with every movement. My mind was clouded with the horrors of what had transpired, but I knew one thing,I needed to wash it all away.

The bathwater was scalding as I stepped in, but I didn’t care. I welcomed the heat, letting it burn my skin, hoping it could sear away the filth that clung to me. I grabbed the soap and scrubbed harder than I ever had before. I scrubbed until my skin felt raw, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t rid myself of the feeling of his hands, his breath on my neck, the unbearable weight of him.

Loki’s sins clung to me like a second skin, and no amount of scrubbing could make them disappear.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and this time I couldn’t stop them. They fell silently, mixing with the water, but I didn’t make a sound. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let this break me—not yet. I had to keep going. I had to find a way to survive.

After what felt like an eternity, I dragged myself out of the tub, my skin tender and sore. I wrapped myself in a towel, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling me down, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

I dressed quickly, slipping into a nightgown, my body trembling with every movement. Each bruise, each ache, was a reminder of what had happened, of what I had endured.

Finally, I collapsed onto the bed, pulling the sheets around me as tightly as I could. I wanted to disappear, to become invisible, but the memories wouldn’t let me. They played over and over in my mind, tormenting me, reminding me that I was no longer the person I had been just hours before.

As the night deepened, I lay there in silence, staring at the ceiling, my body too heavy to move, my mind too shattered to rest.

The morning after the... incident, I went to work, doing my best to avoid Loki like the plague. Thankfully, he wasn't lurking anywhere near me, but my focus stayed on my work, burying myself in it to ignore the memory of last night.

Princess Cyan was finally available today, but something was off. She was quieter than usual, almost distant, her glow subdued. I glanced around the room, noticing Natasha and Pepper were unusually silent too. The whole room felt heavy, but I was too preoccupied with my work to dwell on it. There were more pressing things to address,or so I thought.

Queen Freya had summoned me.

When the notice arrived, I paused, the paper trembling in my hands. I could feel my pulse quicken, but I kept my composure as I made my way to the Queen’s receiving room. What could she possibly want? Had something else gone wrong?

The air in Queen Freya’s receiving room was as cold and stiff as the Queen herself. I stood quietly, waiting for her to get to the point of summoning me here. She'd been polite enough, making small talk about the weather and my family’s well-being, but her eyes never softened. Not for a moment.

It wasn’t long before she finally sat back in her chair and sighed, an air of finality in her voice. "Honey, you’ve done quite a remarkable job assisting... Princess Cyan." The way she said "Princess" made it sound like an insult rather than a title. "But I'm afraid your services are no longer needed."

I blinked, completely thrown. "Your Majesty, may I ask what I’ve done wrong?"

She folded her hands and looked at me with the kind of smile that never reached her eyes. "It’s not about wrongdoing, per se. But your absence on the night of the wedding was entirely unprofessional. We cannot risk something like that happening again. What if Princess Cyan needed you? You were nowhere to be found."

My heart raced. That night… my time spent with PrincesCyan had been brief before I stumbled upon her secret. I knew better than to mention it. "Your Majesty, I—"

"There’s no need for explanations, dear," she cut me off sharply. "I am well aware that you have been rather... vocal in your support for Princess Cyan. Too vocal, perhaps."

There it was. The truth. Queen Freya’s gaze flickered, revealing the venom she had been holding back. It wasn’t about my absence or my professionalism. This had nothing to do with any potential failure on my part.

"Your service to her has been... commendable," she continued, her tone laced with condescension. "But it’s not what is needed at court. We must think of the future of Asgard, and Princess Cyan’s role. You... would do better to think of your own future outside these palace walls."

I stood there, stunned into silence.

"There are no second chances in court, Honey. You must understand that. You’re dismissed."

It hit me like a blow. All my work, all my effort to support Princess Cyan, to make sure she was respected, treated as she should be, would be undone by a queen who saw her as a blemish. And I was simply collateral.

I gathered myself, curtsying. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

As I walked out of the receiving room, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the power Queen Freya wielded. This wasn’t about professionalism or duty. This was about control.

Mother’s eyes blazed with fury, the air between us crackling with her frustration. I stood there, hands clenched at my sides, trying to steady my breathing, but the storm in her gaze only grew.

"What could you have possibly done?" she spat, pacing in front of me like a lioness ready to strike. "Did you offend someone again? Oh, did you open your big mouth to the wrong person this time?"

I flinched at her words, though I knew better than to respond too quickly. I kept my head down, my eyes tracing the intricate patterns on the rug beneath my feet, as if I could disappear into the floor. Her accusations, though harsh, were nothing new.

She stopped pacing, turning to me with that piercing look that always left me feeling smaller than I was. "Speak, Honey. What have you done? You must have done something, or you wouldn’t have been fired as Princess Cyan’s lady-in-waiting! So what was it?"

I stayed silent, my throat tight with the truth I couldn’t say. She wouldn’t understand, not now, not ever. And even if I told her everything, how would I explain Loki?

Her voice broke through my thoughts, sharp and biting. "Answer me!" she demanded. "Do you know what you’ve caused? To be dismissed from court like some common servant, disgraceful! You’ve brought shame upon this family."

I swallowed, the words heavy on my tongue, but none of them would make a difference. My mother was looking for someone to blame, and I was the easiest target.

Her gaze darkened, filled with suspicion. “So you’ve nothing to say? No defense for yourself?”

I shook my head. "No, Mother. Nothing."

For a moment, silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken accusations. She crossed her arms, looking me up and down as if searching for some clue, some evidence of the disgrace I’d caused.

Her lips curled into a sneer

It was another day of being reprimanded by her. But this time, it stung more than usual. Saffron wasn’t here to soften the blow, to offer that silent comfort only a sister could. No, she was off with Bruce’s mother, going over preparations for her own wedding, blissfully unaware of the disaster that had become my life.

I stood there, feeling the weight of my mother’s words, the shame and frustration building up like a dam about to break. Tears welled in my eyes, but I bit them back. Could I even tell her what had really happened? Could I tell her about Loki, about the things that I didn’t even want to think about, let alone speak aloud?

"Answer me, Honey!" my mother snapped, her impatience rising.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, I rushed past her, ignoring the startled look on her face. I needed to get away, to hide. I fled to my room, slamming the door behind me as the tears finally broke free.

I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to hear anyone. I didn’t know what I wanted, but it certainly wasn’t this. This life, this shame, this pain,I couldn’t bear it.

I curled up on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest, wishing for everything to just disappear.

Weeks had passed, and I was growing weaker with each day.

I stayed silent. Lying in bed, withering away, my body betraying me as much as my mind. What could I possibly say? What could my family do if I did tell them? Loki was the Prince of Asgard, untouchable by anyone in our position. And with Saffron dealing with her own issues with the Duke, I couldn’t add more burden to the family.

From what I knew, Saffron wanted to delay the wedding—push it back a year or two, give them time to get to know each other better. But The Duke refused, insisting that he could hardly wait the few days left until they were to be married. The fear in Saffron’s eyes was clear as day. She was terrified, but with me having been fired from the palace, she felt like she had no other choice. Bruce was our only hope of pulling the Duvals out of the pit of "nonexistence," as my mother had begun to call it.

I tried to tell Saffron that she always had a choice, that there was another way, but she wouldn’t listen. The weight of saving the family seemed to matter more to her than saving herself.

We were walking through the Duval garden when I could feel my body rebelling again. Saffron had convinced me that fresh air might do me good, that perhaps I was simply exhausted from being cooped up for so long. But I felt nauseous, my head swimming. Eventually, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I leaned over, vomiting into the bushes, and before I knew it, everything went black.

When I woke, I was surrounded by my family. Saffron, my father, and my mother, along with a doctor who was wiping his hands clean on a cloth. My mother was hovering over me, panicked, her voice shrill as she called my name. My father stood by, trying to calm her down, while Saffron sat silently at the edge of the bed, her face pale.

"She's awake," my father sighed in relief.

I blinked, trying to shake the fog from my mind. "What happened?" My voice was weak, barely above a whisper.

The doctor cleared his throat, stepping forward. "You've fainted, Lady Honey, but you're alright now. However, there’s something else... You’re with child.”

The words hit me like a boulder.

"That’s impossible," I muttered, though deep down I knew it wasn’t. The memory of Loki’s hands on me flashed in my mind, and I felt my stomach twist.

"I think you know how this happened," the doctor said, his tone professional but laced with an understanding that made the room feel even heavier.

Silence fell, and the air grew thick with tension. My mother was the first to break it, her voice high-pitched with disbelief. "Who is the father? Who have you been with?" Her words came sharp and fast, like a blade cutting through me.

I said nothing. What could I say? How could I explain something I barely had the strength to acknowledge myself?

My father quietly ushered the doctor out of the room, but Saffron remained, her face frozen in shock. She didn’t move. She didn’t say a word.

My mother’s voice rose again, frantic now. "Who is the father, Honey? Answer me!" Her hands grabbed my shoulders, shaking me, but still, I stayed silent.

I couldn’t bring myself to utter Loki’s name. Not now. Not ever.

"If you don’t tell me this instant, I’ll—I’ll..." My mother’s voice cracked, her eyes wild as she searched for something that might break me. She straightened, her face flushed with frustration. "I’ll send you to your Aunt Gertrude."

I blinked, the words settling in the air like an empty threat. Aunt Gertrude. As a child, her name had been synonymous with punishment. The strange spinster, cast aside by the family for reasons never fully explained to me and my sister. I used to shudder at the mere mention of her name, but now... now, the thought of being sent to her estate didn’t stir the same fear it once did.

In fact, I couldn’t remember ever having a true reason to fear Aunt Gertrude. She was an outcast, yes. Blamed for the Duvals’ declining status in society. But what had she really done? No one had ever told me.

Maybe it was because she was different, unconventional, and refused to play the endless games of high society. Or maybe it was because she didn’t fit into the mold my mother had set for the family.

And now, I was beginning to realize... I might not either.

I was much too tired to fight, to resist the weight of my mother’s constant reproach. My head ached, and the room spun slightly as I forced myself to sit up straighter, meeting her gaze. Her threat hung in the air between us, but the words that escaped me were softer than I intended, drained of their sting.

"Then send me," I said, barely above a whisper. "I don’t care anymore."

She recoiled as if I’d struck her. "How dare you," she hissed, eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms. "After all we’ve done for you, after everything our family has sacrificed, this is how you repay us?"

I turned my head, gazing out of the window as she raged. My chest felt hollow, my heart heavy with exhaustion. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, perhaps I cared too much, but what could I do?

She stood abruptly, the anger still palpable in the air between us. "You’ll leave for Gertrude’s after Saffron’s wedding, she will be in attendance, and will take you with her when she leaves" she declared, her voice colder now, resolved. "And don’t expect us to welcome you back anytime soon."

I nodded silently, still looking away. As she left the room, I let out a slow breath, sinking back into the pillows. A strange calm washed over me. The threat of being sent to Aunt Gertrude no longer loomed like it once had.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the less frightening it seemed.

Aunt Gertrude had been cast out for being different, for failing to meet society’s expectations. Maybe, just maybe, I had more in common with her than anyone else in this family.

Saffron looked radiant but terrified. Her eyes darted across the grand hall, her smile faltering every time someone came too close. I should have objected to this marriage, but I couldn't. Not for lack of love or loyalty,no, I simply couldn't find the energy within myself. The truth was, I had no reason to.

On paper, Duke Bruce Banner was everything one could hope for. Powerful, wealthy, and above all else, terrifyingly loyal to Saffron. Since their courtship began, he had proven his devotion in ways that made him seem perfect, like the ideal match for a girl of Saffron’s standing. And with our family’s name teetering on the edge of ruin, he was exactly what she needed. What we all needed.

Mother had remained by my side throughout the day, ensuring that I didn’t cause a scene. Her hands were always just a breath away, offering water, passing sweets, shielding me from questions thrown by fellow relatives. It was the most affectionate she’d ever been, a strange contrast to her usual distant demeanor. Perhaps she feared what the slightest slip would reveal that her daughter carried a secret far more scandalous than a dismissal from court.

My pregnancy was the one secret she seemed determined to protect, at least for now.

I managed to slip away and found Saffron standing alone, staring into the mirror, her smile long gone. Her hands were trembling as she adjusted her veil, and when she saw me, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

“We can run away together, you know?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the murmurs of guests in the distance.

She looked at me, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "And I know you’re seriously considering that," she said, a soft laugh escaping her. But there was no joy in it, only resignation. “But I can’t, Honey. I can’t abandon my obligations. I don’t have the luxury of running away.”

I nodded, though my heart ached for her. Saffron, my strong-willed sister, had always carried the weight of responsibility on her delicate shoulders, and despite her fear, she would never cast it aside. That was who she was.

She pulled me in close, her breath warm against my cheek. "I’d like to see my little niece or nephew often, though," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "So I expect frequent visits."

I couldn’t help but smile, though tears blurred my vision. "You’ll be the best aunt this child will ever know," I said, meaning every word.

We hugged tightly, holding onto this fleeting moment of peace. It was one of the few moments we’d had where neither of us had to pretend. For just a heartbeat, it was the two of us again,sisters, not trapped by titles or duties, but bound by love.

But we both knew it wouldn’t last. We had already lost, each in our own way.

“Dear!” A voice interrupted our embrace, and we both turned to see Duke Bruce Banner standing at the entrance, a charming but calculated smile on his face. His eyes flickered between us, though it was clear his attention was only on Saffron.

"I truly hate to interrupt a bonding moment between sisters," he said with a grin, "but it’s time for the cake."

Saffron gave him a strained smile before taking his arm. But before she let go of my hand, she squeezed it tightly, a silent promise, a reassurance that no matter what, we would always have each other. Even if the world we lived in forced us apart.

As they walked away, the weight of what was coming settled over me like a shroud. Soon, I would be gone, sent away under the guise of preserving what little dignity we had left. And Saffron would stay, locked in a life she hadn’t chosen but couldn’t refuse.

I watched them go, my heart heavy, knowing that we had both become prisoners of our fates. But for now, we could pretend,for one last time,that everything was still as it had been.

The weight of it all pressed heavily on my chest. A chapter of my life that I had barely begun to understand was forcibly coming to a close, and it was out of my control. I let out a small breath, placing a hand over my belly. The child inside me had yet to show, but the reality of it, the enormity of it, was already sinking in. Would I be a good mother? Would I ever have a chance to make things right?

The carriage rumbled through the forest, cutting a path toward the next town where we would stop to rest. I watched as tree after tree passed by, but the rhythmic movement of the ride made me nauseous. I closed my eyes, trying to calm the twisting in my stomach, but instead, my mind filled with questions.

What will my new life be like?

I hadn’t realized I had drifted off into sleep until a sharp jolt startled me awake. The carriage had come to a sudden stop. At first, there was nothing but hushed murmurs from outside, voices low and indistinct. But then the gurgling screams began.

My heart seized in my chest.

Were we being robbed?

Terror gripped me, and I curled up tightly in the corner of the carriage, trying to make myself as small as possible. My pulse thundered in my ears, and I held my breath, listening as footsteps crunched on the gravel outside, drawing closer to the carriage door. There was a pause,three distinct knocks,before the door swung open.

Green eyes met mine, gleaming with amusement. A familiar, infuriating smirk followed.

"Loki."

Confusion flooded through me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He stepped forward with all the casual arrogance I had come to expect from him taking a seat across from me, his grin widening. “I’m here to collect what’s mine.”

His words took me aback, my confusion deepening. What did he mean?

Loki sighed, as if I were being slow, and moved closer, his hand brushing lightly against my cheek, a gesture that was oddly tender coming from him. But then his hand traveled lower, resting over my stomach. His voice was soft, but there was a dangerous edge to it. “This," he said, his fingers pressing gently, "and this.”

I recoiled instinctively, grabbing his hand and pushing it away. Panic swirled inside me as I whispered, “How did you know?”

His eyes darkened, the smirk fading into something more serious. “What made you think I wouldn’t know?”

I didn’t know what to say. My mind raced, searching for something that would make this moment less terrifying, but nothing came. The air between us felt suffocating.

Loki sat back, spreading his legs wide and resting his arms along the back of the seat, completely at ease as though we weren’t discussing the life growing inside of me. “Why didn’t you tell your mother about us?”

“There was nothing to tell,” I said quickly, my voice tight.

He laughed then, a cold, humorless sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh, there’s plenty to tell,” he said, his tone darkening. His gaze dropped to my stomach, his eyes narrowing. “Did you think you could keep the child from me?” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Did you think you could keep yourself away from me?”

I swallowed hard, trying to hold his gaze but feeling the weight of his words press down on me.

Loki leaned back again, watching me with those sharp, calculating eyes. “Since you’re carrying my child, I won’t punish you as I normally would.” His voice was low, almost casual, but the threat beneath it was unmistakable. “But make no mistake, Honey,you will be punished.”

The carriage fell eerily quiet. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and I could feel the chill creeping up my spine. For a moment, neither of us moved. The tension was thick, palpable.

Then, slowly, Loki stood, towering over me, his expression unreadable. “You won’t escape me, Honey. Not now, not ever.” He grabbed my hair, banging my head against the wall. “Maybe next time you’ll be a bit more forthcoming about your condition.” He pulls me up by my hair, my scalp burning as I feel my skin being pulled. He begins moving me around, as if molding me to his touch. Before I know it, I am on my hands and knees. I try to move away but Loki slaps my face “No, you will behave.” I still, his hand still in my hair. I feel fingers creeping down my dress before lifting my skirts over my bottom. Tears flow from my eyes as I begin to beg him to let me go. “Please Loki do not do this to me.” He ignores my please as he removes my undergarments, I feel the cool air against my naked skin, and I begin to struggle once more. He pushes me into the carriage seat “If you’d like my guards to join, that please continue to move.”

I still once more.

This could not be happening again. As much fear as I had to be meeting aunt Gertrude, the one thing I was glad to avoid was this.

But it seems to be something I am unable to escape.

I feel his fingers ghosting my bottom, before feeling their way between my lips, gently pushing against my pearl. My breathe hitches as I whimper at the feel. He chuckles slowly rubbing it as my arousal begins to stain his hands.

It wasn’t long before I felt him moving around behind, and I felt something soft and firm poking between my legs.

“Please” I whisper with one final plea

He carefully moves to grab my hips, tightening his hands against them. “You will be mine forever.”

He thrusted into my pussy, prying the flesh apart, pushing until he reached the hilt of his pubic region.

Although there was pain, as expected, it did not feel as terribly as the first time. Slowly he began to move, pushing in and out until his cock was soaked with the juices of my cunt. Although it stung, the feeling wasn’t torturous, in fact, it was beginning to feel pleasurable.

Guilt began to eat away at me as his thrusts became more forceful, and I slowly begin reach a peak. My whimpers becoming moans, as he hovers over me to pinch my nipples.

I don’t realize what’s happened, until I feel vibrations in my body and see stars in my eyes.

“Good Girl.” Loki whispers into my ear as \ he continues to thrust until I feel his body stiffen with his own release. He collapses on top of me, feeling my exposed skin while still inside of me.

I was still wrapping my head about what had just gone on when Loki moved to open the carriage door, a blissful smile playing on his lips as he glanced back at me. His expression was unsettling, a dangerous mix of amusement and calculation.

"I feel like a game of tag," he said casually, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.

My mind was still spinning, my body worn out, trying desperately to gather my bearings after everything that had just happened. The situation felt surreal, like some twisted nightmare.

"I’ll give you a five-minute head start." His words made my stomach drop as the pieces slowly started coming together in my mind. "If you make it to your mother’s home before I catch you, I will leave you alone forever."

I sat up, quickly fixing my dress, my heart pounding in my chest. Loki was playing a game, one I knew I couldn’t afford to lose. Staying in this carriage with him would lead to nowhere good, but the alternative was no less terrifying.

"However," he continued, pausing just enough to let the weight of his words sink in, "if I catch you first, you’ll have to say yes to my proposal." He smiled wider, his eyes glinting with dangerous excitement. "And we’ll continue to play tag until you do reach your home."

Before I could respond, Loki stepped out of the carriage and, with alarming ease, pulled me out and lifted me onto the ground. His grip was firm but not painful, yet it only heightened the sense of helplessness coiling inside me.

When I looked behind him, I found the coachmen dead on the ground, laying in what I assumed to be blood. I was too scared to speak, so I remained quiet.

"Your five minutes starts now." His grin widened as he glanced at an invisible clock. "Four minutes and fifty-four seconds."

I didn’t waste another second. I took off running, my legs stiff and unsteady beneath me, my body still heavy with the shock of what had just occurred. My heart hammered in my chest, each step labored and uncoordinated as I struggled to push forward. All with his essence dripping down my legs.

This can’t be happening, I thought to myself, as tears welled up in my eyes. This can’t be real.

But it was.

The trees blurred as I stumbled through the forest, branches catching at my dress, my shoes sinking into the uneven earth beneath me. Tears streamed down my face as I tripped and fell hard into the dirt, my hands scraping against the ground as I hit the earth with a dull thud.

I could hear Loki’s voice in the back of my mind, taunting me with his smile, his challenge. The reality of what he wanted, the cruel game he was playing, pressed down on me, suffocating my thoughts.

I lay there for a moment, my chest heaving, dirt smeared across my hands and face. I felt the ground beneath me, solid and cold, but all I could think was:

what am I supposed to do now?

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ne0nwithazero · 1 year ago

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Finally redrew Host's Ref!

🎙️ Mike's Ref

#Deltarune OC #Deltarune AU #Host #Mike Deltarune #Mike #Omega Host #My Art #Their Secret Boss items also needed a mild design adjustment aaaa #I'm sticking to my idea of the item roles being reversed hehe #Had a lot of folks getting worked up about it in the past LOL #But it's always been an intentional choice :)

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zoroara · 28 days ago

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~~ Happy Halloween! ~~

I wanted to celebrate the end of OCtober a little differently than I usually do this year!(By making anything for the end at all). This was originally going to be one big picture but I could not nicely fit all of them without obscuring too much and I wanted to show the monster variants off well!

But thanks to those who showed support during this month, though I do it every year it's appreciated!

#khr oc #mild body horror #nascosta #silenziatore #vittorio #tyr #ragno #bianco #smilodonte #gambetto #kira #caladrius #presagio #all the groupings are purposely chosen but shhh secret

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gothmiqote · 3 months ago

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— last six lines

i got tagged twice And i can't count but this is probably more than 6. @emotional-support-carbuncle @amygdalamud come get your juice

“Glad to hear it! This would be incredibly awkward otherwise.” Varha lets out a light laugh at her not-really-a-joke, and only then does he realize what he’s condemned himself to for the next two days. He likes her more than he should. He can’t deny that much; she’s invaded too many of his dreams over the last few months, body warm and arms inviting in each scene. Estinien has already resigned himself to never make mention of this to anyone, of course. He could handle being around her normally without betraying anything of himself. He was distinctly less certain of what he would do were he to wake at their shared campsite in the throes of yet another involuntary fantasy with her name falling from his lips, still heavy with the edge of sleep, groaning desperately while unconsciously seeking relief from his own palm as he’d done several times before. That scene would be considerably more awkward than the two of them happening to have the same destination in mind. Unfortunately, none of his education provided him with any sort of tools to back out of the arrangement once he’d agreed to it. He’d effectively sealed his own fate, and could only quietly pray to Halone (or anyone else who was listening) that his subconscious desires restrain themselves for just the one evening.

@whynotsableye @tellings @ysali + anyone else uwu

#oc tag #varha naiarro #wolstinien #estinien x wol #estinien varlineau #ffxiv #my writing #only mild torture for the man this isnt a secret They do Fully end up fucking in that field. btw.

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dinosaurstirfry · 2 months ago

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*L.I.T.T.L.E LAMB,

*I AM THE SHEPHERD W.H.O IS HERE TO GRANT US ALL FREEDOM

*YET YOU S.T.I.L.L RESIST ME

*...

*YOU HAVE NO SAY IN THE M.A.T.T.E.R

*BUT I M.U.S.T ASK

*...

*INTERESTING C.H.O.I.C.E LAMB

*UNFORTUNATELY I.T DOESN'T MATTER

*It never has

(Hyasinth canonically has killed a lot of people, 248 to be exact)

#deltarune #deltarune secret boss #deltarune fan character #deltarune oc #deltarune original character #deltarune hyasinth #tw trypophobia #tw mild gore #tw mutilation

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uwuwha · 2 months ago

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Every universe trend of my Dandy World oc's Larmy and Flounder! They are so doomed to me man I love them so much :D

Text reads: Blue text: ... Would we be friends in every universe? Red text: Of course! Why wouldn't we be? Blue text: ... I'm glad to have met you Larmy. Red text: I'm happy I know you too Flounder!

#Neither doomed yaoi or doomed yuri secret third thing DOOMED BEST FRIENDSS🙏🙏🙏!! There is no good ending for them. Not here at least rip #If you want to know more about them and their story I will love you forever and my inbox is always open‼️‼️#cw mild flashing #<- not 100% sure but just to be safe. Feel free to ask me to add or remove tags!#art #oc larmy #oc flounder #dandys world #dandys world oc #I do not support blushcrunch studio or their creators‼️#I have. So many drawings I want to work on

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arachine · 1 year ago

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yes, i'm ready (to fall in love)

── ˚₊✩‧₊ genre: smut, fluff, mild angst

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis: after reader is persuaded into putting herself back out there by long time friend, shoko, she successfully ends up scoring a date. unbeknownst to her, though, the gods have different plans—and one of them seems especially interested in her relationship with ex-husband, gojo satoru.

or in other words: a failed date results in a night of passion amongst former lovers.

── ˚₊✩‧₊ contents: 13.5k words, ex-husband!gojo + co-parent!gojo, slight dub-con (alcohol use), dumbification, overstimulation, vaginal penetration, unconventional form of contraception (pull-out method - don’t do this), pussy eating + one oc for the sake of plot

── ˚₊✩‧₊ note: i know this is really long and most people don’t have the attention span for it but PLEASE give it a chance! this is literally the longest piece of fiction i’ve ever written and i’m really proud of it :(

songs to listen to for best reading experience: donny hathaway - i love you more than you’ll ever know barbara mason - i’m ready partynextdoor - showing you bryson tiller - been that way

After you divorced your ex-husband, and decided to devote all of your time to being a mother, you never really considered getting back into the dating world. Not that you didn’t eventually want to settle down with someone new, but the dating world now was just so–different.

Different in the sense that meeting people organically was becoming increasingly difficult. It wasn’t like how it used to be in high school or college, and it really didn’t take that much effort then to get a man’s number by the end of your outing.

When you were in your early twenties, a brush of your hand on a man’s arm would’ve worked. An ‘accidental’ bump into someone at a grocery store or cafe might’ve ended in a quick lay. Using these tactics today, though, might earn you some weird looks–have–earned you some weird looks.

You’re on call with a friend from college when you begin recounting something embarrassing that happened to you recently. At first, the conversation started out about all of the professors you would’ve slept with (if given the chance), but then, one thing led to another, and she asked you something that made you wince:

“‘How’s your dating life been since, you know, Satoru?’”

There’s a heavy silence from your end, and she almost thinks you hung up.

“I mean, if you want to share,” she splurts, attempting to approach this gently, “I know that after the divorce, I wasn’t there for you like you needed, but I’d like to make up for that–if you’d let me.”

Shoko’s always been like that. Blunt and charismatic, but gentle and zephyr-light in the way she cares for those closest to her. It’s a trait of hers that you admire, because not so many people would care to treat your heart with such fragility.

“No, it’s okay. You can ask, you know, it’s not this secret thing,” you start, sighing before continuing, “it happened, and it was a mutual decision.”

Shoko hums on the other side, “Well, I’m still sorry. I let us go without talking for far too long…”

“Well, I accept your apology, even if it’s unwarranted. Like I said, it was mutual and…there wasn’t really an intense grieving period for me? The only thing that hurt me is that you distanced yourself. I mean, the girls did miss their aunt Shoko…” you say, trying to make her feel bad but not too bad.

“I know, I know, I’m a bad aunt,” she jests, then the tone shifts to something serious. “I think I was just scared because both of you were my best-friends. I didn’t want to ‘pick sides’, but I see now that it was a mutual decision, so I’m assuming you two are on good-terms?”

Again, you pause, “I mean, yeah. Satoru will always be my best friend. We may not be together romantically but he’s such an integral part of my life, I couldn’t do this–all of this–alone.” After you say it, you feel a weight being lifted off of your chest that you didn’t know was even there.

You think nobody would understand if you told them this. You think they’d question how a person could divorce someone who’s supposed to be their best-friend. And with the way you describe it, they’d probably think you were still in love with him. But Shoko’s different, she gets it. Which is why saying it to her came so easily.

“He is a great father,” she chimes in, “but you two rushed into it so quickly, I don’t think either of you had time to discover yourselves after college.”

Although she can’t see it, you smile. Because she gets it. Even if time did place itself in between the two of you, she was there for most of it, when things were still touch-and-go. When things were fresh, and clumsy.

“Exactly, that was our biggest gripe,” you admit, “We didn’t afford ourselves that time to grow, and I think that hindered our relationship. We weren’t husband and wife first, we were parents–and we were young, way too young.”

“You made it, though,” Shoko tries to brighten the mood, “you’re both amazing parents, and I know those beautiful girls that you created are lucky to have you.”

The intimacy of the conversation sends your emotions into overdrive. You quickly realize how much you missed her, how much you yearned to talk to her. To reconnect on this level.

A single tear cascades down your cheek, and you try not to sound like you’re crying when you say, “Ok, enough about that. You wanted to know about my shitty dating life, right?”

It happened last week, the grocery store incident. You were out picking up a few things for dinner when you spotted a cute guy standing outside of the aisle a few rows from you. He was fit beyond measure, in looks and strength, and was wandering around aimlessly in pursuit of red pepper flakes.

Coincidentally, you just happened to be in the seasoning aisle, and like the good samaritan you were, decided to personally hand-deliver it to him.

You wince as you vividly recall the embarrassing ordeal that ensued immediately after.

“Hey,” you peer from behind the aisle, with a bottle of red pepper flakes in tow. “I heard you mumbling about finding this, and you looked pretty lost, so I thought I’d pick ‘em out for you.”

The man’s brows furrow briefly before his lips up-turn into a grateful smile, “Oh, cool, thank you so much!” As quickly as the conversation started, it ends even quicker. He gives you a final nod of endearment before he’s turning around on his heels to resume his shopping.

“God, could he be any more dense? The men today really make you work for it, huh?” you mumble to yourself, pulling the bosom of your blouse down until a good amount of cleavage is on display. “Okay, alright. You got this, you got this. This always used to work, right? Yeah, men love boobs.”

Walking up to the man again, you try a different approach–a bolder approach. “Not to be a bother but I was wondering if I could-”

“Babe? Oh, there you are,” a new voice interjects. The owner of the voice emerges from around the corner and walks up to the man with a cart and a baby in tow. You’re stunned, to say the least. All you can do is stand there and blink in complete and utter dumbfoundment. As you remain in their presence, you take a moment to analyze the woman. She’s gorgeous, and toned. A real model-type broad, with feline-ish features that make so much sense paired with the man who appears to be her partner.

Oh, you think, and apparently say aloud, too. That’s when the woman turns to you, finally acknowledging your much smaller, and much quieter presence.

“Hi, can we help you?” she smiles, and it’s actually genuine. Toothy and perfect, and totally not jealous. You blink once, twice, before gathering your wits to answer her question.

“Yeah, uh, no. I actually, uhm, was helping your h-husband. He was looking for red pepper flakes,” you mutter embarrassedly, and point to the bottle in his hand. Upon further observation, you notice that she isn’t exactly wearing a ring. You find this odd, especially because his not wearing a ring is what encouraged you to pursue him. Carefully, you prod.

“If I may ask, how come neither of you are wearing rings?” The couple gives each other a look, one that makes you feel like the odd man out. A look that is universally known, and without a doubt, could easily be translated to: ‘did this chick really just ask that?’

Still, you smile as you wait for an answer. The woman takes the initiative. “Yeah, we don’t really believe in rings, isn’t that right, babe?” she says so matter-of-factly. You blink again for what seems like the thousandth time, because of all things, you did not expect that to come out of her mouth. Her husband is quick to validate her statement.

“Yeah, we think rings are unnecessary, you know? You don’t need a piece of metal to confirm your feelings,” he says walking to his partner’s side and wrapping an arm around her.

Disgustingly, the two give each other googly eyes before locking lips briefly. You can tell they’re the type to probably share this information with just about any soul who asks. Today, you just happened to be that unfortunate soul.

“Are you married?” she queries, tilting her head against her husband’s chest.

“I was, now we just…co-parent,” you purse your lips, ready for this entire interaction to be over. The woman frowns at your answer, and this time it’s not as genuine.

“Awe, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was actually a mutual decision,” you quip.

“Okay,” she smiles, widening her eyes at her husband to signal a departure, “well, it was nice meeting you, and thank you for the red pepper flakes.”

The family turns away and heads to the front where check-out is. You don’t even buy the items you intended to purchase, just leave your cart in the middle of whatever aisle you abandoned it and leave the store.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t?” Shoko asks in horror. You nod your head, still forgetting she can’t see you and the way you’re sliding down against the wall.

“I did, and I shan't ever again,” a laugh erupts from your throat.

“I mean, fuck, are we getting old? ‘Don’t believe in rings,’” she mumbles, “Don’t believe in rings, my ass! Is this what the youth are doing these days? Not proposing with rings?”

Now that you think about it, you wonder how that would even work. “Yeah, right? I mean, how does that even work? ‘Will you marry me? But, actually, you should know I don’t have a ring for you, so people will have to guess that we’re together purely based on vibes and energy,’” you mock, in a not-so-great man voice.

Shoko’s laughing so hard by the end of your bit that she breaks the sound barrier, and the sound that makes on the phone sends you into your own fit of laughter. You laugh so hard it seems like a stream of pee comes out. Curse your developed incontinence after motherhood.

“God, you’re so stupid, I can’t breathe,” she says exasperatedly, and you know that on the other side she’s probably keeling over in her bed.

“Oh, please. I bet you haven’t laughed this hard in a long time, bitch.”

“I haven’t,” she cackles. This back-and-forth continues until the two of you settle down enough to continue discussing your (pee-inducing) love life.

“You tried any dating apps?”

It’s a simple and valid question, but it only makes you laugh even harder. You only stop when the other side of the line goes quiet. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It’s what everyone’s doing these days! You’re not that old, you know.”

“Shut up,” you kid, “ it’s just that I never considered it. I mean, dating apps feel so impersonal. How serious do people even take it?”

“Sure, there’s people who use it for casual hook-ups and stuff, but a lot of people do come out of it with a relationship. Just don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“Oh?” you muse, curious. You wish Shoko could see your face, and the weird little dance your brows were doing. “Shoko, have you used a dating app before?”

The brunette kisses her teeth. “Can’t get anything past you.”

“Never.”

There’s a sense of hesitance but you encourage her to elaborate because ‘she became estranged from you for almost a decade and needed to pay her dues’. Sighing defeatedly, she eventually acquiesces.

“Fine, fine, maybe I’ve…been on a few dates,” she starts, “–and had a few one night stands, maybe more than a few, and maybe even dated a guy that turned into my stalker–”

“Ieiri Shoko! You naughty, naughty girl! Wait, stalker?”

“To make a long story short, I got a restraining order on that creep. Anyway,” she segues, attempting to change the subject, “We should make you a profile!”

For the rest of your phone call, Shoko guides you through all of the dating app basics. She offers her expert advice as you scroll through your camera roll for potential photos to use. You go through about a hundred before you finally settle on five that she really likes.

The one that she tells you to put first is a photo of you in a bikini. It’s a few years old but she says you look ‘radiant’ and that your ‘tits were practically spilling out of the cups’. Plus, for further consolation, she says most people on dating apps are liars.

“Everyone’s got at least one old photo on their profile, doesn’t make you a catfish,” she quips, “just means you’re a nostalgic person!”

“Right…”

The next one is a selfie. You’re smiling big in it, showing your gums, and it’s genuine. Shoko says guys like those types of photos because it shows them that you’re approachable. It also won her over because it’s fairly recent, too.

Out of all your photos, there’s only a select few that were taken within the year. You had to admit to her that you never really took photos of yourself anymore. Satoru took most of your candids. Still, she had a mission. And she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she stuck around to see your first match.

“After the selfie you should put the one of you with the girls.”

The picture she’s referring to is one Satoru also took. You remember that day fondly, and even now, the memories feel like a warm embrace.

about 8 years ago . . .

“Dad, mom, look! Hurry!” Hana, your oldest, shouts. Satoru and you are sitting on a blanket up on the sand dunes with Haruki, who’s trying her best to make a sand castle–to no avail.

“What is it, hon?” Satoru and you rush over to her, snatching toddler Haruki in the same breath. When you get to the scene, a flood of warmth washes over you upon discovering the ‘threat’.

“See, it’s baby turtles!” Hana’s squatting in the sand, watching with pure and unfettered fascination as the hatchlings crawl north to the ocean. When she looks up at you, with eyes so bright, and a smile so big that’s missing two of her front teeth, you want to cry.

“Oh, hon, that’s beautiful,” you gasp, lowering to your haunches so that you can join her. Satoru is about to follow suit before deciding at the last minute to go back to the blanket. When he returns, he snaps a picture unbeknownst to you. Eventually, though, you turn your gaze to him and he captures–what he used to think then–the ‘prettiest’ photo of you.

“You sneaking photos of me?” you squint, pointing at him. He trods closer until he’s standing above you. Then he snaps another. Your head’s tilted up, and you’ve got one eye open, and the other closed because of the sun. He always liked when you squinted like that because it made your nose do this cute little scrunch.

“Yup, ‘cause you’re my muse.”

You’re pulled out of your daydream when Shoko says your name on the other line.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Just what?” she queries, waiting for a response.

“I wanna use it, but my ex-husband took it. It feels weird, you know? And do I want to use a photo of me with the girls?”

“Hon, who cares if Satoru took the photo? It’s still a good photo, and to answer your second question, why wouldn’t you include a picture with your girls?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid no one will be interested. Nothing about a picture of a mom with her two daughters exactly screams ‘fuck me’.”

Shoko lets out a small chuckle but you’re being serious. “Oh, sweetie. You’re so cute. Milfs are in these days, I don’t think I’m the one getting old, I think it’s just you!”

“Ha-ha, laugh at the mom,” you feign annoyance, but give her a laugh in return.

“But seriously, please use that photo. Nobody’s going to skip you just because you’re a mom. A lot of men on there have kids of their own, just gotta tweak your settings,” Shoko reassures you.

By the end of your call, the profile is set. You thank your old friend for the previous heart-to-heart conversation, and the time she spent helping you set up your profile.

“Keep me updated, and don’t talk about mom stuff, okay? Now, I’m not saying you can’t talk about them,” she begins, “but show these guys your personality! I know she’s in the closet somewhere hiding next to our old slutty clubbing clothes.”

Then, the both of you say your goodbyes and she wishes you a good-luck on your newly established dating journey. As you lay in your bed, you give your profile a final onceover. Not too bad, you think to yourself.

You ended up using all of the photos she had originally picked out for you. Even the beach photo. To compensate for your old photos, though, Shoko made sure that your prompts were witty and full of personality.

“I’d match me, I think. No, yeah, these are funny. She did a good job.”

The following day, you open your phone to fifty notifications from the dating app. A tingle of excitement shoots through your body from the tip of your toes, to the top of your head. It takes all of your might not to squeal in the office.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper at your desk. The amount of notifications that you initially saw on your homescreen read ‘50’ but when you opened the app, it showed you an overwhelming ‘100’ with a fat plus sign next to it. “Wait, are these all the people who liked me? Shoko’s gonna flip.”

Getting up from your chair, you make a beeline to the nearest bathroom. Not that you have to use it, but so you can scroll through all the potential prospects without your boss seeing you on your phone.

Pulling open the door to the bathroom, you close it shut behind you and lock it. A few minutes pass in the time you’re able to get through about half of the people who liked you. You end up skipping a lot of them. They’re either too young, too self-absorbed, creepy, or just downright not your type.

Some stick out, though. Even trick you into thinking they’re potential matches, but then the other shoe drops–because there’s always another shoe. You’ll scroll through their profiles, and they’ll seemingly have all the perfect traits: intelligent, witty, handsome, tall–and then, boom. You see their ‘don’t want kids’ preference. Every failed match only discourages you more and more.

It’s weird, because your profile preferences are set to ‘have kids’ and you even have a photo pictured with your girls. So why are men liking your profile despite that? After a few more scrolls, you’re just about ready to head back to your desk but then–you have a hit.

Your finger hovers over the ‘x’ at the bottom of the screen, then retracts. The guy’s profile at first impression is miles better than the rest, it’s almost too good to be true. His first photo is what piqued your interest. It’s of him posing for a silly photo with his sons, and he’s got his arms draped around their shoulders.

As you scroll down his profile, you see that there’s even more of him with his children. You take this as a green flag. He wants people to know he has kids, and that he isn’t embarrassed to show them off. You admire him for it.

The last few remaining photos are an amalgamation of selfies and full-body photos. To the average, well-adjusted adult, looks wouldn’t be a deal breaker. But he definitely wasn’t too bad on the eyes, and you were not complaining about that–especially, after the odd men you had to scroll through to get here. In other words, he was gorgeous and still fit despite being older than you (him, respectively being in his early forties).

Checking the time on your phone, you realize that you’re pushing your little ‘bathroom break’. Before heading back to your desk, you decide to respond to his first photo.

You: Cute! Could never get my girls to stand so still for a photo like this now haha :)

Work goes by slower than you’d like, but finishes up just in time when you get a notification from the dating app. You’re a little more excited than you’d care to admit. Tidying up your workspace, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues and head to the elevator. Absent-mindedly, you rush to answer his message but realize it won’t go through because of the elevator’s poor service.

Kazuki: Oh, they’re moody and grown now, don’t be fooled. I can't remember the last time I saw my youngest smile.

You don’t answer his reply until you get home. Actually, you do just about everything but answer his reply: check on the girls, shower, prepare dinner, pour a glass of wine–you’re nervous, and you don’t know why. But you know you should probably answer soon before he becomes disinterested. So you get comfortable in bed with your glass of wine and pull open his chat.

You: Lol, know that all too well. Kids are little assholes, aren’t they?

The speed in which he reads your text is startling, you don’t even have enough time to close out of the chat. Then, he responds.

Kazuki: Hell yeah they are!

Kazuki: Sometimes I want to strangle my youngest. He’s at that age where he’s starting to rebel and question everything. I told him he was supposed to be the ‘easy’ one, but his knucklehead brothers are bad influences on him…Tell me, does it ever get easier?

You: Sounds a lot like my oldest. She used to cling to me like a koala but now she’s the ring leader, and I’m the enemy. My youngest still loves her mama, though (for now lol).

You: And to answer your question, I’d like to think so?

You take a second before continuing your response. Shoko told you to keep the mom talk limited, but this seems to be working for you so far, and he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. So for once, you’re going to ignore her advice.

You: Kids go through phases. It's our job to reassure them that we’re not going anywhere. No matter how much they push us away or try to, that is :)

Kazuki’s chat bubbles pop up, then disappear. You think he’s deciding on what to say.

Kazuki: I can tell we’re gonna get along great. It’s nice opening up like this, you know? Talking to another parent. If I'm being honest, dating apps have always intimidated me…

Kazuki: People see kids as ‘baggage’, and it really bothers me. My kids aren’t baggage. They’re the best parts of me. And if someone doesn’t see that, then we have no business getting to know each other.

Kazuki: Sorry for getting all sappy. Just felt like I needed to say it.

His apology makes you frown. It feels like a breath of fresh air to hear someone talk about their kids so lovingly, because you feel the exact same way. You’re glad you downloaded the app, and you make a mental note to thank Shoko again later (after you debrief her about this).

You: Never apologize for speaking about your kids! And if we’re being absolutely transparent, that was my biggest gripe with downloading this app, too.

You: I’m so glad we matched each other. I’d like to get to know you more. And I’m hoping the feeling’s mutual?

Kazuki: It’s more than mutual.

Kazuki: Don’t want to get ahead of myself but how do you feel about dinner? There’s a cool high-scale restaurant in the city that I haven’t been to yet. Heard it’s got two Michelin stars despite opening up not too long ago.

The prospect of going on a sit-down dinner date has your stomach in knots. It’s been a hot minute since the last time you’ve done so, but you’re eager to know the man behind the screen on a more personal level. Plus, being treated to a high-scale restaurant with two Michelin stars doesn’t seem too bad either. You’re never one to turn down free dinner.

You: I’d love to, but how soon we talkin’? Gotta see if it’ll align with my schedule.

Kazuki: How’s this Friday at 8 sound? :)

The days leading up to Friday breeze by in a blur. For the majority of the week, it feels like you’re walking on cloud nine. Eventually, the conversation transitions from the dating app to exchanging phone numbers, and since then, the two of you have been texting back-and-forth everyday.

You talk about mundane things. Work, shows, movies, books you’ve recently read, what your kids are up to–but the other things? The other messages are flirty, and sexy, and filled with so much tension that it could cut a rope in half.

In between messages, the two of you have also exchanged a few photos. Nothing risqué or anything of that nature, just random photos of you throughout the day. The last one he sent was a few hours ago of him at work, captioned with: ‘Could this meeting be any longer?’.

You reply to the message with the ‘ha ha’ reaction, in consideration of not wanting to get him in trouble at work (even if he was the one who initiated the conversation). As the days go by, though, you make it a habit to update Shoko every step of the way.

Her first reaction to hearing about him was enthusiastic. That is, until you showed her screenshots from his profile. You vaguely remember her saying something that was meant as a compliment, but came out more like an insult.

“‘Oh, he’s a dad!” was her initial response, “oh, he’s a dad…and he really loves his kids. You’re meant for each other.’”

When you tried to ask her what she meant by that, she changed the subject. Every update since then has earned slightly more positive reactions, though.

Today, you ask her for more advice. Only this time, you’re on video call.

“Shokoooo,” you drawl, “our date is tomorrow! You have to help me find something to wear.” The panic in your voice is so palpable, she can almost feel your shaky hands through the screen. Flipping the camera, you hurriedly pan your phone around the closet.

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she demonstrates first, before telling you to repeat the same motions. “Take me to that section over there–no, not that one–wait, yep, there.” You amble over to the area she’s directing you to through the phone.

“What’s that black little number right there?” She points. You prop the phone up on a shelf and scour through the section, tugging out a dress you haven’t seen in ages (which has you questioning how she even spotted it because it was pretty far back into the closet). Walking back into frame, you hold the fabric up to your body.

Shoko nods in approval, “That’s the one, babe. Try it on!”

It’d been about a decade since the last time you wore this dress. It’d also been about a decade since you were ever this small. Looking in the mirror, you run your hands over every surface inch, every crevice of the dress, in a newfound sense of appreciation for the adult weight you’ve gained since becoming a mother.

The dress was always stunning but it hugged everything perfectly even more so now. When you walk back into frame, your friend gives you a look of pure adoration. She’s so enthralled that she snaps a few screenshots for keepsaking.

“Thank god it’s Satoru’s turn to get the kids tonight,” she says, “‘cause you’re definitely getting some tonight.”

You roll your eyes, reminding her she’s on speaker phone. “Oh, please. It’s just dinner!”

“Not in that dress,” she retorts, wagging her finger in the camera. While the two of you continue to chat about the details of tonight, a knock on your bedroom door draws your attention.

“Mom, can I come in?” the voice sounds. It’s Haruki.

“Come in, hon!”

After you give the ok, you turn to Shoko and mouth to her to behave. Haruki turns the knob and enters, closing the door behind her. She sees you standing in front of the mirror before you see her, and silently utters a ‘wow’. You’re just about done putting your earrings in when you join her in the other room.

“What do you think, bun? Does your mom look hot?” you spin around, smoothing your hands down the length of the dress. You wait in anticipation for her approval, because if anyone could tell it like it is, it was always going to be a kid. Your Haruki was no exception.

“You look really pretty, Mom. I’m glad you’re going out tonight, I mean, you don’t really have friends so I think this will be good for you,” she elaborates, though you wish she would’ve stopped at the compliment.

Still, it puts a smile on your face to hear her verbalize that she’s okay with you doing something for yourself. You never quite discussed the prospect of getting back out there with your kids–and not even intentionally. It just never felt like the right time.

“You could’ve stopped at the compliment, punk!” you grab her, then wrap her in your arms, “but thank you. Love you, bun.”

“Love you more, mama.” Neither of you make the effort to pull away. Instead, you both stand there. Hugging, breathing, embracing each other’s warmth. You don’t always get hugs this good, so when you do, you savor it. Drag it out until your arms and legs get all tingly.

Or until someone interrupts. Another knock on the door. This time it’s Hana.

“Ew, what’s going on?” Hana feigns a look of disgust. You know she’s just jealous; she’ll never admit it, though. Which is why sometimes you have to force her to participate.

“Get over here,” you scrunch your nose, forcefully pulling her into your tight embrace. She tries to protest but eventually accepts defeat. You squeeze them both until they whine that they can’t breathe anymore. Then you squeeze them some more because this one’s for you.

“My special girls,” you breathe in, taking in all of their love. Soaking it all up so that tonight you have the courage to try again. To allow yourself a love of your own. When you let go, there’s a sniffle from the closet. It totally dawned on you that Shoko was still on the phone.

“They’re so big now, they don’t even know their auntie,” she fakes a sob, blowing her nose into a tissue.

“Mom, who’s on the phone?” Haruki queries with a confused expression etched onto her face. It suddenly dawns on you again that although you’ve been communicating with Shoko again, you haven’t exactly told them.

“Hey, you came in here to tell me something right, Han?” Your attempt to change the subject is poorly done, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you considering deflection has never quite been an ability you excelled at. Nonetheless, the look of suspicion they give you after is fleeting before they explain to you in unison that their father is here.

“Your father’s been waiting down there this whole time and nobody cared to tell me?” you whisper-yell, left eye twitching to emphasize your ill-preparedness. The girls only shrug their shoulders in response, like this was something you were just supposed to know.

“Well, you did force us into a hug and make us do all that Kumbaya stuff,” Hana mumbles under her breath.

“Okay, enough about all that. Are you guys all packed? Where are your bags? I don’t want your dad seeing–”

“You don’t want dad to see your date, right?” Hana raises a brow, all knowing. Sometimes she was a little too smart for her own good. You want to blame that on the private schools Satoru had them enrolled in, but really you just know she’s just a menace in her own right. She learned that from him.

“I agree with the kid,” a voice chimes in. You rush to the closet and grab your phone from the shelf. There’s a huge, shit-eating grin on Shoko’s face. Somehow she’s responsible for this. You don’t know how yet, nor do you have proof, but you know it.

“Okay, thank you, love you, bye!” Before you can hang up, Shoko blurts something.

“Tell him I said hi,” she begins, “–andnottogetahardonwhenheseesyou!”

You hang up the call and roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself because of her idiocy. When you enter the corridor, you hear a faint sound of hushed voices from downstairs. It’s only when you round the bannister at the top, when those voices become discernible and louder.

You stop at the top, and when your eyes meet his, it feels like all the air in your lungs have expelled. Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of what you’re wearing, and the fabric, and the way it clings to your body. Neither he, nor you, look away–you should, you want to, but you don’t.

And in the time the two of you gaze upon the other, time stops for a modicum of a second. In this second, you and him are the last two souls in the world. At least, that’s how it feels anyway before he breaks eye contact.

You shift your gaze shortly after, and put on a trained smile. Those eyes of his were always so intense. You guess you forgot over the years how easy it was to lose yourself in the crystalline pools of them. Gathering your wits, you resume your movements and saunter down the imperial staircase.

“Hey, didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Sort of lost track of time, but I think the girls are all packed,” you say, your voice coming to a decrescendo upon noticing the way his eyes trail over your frame. They’re unreadable, though. Indifferent, and honestly, you’re not sure how to feel. So, you begin fidgeting uncomfortably with the rings around your finger.

Then, he smiles. It’s eerie and fake. “Not a problem, I haven’t been here too long. But, uh,” he begins ambling around the place, touching random objects around the living room, “Didn’t know you had plans. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with your colleagues?”

You furrow your brows, confused with his sudden interests in your plans. It wasn’t really like him to prod. “No, actually,” you rock back-and-forth on the balls of your heels, “i’m…i’m going on a date,” you finish with a pursed smile. He only nods his head in response, still walking around the place touching stuff, messing with the picture frames on the mantle. They’re all crooked now.

“How come this is the only picture you have up of me,” he asks suddenly. You know, that he knows, the answer to that. And he knows, that you know, you’ll indulge in his games anyway.

“The girls wanted them in their rooms. Why do you ask? You want me to go grab them and put ‘em all up around the house?” Again, he doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a final once over before heading back to the foyer to ask if the girls are all set to go.

“Yeah, but I can’t find my tablet, dad. Can I go look for it?” Haruki speaks up. “I thought I packed it.”

Satoru looks at the time on his watch, pinches the crease in between his brows. “Sure, kiddo. Can we make it quick, please?” He throws his hand in the air for emphasis, then points to his watch. Haruki nods, then runs up the stairs.

“Actually, you go on up too and help your sister. You guys are holding up dad,” you turn to Hana and gesture for her to head up with your head. She rolls her eyes, yelling up the stairs for her younger sister to ‘freaking hurry up’.

You and Satoru both turn to each other with wide eyes, laughing at the nerve of those children.

“They get that attitude from you, you know,” you point to him, driving your index finger into his bicep.

“You sure? Their mom’s got a pretty bad mouth on her, too. Or, have you forgotten?” He teases, bending his knees slightly to level his eyes with yours, intruding into your space. The smirk he dons is cheeky, too friendly–too inviting. You want to smack it off of him.

“Oh, shut u–” the sound of your phone chiming interrupts your banter. It’s a message from Kazuki, and you open it while Satoru stands over you. Probably close enough to read the message on his own if he wanted.

Kazuki: Hey, I hate to do this but I don’t think I can go through with tonight.

When you read the message, your heart drops into your stomach. There goes the other shoe, you think, fully embracing your pessimism. Who were you kidding, really? To think that tonight you’d go out and have a good time. Do something for yourself. It was stupidity.

Chat bubbles pop up on the screen. He has more to say.

He has more to say, and you’re fighting the urge to cry–to not shake out of sheer frustration while you’re still standing in front of Satoru. Because nothing would be worse than him seeing you can’t even land a date.

Kazuki: I recently just went through a divorce, and I know that I should have informed you about this before continuing our conversations…Especially since you’ve been so transparent with me about your own divorce and strife.

Kazuki: But if I’m being completely honest, I was scared. I genuinely wanted to see this through, at first. I wanted to forget about my ex-wife for just one night. But I realized I’ve been asking the impossible of myself…I’m still in love with her, and it’s because I’m in love with her that I won’t allow myself to lead you on any further.

Kazuki: I think we would’ve had a good time tonight. It's unfortunate we had to meet under such circumstances because you’re a really lovely woman, and I’m sorry an asshole is standing you up right now.

Kazuki: Take care. I know there’s a guy out there just waiting for his shot.

Satoru takes notice of the way your face drops as you read over the messages. Part of him wants to overstep his boundaries and take a peek at the screen. But he doesn’t. He gives you your space and takes a seat on the couch, waits for you to say something first.

In the meantime, he studies your face. Watches intently as your eyes become glossy the more you scan the messages, watches as your bottom lip catches between your teeth to hold back from crying. He thinks he knows what just happened.

Taking a deep breath, you lock your phone and put on another trained smile, “Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.” Satoru dislikes when you do that. When you put on a fake smile and overcompensate to make others around you feel better, even when it’s so very obvious you aren’t. He wishes that sometimes you would just be selfish–act out.

And then you continue the façade. It makes his skin itch.

“I was too tired anyway, guess I can just catch up o–”

“Will you stop,” he spits, rising from his seat on the couch to stand. It comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t regret it. You look at him like he’s got two heads as he walks over to the mantle and leans against it. His back is turned towards you, and the palms of his hands hold the crest of it. He uses it as leverage to rock on the heels of his feet. You can tell there’s something he wants to say because of the way his jaw ticks.

Satoru is never one to bite his tongue, so you’re not exactly sure why he’s choosing to be so restrained. If he wasn’t going to spit it out, you were going to poke. “What’s your problem?”

He chuckles at this, rubs his chin then pushes off the mantle to stand in front of you, gets all in your space again. The movement almost sends you back but you hold your ground, tilt your chin up at him and repeat the question. Slowly, this time with more venom.

“My problem? What’s your problem?” He breathes through his nose, his eyes flickering back-and-forth between your own. “Why do you always pretend like you’re not lonely? It’s okay if you were looking forward to having fun tonight. It’s okay to be upset and be mad at the asshole who stood you up!”

With every verbal prod at you, the gap between you decreases. His feet inch closer and closer to your own and force you to retreat farther until your back hits the wall. The coldness of it causes your breath to hitch, and you try to stay calm as Satoru encroaches more into your personal space. Being on the receiving end of his passion was always suffocating, you feel exposed under the intensity of his gaze–even more so as he continues to tear into you.

“Why do you even care?!” you cut him off, eyes wide and veins pumping full of adrenaline. “It’s not your place to be so invested in my life anymore! We’re not together, you don’t have to get so hot and bothered about things going shitty for me. I’m a big girl, and I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.”

By the time you finish, you’re a heaving, shaking mess. He takes this as a sign to withdraw from your space, and goes to sit back down on the couch. When you finally settle your nerves, you join him, leaving a foot of space in between you. There’s an awkward silence, one that wouldn’t have even happened if he just respected your boundaries in the first place. Now he feels like the asshole instead of the actual asshole who dumped you. Taking a hesitant breath, he decides to speak up.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t…It wasn’t my intention to come off so strong like that,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t always have to pretend to be fine. It’s not fair, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.” His eyes wander over to you reluctantly, like he’s scared that if he looks too long you’ll disengage from the conversation.

“It’s okay,” your voice is small, just above a whisper. You want to face him, but you know that if you do, you'll break into a million pieces. So you keep your gaze downward, busy yourself with the stray pieces of thread on the bottom of your dress. “You’re right, you know. I think I just…I think I just tell myself to expect disappointment so that when something bad happens, I’ll know it’s not because I got my hopes up.”

Satoru turns to you, and you can see him frown through your peripheral. Still, you don’t face him because you’re not done talking. But you thank him silently for listening without interrupting.

“Even though you’re right, I don’t appreciate the way you came on so strongly. We’re not married anymore, we’re not a couple–we’re co-parents. So if there’s something I want you to know about that’s outside of the scope of our kids, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, leave it alone.”

Satoru’s face softens. For once you’re being selfish, putting your foot down. This is the side of you he likes. “Okay. I respect that,” he says, “But can I ask you something?” The smile on his face is mirthful, like he’s got something else up his sleeves this evening. Skeptical, you finally face him with a raised brow.

“What?”

“Let me take you to dinner.”

You laugh in his face, even go as far as smacking his arm because you want him to know you found the joke really funny. He doesn’t budge, and that’s when you realize he’s being serious.

“Wait, what?”

“Let’s go to dinner,” he stands up, crossing his arms across his chest. You tilt your head in disbelief. You’re just waiting for someone to tell you you’re on that old reality show punk’d.

“Funny, I just poured my heart out to you and now you’re making fun of me,” you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance.

“I’m being serious,” he reassures, “you’re already dressed up. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” His eyes are twinkling with hope, and once again, you find yourself falling victim to their persuasiveness.

Being under Gojo Satoru’s gaze was suffocating.

Giving in, you ask, “So what are you gonna do? Drive all the way home to get dressed?”

The question is genuine, but the bastard just grins. “I’m a little hurt,” he throws a hand over his heart, “don’t you know me by now? I’m a businessman. I keep pressed blazers and slacks on me at all times.”

He swings his keys around his index finger, hoping that the promise of a spare change of clothes being in his car is enough to convince you to say yes.

“I don’t know…” you trail.

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Somehow he was able to persuade you into going out. After he changed into his spare clothes, you ended up telling your girls that there was gonna be a change of plans, and that they’d go home with their dad tomorrow.

Of course, before leaving, you made sure to leave some money on the table for pizza, and you also made sure to drill into their heads not to open the door for anyone except the delivery guy. You knew they knew the drill already, but it didn’t feel right to leave without saying it anyway.

“Be good, listen to your sister, she’s in charge,” you pinch Haruki’s cheek. Hana smirks, nodding her head in agreement with you.

“I will mom, I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“And you,” your finger wags at Hana, her smirk drops. “Don’t provoke your sister, be nice. Act like you love each other, please.”

“Fine, whatever. I guess,” she grabs the knob to the door, ready to kick the both of you out already. “So does this mean the two of you are back together, or?”

Satoru and you turn to each other before answering in unison, “No.”

“Okay, cool. Well, have fun,” she practically closes the door on the two of you, locking it after. Satoru is just as dumbfounded as you are, but then you break into a fit of laughter.

“Those kids, man.”

“Your kids!” you correct, pushing him playfully as the both of you walk down the pebbled pathway. He finds his equilibrium in time to unlock the car and open your side of the door. You pause before ducking inside.

“Oh, how gentlemanly of you,” you jest, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“How could it be when I’m alive?” He says matter-of-factly, closing your side of the door. He taps the top of the car before sliding across the hood to the other side. Nice to see some things never changed.

When he gets inside and turns on the car, he puts his hand on the back of your seat to back out. The proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to physically refrain from letting your eyes linger on his jaw, and his arms, and the face he makes when he’s trying to concentrate.

You try to dispel these less-than-friendly thoughts by looking somewhere, anywhere else but him. But you can’t, and it’s irritating.

This is the second time tonight you’ve been this close, and it’s only this time that you realize something about him is…different. Earlier, he didn’t really smell like anything, but you quickly notice his smell has changed.

There’s a sort of piney scent coming from him. It’s not strong or obnoxious enough to blind your nostrils, but it’s enough for you to just barely pick up on it. You almost think it was premeditated, that he took the liberty of spritzing some on before walking you to the car. Before you separated, he’d made it a habit to wear variations of woody scents for you. If you can recall correctly, a passing comment you made about the cologne he was wearing that day is what sparked the habit.

Surely, this couldn’t be coincidental?

“You smell nice,” you blurt, filling in the silence.

Satoru glances at you, “Thank you.” You hate that from the corner of your eye, you can see his stupid little smirk growing bigger by the minute. He already had a big ego, it didn’t need to be stroked any more.

“Don’t let it go to your head, though. You usually smell pretty rank.”

“Ohhh, is that so? Guess I gotta start wearing this more often then, huh?”

“Sure, do what you want,” you say, trying to remain indifferent even though you’re failing terribly to hide your smile. When the car approaches a red light, you finally decide to ask the big question. “So where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see,” he glances over, “Just know I’m good friends with the owner, so last minute reservations weren't a problem.”

The rest of the car ride is silent, save for the low hum of the music playing on the radio. When you arrive at the location, Satoru makes sure to walk all the way around to your side of the door again and open it. Immediately after, the two of you are greeted by a young male. He’s wearing a white button down, black slacks, and a black vest with a red tie. Judging by his appearance, you assume he’s a valet driver.

Satoru drops his keys in the driver’s hands, and escorts you towards the entrance. The boy bows and goes to park the car. Looking around, you start to wonder where exactly this place is supposed to be. The area is dark and secluded, and from where you stand outside, it doesn’t sound like there’s supposed to be a restaurant here. You don’t hear any voices, you don’t even see any security or other passerbyers.

Still, you follow behind him like a duckling, only coming to a halt when he leads you to a door taller than the both of you. He gestures for you to back up, then raises his knuckles to blow a strong, single knock. You’re taken by surprise when a set of angry eyes appear behind a slot in the door.

The pair of eyes first scan over you, then Satoru. A gruff voice is second to accompany them, “Where can I get a good drink?”

“I heard the bar down the street is nice,” Satoru answers. The hatch to the door closes, then swings open the door, and the man behind it moves aside to welcome you in.

“Follow me, please.” Once he closes the door, he begins guiding you down the dimly lit hallway. After making what seems like your hundredth turn, you eventually reach a staircase. The man gestures for you to go on ahead, and you think this is him implying where the three of you will depart.

“Thank you,” you say softly, disappearing down the stairs. Satoru isn’t too far behind, keeping a pace between you. As you near the end of the long, narrow hallway, a stream of white light brightens up your whole path. It leads you down to another door like a beacon of light, and when you reach it, you can hear voices, live music, and dishes clanking on the other side. It’s bustling with life. A huge, joyous smile plasters across your face. It’s almost child-like in appearance, like you haven’t seen something this cool in a long time.

Satoru stands beside you and winks. “What d’ya think? Any idea yet where we are?”

“I think this is fucking cool, and hm,” you take a second to mull it over, “are we at a speakeasy?”

“Smart girl. Now come on.” Stepping back, you allow him to pull open the door, and when he does, there isn’t a word to describe the atmosphere of the place you step into. All you can do is stand there in astonishment. Before long, a man walks up to you.

“Welcome, what is the name you reserved under?”

“Gojo.”

Nodding, the host instructs you to follow after him. He leads you to a private seating area, somewhere far in the back that’s secluded from the other patrons. The space is much bigger, and much more extravagant. You know you’re only sitting way back here because Satoru is who he is. And in all the years you’ve known him, his connections were just another party trick in his arsenal.

The hostess seats you, then Satoru, and tells you that a waiter will be with you shortly.

“This is nice, really nice, but is it–”

“Legal?” he finishes your sentence, “don’t worry. It’s a modern speakeasy-style restaurant. There’s nothing illegal going on here, promise.”

While you wait for your designated waiter, your focus shifts from the man in front of you to the man singing on the stage. Up until now, his voice was white noise in the background, but then he started singing a tune scarily reminiscent of your past–and your breath catches in your throat.

If I ever leave you, baby

You can say I told you so

And if I ever hurt you

You know, I hurt myself…

Turning your gaze back to Satoru, you squint your eyes mirthfully in disbelief. You wonder if this is just a funny coincidence, if this is the universe playing her tricks, but you know deep down, that coincidences and Gojo Satoru don’t belong in the same sentence.

You open your mouth to speak, but quickly close it when you see the waiter approaching from the corner of your eye. He greets the both of you with a polite smile, then sets down two glasses of water.

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter for the night,” he says, placing a menu in front of you, “Can I get you fine folks started off with a bottle of wine?”

Satoru nods, tells him to bring the best bottle of red they have and then gestures for him to come closer so that he can whisper something in his ear. All the while, you sit back in your seat observing, clicking your nails on the table until the server pulls back and bows.

When he departs, you immediately lean in over the table, and ask, “Just how much time did you have to plan all of this?”

Satoru feigns aloofness, taking a sip of his water, “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, gesturing at the stage with your eyes. Then, as if suddenly coming to a realization, he goes, “Oh, that? Yeah, I had nothing to do with that. But isn’t it funny they’re playing our old song?”

Now he’s smirking, with his elbow leaning back on the chair, and a gaze so piercing, you’re certain you’ll crumble into nothing unless you look away. So you do, avert your gaze back to the stage and sway calmly.

Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think I want my loved one gone

Said I love you

More than you’ll ever know

“So funny,” you counter.

Eventually, the server comes back with a bottle. “1982 Chateau Latife Rothschild,” he holds it out to present, “Is this alright?”

Despite the years spent with Satoru, and the many elitist events you often attended with him, your knowledge on wine had never surpassed anything but surface level. You knew the difference between good wine and cheap wine was the taste, but your taste buds had grown accustomed to store-bought, so if anything, store-bought tasted like heaven to you. Anyway, though, you nod your head and urge him to pour a glass.

“Thank you,” you smile, before gently swirling the glass and bringing it up to your nose to smell (something you only know to do after being the odd man out at so many company banquets). Satoru waits for you to sip your glass before he sips his. The way you melt into your seat is a silent assurance that you’re pleased.

“This is great, you’re amazing,” you tell the server, who seems pleased by your compliment.

“Glad to be of service, miss. Are you ready to order?”

Dinner goes by smoothly. In fact, it goes by so smoothly, you and Satoru finish the entire bottle of wine. Now you sit at the table, bellies full, faces flushed and sore from laughing, and now you find yourself telling him about the grocery store incident. If you had half a mind (a sober one), you’d shut up right this second to save yourself from the embarrassment. But you don’t. And Satoru’s very persuasive when you’re tipsy.

“Keep going,” he leans in, hand nestled under his chin. He’s completely invested in the story. Actually, as soon as he heard the words ‘store’ and ‘cute guy’, he just had to know more. And you begging him to change the subject didn’t help, not when the sadist in him loved to see you so embarrassed.

“Fine,” you hiccup, “It was so - so bad, Toru.” He doesn’t miss the way you slip and call him by the nickname you’d always reserved for him. It makes his heart race, and god, does he miss the way it sounds spilling from your lips. But he ignores the feeling, and refocuses on your story instead. Which, by the way, was proving to be a task in itself because his eyes couldn’t stop drifting back down to your lips. So soft, so–

“And then she said ‘we don’t believe in rings,’” you whisper, fist coming down on the table. The sound it makes nearly sobers you up, and you realize just how loud you’re being despite your table being secluded from others. Giggling like a kid, you continue, “I mean, how fucking insane is that?!”

“Something as bizarre as that could only ever happen to you,” he replies, laughing along with you, “those people were crazy.”

“The craziest,” you agree, throwing your head back in another fit of laughter. Gradually, the two of you begin to settle down, and once again, you find your attention being drawn back to the man on the stage. Only this time, he’s making an announcement.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. Tonight I’ve got a special request,” he says, looking out into the audience. Looking at you. “This one’s for a very special lady who, from what I’ve been told, is a great mother that needs to start doing things for herself.”

The singer steps out of the spotlight and hands the note to a server. Your server. Then he begins to sing, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It was your wedding song.

[...] I don’t even know how to love you

Just the way you want me to

But I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

Yes, I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

“Now this one? This one was me,” Satoru leans forward, and you swiftly turn your head to face him. He smiles as he watches your face go through ten different emotions before ultimately softening. It warms your heart to see how incredibly planned this evening was, despite the amount of time he was given to work with. Even so, it kind of scares you–because then that meant this was a grand gesture–that this was his way of saying something. And you weren’t too sure if you wanted to hear it. Your gaze drops to your lap, and Satoru frowns.

To fall in love

To fall in love with you…

“Look at me,” he says softly, but you don’t. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches over the table to take your chin in between his fingers. The touch alone feels electric. Sends liquid hot lightning down the column of your spine. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, and like always, it’s suffocating. They’re so wide with hope, and so, so gentle in the way they hold you. The longer you gaze upon them, the more you convince yourself it’ll be okay if you surrender to them.

“It’s been years since we’ve divorced,” his voice is shaky, almost strained, like he’s actively thinking how to choose his words carefully, “and when we sat down that night, I thought it was what I wanted, too, you know? And for a while, it was,” he reaches a hand across the table to rest atop your own, “but you gotta know…you gotta know–you’re it for me. There’s no one else on this Earth that I want to start over with. You’ve always been the beginning and end of my story, and I’ll be damned if I let another man start one with you.”

Your heart is beating faster than you can even process what he’s saying. The only thing you’re focused on is not passing out in the middle of this damn restaurant. But then he’s squeezing your hand, and your focus is drawn back to those piercing, pale blues that even put crystals to shame.

“So what do you say?” he says, so softly, so tender. “Can we try again?”

Waiting for your reply, he squeezes your hand again. It’s like your soul is wandering the line between death and the living, and his touch is the tether that brings you back. In the background, the tune of the song sung at your wedding gives you a push of courage.

I don’t even know how to kiss your lips (kiss your lips)

At a moment like this

But I’m going to learn how to do

All the things you want me to

Yes, I’m ready

(Are you ready?) Yes, I’m ready

To fall in love

To fall in love right now

“Yes.”

The walk back to the car is hurried. Aided by both, years and years of built up tension, and the liquid courage currently bubbling in your systems.

The race back to his apartment is even faster. You thank the gods silently that it’s within close proximity to where you just were.

Once you get there, make your way past the doorman and concierge (who both give the two of you a knowing look), go up the elevator, and finally get into his loft–it’s over. Years of restraint, years of pretending, wanting–yearning, come crashing down.

There’s barely any time to close the door before he’s pushing you against it. His lips trail down the column of your neck, then come up to kiss your jaw, until eventually, they find your lips. And when they do, it’s instantaneous–that familiar feeling, the feeling that feels almost like falling.

Once again, for what felt like centuries, you feel again the rush of helplessness. The push and pull of the tide. It brings you down, down, down to the bottom of the ocean floor, and it’s unmerciful.

Kissing Satoru is like being shocked with ten thousand volts of energy. Like all this time you’ve spent not kissing him, has been costing you your life, and he’s the only one who can deliver you salvation. It’s all teeth and tongue for a minute. Messy, and sticky, and nasty. A true testament to the desperation brewing in the pits of both your stomachs.

The sensation of it all has your knees going slack, and that’s when he says–

“Jump.”

Obeying, you do just that. Jump right into his arms, and wrap your legs around his torso like you’ve done so many times before. The way you feel now is the way you used to feel before then, too. Like you were made to fit like this. To be held in his arms like you were molded from the same clay.

Carefully, he adjusts his grip on your body. Keeps his palms planted on the bottoms of your ass, and begins the trek to his room. He struggles a bit getting there because you haven’t stopped kissing since entering the apartment, but he figures it out after a stumble or two (which resulted in a bitten lip and you apologizing profusely through giggles).

“The turbulence up here is crazy, don’t blame me, blame the pilot,” you jest, kissing down his neck to make up for it.

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” he jokes back. As soon as he gets to the bed, he sets you down at the edge of the bed. You try to bring him down to your height but he stops you, wags his finger in your face playfully before using it to push you back into the bed. His fingers start to play with the fabric of your dress, and then his face takes on an indifferent expression. The same one from earlier that night when he first saw you walking down the stairs.

“Can’t believe you were gonna wear this for him…” he trails, lifting the fabric up slowly, eyeing you while doing so, “as if this dress doesn’t mean something.”

Of course, when Shoko chose it, its significance did make you falter–but in your defense, not once did you ever anticipate for him to see you in it. And you especially didn’t expect for him to remember it, the last time you wore it was almost a decade ago.

“I didn’t…” you start, a smile creeping on your lips, “think you remembered?”

“‘Course I did, how could I not?” He says more sharply than intended, taking offense. He takes offense because he spent the better half of the night showing you he remembered. The little things and everything else in between. Couldn’t you see that?

“It was our 4th anniversary. Bought you this dress and fucked you in it that same night. Funny how the second time I’m seeing you in this dress, the circumstances are the same except only this time we’re divorced,” he says, crawling over your body. “Guess I gotta show you just how much I remember.”

With that, he slips a hand under your dress, pulls your panties to the side and runs a finger down your slit. Oh-so-willingly, do you spread your legs for him. It’s almost subconscious, the way your body responds to him. And he revels in it. Lets his fingers work you, feel you, bring you to ecstasy. Then he heightens your pleasure tenfold when he kisses his way down your body, and takes a seat before you on his knees.

Unceremoniously, he pulls your body to the edge of the bed. Takes his time slipping your panties down the length of your legs, then kisses the insides of your thighs, before finally stopping at your mound.

Slowly, he lowers himself to your cunt, kisses your clit softly. Once, twice, three times. The pace in which he’s moving is killing you, to say the least. But you know he’s savoring the moment, making up for all the years he spent not kneeling like this between your legs. So you let him; let him caress you all over before he comes seeking the honey-sweet salvation dripping from your core.

The second his tongue makes contact with your heat, you find yourself clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “Fuck, Toruuuu,” you drawl, back arching off the bed. Pleased with his abilities, he smiles smugly, using this as an opportunity to push himself even deeper. Up and down, he licks at your slit, uses his fingers in tandem with his tongue to prod at that spongy spot he knows you love.

“Tastes,” a harsh suck, “so good,” another, “better than I remember.”

You know he’s talking, but his words fall on deaf ears. You’re so caught up in your own high, you don’t even take notice of the obscene sloshing sounds coming from your pussy, or the moans you’re making. All you can do is lay there and take it as he takes, and takes, and takes from you.

Soon, you find your orgasm cutting through you like a knife, and you come with a strangled cry that has you biting back tears. Satoru talks you through the whole thing. He lays his head down on your thigh and continues working you with his fingers until you start to shake from the overstimulation.

For a few, you lay and stare at the ceiling. You think you can see the Milky Way–and all the constellations that make it up. It feels like your soul is floating beyond your physical body, and you don’t come back down to Earth until a sharp, stinging sensation brings you back. Did he just?

“Did you just bite me?” you lift your head, peering down to see the evidence. In all its glory, there it was; a red ring smack-dab in the inside of your thigh with teeth imprints. Looking at Satoru, he grins.

“Had to get you back from earlier,” he says, sitting back on his knees. You attempt to kick him with your foot, but he grabs hold of it. Pretending to be wounded, he gasps, “Is this how you treat the man who just gave you a soul-shattering orgasm?”

You roll your eyes, but to your dismay, it only encourages him to continue.

“Fuck, Toru,” he mimics, “oh my god, Toru. You fuck me so goo–”

“Alright, enough!” you manage to kick him this time, laughing as you bring up your hands to cover your face. “Keep carrying on like that and I won’t let you fuck me…” You’re serious in your bite, but he’s smirking. Like he knows you’re full of bullshit.

“Yeah right. You and I both know I make you feel too good.”

Feeling bested, you scoff, though, there’s no real weight behind it. While he begins to remove his shirt, you sit up and replace his hands. He relinquishes control and allows you to unbutton it until the item falls haphazardly to the floor.

He’s so beautiful, you think. Still so chiseled, so perfect after all these years since you’ve last seen him like this. At his most vulnerable. The only difference now is that there are more freckles littered across his skin. Back then, he’d say they were signs of aging, and he’d hate them.

But he’s older now. More mature. So much so that he even winks at you when you trace your fingertips over them.

“They suit you,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “mhm.”

Continuing your ministrations, you begin removing his belt. He holds your gaze the entire time it takes for you to unzip his pants and pull them down–and he doesn’t once shy away when you discover the wet spot on the front of his briefs. Slowly, delicately, you remove the soiled item and let it fall down to the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Still looking at him, you take hold of his length and fist him once, twice, experimentally. A dribble of pre oozes from his slit and you bring it to your mouth. All the air in his lungs expel into the air when you lick it off with your tongue, and god, he thinks he could come from that alone.

God, he’s missed you. Missed your touch, your lips–the way you hold him with your eyes like he’s something worth being gentle with. Nothing could ever compare to you, not even his own hand.

As soon as you’re about to take him in your mouth, he stops you. Pushes you back down onto the bed and slots himself between your legs. “No more playing, I’m tired of playing,” he breathes, lowering himself down until half of his weight is on top of you.

Guiding his cock to your entrance, he pushes past your folds with little resistance. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him in has his arms wobbling like jelly, but he musters enough strength somehow to stay up. You, on the other hand, are close to tears.

The more he eases himself in, the more you feel like you’re being stretched open (despite him previously prepping you). If you were being truthful, this wasn’t a complete shock to you. You’ve known that he’s always been big, but something about tonight feels different. Or maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve had something more than just your own fingers.

Even so, you try your best to ignore the burn of the stretch. You throw your arms around his neck and invite him deeper into you, hooking your legs around him so tightly that it renders his limbs useless. For a minute, all you can feel is the weight of him inside of you, and his chest against yours as they rise and fall asynchronously.

“Toru,” your voice is just barely above a whisper, but enough to make the hairs on the nape of his neck stand. “Make love to me.”

Heeding your request, he begins moving. Painfully slow, he unsheathes himself from you until only the head of his cock is inside, then pushes himself all the way back in with force. Again, and again, he repeats this motion. Pulls out, pushes in. Pulls out, pushes in, until he decides to increase his pace and set a steady rhythm.

Every thrust into you is meticulously calculated. Sharp, and forceful, and not once does he disrupt the rhythm. He listens carefully to the sounds you make. Even listens to the way your breath hitches when he hits a spot right. Everything he’s doing is perfect–and it’s to no surprise. Deep down, you know that Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand. He’d know it if you were all old and wrinkly. He’d know it if his soul reincarnated. Hell, he’d know it blind.

“Missed this,” he grunts, burying his head into the interstice of your neck, “missed you,” a kiss to your neck, “missed us.”

The veracity of his words render you speechless. He’s already professed his feelings for you tonight, but it feels even more real now that you’re beneath him. To be loved by Gojo Satoru was a feeling many couldn’t say they had the consolation of knowing. Only a few in his circle could hold that position–but only one person in this world could truly ever know his love to its fullest extent. You.

Satoru continues his mindless rambling, “I love you,” a thrust, “it’s always been you,” another, “was always going to be you.” Leaning back on his heels, he pushes your dress all the way up to reveal your breasts. Now it’s him who sits back and admires this time. As if he were reacquainting himself, he traces the planes and pastures of your chest with an eager hand. He runs it up and over each mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh experimentally.

Then, he dips down and kisses the space between them. Sucks and licks until the skin bruises, and he has evidence to prove tonight actually happened. Eventually, he withdraws from your chest and returns his focus on easing his cock in and out of your cunt.

“So beautiful,” he says, but it’s more to himself than anything. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, he doesn’t even think you can hear him. “Want you to cum on my cock, know you can do it, baby. Know you can,” he grunts, taking your hand and intertwining it with his own. Letting his head fall into your neck, he begins to quicken his pace. Fucks into you with everything he’s got and willing to give.

“Toru,” you finally manage to say, “‘m so close, keep going. Do it - do it inside.”

Do it inside. Do it inside. Do it inside. The thought is tempting, too tempting. It makes his dick twitch inside of you, and he swears if you say it again, he’ll actually do it. But he knows better than to listen to anything you say out of delirium.

“Trust me, sweet girl,” he cradles your face, to which you lean into, “I want to - I want to so fucking badly. But we both know you’d regret it later.”

Whining, your lips form into a pout, and the sight is so cute, he can’t help but to kiss it off of you. Compared to your kiss earlier, this one is much sweeter. Slower. More relaxed. He kisses you with the intent of making you dizzier than you already are, and it’s scary. Even so, you don’t pull away. You allow him to drink you up. Like your lips are the only source of water around, and he’s been quenched for days.

Finally, with a few more thrusts, you reach your climax. The pressure building in the pit of your belly pops like a balloon, and everything goes white. “Toru!” you shriek, arching off the bed and trembling in his grasp.

Using your arch as leverage, he keeps his hands underneath your back and continues to ram into you without abandon. You’re a babbling, wet mess at this point, and your cunt squeezing around him only encourages him more.

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna - ‘m gonna,” he curses, balls beginning to tighten. Quickly, he unsheathes himself and fists himself the rest of the way. With an impassioned moan, he climaxes–spurting thick, white, ropes of seed all over your abdomen. Then, falls onto your limp body with a grunt, chest heaving rapidly, and slick with perspiration.

By this time, you’ve settled down enough to form a proper sentence. “That was…”

Satoru huffs, catching his breath. “Yeah.”

Still spent, he continues to lay atop you. And you, having nowhere else to go, let him. The two of you lay comfortably in silence like this for a long time. Just you tracing shapes into his back, and him purring into your neck. Both of you know you should be getting up, but neither of you make an effort to do so. In this moment, time is transcendent. There is no rush to move when time stands still for you.

Soon, that silence is broken.

“I love you,” you say, and there’s no elaboration. Not even a recant. In fact, you say it so nonchalantly, he’s not even sure it was real. You say it like you’ve never been more certain in your life, like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“Really?” he queries, almost pathetically like the mere idea of you loving him is something unattainable. You look at him like he’s got two heads.

“Yeah, you’re my best friend. I’ve always loved you,” you admit, pausing your ministrations on his back, “I just had to relearn how to love you.” He smiles at this, hums into your neck to keep from crying.

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other,” he mumbles into your neck, “so where do we go from here?”

“From here we take it slow. We’ll learn together what it means to be individuals, and then from there we’ll see where it goes,” you say matter-of-factly, “no more repeating past mistakes.”

“Agreed,” he nods, “what will we tell the girls?”

That’s when your eyes widen and you sit up, forcefully pushing Satoru off of you.

“What did I say, what’s wrong?” he queries, sitting up on the bed. He watches you rummage around the room maniacally, head on a swivel as you run out of the room and return with a purse. You pull your phone out to see a slew of missed calls and messages.

“We forgot to call the girls!” You yell, showing him your phone screen of missed calls. Gojo jumps up to join you, one leg already sliding into his pants.

“Shit!”

Noticing the state of your appearance, you pinch the skin between your brows. “Satoru, I can’t wear this! You got cum all over it,” you groan, pointing to all the splotches of white. He tells you to wait a second before disappearing into his closet, then he comes back with a fist of clothes and throws it at you.

“I can’t wear this either, they’ll wonder why I’m wearing your clothes!”

Satoru runs to you and pull the dress off of your body, “We’ll wash it!” he screams, disappearing again out of the room, and to where you imagine, the laundry room. When he returns, he’s out of breath and panting. It’s only then do you realize how insane he looks with half his shirt buttoned, and his pants twisted around his hips. A giggle escapes your lips.

“What are you laughing at? Chop chop,” he claps, ushering you into his bathroom.

Yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this idiot.

comments + reblogs very appreciated !!!

#art by: @yamada_souko (twt)#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk smut

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dark-moonlust · 5 months ago

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Lust Beneath the Waves PART 2

Pairing: Kraken x f!mermaid reader

Summary: the ocean knows you are the Kraken’s mate and carrying his offspring. Your mate is soft and caring, taking care of your needs especially now that you are pregnant. He always shows you off and keeps you well-fucked and happy.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, explicit tentacle smut, egg preg, exhibitionism, Kraken has two🍆 🍆, triple penetration, cockwarming. Don’t like, don’t read.

Read PART 3 here.

The ocean knew your secret.

You’d mated with the Kraken.

It was a secret you wore with pride.

Whispers carried the news through the currents, and every creature beneath the waves knew of the bond you now shared with the most fearsome monster of the seas. You were no longer just a mermaid; you were the Kraken’s mate and you carried his offspring. Your belly was swollen with his eggs, a constant reminder that your mate, for all his fearsome reputation, was tender and devoted only to you.

When you first met the Kraken, you were reluctant and scared. But that was no more. You embraced your mating bond with pride and contentment. You were his soulmate, the most precious thing in his life. You lived with him in the depths of the ocean, in a lavish cave that was yours to do as you pleased.

The Kraken gave you everything: his love, his tenderness, his cocks and tentacles.

He kept you close, always, his wiggling tentacles cradling your pregnant belly while his double cocks stayed permanently buried deep within you, one in your pussy and the other in your ass. He kept you filled at all times, he was fiercely possessive and wanted to constantly show off your union.

You rarely used your tail anymore; the Kraken’s magic had transformed it into legs, and because he fucked your holes at all times, you didn’t mind not using it. After all, you were so big and heavily pregnant that it was hard to swim and move around. You relied on your mate to help you and enjoyed the sensation of being carried by him.

The Kraken’s magic coursed through your veins, ensuring that your body adapted to his needs and to his eggs. He’d laid his eggs inside you from both your pussy and ass. You’d expected the sensations to be overwhelming, but thanks to his magic your body accommodated them without any harm or discomfort. There was only a mild sensation of fullness rather than pain.

Deep within your pussy, five eggs were nestled against your cervix, each one smooth, rounded and about the size of a human fist. In your ass, the other five eggs were similarly aligned and pressed against the walls of your rectum in a magical chamber that sacked them together. You would carry them for twelve months so you had a long way to go.

Carrying Kraken eggs made you impossibly aroused and in need of your mate. You craved his presence and his cocks or tentacles inside you. His seed was nutritious for the eggs so you were always filled in both pussy and ass, no matter where you were or who was around. Each movement of his cocks caused the eggs to shift slightly, sending waves of pleasure through you and keeping you in a state of heightened arousal.

The Kraken showed you off to the other ocean creatures, his beautiful mate, swollen with his spawn and constantly pleasured by his cocks. It was a display of his love and respect for you and everyone was eager to take a peek at the Kraken’s claiming.

And you didn’t mind. You trusted him completely, loved him deeply.

It was yet another day, and you were the star of another show as your mate fucked you for all to see.

The ocean was bustling with activity, all kinds of creatures witnessing the Kraken’s claiming.

Lying back against your mate, your thighs were splayed open for all to see, supported by his tentacles. The Kraken’s appendages cradled your swollen belly, his suckers lewdly slurping your sensitive nipples. Your pussy and ass were shamelessly exposed as his cocks took turns filling up your holes. They thrust rhythmically and occasionally changed holes, making you moan and writhe.

“I know you can take more, little mate,” your mate’s husky voice spoke in your mind. “Open wide.”

“Hmp…” you opened your mouth and accepted a slimy tentacle in your throat. It fucked you slowly, leaking nutrient juices in your belly.

“That’s it,” he drawled, his eyes going with predatory hunger. “Swallow it. There you go, such a good mate."

Working your throat, you licked the slimy tentacle fucking your throat. You felt the warmth liquid drip into your stomach while his cocks continued their steady pounding, your body trembling with pleasure until you shattered and came with muffled cries. Your holes clenched around his dicks and he kept fucking you through bliss, adjusting you in front of the audience so you were kneeling on the seabed. With an audible squelch, the cocks left your drenched holes, Kraken cum leaking out of your pussy and ass, dancing in the water.

Keeping you securely in place, he spread your pussy open with two tentacles.

You heard gasps and whispers from the crowd, felt their gazes, their envy and arousal, and they only fueled your love for your mate.

“Look at my beautiful mate,” the Kraken said proudly. “My mate. Mine! The most exquisite creature in the sea. Look how sweet her pussy is, how pretty and tight.”

He thrust a slimy tentacle in your plump cunt, wiggling it deep, so deep that it nudged against the eggs nestled within you. Another one followed, stretching your walls and pulsing up inside you. You moaned, fisted the sand in your palms as the tentacles fucked you deeply while the slime in your mouth thrust up and down, its slimy texture coating your lips and throat.

“M-mhh-mate… mphhh…” you managed to say once the tentacle finally slipped out of your mouth.

“What is it, sweet one?”

“Nnaaahh… need it fast and hard,” you whined, and pushed back against the tentacles in your pussy. “P-please.”

“All in good time, mate. I’m showing everyone how perfect you are. I showed off your pretty pussy and now I need to show off your pouting little asshole before I fuck it.”

Whining submissively, you stayed put as he angled your hips to give the audience a perfect view of his domination. His tentacles fondled your swollen belly, the proof of your union as his appendages opened the mounds of your ass, exposing your pouting rosebud to every onlooker. The tips of a thick tentacle prodded and stretched the rim before slipping deep inside your ass. Another one joined in, bottoming out inside you.

“Look at my sweet mate.” The Kraken looked at the abyss’s creatures, his deep, resonant voice echoing through their minds. “While you all scorn and fear me, my beautiful mermaid has accepted me and worships me with her body. She accepts me so completely, her ass stretching and accepting me deep.”

You whined and panted and he brought his cocks over your face. You obediently licked them up, your hands pumping the massive girths. The tentacles delved repeatedly in your pussy and ass, pouring juices all over the eggs nestled inside you. His cocks now rubbed against your breasts, leaking against your sensitive nipples. You made a cradle with your plump tits and pumped his cocks up and down while licking and suckling the heads.

The sensations were overwhelming, especially when another tentacle started flicking your clit. White-hot pleasure blinded you and you trembled in another orgasm, your walls clenching around the tentacles pounding your depths. The Kraken followed, cumming with a defeating roar and thrusting both cockheads in your mouth so you could swallow every drop of his seed.

“Glrkh—mnhhh!” you sucked and sucked, breathing steadily despite the tentacles fucking your holes.

“Yes, such a lovely mouth. Suck me dry,” he drawled, slimes caressing your face.

“Nnnaaahh… Kraken,” you panted softly as you gave kitten licks to the head of each cock. He had just released but he was hard as ever. He always was. “Such a good mate for me. So hard and ready.”

“Always for you, little one. Are you feeling alright?” he asked, moving you so your were straddling his huge body, his tentacles cradling your thighs and waist against him.

“Hmm…’m alright…” you clutched him, oversensitive at the tentacles filling you so completely. Every thrust made you see stars.

“You love this, don’t you?” he teased, his voice a seductive whisper. “You love being fucked by your mate and shown off to everyone.”

“Yes,” you whimpered, breathless with pleasure. “I love it. I love being fucked by my Kraken.”

“Love you, too, my little mermaid.” His tentacles slid out of you with an obscene squelch and you whimpered at the emptiness.

“Nooooo….”

“I’m here, little mate, I’m here,” he said comfortingly as he repositioned his cocks and surged inside you to the brim.

You moaned loudly; his shafts pulsed inside you, invading you so completely and rubbing against each other.

“So beautiful,” he gazed at you, his tone softer but no less possessive.

“Shall we go home now, my Kraken? W…want you to fuck me to sleep.”

“As you wish, my sweet one.”

Wrapping his larger tentacles around you, he pulled you closer and began to swim, his powerful body and tentacles cutting through the water. His cocks throbbed within you, the thick lengths filling you completely as he moved in slow, torturous thrusts. He carried you through the dark waters, the journey home a blur of orgasms and moans.

The Kraken guided you into your cave and laid you down on a soft bed of seaweed and leaves. His tentacles cradled your belly while his cocks fucked you in gentle strokes. You moaned softly against him, exhaustion mingling with pleasure. You relaxed into the embrace of his tentacles and reveled in his warmth and security.

“Rest now, my little mate,” he whispered. “I will keep you safe.”

You gazed up at him, your eyes heavy. “Hmmm… love you,” you murmured. With his cocks still buried deep within you, he rocked you gently, lulling you into sleep.

“And I love you,” he replied, watching over you.

I worked really hard for this. I hope you liked it! Please reblog with your thoughts and comment what you want to see next. 🖤 Follow for more and turn on notifications for when I update.

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yoonia · 2 months ago

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risque business (m) | kth

⟶ Summary | Business and pleasure can never mix well. Not until he came into the picture while bringing trouble. He makes you break your own rules, and he loves breaking you apart into pieces, only to make you whole again with his sinful touch.

⟶ Title | Risqué Business ⟶ Pairings | Taehyung x female reader ⟶ Genre | Boss!reader, Employee!Taehyung, Situationship!au, older female reader ⟶ Word count | 7,940 words ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; Porn With Plot (if you squint a little), power play, fraternising, forbidden relationship, age gap (older female), with explicit sexual scenes, including: sexual tension, public sex, office sex, mild exhibitionism, dom!Taehyung, sub!reader, brat!reader, mild humiliation, praise kink, mentions of drunk sex, deepthroating, punishment talk, edging, begging, hair pulling, dirty talk, crass language, biting, lip biting, breast play, nipple play/biting, fingering, oral sex (female receiver), panty sniffing, clit play, hand job, clothed sex, restraint, light bondage, spanking, pussy slapping, crying (while OC is in a headspace), orgasm control, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, unprotected sex, creampie, cum play, aftercare. ⟶ Author’s Note | I have no idea where this came from, but it just happened. This story is roughly edited as this was written during my busiest week, but I hope you can still enjoy this one. Happy reading! ⟶ Story Note | Written in 2nd person POV (in case you’re new to my writing, I don’t use ‘y/n’ coding as all of my lead characters are considered as OCs). Banner design made by the lovely @shadowkoo, divider by @/cafekitsune | Posted in: Sept 30th, 2024 by @yoonia

⟶ Written as part of the @bangtanwritershq “Got A Secret, Can You Keep It?” Third Quarter 2024 writing event! ⟡ AU type: Black Swan - Taboo Relationship AU ⟡ Themes: Age Gap, Workplace Relationship ⟡ Inclusions: Coworkers, Edging, Fingering, Exhibitionism, Restraints, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Sub/Dom

⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Ko-fi ⟶ Read on AO3

He is a walking temptation.

This thought had run through your head ever since the moment he stepped foot into your office for his interview. You still remember how the entire room shifted when he entered, his presence drawing all the attention that you only saw as his potential.

You only realise now that you should have seen it as a warning.

He is trouble.

Yet another warning that you ignored.

Because he has always been trouble since day one; since the moment you laid eyes on him and he returned your curious eyes with a smug grin and a pair of sultry eyes; when he kept offering to stay behind in the office after-hours to help whenever he caught you on overtime; or to do small favours just to get your attention on him when he noticed that you kept trying to ignore his presence.

You had once thought that you would be able to control him. He is younger, after all. A newbie in your line of business even with years of experience in the field under his belt which he gained from other places, other companies that he joined before stepping into your property to align himself with yours.

And you believed that he would look at you with undying respect. For him to know to follow the rules. To follow your ways if he has a strong will to learn and prosper under your wings.

Yet another mistake that you have made.

Because he has all the control. He is the one to make his own rules, and before you realise it, he has somehow managed to make you follow them the moment you rescind any control.

And he is strictly forbidden.

Forbidden to look at, to lust, to even imagine to have any dirty thoughts with. Forbidden to touch.

But when he is the one touching you like this—

“Fraternising in the company is completely forbidden,” you breathlessly whisper to him while stifling a moan as his fingers—those long, deft fingers of his—trace down your cleavage, made exposed after he plucked a few buttons of your blouse loose earlier while he was distracting you with his deep, alluring voice.

With your body pinned against the wall, right next to the door to your office, you are made to feel as if you have no escape. Nowhere to run from his touch and his compelling presence.

Taehyung’s chest rumbles against your palms as he chuckles deeply, as if knowing that you are trapped between the wall and his body pleases him. His warm breath falls on your lips as he keeps taunting you with a promising kiss that never comes. “And I’m sure you were the one who made the rules.”

“Maybe. I can’t seem to remember quite well.”

You might as well be, as the one who built this company from the ground up. But it is hard to think clearly, much less to remember everything that you had done about the rules, when your mind is barely coherent. Too hazy with lust. Too muddled with the sensations he is bringing to your body.

Humming to himself, he brushes his lips against the shell of your ear and whispers, “And what do they say about rules again?”

You can only sigh. Because the way his lips are touching the right spots feels too good. “Hmm—I’m not sure I can think of any.”

Your mind has gone blank. Your body is feeling too much, and not having enough at the same time that you are starting to wish that he would just stop stalling.

Less talk, more action.

Yet any word of complaint dies on your tongue when he moves his lips lower, pressing at the side of your neck. “They say rules are meant to be broken,” he breathes against your skin.

“Who said it? You?”

A chuckle, and then a press of his lips on your skin thaws your ire. A nip, not enough to hurt, but enough to send a different kind of heat rolling through your body. “Maybe.”

Your eyes flutter, closing briefly when he presses a kiss at your pulse point. A shudder runs through your body and you relish in it, sighing at how delicate yet sinful it feels. And how much you love it.

“I should’ve known that you’re nothing but trouble.”

Another chuckle, yet he doesn’t move his lips. His fingers, however, slip deeper under your blouse, finding the soft spot hidden under the lace of your bra. “Would you have hired me if you’d known then?”

“Hard to say,” you try to deny it. But you know that he can tell what a terrible liar you are.

Because you had always known he was trouble.

“Really?” he taunts you. The mocking tone of his voice doesn’t unnerve you much, however, when all you can focus on right now is the way his fingers are dipping lower, slipping under your blouse, under your bra, while his other hand trails down to your hips. “Are you sure that wasn’t the reason why you took me in? You wanted trouble, didn’t you? You craved it.”

You open your mouth to answer, only for the words to fail when he captures the shell of your ear with his lips, nipping at it at the same time his fingers slip under the lace of your bra to find your hardening bud.

“I can tell how much you love it,” he murmurs against your ear at the light shudder he ignites through your body.

Groaning deeply, you realise that it would be foolish to try and deny it now. Not when your body is engulfed in heat, nor when your skin feels like it is burning under his touch.

Your mouth falls open with a gasp when he shoves down the front of your bra. Your nipples have grown hard after his constant teasing and have become so sensitive to the touch that the brush of your lace against the hardened tip feels intense. Your chest arches towards him, aching for him to lay his hand on your flesh once again.

Smiling wickedly, he grazes his palms over your breasts, lightly bouncing their weight and kneading them. His head dips lower as he begins trailing soft kisses down the column of your throat.

As your eyes flutter close, you vividly remember that neither of you had the chance to lock your door when Taehyung first barged into your office, offering to ‘help’ after knowing that you were still there, finishing your work while secretly waiting for him. It might be risky, knowing that you are not the only ones working late tonight.

But frankly, you don’t care.

Your breath grows heavy, filled with need, and every thought of being caught slips out of your mind the more he goes lower. His lips barely touch your collarbone before he dips, pressing a kiss on the top of your breasts, starting from one side onto the next. Your body arches into his mouth, hoping to lead him to go lower. Taehyung follows, his lips moving closer to the tip of your breasts. His fingers linger on the lace of your bra, pulling down and down, opening up more space as he shoves and tucks them under your breasts, pushing them up.

With a humming sound, his lips continue tracing your skin as he begins bending himself lower. You can feel his lips moving close, hovering towards his target, and your hand moves to the back of his head, clasping and sinking into his hair to guide him there. But right before he reaches your throbbing bud, Taehyung simply flicks his tongue with a brief touch and stops, before moving to the other side.

“Tae—” you gasp, feeling like you are getting throttled back down after anticipating the wave of pleasure that you are seeking. But then your breath is caught when he does the same, kissing and licking until he is close to capturing your nipple into his sinful mouth, only to flick his tongue over it and move away.

A deep chuckle rumbles from his throat at the sound of your soft whine. “What is it, baby? Do you want something from me?”

“Stop teasing,” you murmur between your gasping breaths.

With a grin on his face, Taehyung presses his lips at the valley of your breasts, coaxing you to draw a deep breath. He straightens up after, standing tall before you and starts perusing your body with his deep gaze.

“I love it when you look like this,” he marvels, while his eyes are roaming down your exposed breasts, his hands remain on your hips, holding you steady. “It turns me on to know that I’m the only one in this building who can see you like this.”

Your body heats up under his gaze, yet you try to hide it. “Does that make you feel good about yourself?” you mock him with barely an ire in your body.

“It would be a lie if I say it doesn’t,” he says with a wicked grin on his face. ‘But, you know—” He briefly pauses as he runs his gaze down your body one last time. Licking his lips, he shrugs off the suit jacket that he is wearing, tossing it away. “I wonder what would everyone think if they saw their admirable boss in this position.” He leans in, whispering to you, “I wonder what everyone would say if they had known I’m the only one who can make you lose yourself like this.”

Thinking about such a scenario brings that warmth up to your cheeks. For years, you have built a credible reputation among your peers and the staff working in your company. Known mostly as the cold, calm leader with a steel-strong resolve when it comes to your work, everyone has always looked at you with respect, sometimes fear.

Until one night, he came and changed everything.

A mistake. That was what you called it.

You had hoped that holding the New Year’s Eve party at the office building early this year would help build a strong bond between everyone in the company. It was supposed to be a simple celebration where everyone could get to know each other better, for your staff to mingle and build their networks in a more relaxed atmosphere.

But as the alcohol was served and the rush quickly set in, and everyone got swayed into the celebration, even you had to give in to temptation.

Taehyung had been the one to approach you first. From offering you drinks, to becoming your companion to talk to, sharing a couple of flirty comments and compliments which made your cheeks flush. Until you suddenly found yourself alone with him in the conference room while the party kept going outside.

And then everything just fell into place. It all started with your knees pressed onto the cold floor of the conference room, his fingers entangled in the strands of your hair, his thick cock sliding in and out of your throat, and his deep voice—his pleasured grunts and moans—filled the room, barely drowned by the beat of the music still playing loudly on the other side of the wall. And he took it a step further when he finally took you while having you bent over the conference table, right where all the bosses and leaders would be having a meeting at the start of the new year.

For the first time, you experienced pleasure like never before. The thrill that you were made to feel that night felt exhilarating and intoxicating at the same time, that you have continued craving for it again and again.

And your secret tryst has continued almost every night since then. Always during the night time, when the office is quiet—except for the small group of people that would often linger to finish their extra work after dinnertime. Always in the confines of the rooms available on your floor; in your office, in the copy room, and many times in the conference room, where he would tease you about your first night together as you reminisced every moment you shared with him that night.

“What are you thinking right now?” Taehyung asks, bringing one of his hands up, trailing the mess he has made out of your blouse before reaching up to touch the underside of your breast. “Are you thinking about that night again?” he asks, leaning close so he can whisper to you, “when we made a mess in the conference room and let everyone sit around the traces, completely oblivious, during the board meeting held the next morning?”

Heat rushes all the way down between your legs when you recall that moment again. Then he brushes his thumb across your hardened nipple, causing the heat to pulse wildly from the depth of your core.

You bite your lips, swallowing your moan. “Or maybe,” he whispers in your ear, “are you thinking about the time I stole your bra, forcing you to go around the office without one, with your nipples almost piercing through your thin blouse.”

The flush in your cheek deepens, growing warmer as you remember the shame and humiliation you felt that day. While nobody seemed to have caught on to the lack of undergarments as you went about with your day, the thrill of having the risk of getting someone noticing your nipples through your soft lavender blouse you were wearing at the time heightened your senses, that by the time he finally rewarded you with pleasure, every cell in your body erupted beautifully like fireworks.

“Look at you. You’re only thinking about the naughty things we did and you’re already responding like a good girl,” he teases you with a chuckle, noticing before you do the way your chest rises and falls rapidly with your breath, when the memories make you feel hot inside, ready to explode. Taehyung revels in this sight for a moment, and then he bends down to capture your unattended nipple with his lips, sucking hard on it until you let out a soft cry.

In one swift movement, he pulls away and tugs your blouse off while keeping your bra on your skin. And then he is on you again, one arm wrapped around your body, pulling you into him. With his other hand resting on the back of your head, he kisses your lips.

Your mind grows hazy with the kiss, barely feeling it as Taehyung weaves his fingers through your hair. Until he suddenly takes a handful of strands and pulls back, forcing you to release his lips and look up at him.

At the sound of your small cries, his lips rise to a grin. He leans close, pressing his lips right under your ear as he questions you, "Are you going to be a good girl for me tonight?”

With a gasp, you answer him, “Yes.” The sound comes out soft—too soft—showing him that you are already so close to unravelling.

Yet he seems pleased as he leans back in to kiss your lips again. Your lips seem to melt into the kiss, while your body heats up further. “Funny enough, I find it hard to believe,” he murmurs against your lips. “Not with the way you kept teasing me all day.”

“I did no such thing,” you try to protest.

“Really, now? That’s not what I saw,” he murmurs with a deep voice, almost like a groan, “And I know what I saw.”

You can only bite your lips. Because he isn’t wrong.

You have been deliberately teasing him all day. Starting from the attire that you have chosen for the day, knowing that he would love it—a black pencil skirt paired with a short-sleeved, white blouse that is tight and thin enough to show a faint sight of the lacy maroon bra you are wearing underneath, and cut low enough to give him a peek of your cleavage whenever you bent down before him—to the way you kept leaning far too close whenever you came to his desk to have a brief talk about your recent project to give him the full show, forcing him to breathe in your perfume and feel your warmth against his body.

“If I admit that I’ve been bad,” you whisper against his lips, “are you going to punish me?”

Taehyung tilts his head and shakes his head. “I’m starting to believe that you are beginning to love your punishments too much.”

Looking right into his eyes, you reach up, pulling his tie down to lower his face while you run your other hand down the front of his shirt. Pressing your lips on his, you initiate a deep kiss, distracting him from your fingers as you reach down to his pants. Tightening your hold on his tie, you start undoing his pants with your clumsy hand while he continues kissing you like his life depends on it.

You move your hand inside his boxers, fingers wrapping around his hard cock, and a shudder rocks through his body at your touch. He lets out a groan and pulls away from the kiss, groaning deeply to say, “You’re really asking for some punishment, aren’t you?”

He presses his lips on yours one last time, pressing a bit too hard for a peck, and then wraps each of his hands around your wrists. He gathers your hands together, easily clasping both of them together in one of his hands. At the feeling of being restrained, the urge to struggle for an escape builds within you. But you push it down, choosing to grow lax and let him take all control.

Just like he always does.

And just the way you need him to.

Once he feels all the tension in your body loosening, he pushes your entwined hands above your head, keeping them there to let you feel completely powerless. At the same time, he is getting the full view of your breasts as they are pushed upward the more he tightens his hold around your hands. The little noise you are making seems to urge him on, as you feel him hardening against your middle as he presses forward.

“Is this what you want?” he asks while nipping at your bottom lip, drawing a series of moans from your throat when he does it while rocking his hips forward, pushing his barely covered cock against you.

“Yes,” you answer with a hiss. Being held back, you are unable to rock back against him. Unable to touch yourself when the pulses of desire forming down below start growing more and more intense.

But then Taehyung steps back, pulling roughly at his tie and slipping it off his collar. He uses his tie to bind your hands together before letting you go. With a smirk on his face, he kicks off his pants, not giving you the chance to protest as he grabs your waist and lifts you up from the floor.

“Arms and legs around me if you don’t want me to drop you,” he says, and you immediately wrap your legs around his waist, hanging onto his weight, while you loop your bounded arms around his neck to hold yourself up.

Pressing you closer to his chest, Taehyung captures your lips. He begins kissing you, pressing a slow kiss as he turns, taking you away from the wall and across the room, right where your desk is placed.

Taehyung lifts you onto your desk, and you barely notice the movement and sounds happening behind your back as he shoves a stack of papers to the floor, too distracted by his kiss to notice everything else but the feeling of the wood pressing on your bottom. He pulls away from the kiss and unlatches your arms from his shoulders, still keeping them tied up together as they fall on your lap.

You open your eyes to see his shirt falling off his shoulders, his chest rising and falling with his breath as he takes you in. He kneels down to the floor, plucking your heels and tossing them back, one at a time.

Taking his time, Taehyung slowly rises to his feet while running his hands slowly from your ankles, going up the back of your thighs. As he begins rising, he takes your legs in his hands and pushes them up with him. He bends your legs and positions the heel of your feet on the edge of the desk, parting them apart for him. A hum escapes him as he hikes your skirt up to your hips, revealing what you are wearing underneath.

From the front, he wouldn’t be able to see much except for the triangle-shaped lace covering your pelvis, the maroon shade nearly matching the bra that is still attached improperly to your skin. But as Taehyung spreads your legs further apart, he would be able to see the thin layer of fabric growing thinner as it stretches along your slit, with merely a thin strip covering your folds, the back sinking between your bottom flesh, exposing more skin. As he continues to look, grinning slightly with pleasure at what he is seeing, the slickness you feel building from your center spreads, spoiling the thin layer of fabric covering your pussy and creating a flood right between your legs.

“You’re wearing my gift.” His palms come down to the top of your thighs, and then slide back to your exposed bum. He begins rubbing gently on the skin and kneading your soft flesh with extra care as he whispers, “Good girl.”

He gives your flesh a hard squeeze before he suddenly lifts you back up and flips you over. Placing your legs back to the floor, he bends you over the desk. Your body trembles the moment your breasts are pressed onto the table, while your hips are pulled back, pointing straight at him.

You feel him bending down right behind you, pressing his chest to your back, his lips at the back of your ear before he whispers to you, “Put your arms forward, baby.”

With a gentle hand, he helps you push your restrained hands forward until your fingers reach the edge of the desk across from you and you hold still in this position. With his other hand, he swipes away some books and papers that are still covering half of the desk, allowing you more space.

“Keep holding to the edge,” he murmurs against the nape of your neck where he lays down a kiss, “Hold on as tightly as you can while I give myself a closer look.”

You feel a tug at your waist before he pulls, and your skirt falls to your ankles. His hands grasp the top of your thighs, pushing them apart while tugging you back until your hips are nearly lifted, exposing every part of you for him to see.

A sudden rush of vulnerability shoots right through you, of having your most intimate parts spread and displayed for his close inspection, of having no way to cover yourself from his perusing gaze, and a gasp escapes your lips. He brings the pad of his thumbs to your middle, slightly pressing at your skin to open you up. The thin strip of your panties slips between your wet slit, pressing against your clit, which he touches with the tip of his finger, causing you to tremble.

A sound escapes you before you can stop it. More like a cry, and it echoes against the walls around you, sounding a bit too loud for a moment that is supposed to be kept secret.

“Better to keep yourself from making too much noise if you don’t want to get caught,” he says with a chuckle. You can almost hear his smile when he adds, “And you better hold on tight.”

Before you can figure out what he is trying to say, Taehyung presses one palm on the small of your back and slaps your bottom cheek with the other hand. Hard. Enough to send your hips rising, only to be stopped by the palm that is pressing you back down onto the desk.

“Wha—”

“That’s for deliberately dressing up the way you knew would drive me crazy,” he says while rubbing away the sting, before landing another slap on the other cheek, “and this is for making me go crazy during work hours by flaunting around me all day.”

Another slap. “For wearing my gift,” he explains, and when you try to protest, knowing that you had worn it simply for him, he gives another slap, then, “and risking anyone else seeing it before I did.”

Another slap. “For being so loud and making noises.” Another, then, “For trying to sneak in an orgasm before I even touched you.” His words make you gasp, recalling the way you tried to rub your covered pussy on his thigh earlier when he first pinned you against the wall of your office.

While your mind is slowly growing numb, Taehyung continues, shifting between rubbing the pain he inflicts on your skin before giving you another spank and another, always while letting you know the reason why you deserve the punishment. And these aren’t gentle, light spanks, but hard and deliberate, aiming mostly on your soft flesh and sometimes catching your folds and exposed sex with each slap, his palm coming away wet with your arousal.

The fire he ignites within you feels more intense than the sting that you feel on your skin. It comes from your very core, building rapidly until the pain is muddled under the pulse of pleasure.

The urge to fight him kicks in once or twice, even when the pulse of your lust rises from your sex. But you find yourself holding still, your body denying your mind’s need to move. Except for the gentle rock of your hips whenever his palm lands on your throbbing folds.

It feels horrible and incredible at once, to be in this position. To have someone taking over control. It makes you feel helpless, but, for once in your life, you are not fighting for control. You don’t have to feel all the worries of having your life, your world, tilting off of its axis when you are not holding onto it so tightly. So you let him have it. To have all the control so you can have a moment of reprieve. And you let him punish you because you know what is coming next.

Pleasure.

Pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“Do you think you deserve these punishments?” You hear pure sex in his voice when he whispers those words, and you moan in response. “What’s that, baby?”

“Yes, sir.” The words come out of your lips as if they come so naturally. It draws a soft groan from him as he gently rubs your skin, soothing you from the sting once he stops spanking you.

“Fuck, baby. You make me grow hard from seeing how responsive you are.”

His words draw a soft, low moan from your lips. All of a sudden, you feel the need to touch him. The sudden desperate need to know just how hard he is and release him from it makes your hands itch.

You feel him bending down, his hands moving to your hips and planting a kiss on each raw cheek, as if trying to kiss the pain away. He moves to press his lips at the center, kissing your swollen folds roughly, before he suddenly rises and lets you go.

Standing behind you, Taehyung lifts you from the desk and spins you around again. Grabbing your hips, he carefully lifts you up and lays you back on the desk.

Lying back, you resist the urge to close your eyes, choosing to keep your gaze on him as he runs his fingers across your tender skin and up to your waist, and then back down again to rub across the top of your thighs. A tug, and he is pushing your panties aside, exposing your pulsing cunt to his hungry, prying eyes.

“So beautiful. So wet for me,” he whispers with a deep groan.

His fingers remain for a moment longer on the insides of your thighs, and then begin their climb up to your pulsing center. You haven’t even felt his touch, yet your body begins trembling, already anticipating the touch of his fingers at your heat. And when he finally finds your nether lips, pressing them apart to reveal the source of your heat, your hips rise and flinch.

Taehyung hums as he runs his fingers up and down your slit with ease, gathering every drop of your arousal as he gently pushes a finger into you.

“Oh!” A gasp slips out of you at the sudden intrusion. His finger feels thick as you seem to have grown tighter, with your pulsing walls clenching hard around him. Taehyung begins thrusting his finger in and out, adding another once you’ve grown slick and stretched enough for him. He keeps drawing the sounds of your moan as he keeps pressing at the right places, and then you let out a cry of pleasure when he presses his thumb over your clit.

Bending over you, Taehyung slows down. “Keep your voice down, baby,” he whispers in your ear, drawing a soft whine from you.

“Who said you can boss me around?”

“You did,” he whispers, taking your earlobe between his sinful lips to nibble, before he practically growls deeply to your ear, “The last time I got you screaming my name.”

You open your mouth to answer, yet he quickly presses a finger on your lips, stopping you from speaking. It takes you a moment to understand why.

Too immersed in everything that has been going on within the walls of your private office, you forget to pay attention to the hallway outside. Your eyes snap towards the closed door just when you can finally hear it; the sound of footsteps, heels clicking and the soles of flat shoes dragging on the floor, as they walk down the hallway, passing your office without possibly knowing what is happening right behind these walls.

But you find no energy nor will to pay more attention to them, even if you can still hear them getting further and further away. Not when Taehyung doesn’t let up, still moving and thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a leisurely pace, as if he wants to keep the rush of pleasure running through your body through the short distraction.

As he begins quickening the pace again, Taehyung looks at you in the eyes and grins. “Is the risk of getting caught making you feel hot? You say that you don’t want anyone to see you like this, to know what you’re doing, and yet—” He looks down, his gaze sharpening and growing deeper at the same time when he sees his fingers disappearing deep inside you. “You’re growing wet down here, baby.”

“No, I didn’t,” you try to deny it with a gasp. Yet your body betrays you, when your hips continue rocking against his hand and light gasps slip out of your lips.

“Are you sure, baby? Because I can feel it here,” he says, pushing his fingers so deep your hot walls engulf the entire length of his digits tightly as the waves of your pleasure begin rising back up. “See? Your panties are completely ruined because of your juice.”

With gasping breaths, your head falls back. You bite your lips to hold back your moans, just as your body continues rocking, chasing the pleasure that has somehow been growing more intense. “I—I like it,” you finally whisper, the truth slipping out of your lips no matter how much you are ashamed to admit it.

“What do you like, baby? Tell me,” he coaxes you gently while he continues fucking you with his fingers, nearly making it hard for you to speak.

“I like that someone is out there while you’re here, playing with my body,” you admit, both to yourself and him, as you open your eyes. “I like knowing that I might get caught while doing sinful things at the office. It turns me on.”

Chuckling, Taehyung nips at your lips. “Good girl,” he mutters against your lips. “I love it when you are honest.”

“Do I get my reward, then?” you tease him, drawing a smile to his face.

“You deserve a lot more,” he groans as he gently pulls his fingers out of you, leaving your muscles pulsing against emptiness. “I’m going to make your wish come true. Maybe we’ll get caught this time,” he mockingly says, making you gasp, “but I want to make you come while all those staff are still roaming your floor.”

Heat flushes through your body at the thought of such a possibility happening. Combined with the fear of being caught, and having someone who comes passing down this floor hearing the sounds of your wanton tryst to know what you are up to.

“And I’m going to make you come so hard you leave a mess on your desk, so you’ll be thinking about me, about us, when you’re working here tomorrow,” he swears as he yanks down your ruined panties. You don’t even have to look into his eyes to know he’s going to deliver his promise.

“Now get your hands back to where they’re supposed to be and hold on tightly.”

With a deep exhale of breath, you reach up, extending your arms over your head and once again reaching up until the tips of your fingers are hooked on the edge of the desk. Your arms are strained, so are your shoulders, and you can barely hang on. Having these arms away and your body being forced to adjust to the tension only makes you feel more hyperaware of his touch as he runs his fingers up and down the curves of your body.

Taehyung bends over you, pressing a kiss on top of your chest. Then he moves down, kissing your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth. He begins sucking, lapping, and grazing his teeth around the bud until you let out a series of soft cries at how good it feels. He then moves to the next one, doing the same, sometimes giving a light bite on your nipple until you are arching your chest on the desk, pressing your breasts to his mouth to feel more.

In the back of your mind, you know that the two of you are not yet alone. You can almost still hear the faint footsteps walking somewhere at the far end of the hallway, yet you don’t seem to give a single fuck about it. You lift your hips just enough for Taehyung to pull your soiled panties off of you, slipping them down your legs and taking them in his hand.

He gives you a cheeky grin as he brings it to his nose, drawing warmth flushing through your cheeks when he sniffs at it, breathing in the scent of your arousal with a soft hum. Once he has enough, he drops it to the floor, together with the pile of clothes and your discarded heels.

Then his hands return to you, parting your legs before diving between them, kissing and biting your thighs as he makes his way up to your pulsing center. You have grown so hot for him already. So needy. That the moment Taehyung puts his mouth over your clit, your body erupts, and you see stars from under your eyelids.

“Taehyung, I—” You gasp, hips rising with the waves of pleasure rushing from your core, and Taehyung immediately pulls away.

“Naughty girl. Look at how responsive your body is to me.” With a deep chuckle, he squeezes your thigh, lifting your leg away from his shoulder when you don’t even realise that you have it wrapped around him when you try to push back for more pleasure. “Don’t cum just yet. Not until I have my fill and say you can.”

He bends your legs back up on the desk, lifts your hips, and slaps your bottom cheeks one last time, giving one light slap on each side, before sliding you down to the edge of the desk. And then he dives back down, burying his face between your legs. With his gentle fingers, he pushes your thighs apart, opening you up, and then his mouth finds your center.

With his sinful mouth, he opens you up, tongue slipping gently between your slit and lashing against your clit, hard and rough at the same time as if he is doing it out of hunger. You feel his mouth moving; sucking, kissing, biting, alternating from one action to another at a maddening pace which sends your mind spinning, floating high with the pleasure he is giving you.

Your breath quickens as an orgasm starts to take over. You feel it coiling deep in your core, rolling out and ready to spread like a wave. Taehyung must be feeling it too, as he grips your hips and grinds you against him, making you fuck his mouth and tongue. And he doesn’t let up. Not showing any sign of slowing down.

But he hasn’t given you permission to come yet.

So you do the only one thing you feel right to do. You start begging, “Taehyung, please—”

Hearing your words, Taehyung lifts his head, only enough for him to look up at you. “Do you think you deserve to come?” he asks, almost mockingly, while he works his fingers to continue what his mouth was doing to you.

“Yes, Sir. I do.”

“Tell me the right words.”

You look straight into his eyes as you beg, “Please, Sir. Please let me come.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs with a soft chuckle. He moves his hands, pulling your legs up to rest them on his shoulders, further taking away your control. And then his hands return to you, one holding your thigh up against him as he buries his face at your center again, the other reaching forward, pressing at your entrance, sliding in and out while he captures your clit with his mouth. And he begins sucking. “Now come.”

Just like that, the dam breaks. You come with an orgasm so intense it nearly blocks out every sense in your body, blocking you from hearing your own cries of pleasure. You come while you are pressed against his face, legs shaking and toes curling, and it doesn’t seem to stop. Because he has yet to let you go.

Taehyung slips another finger inside, going right to your sweet spot. The muscles in your thighs contract around him, your legs squeezing around his neck, pressing onto his shoulders.

Yet Taehyung continues, relentlessly pushing you to another climax.

Every single nerve in your body has come alive, lighting up like fireworks, burning, and burning, all in the best way possible. You feel like you might explode, and you can feel it happening as you rock against his face, allowing him to bring you further after pushing you off the edge of release.

Turning your head to the side, you bite your lips, stopping yourself from making any more sounds. Your eyes are squeezed shut, yet you are now seeing stars, and your ears are ringing. You can feel it rather than hear it when Taehyung moans against your flooding cunt, as if watching you get off is helping him get himself off.

Thinking about how hot that is sends you through another wave of pleasure. One that takes you higher than the last. Overwhelmed, you let go of the desk and reach down, pushing against his head using both of your tied hands and your hips, between pulling him towards you as you press your hips harder against his face and begging to be freed.

You can barely remember how to breathe, and he isn’t making it easier when he continues lapping at your release until your hips rock back, your body searching for an escape.

Reluctantly, Taehyung moves back and stands on his feet, bringing your legs up with him as they remain on his shoulders. You open your eyes when you feel him tugging at your hands, tsk-ing with his tongue as if disappointed.

“I only allowed you to come, not to let go.”

Still seeing stars, your heart still hammering in your chest, you can barely make out his figure as he looms over you, nor can you process his words. Then your eyes are cleared, and you see him kissing your tied-up wrists with dark mirth dancing in his eyes.

Realising your mistake, a whine slips out of you. “It was too much,” you whisper, still breathless after what he just did to your body, and finding it harder to breathe when he steps closer, almost forcing your body to bend with your legs lifted against him.

With a tug, he releases your hands and drops his tie to the floor. He keeps one hand around your wrists, holding them up so he can kiss around the marks left behind on your skin, and the pulses coming from your blood as it flows back through your hands. Then he uses his other hand to reach inside his boxers to pull out his stiff cock.

Your gaze slides down from your hands to his, watching as he begins stroking his shaft. He has grown hard, his cock looking heavy and rigid. Your entire body tingles with your release, and the anticipation you feel from what is coming next.

“Remind me to punish you for this later,” he says as he leaves one last kiss and releases your hands. “First, you need to finish what you started.” He moves over you, bending forward as he lets your legs fall to his sides, hanging limply over his elbows as you are made to sprawl beneath him, completely exposed.

Your arms are still sore after being stretched up for so long. Your fingertips are tingling at the rush of blood flow. Pulses of pleasure are still winding through your body, and you feel no energy to reach up and wrap your arms around him. Yet your trembling hands still find the back of his head when he lowers himself on you. The tip of his wet cock brushes against your sensitive clit as he pushes forward, and you almost come to another set of orgasms.

You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he kisses you. Blinding you with the sensation it brings until space and time no longer have meaning. Then you feel him pushing, entering you with one firm thrust until you are made to feel full, complete, as he buries himself deep inside you.

Your eyes roll back when he begins to move, thrusting hard and fast, holding himself up by his elbows after letting your legs fall on either side of him so he can continue kissing you deeply the harder he fucks you into the desk.

He moves back slightly, catching his breath as he bends one of your legs back up, stretching it toward the ceiling as he rests it over one shoulder. He continues rocking, thrusting steadily into you as his fingers slide down from your ankle, your thigh, finding their way back down to your core again. You rock back against his thrusts just as his thumb starts circling your clit, pressing and flicking until you are once again left breathless.

“Yes, baby. Come for me. Come hard,” he orders you with a low voice, sending you over the edge.

“That’s it, baby. You’re so beautiful when you come,” he groans, watching your body arch on the desk at the rush of pleasure taking over you, his praises drawing more heat in your core.

And then he starts fucking you harder and faster, almost like he is allowing himself to lose control, to give in to his own pleasure. You open your eyes for half a second, meeting his gaze. The dark look he is giving you is filled with raw admiration and lust and wanton desire, and seeing him looking at you so intensely this way feels like such a turn-on. It makes you feel more, heightening the sensation you feel building in your body.

He pushes his cock deeper, sending you to another orgasm, making a wet mess beneath your bodies just the way he wanted. The intense pulse of your climax and knowing that he has made good on his promise push Taehyung over the edge, and he comes to his final release just seconds later.

You feel his warmth building inside you, filling you up with each thrust of his cock, each pulse of his orgasm, nearly sending you to another. You both collapse onto the desk once he comes to a halt, all sweaty and out of breath, but filled with contentment.

When the initial rush of pleasure begins to wear off, making you more aware of your body beyond the intense pulsing of your climax, more flesh and bones instead of the unfettered sparks of carnal pleasure surging under your skin, everything that is happening at the present comes to you in an engulfing wave.

Taehyung’s deep voice is whispering soothing words to you. His strong arms are holding you up as you continue shaking against his chest, and the tears that are pooling in your eyes from both pleasure and pain which feel so intense, so intoxicating.

And when the warmth that you feel deep inside your core pulses for the last time, giving the final squeeze around his softening cock that is still buried inside you, a sharp gasp slips out of your lips. Even without the same firmness, he still makes you feel full of him. Both from his presence, and from the warmth of his release that is locked deep inside you.

Taehyung’s gaze softens when he looks at your face. He gently sweeps away your messy hair from your face, and wipes your tears before they get a chance to escape. Pressing his lips on your forehead, Taehyung reaches out to the edge of the desk to pull a bunch of tissues.

He slowly steps back, pulling his cock out of you. A gasp slips from you at the loss of his thickness, while his essence begins seeping out of you with each spasm of your muscles. With a click of his tongue, Taehyung looks down and begins cleaning up the mess on your thigh, ignoring the mess pooling on the wooden desk as he tosses away the soiled tissue.

His fingers come back to your center, stopping the rest of his release from falling out of you and carefully pushes some of it back in. With a whimper, you reach down to grab his wrist, yet make no move to stop him as he drags some of his cum along your slit, around your clit, and pushes them all back into your throbbing entrance.

“Remember that I still have one last punishment for you,” he whispers to your ear, nibbling at your lobe as he continues working his fingers to stop his cum from escaping you. “Make sure not to waste any drop of my cum until you get home, and I’ll excuse you this one time.”

Tightening your muscles to keep every drop of his essence left inside you, your eyes flutter open as you nod and whisper, “Yes, Sir.”

Author’s Note 2.0 | Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this story, please leave a like and reblog to share with your friends and let me know what you think of this. See you in the next one!

#taehyung smut #bts smut #k-vanity #bangtanwhq #taehyung fanfic #taehyung scenario #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts angst #bts fluff #bts x reader

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emilythenavi-animorpher · 11 months ago

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What gemstone/gem tail that associate and meaning with Fairy species?

👑Oberon👑; Sunstone: it is said to be a stone of leadership, encouraging the wearer to be open, benevolent, and willing to bestow blessings upon others. French cut, there is no meaning.

👸Titania👸; Redish-Pink Ruby: The ruby gemstone symbolizes love, passion, vitality, and strength. Princess cut, well it's obvious.

🤴Preston🤴; a mix of blue and yellow Star Sapphire: This gemstone is often called the 'gem of heaven' and symbolizes hope, potential, and dreams. Round or circle shape, there is no meaning.

🧚Sebille🧚; Spirit Quartz: it is a crystal of Harmony and Alignment, the is crystal of Harmony and Alignment. Long octagon cut, there is no meaning.

🌈Amitola🌈; Rainbow quartz: Some people refer to rainbow quartz as a "manifestation stone," meaning that it can help you turn your dreams and goals into reality. Same rhombus shape as Kazumi's gem.

⚡Munja⚡; Pietersite: it is believed to be a stone of vision and can be used for a vision quest or shaman journey. The cloud shape represents the weather.

🪄Jinx🪄; Labradorite: known stone of magic and northern lights. 4 luck clover as good luck charm.

✨Fabian✨; Lapis Lazuli: associated with royalty, strength, courage, wisdom, intellect, friendship, and truth. The oval shape is associated with unity and completeness.

💎Diamond💎; Pink Diamonds: associated with femininity and romance often symbols of tenderness, and sweetness, while representing gracefulness and elegance. Diamond shapes are often associated with royalty.

❇️Emerald❇️; Emerald: they are a symbol of truth and love while symbolizing royalty, but also with, eloquence, and foresight, their personality traits are loyalty, faithfulness, love, as well as peace, harmony, and balance. Emerald-shaped or rectangular shapes represent stability.

💠Moonstone💠; Blue Moonstone to represent the Blue Moon. Round shape to represent the full moon stage.

🌕Mizuki🌕; mix of Rainbow Diamond and rainbow Quartz: same info about rainbow quartz, but there is no info about the rainbow diamond. Unique Gem design which would be the rarest out of fairy species.

🌸Kazumi🌸; a mix of Rose quartz & pink Diamond: Rose quartz is a stone of unconditional love, the stone of universal love Pink Diamond gives spiritual freedom by providing clear thoughts. The rhomb shape is a symbol of strength, and invulnerability often associated with royalty, with the apex symbolizing illumination and the four sides embodying the four elements of a successful relationship: trust, understanding, honesty, and communication.

❄️Cryo❄️; Angelite symbolizes soothing and peaceful energy. Snowflake shaped to represent his ice powers.

☠️Doku☠️; Ruby Zoisite: there is no meaning. Stringer tail or the tension to represent the Scorpion tail so, he can use toxic to paralyze, put them to sleep, and poison them but he doesn't want use that.

🌪️Fuji🌪️; Amethyst: a symbol of peace and unification, the amethyst's personality is multi-talented, courageous, and liked for your honesty. Feather shapes represent her wind and air powers.

⛰️Daichi⛰️; Jasper: they are sacred of physical and spiritual protection, it's considered to be strong-willed and determined, they can be strong of self-confidence, and they aren't afraid to express their opinions, they are known to be passionate, enthusiastic about their in interests and pursuits. Triangle-shaped is a symbol of spiritualism and enlightenment.

🌊Eimi🌊; Aquamarine: symbolizes youth, love, and hope, also represents happiness, hope,e, and everlasting youth, also be associated with tranquility, serenity, clarity, and harmony. Pear/Waterdrop to represent her powers of water.

🔥Kazuya🔥; Carnelian: it's symbolic of the warmth, strength, courage, and creativity. Fire shapes represent her fire powers.

🌿Chikao🌿; Jade: it's a symbol of purity, serenity, and nurturing. Leaf shapes represent his plant powers.

💓Aiko💓; Spinal: it believe to encourage great passion, devotion, and longevity, it symbolizes health, revitalization, and connection to infinite spiritual energy. The heart shape represents the center of emotion, affection, and love especially romantic love.

📖Keitaro📖; Purple Diamond: they are associated with spiritual, enlightenment, and pride. The Eye shaped represents his psychic powers.

☯️Hikari☯️; Red Ruby: it symbolizes passion, protection, and wealth, they are thought to be protective of home, possessions, and family also can seek power, exude charisma, and passion, have a harmonic, hard-working nature while bursting with life. Flower shape, thanks to Inaaya for giving me an idea.

⛓️Tsuyoshi⛓️; Snowflake Obsidian: meaning conquering the unknown, and it can encourage you to identify unhealthy behavioral patterns. The spear tip shape represents a weaponized tail that he'll use for the occasion.

🔮Li Jing🔮; Pink Sapphire: they signify love, elegance, compassion, power, strength, and wise judgment, sapphire rules characteristics like energy, likeness, power, courage, vigor, and passion. Star-shaped represent divine guidance and protection while they symbolize excellence, professionalism, quality, and imagination.

👻Shen👻; Black Obsidian: symbol of power and resilience. Ghost shape to represent his ghost powers.

☀️Kira☀️; Citrine: they can associated with abundance, prosperity, and success. Sun shaped represent her sun powers.

🌙Getsumi🌙; Pale Blue Moonstone: it can channel hope, sensitivity, and abundance. Crescent-shaped represents his moon powers.

Li Jing, Shen, Kira & Getsumi belong to great pal @muncho1234.

Aiko, Keitaro, Hikari, & Tsuyoshi belong to my lovely little sibling Inaaya/@multiverseleaderxxx.

And rest of pure and hybird fairy belong me/@mild-secret-au

#emilythehybridwolf #inaaya #muncho1234 #Mild-Secret Au #Mild-Secret Oc #future ideas #Do not steal my ideas

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mild-secret-au · 7 months ago

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.•🦊•🔥ᴀᴋᴀɴᴇ❄️•🦊•.

Her voice by Musa (Winx club)

Full Name: Akane Lai-Amin.

First Name Meaning: Bright Red or Deep Red.

Last Name Meaning: Lai (to trust or reply to someone or something) & Amin (trustworthy and loyal).

Nicknames: Akane-chan, red-headed, clumsy girl, 3 Tailed vixen, or 3 tails.

Birthday: September 17

Age: 209/ 20 (human disguise)

Species: a hybrid of Arctic fox kitsune, fennec fox, and Huji Jing.

Gender: Female ♀️

Relationship status: Single.

Sexuality: Straight Ally.

Home: Hidden Home Planet (currently)

Like: boba drinks, sweets, carnation flowers (their favorite flower), her bell necklace (gifted by her dead father), games, family & friends, cute or kawaii theme, meet new friend/Ally, give gifts as apology, childhood crush, being sort of matchmaker, and becoming pure kitsune/earing her 9 tails.

Dislike: her clumsiness, not earning 7 tails or not being able to become pure kitsune, being useless, alone, talking about her tails/deceased father, breaking their friendship, and Corps of Wicked.

Relative:

Jamila Amin-Lai (Mother)

Taio Lai (Deceased father)

Aiko Lai-Amin (Younger brother)

Caldwell Lai-Amin (Youngest brother)

Nasir Amin (Maternal grandfather

Bora Amin (Maternal grandmother)

Lai families (Ancestors)

Partner (s):

Taji Fujimura (Childhood/long-time crush)

???

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crownedinmarigolds · 25 days ago

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Hello everyone! With help from @auspex, we are putting together the first Tumblr of Darkness Secret Santa event! This event is where artists may come together, submit their World of Darkness OCs, and we can all draw and exchange gifts with one another! Just a little fun to remind one another that we're a great community!

How to Participate: There is indeed a limited amount of time to sign up to make sure everyone has a fair chance! Applications are open 11.04.2024 and will be kept open until Monday 11.11.2024. - You will be submitting your World of Darkness original characters and link their reference materials so that another artist may draw them! Please make sure you have a link that someone may have open access to. This can be a Google Drive folder, your art tag on a social media, etc. If you make a Google Drive, make sure your Secret Santa does not have to request access and spoil the surprise. In short, just make sure it's easy for your future gifter to look through! Please don't make it a treasure hunt to find out info on your character just to make things easier. When the applications close, we will then put all participants' names into a randomizer to assign everyone their Secret Santa! Auspex and I will make sure to notify you all as soon as possible as well as provide the reference links so that you can have as much time needed to get the artwork finished. You may go as crazy or mild as you like, but just be aware that artists of ALL skill levels are invited to join! Do not be deterred if you feel like you can't draw - that is the devil talking! Every work of art you make is amazing and any gift with heart behind it is wonderful. - For this year, we asks that the gifts remain art-only. Any medium is fine (digital or traditional) but writing, playlists, mood boards, or anything else won't be accepted. Those things are great, and maybe in the future that could be another exchange, but for simplicity's sake - keep it to art, please. If you want to add mood boards or playlists or write ups as little bonuses to your art - that is entirely up to you! - Please remember these works of art are gifts. This exchange is a community event where everyone is free to participate and share in the spirit of giving during this holiday season. Do not feel bad if you feel like you are not drawing as "well" as somebody else, and please do not make others feel bad if you feel like they're not reaching your standards. This is meant to be fun and for everyone who wants to try! We plan to notify everyone within the next day or two after closing applications, and you will have until 12.20.2024 to draw and submit your works back to Auspex and I so that we may send them to their intended recipient! If you know the person you have and would like to share early, we understand, but please if you would keep it off of Tumblr until the event is concluded just so everyone can be surprised! Once the event is over, have at it and post away! - Please respect the time and effort everyone is putting in! If you feel like something has come up and you won't be able to finish or participate after applying - that is fine. Just let us know as early as possible so that we can either inform your gift recipient or take you off the list.

You will find the application here: https://forms.gle/9VTyd4FsyENwjR4B6

For any questions or concerns, please feel free to reach out to me (crownedinmarigolds) either on Tumblr or through my email - [email protected]. You may also reach out to auspex on Tumblr as well in case I'm unavailable! Thank you all for being a community I love and and I hope we have lots of fun trying this out!

Please reblog so all of the community may see and get to join in!

#tumblr of darkness secret santa #tumblr of darkness secret santa 2024 #world of darkness #vampire the masquerade #changeling the dreaming #hunter the reckoning #werewolf the apocalypse #wraith the oblivion #mage the ascension #vampire the requiem #art exchange #vampires #werewolves #mages #fae #art #crownedinmarigolds #auspex

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toxicanonymity · 11 months ago

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twin peaks.

4k, Joel x afab!reader x Tommy, ONE SHOT A/N: This is my @pedrostories secret santa gift. @endlessthxxghts, you're on my nice list. Happy holidays! ♥️ Ty for the flexibility and for engaging with fics you like, which gave more ideas 🖤. Please excuse the extra men, don't need to remember names. Ty @jksprincess10 for your afab insights! WARNINGS: I8+, Motorcycle Club AU, but Joel is no longer riding. You're a chef. Language. Bar fight. Blood. Gunfire. My first attempt at mild grumpy/sunshine. Passing reference to a bar server's prior SA incident. An OC gets in your personal space and touches your side. Hurt/Comfort. Minor love triangle, I guess, but everyone’s cool. Unsafe P in V, creampies. MFM but only joel inside. The men can lift you. You’re shorter than them. Competency kink, mild size kink, sharing. Starts in Joel POV. There are a few characters from The Bikeriders. BIKER JOEL RECS: both sides of the moon by @lunitawrites and (and ty for this list luna lol) a minute from home by @agentmarcuspike, little mouse by @katiexpunk & @josephquinnswhore., the road to love by @jobean12-blog

dividers from @cafekitsune for POV change and time jump

“Changed the recipe,” Joel grumbles.

Tommy shakes his head with a smile. “Ya know, brother. . . you might be the only one who comes here for the wings.”

“Cause they’re the best. Or they *were*. Taste this.” Joel pushes the basket over to Tommy and takes a swig of beer, then adds, “If I wanna see some skin, I’ll go to a proper titty bar.”

The uniforms are cute at Twin Peaks, but Joel is there for two reasons: the wings and the company. He sold his Harley and quit the club after a minor accident. It left him only a little scraped up but scared his daughters to death. Now these biker bars are the only place he sees his old crew.

“Shit, they did change it,” Tommy concedes. “Maybe ya should send’em back,” he teases.

“Not a bad idea,” Joel mutters.

“Really?” Tommy asks.

“‘S’cuse me. Miss?” The scantily clad server turns around. “They musta changed the recipe, I can’t eat these.”

“Oh no,” the server frowns. “Sorry ‘bout that, lemme see what I can do.” The server takes the wings back to the kitchen.

A minute later, you emerge from the kitchen in your chef’s whites and Joel does a double take. You smile at him as you approach.

“Oh, shit,” Tommy elbows him, but Joel hardly notices. He’s captivated by you, but he keeps a straight face.

“Heard the wings weren’t to your liking,” you cringe empathetically.

“Why’d ya go and change the Hot Honey recipe.”

“I’m sorry, hun. Hot Honey’s off the menu, that’s the closest we’ve got.”

“It’s *what* now? Why’d ya take it off?”

You sigh with an apologetic smile. “Wasn’t my call.” Then you perk up. “But I think you might really like the new Thai Spice recipe,” you smile.

“Don’t think so,” Joel grumbles.

“He don’t like change,” Tommy explains.

“How ‘bout a basket on the house?” You offer with a tilt of your head and raise of your eyebrows.

Joel is flustered by your charm. “Uh, sure,” he mutters, trying not to check you out. Not much to see anyway with that chef’s apron.

“If ya like’em, buy me a drink sometime,” you add with a wink that makes Joel lose all his thoughts for a moment.

“Yes, chef,” Joel nods, which makes both you and Tommy giggle. Then you turn and head back to the kitchen.

“I dunno what they see in ya, man,” Tommy teases Joel and watches as you walk away. “Mm. Hottest thing here and dressed like a paper towel roll.” Joel fails to suppress a chuckle. “You gonna share?”

“We’ll see.”

The front door to the restaurant opens, and a hush falls over the dining room.

Joel looks over his shoulder for only a second, then turns back toward the bar and mutters, “Fuckin’ Benny.”

“And the Jets,” Tommy adds as Johnny and at least half the rival crew follow Benny into the restaurant. Great, there’s Cal, Carter’s rotten brother. Real bad guy. Their motorcycle club is dangerous.

Joel gets his wallet out of his pocket and pulls out a few twenties, then downs the rest of his beer. “Didn’t come to babysit.”

“Think it’ll get ugly?” Tommy asks. “What about your new friend?”

“My new friend?”

“‘member what happened with Carter’s girl?” Of course Joel remembers. Cal got handsy with her, Carter put him in a chokehold, and a nasty fight broke out. Carter got stabbed.

“Well, I ain’t in charge and don’t got a sweetheart, so I reckon chef hottie’s okay. Where’s Carter?”

“Home. Can’t ride, already busted his stitches open once.”

“Good. His girl ain’t workin’ either.” Joel’s face tenses and his nostrils flare as his gaze falls on Cal. “Cal shouldn’t be here.” Joel has to look away before his rage gets the best of him. Joel glances at a table of his own guys (now Carter's), and he isn’t surprised to see one of his buddies putting on brass knuckles. Ya don’t stab the leader and get away with it, but Joel sure wishes this would go down somewhere else. Joel does a double take when he sees another man at the same table reach for his hip. “Damnit, Harold,” Joel whispers to himself.

“Better hit the boys room ‘fore all hell breaks loose,” Tommy mutters and gets up from his chair.

—---you—--

Tonight’s the first time you’ve spoken with Joel, but you’ve noticed him before. His quiet, dark gaze is hypnotizing. The girls are all over him, and he doesn’t show any interest. He sits there scowling with his drink.

When the chatter of the restaurant abruptly dies down, a pit forms in your stomach. Heavy boots click on the floor, and it sounds like they’re slowly circling the room like sharks. “Hey sweetheart,” Benny croons out of view in that deep, smooth voice. He looks like a young, brunette Elvis. “You new?”

“Started this week,” the new bartender answers bashfully.

“Bet they didn’t teach ya the whole job. Benny'll show ya the ropes,” says a deep voice that makes you bristle. It’s smooth. Southern. Sinister. It's Cal. You can visualize his infectious wink.

One of your cooks puts Joel’s new wing basket on expo. You compose yourself and grab it with a smile. “I’ll take this one.” You put on your blinders and don’t make eye contact with any of the men, but you notice Tommy walk by, headed toward the back.

Before you make it behind the bar, Cal intercepts you. “Whoa, what’s cookin’, baby? You believe this, Benny? Keepin’ top talent locked up in the back.”

Benny’s too wrapped up with the server to respond.

“Thanks for the snack,” Cal tells you with his eyes roving your apron as he reaches for the basket. You pull it back. “Hey, what’s under this, anyway?” He skims your apron from the side and crowds you against the wall. He braces his arm against the wall, over you. “Got one of them sexy uniforms under this?”

“Excuse me,” you say and try to duck under and around him.

“I wouldn’t move, darlin’,” Cal taunts.

“What the hell are you doin’ back here,” a man asks behind Cal.

Cal laughs and looks over his shoulder, and you manage to free yourself.

“Ain’t worth it, Harold,” Joel warns as he approaches, then Joel turns his attention to you. “You okay?”

-. . .-

Joel gets between you and the brawling men. You hear a blow land on someone, and they spit. Then there’s a click, and before you know it, you’re on the floor, tackled by Joel as a gunshot makes your ears ring. The wind is knocked out of you.

Joel is on top of you, and time seems to slow down. Cal is slumped against the wall behind Joel, bleeding from the mouth and chest with a menacing smile.

“Look at me,” Joel says and his massive hand turns your head to face him, bracing his other arm near your head on the tiled floor. “Look at me and only me.” His body is heavy on top of yours.

You nod as chaos unfolds in the dining room.

“You okay?” Joel searches your face.

You nod again, and try to ground yourself with everything you’re physically feeling. The coldness of the tile under your hand. The weight of his body on top of you. The warmth of. . .the massive bulge pressing into your thigh. Joel doesn’t seem to be aware of it, but you sure are now. A wave of desire overwhelms you. Your thigh lifts against his hardening package and it twitches but he still doesn’t seem to notice with everything else going on. He glances behind himself.

“Gonna get ya outta here,” he promises. “Ready?”

Behind you, someone opens the door to the men’s room, belt jingling. “Shit.” You recognize Tommy’s voice.

“Bathroom,” Joel commands as he helps you up, then gently pushes you into Tommy’s arms. He nods toward the family restroom, which has a lock. “Gonna take this outside,” Joel pants as he heads into the fray.

“Joel, don’t–you’re outnumbered, don’t get yourself killed,” Tommy pleads. There’s another gunshot. “Shit, I’ll be right there!” he shouts at Joel

“NO,” Joel barks.

Tommy forces you into the family restroom and locks the door behind the two of you. “You okay?” he asks. You don’t answer. You wouldn’t be able to without crying. He rubs your back, then searches your face. “Breathe for me, darlin’.”

You tug at the high collar of your chef’s apron, trying to unbutton it for relief. Tommy quickly rips it open, exposing your tank top. His eyes linger for a moment, then he cradles your head and takes a deep breath, guiding you in your own breathing. He exhales, then murmurs, “You’re okay, honey.”

You nod and take the apron off entirely, with him supporting you. “Yeah,” you laugh not to cry, but with tears in your eyes. “I’m good.”

“Good, good. C’mere, darlin’.” His strong arms wrap you in a gentle, protective hug, cradling your head into his barrel chest. You take a deep breath, and the scent of his shampoo intoxicates you. “You’re okay,” he repeats.

You pull your head back to look up at him, and the corner of his mouth twitches. Then something else twitches, against your middle. That’s when you feel the denim slide under your hand and realize you’ve grabbed Tommy’s ass. What the fuck. You yank your hand out of his back pocket and stammer “Sorry–” feeling like your face is on fire. Why did you do that? You try to pull away but he gently holds you close.

“‘S’okay,” he chuckles. “Adrenaline. It’s normal.” He dips his head and it’s close to yours. It gets a little closer, then there’s more gunfire and he releases his gentle hold on you. He bolts toward the door. “Lock it behind me” is the only thing he says as he leaves.

You lock the door, then slump down against the wall. Is this real life? What’s gotten into you? Feeling up Tommy Miller in the bathroom less than an hour after you asked his brother out. Yeah, it must be adrenaline. The noise of the fight fades into the background while your thoughts drift back to Joel saving you. He’s so big and strong. So protective. You’ve heard how dangerous he is, but to see him in action? While he’s saving you, no less?

Finally the noises have died down. You wonder if it’s safe to leave. You worry about whether Joel and Tommy and your line cooks are okay. You wait a little longer, then unlock the door and peek your head out. Cal staggers toward you, dripping blood. “It’s okay, I’m alright,” he drawls. Then you swiftly close and lock the door, heart pounding. A few seconds later, boots thud across the dining room and a punch is thrown. You hear Cal groan. “C’mon, man.” Another blow lands and Cal goes silent. There’s a knock at the bathroom door.

“It’s me.” Joel’s voice. You’re still near the door. You unlock it for him. He comes inside and you must look terrified. He holds your cheeks, and his face and shirt are splattered with blood - surely not his own. He hugs you into him. “It’s me, baby. You’re okay.” His voice is deep and soft. He holds you for a minute. When he pulls back again to look at you, his eyes fall to your tank top and he wets his lips. He looks in your eyes again, then at your mouth.

You close the distance with a soft kiss. Joel’s mouth spreads your lips open, and his tongue finds yours. As the kiss heats up, he pulls you tighter, moaning “Mm,” and you feel it again, you feel him. His hands slide down to grab your ass, pulling your hips into his, and he’s firmer. Lord, is he hung. He lets out a low growl from his chest, and he walks forward against you until the backs of his hands nudge the sink counter – thankfully clean.

He bends down and his mouth latches onto your neck. He slips his fingertips into the front waistband of your pants, grabbing the button, then pulls away from your neck to pleadingly meet your eyes, and you nod urgently. He takes your pants and underwear down in a flash, then his hand engulfs your bare pussy and he groans at how wet you are. He kisses your neck again for a moment before hooking his massive hands, one of them wet, around the backs of your thighs. He lifts you onto the sink with a grunt as your legs wrap around him and you feel a rush of desire.

Joel sloppily kisses around your mouth with one hand between your legs and the other cradling your head. His scruff scratches you pleasantly. You grope him through his jeans, which are slick with your arousal, as you unbutton and unzip him. Then his own hand dives into his boxers and frees his thick cock, holding it at the right angle to slide right into you, pants and boxers resting below his balls.

“C’mere, baby.” He runs his stiff cock through your folds and you slowly grind against it with a moan. He spits on his shaft and his swollen, leaking tip prods at your entrance for only a moment before plunging into your wet hole and spreading your insides with his girth. There’s a brief burn, then your body catches up. On his second go, he bottoms out with a groan, and you gasp.

“Yeah,” he sighs and begins to fuck you, slowly at first. “How’s that?”

You can only nod, feeling so full of him you can hardly listen or form thoughts. “Ohh,” you whimper as he stuffs you with his massive cock. Your skin feels hot. He speeds up to a moderate pace and you both moan and grunt as you fuck. He kisses and sucks your neck, moaning into your skin, then he breathes against it. He fucks you harder, deeper

“How’s it feel, baby–ohhh” He slams his pelvis into yours each time.

“Ohhh, God, it’s, yeah, nngh–ohh”

Footsteps come down the hall, and stop outside the door.

“Wait,” you whisper.”

“Want me to wait?” he whispers teasingly, slowing down to an excruciating pace, dragging slow and heavy inside you.

You shake your head no.

“Good,” he whispers.

Tommy’s knowing voice outside the door: “Catch y’all later.” Then the footsteps recede.

“Now please, please” you beg, wanting it harder again. You pull him close and grind your pelvis into his in just the right spot. “Ohh, Joel.” The pleasure overwhelms you and you whimper as you begin to clench and pulse.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “Where do you want it?”

“Right here,” you nod, pulling him closer, keeping him inside with your legs around him.

Joel erupts with a groan, filling your hot, wet cunt with warm bursts, slowly thrusting into you as he empties his balls.

“God damn, you’re somethin’ else.”

---a few weeks later—

"Ain't wearin' a stupid holiday sweater," Joel grumbles. You and Joel have been seeing each other, and now you're going to Tommy’s holiday party with him.

"C'mon, just for the party. It'll be fun," you smile hopefully.

"Gimme a break, baby. Nothin' fun about sweaters."

"Don't be a Grinch," you pout.

"Thought I was a Scrooge," he retorts.

"What if I let you fuck me in Tommy's bed?"

He squints at you. "God damnit, my heart just grew three sizes."

You look down at his jeans and smile saucily. You don't have to make the joke out loud. "Can't wait," you purr and hand him the sweater.

"Tommy'd lose his mind," Joel shakes his head, then raises his eyebrows. "And not in the bad way."

"Oh yeah?"

Joel gives a low whistle. "You should see him droolin' when ya walk away." Joel chuckles, and your face heats up.

"Well. Maybe we shouldn't, then. . ."

"Don't see why not," Joel shrugs.

You look away shyly.

"What's got you all flustered?"

"Nothing," you shake your head, but you can't push away the thought of Tommy walking in and losing his 'mind.'

Joel smirks. "Don't look like nothin'."

"Just excited to see you in a sweater," you run your hand through his curls.

"I ain't the jealous type if ya wanna give Tommy some sugar, too."

You gasp and can't hide your embarrassed smile. Your face is burning. "He told you.”

Joel plays stupid. “Told me what?”

Your hand drifts up to cover your mouth.

“Just sayin’, if ya wanna grab him in a nicer setting. . .”

“Joel!" You gently smack his chest.

“Musta been the highlight of his life,” Joel laughs. “Post-divorce, at least.”

"Naughty list for you." You press his sweater into his chest and go to the closet to change into your own.

----

When you’re standing at the door of Tommy’s ranch, your heart is racing.

“Relax, baby.” He rubs your back.

“You were serious?” you ask.

“Yeah, but ya don’t gotta. Just sayin’ it’s fair game.”

Your eyes meet and he cups your cheek. You whisper, “thanks for wearing the sweater.”

Joel gives you a kiss right as the door opens, and Tommy teases, “You two need a room already?” Tommy’s wearing a festive cardigan open over a wifebeater and his huge belt buckle. He stands aside to let you in, and you don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on your mouth.

Sarah brings her husband, and you spend much of the night talking to them, hearing old stories about Joel. It’s a small party, adults only, and most of the parents have to get home to their babysitters, but Ellie is staying at Bill and Frank’s for the week to help with their Christmas tree farm. It’s a real treat for her and also her first “job.”

—

You don’t steal Joel away during the party, and he doesn’t try either. But when everyone else is gone, you and Joel stay for a drink with Tommy. He offers that you’re welcome to stay over since the kids are with Maria.

“Where ya want us?” Joel asks.

“Well, my bed’s the most comfy,” Tommy looks at you and adds a wink that gives you butterflies.

Joel nods with an intrigued frown. “Whatcha think, honey?”

“Okay,” you nod. You’re afraid to act too eager, but can hardly believe your luck.

In Tommy’s room, Tommy reclines on the bed, while Joel holds you in a hug. Joel turns your chin to meet his eyes and asks “Comfortable?”

You nod and smile.

“Ready to be even more comfortable?”

Joel kisses you gently, sensually. Then his lips become hungrier, and you lose yourself in his rising desperation. He moans into your mouth and pulls you closer against him. He walks against you until you’re at the bed, and when you glance back to make sure you don’t fall, you see Tommy reclining with his ankles crossed, palming himself over his jeans. He holds your gaze and begins to undo that big belt buckle, and you get a rush of arousal.

With you seated on the bed and Joel looms over you. The curves of his hulking muscles stretch his sweater. Your eyes fall to his jeans, and you can see the outline of his massive erection. You reach for the button and he murmurs, “yeah, there ya go,” and affectionately cradles your head while you unbutton and unzip him. Then he takes his sweater off over his head and his under-tee rides up exposing his happy trail. “Let’s get that sweater off, Tommy.”

You turn around and see Tommy is on all fours with his cardigan already off. He’s prowling across the bed, to the foot of it where you sit. Tommy sits up on his knees behind you, and wraps his arms around. He lifts at the bottom hem of your sweater and brings his mouth to your ear to murmur, “Yeah, let’s get comfortable.” You raise your arms and he takes off the sweater for you then cups your breasts. You pull off your bra from under your tank top while Joel takes off his jeans.

“Shit, let’s take it all off,” Tommys says with his voice briefly muffled by his wifebeater as he pulls it over his head. “Nothin’ like three bare bodies all twisted up.” His giant belt clinks as he unbuckles it behind you. Joel steps out of his jeans, leaving the tent in his boxers on full display, making you gush. He bends down to help take your tank top off, then he kisses you as he unfastens your pants. Joel kisses down your body as he removes your pants and underwear.

“Come on up here,” Tommy mutters and wraps an arm around you. He pulls you up toward the pillows, then stacks them behind himself and pulls you between his legs where you can feel he is fully nude and hard. His skin is hot and smooth. You're both facing Joel.

You sit between Tommy’s moderately hairy legs, and his broad palms cup your naked breasts. “How ya doin’, darlin’?” he whispers into your ear. His cock twitches against your lower back. “Ready for my brother?”

You nod, “Yeah.”

“He’s ready too.”

Joel is kneeling onto the bed with his commanding cock in hand. He pauses to squeeze himself, eyes roving over you like you’ve never looked hotter. “Look like an angel, baby. Can’t wait to be in ya.” Tommy lightly grinds himself against your lower back, then his hands come to your thighs, and you spread them open for Joel.

“Always so good,” Joel mumbles, then kisses you deeply and you feel his cock run through your dripping seam. You’re wet, so wet for him. He’s still kissing you, letting your lips separate every second or so. His face pulls back and Tommy slightly adjusts you between his legs. Tommy’s cock is stiff against your back. Joel’s tip nudges your entrance, then he pushes himself into you. Tommy’s hands are still on your breasts. Joel leans over you, bracing his hands on the bed to either side of Tommy’s thighs. It still makes you swoon how his big cock stuffs you full. As Joel thrusts into you, Tommy ruts against you, moaning softly. The force of Joel’s thrusts makes you rub against Tommy’s stiff manhood and he groans.

“Feel so good, baby,” Joel breathes.

“Take’ him so well,” Tommy whispers.

Your breath hitches and you moan into Joel’s mouth with his cock dragging thickly deep inside you. Tommy massages your breasts and grinds into you while Joel kisses you and fucks you good. It feels better and better every minute. Joel dips his hips and grinds against your front as he stuffs you with his cock. You feel the tension building in your belly, and your clit twitches.

You tear your mouth away from Joel’s and whine, “Joel.”

“Oh, baby, gonna cum already?”

You whimper and nod.

“It’s okay, baby. Go ‘head,” Tommy whispers.

“Yeah, let it happen, baby,” Joel agrees.

Then Joel, with his cock still seated inside you, rolls his hips to put more pressure on your front, and Tommy grinds against your lower back, and you clench down on Joel’s cock with a moan.

“Oh, Fuck,” Joel whispers and he begins to pulse at the exact same time you feel Tommy erupt against you. The three of you come in a cacophony of grunts and moans and Tommy’s sliding wetly against your crack as his cum trickles down.

Joel stays inside as he catches his breath, then slides out of you, and some of his cum drips down between Tommy’s legs.

“Think ya might be the one I been lookin' for,” Joel mumbles. He gives you a slow kiss.

You get cleaned up, then you sleep like three spoons stacked together with Joel in front.

===

Thank you for reading!

: @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

#pedrostoriesgift23 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader x tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #biker!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#joel miller x afab!reader #tommy miller x afab!reader #the bikeriders #the bikeriders x reader #bikeriders cal #the bikeriders cal

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platinumshawnn · 4 months ago

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Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood x OC!Tully — pt iii

masterlist | playlist | backward | forward

A/N: hi, this post comes to you from queue while i'm at a festival. i'm back with another chapter and some attempted proof reading <33

Synopsis: news of Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen's murder rocks the Seven Kingdoms, intensifying tensions at Raventree Hall. Benjicot urges immediate action against House Bracken, while Samwell advises caution. Serra seeks solace in the godswood amidst growing unease. With the wedding approaching, diplomatic tensions rise as troop movements near their borders escalate, casting a shadow over Benjicot and Serra's impending union

Content Warning(s): adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 6.2k

There was no taming the crowd after Samwell’s announcement.

Samwell Blackwood had always been known as a fierce leader who could bring order to any room — stern and formidable in nature, he embodied the traditional values of House Blackwood and its members; a man of thin, slender stature with a quiet voice, he could have been mistaken for being a mild, non-threatening man. If not for his reputation that preceded him his entire life, he might not have appeared as much more than a middle-aged man with tired, sunken eyes that were dark in contrast to his fair complexion, raven-haired with a slight limp that had been acquired from his years of training and small battles that left him permanently scarred — however, quiet as he was, he had a fierce stare that often shifted, like he was constantly analysing his surroundings and a stoic expression most often than not. It was no secret that he was a gifted warrior who was skilled with a sword. At most, the few smiles that he offered were small, ghost-like and never quite reaching his eyes, though reserved for only special occasions.

Serra had witnessed it for the first time in years on the night of her arrival. That little bit of warmth he had in his marrow still, pouring out in small gestures; a squeeze to her hand and reassuring her that her comfort was his utmost priority.

He had been silent the rest of the feast — or whatever it had spiralled into, with his fist pressed to his mouth and expression pinched into one of concentration as the shouting continued; several questions arising amidst the news, “Prince Jaehaerys has been murdered.” It was unsettling to say the least, how calm and collected he was as the words had rolled off his tongue with such nonchalance as though he was only announcing something small such as a shift in the weather; his silence that followed spoke volumes however. His gaze watched the table, the chaos unfolding as men and their own children, and their wives were suddenly in uproar, panic ensuing. Serra vaguely made out the questions, the cries, the slamming of fists on the table that would cause the wood to shudder under her hands; her plate and utensils shaking with the sheer force and clattering against one another. Her gaze had kept down, pinned to the table and unmoving as she eyed the roast goose that had long-since gone cold on her plate, her hands folding in her lap and picking at her nails as she attempted to drown out the noise by the task of ripping at skin until she was near bloody.

“I told you this union would bring nothing but death,” A voice called out, elderly and male, gruff as a clatter of a cup followed. Her head briefly lifted to turn in the direction it came from, finding as an elderly Lord Perryn stood from his seat, “An ill-omen, forged in haste and shadowed by distrust— and what now, Lord Blackwood? You would have my sons die for your own need for more power? Have we not sacrificed enough for your cause, are you not yet satisfied?”

Serra’s head turned to look towards Lord Blackwood, who remained silent and otherwise unbothered by the older Lord’s words, aside from a twitch of his eye as his gaze shifted to her father. She admired the restraint he possessed, unlike his son, and the ability that even when he did not speak, he still oozed self-assured confidence that wasn’t arrogant or reckless but that of maturity and years of experience. She made note for the first time since arrival, that while his son was immature and had yet to grow into himself and his role, she could still see a glimmer of similarity between the two men — both physically and in personality.

She was, however, suddenly startled by the slam of her father’s hand against the table, watching as he stood to his feet with his glare cast down the table. “You would do best to mind your tongue, Lord Perryn,” He loudly warned, a finger jabbing in his direction. “Do not dare curse my daughter’s marriage for the bloodshed.” He continued, his voice shaking with anger.

Serra had never known her father to be a cruel, or angry man. Hell, she had only even heard him shout on a small handful of occasions, thus his reaction left her stunned; staring up at him with wide eyes, watching as he seemed to flip a switch and become a different man right in front of her. Though his outburst did not silence the table entirely, met once again by another voice that shouted from down the table, “Does it not seem strange that coincidentally while you announce your daughter’s betrothal and we are here feasting, children are being murdered in their beds like cattle? Don’t be foolish, Elmo, surely that is some sort of sign—!”

The young Lord who had spoken up second was met with shouts of support, heads nodding in agreement, the anger and tension in the air palpable. She watched then as her father reached quickly for his left hip and withdrew the dagger he kept sheathed there, his hand once again slamming into the table with such force, she visibly jumped in her seat and brought her hands over her ears to cover them from the harsh sound of dishes clattering to the floor; the dagger’s blade lodged into the table as he looked towards the second voice that spoke up, “That is enough, SIT DOWN!”

Serra’s eyes had squeezed shut, head down as the room erupted into further pandemonium, attempting to make herself as small as she physically could in her own seat, wanting nothing but to flee; her feet attempting to push the chair back and away from the table, but unsuccessful. The chair was stuck — she was stuck, and suffocating, drowning as her hands clenched into fists against her ears as she attempted again to shove her chair back, but meeting resistance again. Her chest felt tight with fear and anxiety as her heart pounded in her ears, praying that if this was the moment she died, she would go fast — prayed that the Gods would at least have mercy and that the ground would open up and swallow her whole right then and there.

Her chair was yanked back suddenly, a hand grabbing her left elbow and dragging her upwards and away from the table, like some sort of saviour that had come to answer all her prayers. She gasped in relief, stumbling back and turning to come face-to-face with Kermit, who held her elbow with such a tight grip, she would be sure to have marks in the days to come; but she did not care. She reached out for him, struggling to breathe as he lowered his head to find her gaze, a look of worry on his face as he grabbed her other elbow and gently shook her, his mouth opening with words that she could not quite make out. His head rose to look around, before looking back at his sister and shouting, “Let’s go- now, let’s go!”

She looked at him wide eyed, stumbling over her own feet and thighs bumping into her chair as he turned and began to drag her towards the door, her right elbow in his grasp. A second pair of hands appeared, much larger as one came up and underneath her left bicep, forcing her upright with a sharp jerk that radiated pain throughout the joint as she was rushed out of the great hall. Her head turned to glance behind her and towards where her father remained at the table, along with Oscar who craned his head to look for her from beside their father amidst the havoc. It was only once the doors slammed shut behind them and she was being hurried up the stairs towards her room did she finally breathe, gasping for air as she all but ran to keep up with the longer strides of her brother and the second male who had yet to say anything.

The run back to her rooms felt longer than it ever had, her lungs screaming for oxygen and joints aching as the three approached her door. Kermit reached to open the door as she was then shoved inside, nearly tripping over her dress but steadied by the second’s hand. It was only once she was safe in the confines of her room did she turn to look at him — truly, look at him — finding Benjicot already reaching for the door handle to pull the door closed. He seemed to hesitate, his eyes catching hers and pausing. Even in the dim lighting that the moon provided, streaming in through the window, she saw his eyes narrow and mouth open as if he wanted to say something to her but interrupted by Kermit’s voice.

“Stay here.” He instructed, his defeated expression over Benjicot’s shoulder.

Kermit spun and turned on his heel before Serra could muster a reply, leaving the Blackwood heir standing there, his eyes still on her.

“What-” She began to ask but stopped as he blinked a couple of times, snapping out of whatever daze kept him at her door; his mouth snapping shut abruptly and giving her a small nod before he shut the door in her face.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was a sleepless night for the Blackwood and Tully men. After Benjicot and Kermit had returned to the great hall, the leftover contents of what had once been a celebration now torn apart and ruined at the hands of angry men, Benjicot had spent the remainder of the evening playing at damage control. Naturally, on their own, men and their families had started to trickle out the door, muttering and scoffing as guards nearly shoved them out of Raventree’s looming halls. It had taken several hours to clear everyone out and even get the hall close to presentable, but it had been done — however, the pressing issue at hand had yet to be resolved.

War was coming — Benjicot was no fool. He was also not foolish enough to believe his betrothal had any hand in the matter, either.

Amidst overseeing that everything was cleaned and put back together as best the hall could be, he had found himself wandering, pacing around the table and trying to offer a hand in cleaning up chalices and dishes that had been strewn about in the madness; stacking them in his arms as he circled. His pace was slow, gaze lingering as his eyelids grew heavier with exhaustion -- soon enough an hour passed into two, and by the time the hall looked even close to what it had previously been, the sun was already rising; Kermit having since retreated to his chambers at his insistence. He hadn’t been much company in his tired state, silent and lurking as he tried to help, but instead getting in the way more often than not — he knew his friend hadn’t slept much the night prior either, having been riddled with anxiety over the arrival of his father and worried about whether he had been successful in his duty, and Benjicot would not have asked him to stay up again.

The glow of sunrise was streaming in through the windows by the time the last of the chairs had been returned to their place and the last dish brought to the kitchen, servants beginning to make their way back to their own quarters, leaving him sat alone in the great hall; his tired gaze out the window as he perched himself in the window’s ledge that overlooked the gardens. His hands were preoccupied by a cup that had been thrown among the fighting earlier that night, him entering the hall just as it missed Oscar’s head, slamming into the wall behind him and splattering wine against the cool, marble walls; Elmo having dragged him out of the way just in time. The cup had been thrown by a young Bigglestone boy after Oscar had made a snide remark in his direction after an insult had been muttered about his sister — the soon-to-be-bride — a comment that had labelled the poor girl as his ‘Blackwood bitch’. Benjicot had simply chosen to tune him out and ignore him as he attempted to taunt the heir, muttering a lewd comment at him as he brushed past the youth who implied he’d defiled her in his short leave from the room because there was no use fighting with him and making things worse than they already were in the given climate of things.

He slid from his spot in the window, his gaze dropping to the cup in his hand as he slowly dragged himself towards the table that was spotless; a ghost of last night’s events as he approached the head. The cup was set down, his eyes being drawn to the chip in the wood where Lord Elmo’s dagger had pierced itself; having left a visible mark in the dark wood, splintered in the process of yanking it from its depths. Benjicot could still see his father’s roll of eyes when his peer had yanked the dagger out, noticing the new mark — before landing on him again, giving him a raised eyebrow. He had given him a nod as if to answer that ‘she was alright’, tucked away in the safety of her room — Elmo wouldn’t have ever forgiven him if anything had come to her, if he broke his word.

“Have you slept at all?”

His head whipped around towards where his father stood in the doorway, his expression plain and still as he eyed his son, his hands at the hilt of his sword at his waist.

“No.” Benjicot admitted, his gaze turning back to the table towards where Serra had sat prior.

He heard his father hum as his hand reached out to brush over the chipped wood, fingers memorising the imperfection, “Any particular reason?” Samwell asked.

His tone was flat and held no particular emotion — but Benjicot had never really known his father to be an expressive man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He had always been reserved and stoic, and the type of man you had to read between the lines with — he cared, somewhere deep down, Benjicot knew he cared, but he didn’t show it the way other parents did. It had been a confusing trait as a child, but as he grew, he’d come to terms with it and understood it better; not perfected, but just enough to communicate. Even if he recalled his childhood and thought of his parents, and the relationship they shared, Benjicot never knew them to be warm and affectionate in the way other parents were — not in the way he had witnessed between the Tully’s; with Elmo and his wife, with their open affection and adoration for one another, their loyalty to each other possessing a depth that Benjicot wasn’t sure he could understand. He’d envied it, even as a boy.

His head tilted, eyes still downcast on the table as his shoulders rose and fell with a breath, unsure why he had stayed up all night. Surely, he wasn’t obligated to stay awake and watch over the staff as they cleaned up — they would have done well on their own. He shrugged, while dragging his thumb across the splintered wood, noting the sharp ridges that just pricked his finger, but not enough for the wood to pierce his skin and embed itself into his finger, “Figured…I would stay here, oversee that everything was fixed. Made presentable again.” He mumbled, his voice quiet as it carried across the room to where his father watched him.

“They would have been fine.” He stated, sharing his exact thoughts. He didn’t answer, his gaze lifting and looking at Serra’s chair, his eyes falling on a handkerchief that had fallen into her seat sometime in the scuffle to get her out of there, “How is Serra?” Samwell asked.

“Shaken. Terrified…seems like everything scares her though.” He admitted.

The image of her face, screwed up in fear, with her hands over her ears like a frightened child was still ingrained in his mind, helpless to flee from the conflict. He had only noticed her terror upon seeing Kermit’s face, across the table and waving Benjicot up as her chair crashed into his knee when he turned to stand; he had tried to grab the chair, stop her and move the chair with more grace, but was again slammed by the chair as it jammed into his chest. In that very moment, he felt sorry for her — his shoulders relaxing and truly feeling sorry for the girl who had not a single violent, angry bone in her body.

“She’s a sensitive girl,” His father stated, falling into a silent pause before speaking again. “She always has been, if you remember.” He quickly added, trying to gauge his son’s reaction on the matter.

He sighed under his breath, “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Benjicot finally looked over at his father, their eyes meeting, sensing that his father wanted to say more. But he was silent, his own dark eyes settling on the handkerchief embroidered with flowers in the Tully’s house colours.

His father had always had a soft spot for Serra, even as children. He couldn’t count anymore how many times he and his father had quarrelled over the subject of being kinder to her -- maybe it was in part because Samwell had only ever had the one child, a son, and he felt the paternal instinct to protect her. Maybe he considered her like a daughter in those moments, and it made him wonder if the idea to betroth them had always been there, somewhere in the background and Benjicot had just failed to see it.

“I realise you would probably prefer to rest but we have a meeting. I advise you to go, clean up and change before the council gathers to discuss last night’s news.” Samwell said, eyeing his son’s appearance, his expression softening just the smallest bit — the only way that Benjicot had come to recognize it, by the way the tension in his brow eased.

Benjicot nodded, feeling worse than he probably appeared, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair a tousled mess. His clothes from the night prior were probably covered in wine and food, caked somewhere to the fabric if he looked, but he knew he probably smelled even worse; with yesterday’s events still on his skin like a layer of grime that only he could feel. He waited, however, until his father turned to leave before he moved, circling the table towards the chair that had once seated the Tully girl. His fingers snapped up the fabric that had been abandoned, balling it into his fist as he then strode out of the hall, following in tow of his father’s prior movements.

And even as he returned to his room, dressed and splashed some water onto his face from the basin, he still did not feel any better. He did not feel any less hollow and heavy, limbs pinned at his side with exhaustion as he returned a mere few moments later to the familiar private solar that belonged to his father. His feet dragged as he walked, trudging his way through the castle, and even before the doors had opened, he could hear the voices of the men inside; already in debate.

There was a pause when he entered, their eyes turning to greet him as he forced himself to walk across the room and take his place by his father’s right. Benjicot noted that while the group was smaller than usual, he recognized the lords from the night prior; much calmer than the last time they had been in the same room as his father had hesitated, voice faltering mid-sentence at his arrival, “I understand the concern over what happens next following the death of the prince, but we do not have any reason to suspect that the Brackens will use this as an opportunity to move in.” Samwell resumed, his gaze briefly flickering to his son before it cast down to Lord Charlton.

“They already have begun, I hear— there are whispers that your men patrolling the borders say they spotted a camp of Bracken men close to the boundaries in the early hours of the morning.” He stated, his eyes expectant and waiting for an answer.

Samwell’s gaze was unflinching, hands planted on the table in front of him as a hushed series of mutters broke out in response, the young Lord Edric Charlton who Benjicot recognized — not quite the head of his house yet, rather, he was the heir apparent to his father, Lord Jon Charlton. He was barely ten-and-seven, tall and thin with a boyish face despite his efforts to appear older underneath an unruly beard and knight uniform that was too big, making him resemble a boy playing pretend with his father’s clothes. The sight of him brought Benjicot a sense of relief that while he had never been as strong and sturdy as a Northernman, he had at least grown into his height and filled out enough that at least his clothes flattered him, fitting just right and not hanging from his limbs like some sort of sack.

“They know better than to set camp on Blackwood land,” Samwell asserted, his tone dismissive. “They are not of any concern at this point in time.”

“And then what, when they do decide to make their move?” The voice this time comes from Lord Jason Mallister, his voice a low timbre that cut through the mutters among the men who quietly debated in between questions.

“Then rest assured, we will be prepared.” Elmo spoke, the confidence in his voice unwavering, stepping forward from his previous position close to the wall.

“I will not have any unnecessary bloodshed without a suitable cause.” Samwell continued, standing upright from his leaned position.

“So, we sit and wait and allow the Brackens to have the upper hand, by growing stronger every day in the meantime?” Benjicot suddenly interrupted, his voice quiet as he looked at his father. It was a bold decision for him to defy his father’s orders, even just challenging them, but his exhaustion and distaste for the Brackens lessened his inhibitions in speaking. The room turned to stare at the heir, who had otherwise been silent up to that point — his own father turned, too, looking at him. In a moment of bravery, he cared little for trying to hold back and restrain himself, restless as he let out a breath and rolled his shoulders, “The news from King's Landing is a clear sign that we must act. The Targaryens are vulnerable, and the Brackens are undoubtedly planning to exploit this chaos. This is only a warning. We need to take decisive action before they do. We cannot delay it any longer.” He slowly explained, the room hanging on his every word, earning a couple of low hums in agreement from the room.

His father, however, remained silent and stared at him; Benjicot held his eye for a moment, “Benjicot, your passion is commendable,” he said, emphasis on his last word, “but we must temper it with wisdom. Rushing into conflict without a clear strategy could lead to our ruin. We need to gather more information and strengthen our alliances before making any move.”

“Your father is right. We cannot afford to act rashly, especially with the news from King's Landing still uncertain. A misstep now could shatter our alliances.” Elmo interjected, cutting through the palpable tension between the Blackwood father and son.

He was grateful for Elmo’s interruption, giving him reason to drop his father’s gaze and shifting his eyes to look towards Lord Elmo, “Forgive me, I only mean to suggest we should pressure the Bracken cunts into remembering their place.” He explained. “They encroach on our lands, in an effort to test our defences. We need to show them that House Blackwood and its allies will not be intimidated. Send me, I will take a small fleet of men to confront them at the borders—”

“Absolutely not. I will not have you running so freely, making messes while there are more pressing matters at hand—no.” Samwell stated, rambling, his annoyance to the idea clear. “I understand your frustration, son, but impulsiveness will not serve us well. We must consider the wider implications of our actions. The Brackens are not our only concern; the realm is in turmoil. A poorly timed strike could isolate us from other potential allies and make us vulnerable to our enemies.”

Benjicot stepped forward, approaching the table and facing his father who shot him a warning look, “You would truly rather risk giving them the opportunity to make the first move on us? In these times?” He questioned, dumbfounded. “And then what? Would you truly rather sit and wait for them to advance and burn Raventree to the ground?”

“No— no, Gods be good, Benjicot!” Lord Samwell snapped, slamming a hand into the table, “we prepare. We fortify our positions, gather intelligence, and reach out to other houses who share our concerns. We build a coalition that can stand against the Brackens and any other threats that may arise. This is a time for careful planning, not reckless aggression.”

Ben saw reason in his father’s words — he didn’t lack intelligence and was a reasonable man when it came to matters of battle and of council. Reckless, sure, but he was smart enough to see the value in his words and approach, and had always admired his father’s wisdom and experience. But the suggestion of inaction while Brackens taunted them by camping right there, right in their fucking faces — it spurred a deep rage in him, his jaw clenched so hard he felt it would break any moment. He was restless, and anxious these days, to say the least.

“Our people look to us for protection. If we hesitate, we risk appearing weak. The Brackens and any others that stand against us and the rightful queen must know that any aggression will be met with force.” Benjicot countered, his tone persistent and pushing like a child testing their parent’s patience -- a battle that Samwell was used to after twenty-one years. Slowly, Ben dragged his eyes around the room as the sound of mutters rose up once again, met with a few mutters that agreed -- it seemed as though the older, experienced Lords sided one way, in favour of restraint while the younger lords muttered in agreement. The sight emboldened him, squaring his shoulders.

“Benjicot raises a valid point. The Brackens have been testing our boundaries. A show of strength might deter them from further provocations.” A gruff sounding Lord Roose Rivers agreed, an older man that only made an appearance when it mattered most.

Benjicot turned to look at his father, catching the twitch up a scowl on his lip as he sighed, “A show of strength, yes, but not without a plan.” He said. “We need to gather more intelligence, understand their movements, and ensure our own defences are impenetrable.”

Elmo nodded from his father’s left, his gaze scanning the scrolls that littered the table, “Indeed. The wedding is set for a fortnight, and with it, the eyes of many houses will be upon us. Any action we take must be measured and precise.”

For the first time in days, the mention of the wedding returned, and any confidence that Benjicot had briefly experienced was fleeting; his heart pounding suddenly as his head turned to look at his father at the mention of the wedding date. Samwell did not even bother to look at him, though he could see the way he blinked and looked down, his mouth twisting into a subtle frown and avoiding his gaze. There had not even been any consultation that involved him in the decision -- he assumed Elmo and his father had met before they all gathered and made the unanimous decision before he’d even had a chance to protest. He felt sick, swallowing thickly and looking away, remembering to respond before the silence dragged out too long.

“I understand the need for caution, but we cannot wait forever. We…must send a message that we are ready to defend our lands.” He stuttered, his voice quieter now.

He watched as councilman Merrett Rivers leaned forward in his chair,”Perhaps a compromise. We could strengthen our patrols along the border, make it clear we are vigilant. This would show our resolve without committing to open conflict.”

His father spoke, gaze turning to look at Elmo who shrugged, nodding, “That could work. Increased patrols will demonstrate our readiness and buy us time to devise a more comprehensive strategy.” His body turned to face the heir who still felt as though his head was underwater, a sharp pain throbbing behind his right eye and squeezing the hilt of his dagger, “Does that please you, Benjicot?” He asked, his tone sharp.

He reluctantly found his father’s eye, pinning him to his very spot as he slowly offered a nod, “Very well. We will increase the patrols. That way we are ready for them, should they come.”

For the first time in years, Samwell smiled -- though it was not a genuine smile, holding no warmth or sincerity as his mouth pressed into a fine line, tight and visibly forced; it was unsettling, cold, and caused him to swallow again and want to shrink back into his corner. His hand suddenly lifted quickly to his shoulder, coming down heavy enough to jostle him, gripping his shoulder with an almost painfully tight squeeze that feigned an affectionate gesture, ”We will, my son. Trust in the wisdom of caution, and we might navigate these turbulent times together.”

Samwell’s hand slid from his shoulder after a moment, turning his head to look away, though Benjicot remained unmoving and feeling the seething anger that radiated from the older man, knowing he had overstepped. He had overstepped and he wouldn’t hear the end of it, he would be lectured in private for undermining him -- in the heat of the moment, bold and stupid, he had gotten too carried away and felt invincible and brave for a moment.

“Now…onto the next order. We’ve received word of a troop movement from the Swyft household.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

For yet another sleepless night, Serra was plagued by dreams that were hardly more than smears of colour and images of Benjicot’s face.

It seemed as though, the moment she stepped foot into Raventree three days prior, she had not been able to escape him -- both in sleep and awake. He seemed to be at every turn and there was no avoiding him, despite her best efforts. He was the only clear thing that her dreams held on to, her eyelids fluttering with sleep as the night seemed to drag into years for her, waking every hour just to briefly scan her room, only for eyes to close again.

Though, unlike the boy who skulked the halls of Raventree Hall, the boy in her dreams was all soft smiles, pleased and content with gentle eyes and reaching out to touch her cheeks. He was careful and kind, his tone low and sweet as honey -- she couldn’t grasp just what it was he was saying, his mouth moving with words, but her dream prevented her from making sense of it. He was speaking to her but her brain could not comprehend what it was he was saying.

And then there was a boy…dimpled, sweet, and with raven hair.

He reached for her, bouncing on his heels excitedly as he summoned her forward. He was familiar in the way that you remember your first friend, all but three and beautiful. Serra assumed it was Benjicot too, however, the boy in front of her lacked the scar above his lip, and the smile was different. She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but there was something about him at the tip of her finger that was different.

She vaguely recalled the boy coming towards her, hand outstretched and planting to her abdomen and shouting something. She had tried to ask him to repeat it but the words still did not reach her ears. Planted against a swollen belly, filled by babe. His face had melted into something of terror then, bloodied and distraught, her gaze drifting behind him where the bodies lay stacked, stiffened with death and the waft of burning flesh -- her skin burned, the heat of the field behind him that was ablaze as he shouted up at her.

And then there he was again -- Benjicot, knelt in front of her as his hand reached out to her smeared in blood as fingers splayed out across her belly. His expression this time, however, pleading to her, begging and sobbing in fear. He looked small for the first time, like a frightened child and it caused her heart to genuinely ache for the boy.

Since dawn, she had found herself in the godswoods behind Raventree, sitting at the foot of the dead weirwood tree looming over her as she observed its trunk. She had heard years ago about the rumours -- the story of Brackens poisoning the once lively, beautiful tree, though the latter vehemently denied the accusations. The source of a long standing feud that more often than not ended bloody.

She had woken to her hand at her belly that morning, right over where Benjicot’s had placed itself, tugging at the fabric of her skirt like a young boy trying to get his mother’s attention. The image of his face haunted her, scared and wide eyed as he pleaded. For what? She did not know. The words had long since faded, slipping from her despite how hard she concentrated on retelling its details.

Her fingers were plucking at the grass, some spots dried and dead around the tree, with its face faded with time. By noon, she had missed breakfast, refusing to leave her spot at its foot and listening to the distant sounds of ravens that hung over the hall and the distant shout from men when Ser Alistair approached her and notified her. It seemed noon would soon too pass and she would miss lunch when a voice cleared their throat from behind her, her gaze not lifting from the grass underneath her fingers, “Yes?”

“Do you plan to join us for dinner?” Kermit asked, his hands folded behind him as he expectantly looked at his sister. He watched as she lifted her gaze briefly, eyes closed and inhaling deeply.

She looked down again, “I don’t think so.”

Her brother hummed in response, nodding slightly behind her. He reluctantly approached her side, kneeling beside her and looking up at the tree in front of them — she glanced towards him from the corner of her eye, “It would have been beautiful to see in its glory.” He suddenly announced, her gaze flickering up towards the tree that held his attention. “I always preferred the godswood here.” Kermit continued.

They were silent for a moment as he just sat and observed the tree, his sister silent and plucking and collecting grass in her fist that she sprinkled down every so often, “You’re getting thin and wasting.” He said, his head turning to look at her.

“It’s only been three days.” She replied, voice soft. “I have eaten.”

“Next to naught.” He quickly countered. “Father worries about you, you know. As do I.”

Her head lifted, squinting as the sun momentarily managed to peek through the clouds that hung over the land, bright in her eyes as she sighed, “Do not patronise me, Kermit. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

She could see him frown from where he sat, “I do not patronise you. I sincerely mean it. You know I care about your wellbeing.”

She scoffed a bitter laugh, “You’ve a funny way of showing that.”

He looked down to his lap, silent once again in quiet contemplation. He remembered what he had done, in his drunken stupor, “I do not find your suffering funny, you know that, Serra.” He said, looking up. “There is no need for theatrics.”

She stared at him then, stunned that he did not seem remorseful, “Theatrics?” She echoed, hurt by the choice of word. “You laughed, brother. He humiliated me and you laughed. After you tried to convince me that he would be an honourable husband to take. You laughed.”

“I did not mean it.” He sincerely said, his voice softening as he deflated with a sigh, looking back to find her eyes. “I would never do that to you. Never in my sober mind.”

“You are supposed to be on my side— you are supposed to defend and protect me.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t do that.”

He quietly spoke above a whisper, “I know.”

She looked away and up at the tree, unsure what else there was to say to him, “if I could undo it, redo everything, I would.” He said. “I wish I could. But do not starve yourself for that— I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.” Kermit said.

She looked at him, right in his face as he glanced over at her. He pushed himself up from the ground, standing over her and leaning to rest a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Please eat.” He encouraged, before he withdrew his hand and returned to the house.

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