#a bit of a departure from Choose Me
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mischief-lies-and-stories · 2 years ago
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Riffing on one of my Mobius theories (fic)
Spoilers for Loki (both seasons) and Where Mischief Lies. I think this probably theoretically takes place after season 2, with all the major conflicts resolved, but also I'm writing this between episodes 2x02 and 2x03 so it's like if episode 2 happened, everything got resolved, and Sylvie decided to join them on some (undisclosed) mission. I don't set up a whole lot of background for why they're all suddenly together and not freaking out about major plot points, so end-ish of the season as if nothing bad happens after ep 2 (we can only hope, lol). Okay, that's enough (vague, unhelpful) context.
They've barely walked through the Time Door and into mid-1800s England before Loki loses concentration. Sylvie is with them this time, so he's actually focused on their mission when they pass through time. No, the distraction comes after they arrive.
"All right," Mobius says, glancing around. "Here's the plan. Loki--" he turns to the others, and sees only Sylvie is behind him. "Loki?"
Sylvie points down the alleyway. Loki stands at the end of the alley, just out of sight of the street, peering out.
Mobius looks questioningly back at Sylvie, who shrugs. They move down the damp concrete toward him. Mobius peeks around Loki and follows his gaze. Ah. The entire 1860s to land in, the whole of the sprawling metropolis that is Victorian London, and somehow Loki has managed to find Theo Bell already.
Mobius looks at the hand Loki has pressed absently to the grimy wall beside him; it's trembling slightly.
"Loki," Mobius says softly. Loki doesn't look away from Theo, who stands outside a doorway down the street.
"It's--"
"I know who it is." Mobius has the sudden, selfish desire for Loki to look at him, to stop staring at the man he left two hundred years ago and return to that undivided attention he's been paying Mobius lately. But Mobius knows who it is, and what Theo means to Loki. Leaving this man in an uncoupled train car is one of Loki's deepest regrets.
I don't like hurting people.
Loki looks away finally, for just a moment, to look at Mobius. But then he glances at Sylvie, too, and then returns his gaze to the man he once knew. The eye contact is long enough for Mobius to see the pained look on his face. Loki takes a shuddering breath.
"You can't let him see you." Mobius tells him, gently.
"I know." Loki's voice is steady, but the rough exhale and the way he squeezes his eyes closed tell Mobius how much Loki hates it.
"Who is it?" Sylvie asks.
"Theo." Loki gasps, eyes still on the man down the road. "Theo Bell." He swallows, then looks at her briefly. "Not a prince," he tells her, in a tone that makes Mobius suspect he's referencing a previous conversation. "But real."
Mobius looks at Sylvie as Loki turns away again and sees understanding in her eyes.
"Your postman," she says, which makes even less sense to Mobius.
"My postman," Loki confirms, and now Mobius is jealous of two people here. He's not sure which is worse, that one of them knows he's jealous of her, or that the other doesn't even know he exists.
---
The universe-- or multiverse, or whatever-- as it so often does, seems to have other ideas, in the end. They are careful, very careful, even with Loki out of commission and spying on a man he still loves, for the entirety of what little they are able to accomplish here.
And still, in the end, Theo Bell catches sight of him.
"Loki?"
Mobius and Sylvie manage to slip back, unseen, but of course, Loki is rooted to the spot at the sound of the man he's missed for centuries saying his name. Mobius watches him turn to meet Theo's gaze, and those teeth of jealousy haven't torn at Mobius's insides quite so aggressively since he rescued Loki and Sylvie from Lamentis.
But he knows Loki needs this, knows Loki knows he cannot take Theo with them, so he lets Loki further this not-exactly-protocol interaction. Loki has needed this conversation for two hundred years.
"I thought you said they couldn't interact," Sylvie murmurs.
Mobius shrugs. "They shouldn't. But the timeline's already fragmented, and he's held onto his guilt over their parting for way too long."
"When are you going to stop standing by, Mobius?"
Mobius looks at her, startled. "What do you mean?"
She frowns at him. "You know what I mean. When are you going to stop making assumptions about what's best for him and just tell him?"
"Tell him what?"
Sylvie scoffs and rolls her eyes, returning her gaze to the two before them. "Forget it."
---
Loki has been talking to Theo Bell for some time now. Sylvie squints at the man in front of Loki, who's speaking to him in a low voice and gently holding his hands. There's something about his expression that gives her pause. He shifts his weight at the same time the man beside her does the same thing, and out of the corner of her eye, the gesture looks nearly identical.
She glances back at Mobius, takes in the way he's also staring at Loki like his entire world revolves around the god, and wonders why she's only just noticing the similarities. They're vague: Theo's nose only slightly crooked, the way they hold themselves even though Mobius doesn't walk with a limp, that look in their eyes when they gaze at Loki. A thought is starting to take root in Sylvie's mind.
"He told you you're a variant, right?" She asks Mobius. Mobius breaks his gaze from the two in front of them to glance at Sylvie.
"Yeah," he says, "I know. He told us awhile ago."
"Did you get your memories back?"
"No, no," Mobius chuckles in a way that tells Sylvie he's trying for nonchalance but failing.
"Why not?"
Mobius glances back at Loki before returning his gaze to her. "I'm content with my life."
Yeah, I'd believe that if you weren't staring at him like a puppy, she thinks. She glances at Theo Bell and back at Mobius one more time before making her decision.
"Sorry, but I think it'll be worth it," she says, and presses her hand to his upper arm.
The dingy, rain-soaked Victorian street fades away to reveal, in Mobius's long-locked-away, distant memories-- a dingy, rain-soaked Victorian street. Which would be rather anti-climactic if the implications weren't so earth-shattering.
He walks with a limp, a cane in his hand, beside a tall man and an older woman. They enter the front doors of a museum, and confidently make their way into the storeroom. The tall man opens a wooden coffin and tips it open, and Loki falls out, looking much younger than he is now. The image changes...
The memories flow through him, from his first meeting with Loki to the morning he watched Loki hurtling away from him on the Bifrost, flanked by train cars filled with the living dead. And his life after, until he was picked up by the TVA.
Mobius is overwhelmed by a strange cocktail of joy and pain and hope. Loki loves him, or at least who he was. Loki saw some version of him, past or future or variant, barely ten seconds out of the Time Door, and lost all focus on the mission. Even knowing he couldn't make contact with Theo (before circumstances out of their control changed that), he could think of nothing else, couldn't stop watching Mobius's past unfold before them, rather than move on.
But even knowing his past at last, Mobius is the same person he's always been. Loki is in love with a man who hasn't existed in Time knows how long. Will he be disappointed if Mobius is nothing like Theo?
Mobius slowly becomes aware that he is no longer inside his own head, inside the memories. (The setting being nearly identical makes it difficult to tell.) He's crouched down against the pavement, tears streaming down his face.
From what seems like far away, he hears Loki's voice. "Mobius? What's happened?"
"I gave him his memories," Sylvie replies.
Mobius feels hands on his arms and looks up into Loki's wide, green eyes. His cheeks are still stained with tears, and it makes Mobius's heart ache. He loves Mobius's past self this deeply; how could he ever feel anything but disappointment about Mobius as he is?
"Are you all right?" he whispers, though, and the concern in his voice is still for Mobius alone. It warms Mobius a little. Mobius gestures in a strange, noncommittal mix between a nod, head shake, and shrug.
Loki frowns. "Was it good?" He asks, an echo of their conversation in the automat.
Mobius does shrug this time, tears still streaming down his face. "A little bit, I think."
Loki's frown deepens. "Was it bad?"
Mobius's voice shakes when he replies, thinking of how different he is than Loki remembers, how breaking the memories free hasn't changed him back into the man he was when the TVA picked him up. "I don't know."
Loki searches his face, then opens his mouth to respond. Mobius can't take it anymore, this not knowing. "Just look, Loki."
"Yeah, that's gonna have to wait till we get back, boys. We have to go." Sylvie says.
Loki helps Mobius to his feet as Sylvie enters the TVA into the TemPad. Loki keeps glancing at Mobius, brow furrowed with worry, his centuries-overdue closure with Theo forgotten for the moment. Mobius has an odd feeling, like he's smug for beating his past self at something, as if earning Loki's attention is something he's still competing for when Theo Bell is also him.
When they return to the TVA, Sylvie volunteers to update B-15 for them.
"Gently," she tells Loki. "I already unlocked the memories, and you're only reading them. If you go in with the same force we used on Alioth, you'll hurt him."
Loki nods, and when Sylvie heads off toward Analysis, he takes Mobius's hand. Mobius turns to look at him, startled, but Loki just nods in the other direction, still looking worried. He seems too distracted about making sure Mobius is okay to realize what he's doing. Mobius allows him to lead him through the halls, until they emerge into the automat, and Mobius finds he can finally breathe again. And isn't that interesting.
Loki leads him to a chair. "Are you sure you want me to see?" he asks. "A little while ago you didn't even want to know."
Mobius nods. "I want you to know. I think you should know." Loki frowns again, but Mobius rushes on. "And I don't think I would know how to explain."
Loki watches him for a moment, then reaches out with both hands to wipe away the tears with his thumbs. He still hesitates. He seems to be distracted by Mobius's tears.
"Mobius--" he murmurs.
"Honestly, Loki, this is mostly from relief," Mobius says, gesturing at the tears, taking a risk and hoping Loki's distracted enough that he can lie to him again.
"Mobius, you're shaking." Loki says, tone skeptical and telling Mobius he's not entirely successful this time.
Mobius huffs a mirthless laugh. "Well, I did say mostly." he says, then sighs. "Just look, Loki. Please."
Loki nods, and then surprises Mobius when he doesn't just touch his hand to Mobius's shoulder or his fingertips to Mobius's temple, but keeps his hands cupped against Mobius's cheeks and brings their foreheads together. Loki closes his eyes and Mobius follows suit.
Mobius lets him see, shows him his childhood and arrest, his imprisonment and meeting Mrs. S. He replays their history from his perspective: a young, beautiful, short-tempered god tumbling from a casket and turning Mobius-as-Theo's life upside-down; the mission; watching Loki sleep on that dirty mattress, his heart swelling in a wonderfully painful way in his chest as Loki breathed slowly and his pale eyelids fluttered; Loki's slow, surprised smile when he realized he was being teased, realized he enjoyed it; kissing him for the first time on that speeding train full of the dead and the living and the living dead, Loki's promise echoing in his head, yet knowing already they were empty words; watching Loki's retreating form as it rode the Bifrost home, as Loki turned his head for one final glance back at the man he was abandoning; and all that came after.
Loki pulls back, inhaling sharply as if emerging from a pool of water, and Mobius opens his eyes to a sheen of fresh tears.
"How can this be?" Loki asks shakily.
"I don't know."
"No, I mean..." Loki moves back into his space, taking his face in his hands again, and it's too much. It's too much. "We just saw you. How could we have been where you still were without causing a, a paradox, or something? Isn't that what happens?"
He's stuck on the wrong part, but Mobius supposes there's a lot to unpack. "Well, we weren't there long. And I did not see or speak to myself. I don't think my past self would have recognized me as me, anyway."
Loki stares at him for a long moment, and then lets out a sob, and it breaks Mobius into pieces.
"I...I..." Loki starts. Mobius takes pity on him; it's been a very long day for the god's heart.
"It's okay. You don't have to say anything." He says, mostly trying to reassure Loki. Only partly to save his own heart the inevitable pain.
"Yes, I do." He says. "I should have already. I should have before I... before you..." he sniffs and swipes at his eyes before continuing. "I've loved you for a long, long time. And I didn't think I'd ever love anyone again, not after Theo Bell."
There it is. The words that make Mobius's heart soar at the same time it shatters into a million, tiny pieces. Because he will never be Theo Bell again. He's been Mobius M. Mobius for far too long. And Theo and Mobius both love Loki, but Loki has only ever loved Theo.
"I'm not as I was," Mobius whispers, looking away. "I'm different." It's an apology, a wish in the pit of his chest that he could return to that man that he was, but a truth that must be stated. He'd never be able to pretend he was still that boy, and it would not be fair to Loki to make him believe Mobius could be.
"I know." Loki says. Mobius listens for regret, for disappointment, but cannot hear it. He meets Loki's eyes again; Loki is already watching him intently. "I said I didn't think I could ever love anyone again, but then I was taken as a prisoner of time and dragged here and coerced into working as a consultant, with another man who's too smart for his own good, another man who can see through my lies, another man who knows my story before I know he even exists." Loki's eyes soften. "Another man who sees the good in me, even when I can't. Who trusts me, and believes in me, and lets me use my talents to help him, instead of condemning them as tools for evil."
Leaving one hand to still cup his face, Loki brings his other hand down to clasp Mobius's. He brings it to his lips and tenderly kisses each knuckle, gazing at Mobius the entire time. Mobius can't breathe, can't move, can't look anywhere but into those emerald irises he's loved since well before he was an agent.
"Another man I fell deeply in love with far too quickly."
Mobius stares, trying to wrap his head around what Loki is saying. Loki loves him? Him? Mobius? Before he learned he was Theo, too; separate from how he still loves Theo?
Mobius swallows once, twice. Realizes Loki deserves a response to that admission. "We have that in common," he murmurs. "Falling in love too quickly."
Loki smiles, and it's like the sun emerging from the heavy, London clouds. Mobius has a sneaking suspicion he's compared Loki's smile to the sun before, as a different man. It really is accurate, though: bright and incandescent and practically warms Mobius's skin, nearly turning the tears still resting on his face to water vapor in its intensity.
"Kiss me." Mobius says, before he can think better of it.
And Loki doesn't hesitate, merely acts. He kisses him, and it's like that kiss all those years ago in the steam engine, yet also so different. The press of Loki's lips against his own are nearly as desperate and insistent, the result of centuries of waiting for Theo's lips and who knows how long of staring at Mobius's. But the movement that follows is slower, unhurried, without the treat of Amora and the hordes of the undead bearing down on them.
It occurs to Mobius that Loki is a different person, too, that perhaps that was what he'd discussed with Mobius's other in the rain, or at least the realization he'd come away from the conversation with. After all, there'd been tears drying on his cheeks, but none in his eyes, and his full attention had been on Mobius the moment he returned to his side. He may remember the god he was then more clearly than Mobius remembers being Theo, but he had still changed in the intervening years. Mobius can account for it; he's watched Loki's tapes over and over, he's seen the changes in the god just in the time he's known Loki.
The boy Theo Bell who loved the young God of Mischief may be mostly gone, but as Mobius weaves his fingers into raven hair and pulls away long enough to inhale and whisper his beloved's name, he aches with a love Theo did not know. Because Mobius M. Mobius gets to love the Loki Who Remains.
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gurugirl · 3 months ago
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[3] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry
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MAIN MASTERLIST
Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.
Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.
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Ch. 3 Word Count: 8,749
Ch. 3 Warning: Harsh physical treatment, descriptions of extreme poverty, discrimination, humiliation, some light petting, inspection kink (light), corruption kink, mention of parental death (let me know if I missed any!)
It's Good to Be King Masterlist
. .
Y/n had learned that the king had been called away to tend to a minor land ownership dispute in a village that was a day's ride away. He'd be gone for five days as long as there were no unexpected postponements.
When Phoebe told her, Y/n couldn't pinpoint exactly why she felt so wistful. She knew he was a cold, bad-mannered person, so she shouldn't have expected him to speak to her about his departure beforehand. But to feel the tight stretch in her chest that he didn't tell her himself
 that was perplexing.
Their interactions over the last few weeks she'd been at the castle had been not more than fleeting. They'd had dinner together a few times, and one evening he went to her room with a gift for her. He didn't let her open it while he was present, but before he left, he placed his hand on her hip when she was wearing only her chemise and said, "This, I much prefer. I shall have another fig tart sent to you this evening."
He squeezed at her skin, his fingers indenting into her newly very slightly softer hip. She understood him to mean the small bit of weight she'd put on was what he preferred.
The gift he left her was a beautiful gold brooch bearing the kingdom's royal coat of arms carved into the center, adorned with sparkling purple, red, and amber jewels. On the back, it was engraved with the name of Harry's deceased mother, the late Queen.
She forced a smile as Phoebe poured hot, fragrant Ceylon into her teacup. "He'll be gone five days? The wedding ceremony is in two weeks. Let's hope nothing delays their return."
"Two weeks already is it?" Phoebe said, lifting the porcelain lid from her breakfast platter. "Are you scared?"
She nodded. "Yes. But I've no choice. My family finally has everything they've ever wanted here. My sister, Dell, cried last week when she tasted the citrus soufflé we all had for dessert. I can't do anything to ruin this. Even if he is the devil."
A dashing devil.
"I believe he's fond of you. He's a cad, but I've seen him look at you when you're not paying attention. Everyone has."
Y/n smiled down at her plate. She only pretended not to be paying attention, but she knew his gaze on the curve of her neck and brushing at her lips when she'd look the other direction. Crude, maybe, but he did show her something about her body she'd not soon forget.
In fact, it had come quite in handy once her bedroom was quiet and she was settled into her down blankets with a book full of wanton stories in her lap. The guilt she'd felt the first few times she'd reenacted what he'd shown her soon turned into a craving she daydreamed of at the most inappropriate times.
Just as then, while Phoebe stood by watching as she ate her breakfast.
"Have you eaten?" Y/n asked.
"Not yet."
"Would you like a biscuit with butter?" Y/n placed a biscuit on a small dish and gestured at the chair across from her for Phoebe to sit.
"It's meant for you, Y/n."
"Of course it's meant for me, but I'd like you to have some. You're my friend. Please, sit with me."
Phoebe offered a gentle smile and pulled the chair out to sit. "Thank you."
Y/n had begun offering some of her food to Phoebe during the mornings when no one else was around. Her friend always denied the initial offer but eventually wound up giving in. In fact, it seemed to be easier to get her to sit with Y/n by the day.
She'd also begun taking etiquette classes twice each week in preparation for the wedding and being seen in public with the king. The council advised that she needed the extra work. Harry left it up to Y/n whether or not she'd like to go. She decided to take the classes but quickly regretted that choice. The governess was harsh and easily angered.
Y/n had the feeling that her teacher didn't like her one bit, despite her best efforts to charm her. In fact, she got the idea that not many appreciated her presence in the castle at all. So she often preferred to stay in her room or her sisters'.
"Have you ever kissed a boy before?" Phoebe asked as she dotted the edge of her lip with her napkin.
"I have. But it was just with a friend because I was curious. And only once."
"Was it Lane? The one you told me about who likes his drink?"
She nodded. "Yes. But I'm sure he liked it more than I did. What about you?"
Phoebe smiled shyly and looked behind herself toward the door, as if anyone could hear them through the heavy, solid wood. "I might have last night
"
Y/n sat her fork down and leaned forward. "What do you mean? With whom?"
"You swear to not tell anyone?"
"Phoebe, you know I would never tell anyone your secrets. Was it Niall? It was Niall, wasn't it?"
The look on her friend's face when she spoke the name of the guard told Y/n everything she needed to know. She'd had a suspicion about the pair a couple of weeks prior when she spotted Niall winking at the girl, and the way her face shaded in pink was a clue as to how she felt about it.
A sudden knock on the door had both girls looking at one another in surprise. Phoebe quickly stood and walked toward the door with Y/n right behind. When she pulled the door open, there, standing in her doorway, was the Lord Mayor, and two men with him.
"Miss Y/n Y/l/n, you will come with us at once," he said, looking behind Phoebe at the queen-to-be.
"What is this about? Is the king okay?" Y/n asked, placing her hand over the broach he'd given her.
"You and your family are not welcome here in the castle any longer."
"What? I don't understand! Is there not—"
One of the men stepped in, pushing Phoebe to the side, and grabbed Y/n roughly by her arm. "Come!"
As she was pulled away from her room, the new guard, Niall, stopped the procession before they got too far. "Halt!"
"Move out of my way at once, guard!"
"My loyalty lies with the king and his orders. Unhand Her Majesty at once!"
"The King's duties fall on me when he's away. This is my command. Move to the side."
"Then you leave me no choice but to send word to King Styles to notify him of your trespass."
Y/n felt her arm yanked as she was dragged down the stairs. She screamed when another set of hands was on her middle, pushing, and then she spotted her sisters, parents, and grandmother already near the entrance, surrounded by men.
"Let me go! You needn't grab at me!" The men didn't listen. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, she was pushed until her knees and hands hit the stone floor just off the carpet. But she had barely a moment to take a breath when she was again being grabbed and hauled upward until she was standing next to her mother.
The Lord Mayor stepped in front of her and reached forward. Y/n gasped when she felt him yank at her dress and then realized he'd pulled the brooch off. "Take them away."
Niall called out before Y/n and her family were directed to load into the horse cart that had been waiting for them at the front of the castle. "King Styles will receive word tomorrow. Do not fear, madam."
Two guards hung on the sides of the cart, and a driver at the front controlled the two horses pulling it, as Y/n and her family clung to the wooden benches inside so they didn't fall. People stood and watched as the cart was pulled out of the castle gates and toward the slums of their overcrowded rookery.
"What's happened, Y/n? What did you do?" Her mother bellowed dramatically.
"I don't know what happened. This wasn't the king's orders."
"Those men were atrocious. Grabbed my toast right from my hand!"
The townsfolk were staring, laughing, and some spat as they passed them by. She was far less worried about her family's reputation than she was about the rude behavior of the middle and noble classes. Y/n may never hold influence or power, but she was a human, and she deserved fundamental decency. She'd always believed everyone did.
Until then. Those people mocking her were the lowest of the low.
Being carted out of the castle in a buggy meant for livestock had been done on purpose. It was meant to be a spectacle. It was meant to humiliate. But it only made her angry. For the first time since she'd met the king, she understood him, in part. Understood his need to cause a stir and disrupt the comfortably spoiled bourgeoisie. Now she understood why he didn't like any of them.
. .
"Your Majesty, I have an urgent message from the main castle guard. Y/n Y/l/n and her family have been removed from the castle without your permission. The Lord Mayor took it upon himself to act as regent in your stead and made the decision to banish them from the castle grounds. Your presence is requested at once to deal with the matter."
Harry had never been so furious in all his life. He'd led an army in war and dealt with enemy soldiers who spat in his face, and had never been treated with such a lack of respect as this. He'd only been gone for two days, and already he had his own men conspiring behind his back. It was in direct defiance of Harry, and that just would not do.
He had no choice but to abandon his purpose and return right away. The land dispute matter could wait. Taking care of the Lord Mayor and everyone involved could not. He bid farewell to his company and left the moment he mounted his steed with his men in tow.
A day's ride across the expanse of Thornekeep and the surrounding villages was tiresome. Harry had been looking forward to more rest before he was to return, but now he had to forgo the gin and the hearty meal that was being prepared for him so he could deal with the unruly cast of characters he'd left in charge of the castle in his stead.
If he'd been a hair more cruel than he was, he would have forced the horses to push through until exhaustion. But he relied on the steeds to safely give him transport, and rest was necessary for the animals, just as it was for him and his men.
And as upset as he was about being disrespected, he was more concerned about Y/n than anything. She was his responsibility, and it was no secret that she and her family were not happily welcomed into their new roles. But he certainly hadn't expected this.
The following day, when he arrived to town just outside the castle, it felt as though everyone suddenly retreated back into their homes. As if even the townspeople knew they'd done something wrong. The vendors and workers averted their gazes.
Pointing in the direction of the town square near where the Lord Mayor lived, Harry looked at two of his men who were riding with him. "The Lord Mayor, go and collect him. Bring him to the private chambers closet off the long gallery. Make him stay there and wait for me. You," he said as he looked at Fred, "Get the covered stagecoach and have Alfred drive it directly to Y/n's home. We will be bringing them back to the castle at once."
Harry and the guard traveling with him rode deeper into the town, where the slums sprawled with wet, muddy roads, buckets filled with slop, decrepit living quarters, and street drunkards. There, the people stared intently. They stopped in their tracks and watched as the king rode by on his healthy, strong steed, with his armoured guard behind him. It was the first time he'd ever gone into the rookeries, where the poor lived and worked (if they could find work).
"You, sir!" Harry shouted at a man carrying what looked to be a heavy sack over his shoulder. The man stopped and narrowed his eyes at the king. "Can you tell me in which direction Y/n Y/l/n lives?"
"Oy
" The man dropped the sack at his feet and looked around himself. "I know 'o no such name."
"She's a woman of 20. Has a father called Peter and her mother Lettice."
"Peter and Lettice
 Peter Y/l/n
" He rubbed at his chin and chewed the inside of his cheek. "I might know it."
Harry sighed. He knew the spiel. The man was expecting some kind of payment for information. Directing his horse to step closer to the man, Harry looked down at him with a frown and could smell the stench coming from him. "If you know it, tell me then. If you do, I'll let you continue on your journey unharmed."
The man shrugged. It was worth a shot. "Across from the mill. There's a graveyard at the top o'the lane. Four or five tenements down. B'be careful o'the pigs. They've not eaten."
The smell, as Harry traveled deeper into the overcrowded and filthy streets, was almost unbearable. Every five or ten yards was a bucket overflowing with excrement. He'd always known these places existed, but to see it with his own eyes (and to smell it)
 he was appalled. The kind of squalor the destitutes lived in was barbarous.
When they arrived at the rundown tenement across from the mill, Harry jumped from the horse and gave the lead to his guard before sloshing through the filth to step up onto the rotted boards of the platform. He knocked on the door with the loose frame and stepped back as someone opened it up right away.
"Who's that?" The old woman stumbled back a couple of steps and clutched her hand over her heart. "The king! The king is here!"
"M'lady, I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. Are they here in this tenement?" Harry held the door open and stepped inside. The main room was dingy and damp and smelled of stale food and unwashed bodies.
"By god!" The woman sat down on the benchtop and inhaled deeply like she'd been given the scare of her life. "The king is here!"
A young man came down the stairs and looked from Harry to the old woman. "We can 'ear ya! Enough!" The man removed his floppy hat and lowered his head. "Your Highness. To what do we owen'ya th'honor?"
"I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. I've heard they live here."
"Right y'are. Lemme find 'em."
Harry scraped his eyes around the space, and while it wasn't as filthy as things appeared from outside, it was unfit for any human. The woman gasped as she pushed herself to stand and mumbled something he couldn't hear, nor did he care much. She seemed to be half out of it, gin drunk perhaps.
The ceiling was caved in at the side of the common area, where it appeared there was some kind of unworking, rusted stove. The wooden floors were soft under his feet, and the walls stained with moisture.
"King Harry?"
He turned quickly when he heard Y/n's voice. She made her way down the stairs, followed by her three younger sisters. "Y/n. I've come for you and your family. I received word about the situation and came as quickly as I could."
She clasped her hands behind her back and nodded. "Yes. It was humiliating. But we're used to being treated as such."
"You and your family are to gather your things quickly. A carriage will be around soon to bring you back to the castle."
"We were told we were not welcome there."
"The Lord Mayor will be dealt with forthwith. But what he says is irrelevant. My word is final. You will come back to the castle, and we are to proceed as before."
Y/n nodded slowly and motioned for her sisters to go back up to their quarters. "That is fine. Would you like to come up?"
She could see it in his posture and the expression on his face that he was not well in that room. The stench could get to anyone, but at least in the small space where they lived, it was tidy and much less foul. So he followed behind her up to their floor, and she let him into their room.
And it was indeed just a room. Pallets of cloth and feather, and straw were strewn over the floor where he assumed they slept. In the corner was a bench piled with random things: cups, bowls, sacks, a couple of books, a lantern, a tin of fish. In another corner, there was a tin bucket full of charred things, the wall behind it black from soot. He imagined it was their source of heat, like a fireplace.
Lettice and Peter were already standing in wait, their faces like those of young children awaiting permission to play with their new things. They bowed their heads. "Your Majesty," Peter said.
"Nan," Y/n said softly as she bent down to put her hand on her grandmother's shoulder. She'd been sitting in a chair, asleep. The old woman startled and looked at Y/n like she was some kind of horrible intruder.
"Nan, look
" Y/n motioned toward Harry, and the old woman blinked her eyes slowly.
"We're saved? He's come for us. Thank heavens!"
There weren't many things to gather. Harry hadn't imagined their living space as such. He figured a multi-room flat, nothing extravagant, but at least a home with space to cook and use the WC. But there was none of that. No running water, no private space, and no comfortable things to lie upon at night. How could anyone live like that? And that there were seven people all crammed into that room? He couldn't imagine it.
There was a double knock on the door before it was opened. Everyone turned to look as a young man stepped inside. "What's this then? It's true!" He grinned at Y/n and then lowered his head. "Your Majesty."
Y/n stepped in next to the man and put her hand on his arm. "This is my good friend Lane. He was there with me, the day you came to me."
Harry looked the dirty fellow up and down. "Yes, I remember Lane."
He watched his wife-to-be whisper something to the young man, and then Lane turned to look at her with a brief nod as he ran his hand over her wrist. There was no time to challenge what had just happened or to ask what was said and why someone else was touching her like that when Alfred had finally arrived with the covered carriage.
Once Y/n and her family were loaded into the carriage, Harry and his guard led the way back to the castle. He'd seen a lot of things in his life, but he had not been prepared to see the rookeries up close like that. He'd seen the outskirts of impoverished neighborhoods in other kingdoms and towns and but never in his own. Shock might be too heavy of a word for the way it made him feel, but it was close.
He ordered three footmen to take Y/n's family to their quarters and give them whatever they would like to eat (as well as draw each of them a bath) while he went with Y/n and Phoebe to bring her to his chambers. "You'll stay in my room from here on. Your room will still be open for you, but I'm not satisfied for you to be there all night alone."
Y/n was still struggling to wrap her mind around the events of the last few days. Niall had told her to expect the king to come and get her, but she doubted that he really would. She imagined it was easier for the king to take a more suitable wife. A woman used to that life with a higher status. Someone the proletariat would prefer.
She was thankful that he did, though. She'd gotten used to some of the small luxuries (and big) that the royal castle afforded them all. Mostly, she missed her privacy and the comfy bed.
"Have her wardrobe brought over, a warm bath drawn, and whatever she'd like to eat," Harry said to Phoebe, who quickly got to work.
Y/n kept quiet as she watched the king open up his balcony and drape the lace curtains to the side before he poured two glasses of gin and handed her one.
He gulped his portion in one go as she sniffed her glass. "Go on. Drink it. You need it more than I do. Feel free to have as much as you like."
"Thank you."
"You should not have to thank me. This should never have happened. I will deal with the Lord Mayor and see what kind of punishment the council allows. I just ask that if you leave this room, have Phoebe and Niall with you."
She nodded. "Of course."
"I've made arrangements for a formal announcement of our engagement. Day after tomorrow, we will have a public appearance to announce to the whole of the kingdom that you will be the Queen Consort. No one can then deny that I've selected my wife, as it seems they've all done."
He paced toward the open balcony and put his hands on his hips. "I will be gone til late. I have much to do. Please use my room as if it were your own."
Y/n eyed the bed and then shifted her gaze back to the king as he stepped toward his door. "I'm grateful that you came to get us. I'm indebted to you, My Lord."
He sniffed and looked down at his feet, hand on the knob the door. "Yes. You are."
. .
Y/n woke up to the sound of pouring water. Slowly opening her eyes, she found Harry sitting next to the fire, sipping hot tea and reading something intently as a man stood over the large tub in the king's room. She couldn't remember when she'd fallen asleep, but it wasn't long after her warm bath and the big meal she'd eaten.
She wasn't sure what to think exactly. The last few days had been quite dramatic and unusual, then with the king barging into their meager home to bring them back to the castle... He'd returned for her when he didn't need to. He had no allegiance to her or her family, so it was a bit of a surprise that he seemed so insistent that she come back with him.
"My Lord. Your bath is ready."
The king looked toward the man and pushed himself up from his chair. "You are dismissed."
Y/n blinked and watched as the man left the room, and Harry stepped toward the bath to touch the water. He looked tired. She wondered what time he'd returned to the room. When he began to remove his clothes, she thought to look away, imagining he didn't realize she was already awake.
But she remained still and kept her eyes on his frame until he was stark naked, despite her internal scolding to look away. The urge to keep watching was much stronger than her polite reasoning to avert her eyes. His body appeared to be that of a hard worker, with solid muscle and a sturdy build. It had never been a doubt in her mind that he was well-formed, and now she had proof as she watched flexing, dense muscles as he stepped into his tub.
"You may join me, if you like."
His voice startled her. She hadn't realized he was aware that she was awake, watching him. Pushing herself to sit up, she pulled the blanket to cover her state of undress. He'd seen her before in just a chemise, but she still had the sense that it was wrong to bare herself to any man like that.
"Don't be shy with me. I've already tasted and smelled the juice of your quim and you've just seen me naked. Come."
Y/n gulped at the memory of Harry's hands on her body as she let out uncontrollable noises when he'd touched her. Then the aftermath of the forbidden shame as she watched him taste her offering. The lingering thought of the way he'd jutted his pink tongue out to lick at his fingers had her surging with heat.
"My King
 It's improper—"
"Now don't start with that again. I say what's proper and what's not, and you disobeying me is improper."
Slowly, she moved the cover from herself and slid her legs to the edge of the bed. Harry had not yet looked in her direction, which she was thankful for as she wrapped her arms over the thin material that clung to her breasts and stepped closer until she was just next to the tub.
He looked up at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and the fatigue in them was evident. "Well, if you're not going to join me, at least sit." He patted the wide stone ledge of the tub as he kept his eyes on her.
Trying her best not to stare into the water, she shifted her gaze toward the fire and sat down where the king had told her. His broad chest rose and fell tiredly as he stretched his strong arms along the top of the tub. She looked down at his fingers, the distance of only 7 or 8 barleycorns away from her thigh. So close he could touch if he stretched his middle finger toward her.
"I didn't foresee the kind of difficulty I'd encounter in keeping you. I knew some would disagree with my choice, but to have been interrupted in my work and so blatantly disrespected
 We will not be making that mistake again."
"I'm sorry, it was—"
"Stop." He spoke loudly, his voice carrying a harsh edge. "Do not apologize for concerns you did not create. I have chosen you, and that's final. The Lord Mayor will have to come to terms with his punishment, just as I will have to come to terms with my lapse in judgment. I take responsibility for that egregious failure. But I'm not happy about it."
Y/n kept quiet. She'd seen the king raging mad the moment he stepped into the castle the evening prior, and while that anger had not been directed at her, she felt it as if it were. So part of her still felt like she'd done something wrong. And it was becoming clear to her now that her place as queen was not going to be an easy one. She was not beloved by the kingdom. She was a disgrace to the monarch and tradition.
"Next time I have to take leave, you'll come with me. I don't believe we have any choice in the matter. You're my responsibility."
She gently placed her palm down on the cool stone and watched as he dragged a cloth over his chest. "When do you leave next?"
"Not until after we're wed. And once you become pregnant, all of my duties away from the castle must be delegated to someone I trust. We can't risk anyone trying to hurt you again."
As he wetted his skin and wrung out the damp cloth, she glanced over his shoulder and up his neck to his structured jawline. She imagined his babies would be very pretty. The out-of-place thought surprised her.
"I wish I weren't such a burden, My King."
He dipped the rag into the water and looked up at her as he leaned forward. "You're my burden. I chose it. I bear it. It's what I want. I could very well pick another who's more suitable. Easier. More docile. But I don't want that. I want you."
It wasn't romantic. Not at all. So why did her heart skip a beat when he'd said it? He'd admitted she was a burden. She was not easy, and she was not docile.
"I'm trying to be more docile. I'll learn."
He waved his arm as water dripped from his skin. "No. My mother tried to be compliant and docile, and look where it got her. The moment she surrendered her will was the moment she was sentenced to death."
Shaking her head in confusion, Y/n leaned forward and dipped a finger into the warm water. "What do you mean? The queen died from consumption. That was what we were all told."
"And she would still be alive today if she had kept a grip on her spirit. But she allowed my father to take it from her. He took her charm, her wit, and her will. Consumption took her because she allowed herself to surrender. It was her death sentence."
She had wanted to run her hand over his back in a soothing gesture, but she thought better of it. It was possible he was no longer mourning the loss of his mother and that he wouldn't want her touch even if he was. The queen had been gone for many years.
"I loathe to bring this up right now, but I feel it's important to say. I'm worried that the brooch you gave me, the one that belonged to the queen, is gone. The Lord Mayor took it from me when he removed me from the castle."
Harry's face darkened as he turned to look toward the door. "Did he now? If it's gone, he will pay a heavy price in the form of losing his title. That's theft and punishable by law. But I have a feeling it's still in his possession. I will have it back to you by tomorrow, and if not, I will buy you a new one."
"I'm very grateful to you, My King. You returned so quickly. My sisters are very happy here."
He looked at her face, and his irises burned a trail down the front of her chemise. "And you? Are you happy here?"
She looked down at her lack of clothes and shifted forward so that her breasts were less visible under the thin fabric. "I am. We all are. My family and I."
"Here
" He held his hand toward her, the wet cloth in his palm. She took the rag from him, and he repositioned himself so his back was facing her. Y/n understood that he was requesting her to take the cloth to his back to help him wash.
She hesitantly moved her hand toward his back, as if touching him would set her to flame. But once the damp rag was pressed into his shoulder, he sighed, and she realized that touching him wouldn't hurt her at all. It had been silly to think it would. Running it across his back, she noted the smooth skin and firm muscle that defined his sturdy figure. Plunging the cloth down into the water along his spine, she allowed herself to take him in. The backs of his arms and neck, the curve of his shoulder, and the breadth of his frame

"If you joined me in the tub, this would be much easier."
It was true. If she were sitting behind him in the water, she'd have easier access to him, but that would require her to remove her garment. When she didn't answer, Harry turned to look at her as he leaned back into the tub until his shoulder was pressed into her thigh. "Keep going."
"Your back is hidden. I can't reach—"
"Then here." He took her hand with the cloth and pulled it over his chest. The new angle of him, his back to her as she leaned forward and slowly ran the rag along the solid muscle of his pectorals, felt quite salacious. But she continued wiping and cleaning him. When he leaned his head back against her thigh, she gasped and paused her motions.
He laughed, his eyes closed. "Oh, mouse
 Calm yourself."
She slowly began to rub over the skin of his chest as she looked down at his face. His features were tranquil as he moaned, the lower she dipped the rag. She had no intentions of dragging it too low, but he seemed to be enjoying it as she ran it over his stomach.
Glancing down further, she could make out something dark between his legs, and then the member attached to him as it swayed with the water's movement. It was indecent of her to be looking, but her curiosity was acute. And besides, she'd seen it before already. She knew what he looked like, and right then, it seemed so harmless as it was distorted beneath the surface of the water.
"Lower."
Y/n blinked, casting her sight back to his face. She hesitated to bring the cloth lower against him, but figured she didn't need to go that low. There were other areas she could clean, other spots she could run the rag against. So she leaned in further and wiped down to his hip and the top of his thigh.
He let out a breathy groan and spread his legs the slightest. "Good."
She smiled at the praise. She was doing something right for once. Trailing the cloth to his other hip and down to the top of his thigh, he rocked his hips upward and moaned. When he turned his head, rolling it over her thigh, she felt his warm breath sneaking under the cloth of her chemise.
The moment was entirely too intimate. Harry was quite amenable in that moment, and the way he had used her thigh as a pillow felt sweet. Something about how tired he seemed and the way his eyelids were closed as he puffed out shallow breaths made her body heat. She didn't understand why she was responding to him that way.
But then he lifted an arm out of the water and reached behind himself, his hand pressed over her thigh, and then he squeezed as he moved his palm up to her hip. Her light colored chemise wetted under his touch, and she could see her skin coming through the damp material. She watched as his thumb gently ran along the bend of her thigh.
"My Lord
" She didn't know what she was to say, but she knew she had to say something. Anything
 "You're getting my clothes wet."
"Then take them off."
She swallowed and lifted the rag away from him. "That's—"
"Improper? Is that what you were going to say?" Harry pushed himself from his spot in the tub and turned to look at her directly.
He pulled at her hip and grinned as she dropped the rag into the tub and gasped. She loved how it felt to have his hands on her, but she was too embarrassed to admit it as she writhed away from him and stood from the tub to step away.
The King leaned forward against the tub, his elbows on the spot she'd been sitting. "Where are you going?"
"I'm
 You're the devil!" She said as her body thrummed with wanton heat.
He let out a loud laugh and felt something slick under his palm. Looking down to the stone, he stitched his brows together and drew a finger through the moisture before he brought it up to sniff. He dropped his mouth open in surprise as he looked at her. "Little mouse
 This is not water. Come here at once and let me see."
"No." She looked away from him as she clutched the back of her chemise. She knew very well what it was, she just hadn't expected it to seep through the linen down to the stone. She'd only recently begun to understand the mechanics of how her body reacted to being aroused ever since Harry showed her the way she could make herself feel.
"Yes." He spoke firmly, his green eyes boring into her body as her chest heaved. "Come here and we'll take care of this for you. Now I see why you're so pent up. You need a release, don't you? It's been a hard few days for you."
She shook her head and looked down at her bare feet. She was doing everything she could to be a good girl, to do the right thing by God. But the king, whom she was certain was the devil himself, tempting her, made it unimaginably hard to keep righteous.
"Have you been taking good care of your little leaky spout like I showed you?"
She let out a wobbly noise and closed her eyes to pretend that question had never been uttered.
"I think you have. You very much enjoyed it when I showed you how to touch your little coo. Has it been good? I'm sure you were unable to whilst back at your tenement, but certainly you know well the kind of joy it brings when you have privacy."
She swallowed, the sound clicking loudly in the room. "No."
"Yes. Come here."
Opening her eyes, she let her sight trail over his arms and his face as he leaned into the tub so casually. Like what he was saying wasn't unscrupulous. He was so well-favored in looks that it almost wasn't fair. How was she to remain a proper lady?
"Was it me you thought of when you touched yourself?"
Shaking her head, she quickly glanced away. It was hard to maintain eye contact when she was lying.
"No? Then Lane? Your friend? You thought of him?"
Setting her eyes back on his, she shook her head. "No! Of course not!"
He smiled. "You don't fancy him then?"
"Never. Not like that."
"What about me? Do you fancy me, Y/n? Be honest. I can already tell when you're not being forthright. You can't even look me in the eye when you answer falsely."
Her skin felt like she'd fallen into a patch of stinging nettles as he kept his eyes on her. He'd figured out her little signal. She was no good at lying. But she didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing how he made her feel deep down.
"I want you here now. Come sit or I'll get out and force you to."
Still clutching the back of her chemise, she stepped forward slowly until she was next to the tub. Harry reached up for her hip and pulled. "Sit."
Y/n placed her hands down on the ledge and sat, but Harry pulled at her again until her legs were in the water and the bottom of her chemise was wet. Her heart was galloping in her chest as he placed his hands on her thighs. "You're going to be my wife. Yes?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"That's right. You're mine. So when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it for me. I don't ask much of you, Y/n," he spoke as he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then hooked his thumbs under the hem of the material and brought it upward to her mid-thigh. "You needn't worry much about anyone else asking you to do something. Just me. Yes?"
She nodded again and watched as his thumbs pushed upward under the chemise over her skin and she thought she would faint.
"What did you eat last night?"
"Uhh
 roasted potatoes and cream, salted fish, bread and butter, apples."
He smiled at her as he paused his hands at the top of her thigh, and she felt her whole body flush in embarrassment. If he lowered his sight and peeked, he'd see her full quim she was sure.
"Good. You're eating well. And you slept well too, I presume?"
She nodded, trying to keep still so he didn't conclude how much she was affected by his hands on her.
"You like this."
Blinking, she turned her sight to the table with the water pitcher without answering.
He laughed softly and ran his thumbs along the curve of her thigh where it met her hip. "That's a yes. And what about this?"
She felt his fingers press into the flesh at the inside of her thigh as he pulled and spread her legs. She looked down quickly and sucked in a sharp inhale at the sight. It was lewd for him to see her like that. And yet
 She was curious.
"Keep going?" He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised.
"I don't know
" She gulped.
"You don't know? Then, how about I just keep going until you say stop? Yes?"
She nodded. "Okay."
He shifted his gaze further down to her privy parts, and she closed her eyes when she felt his thumb slide against her crease. He hissed, gripping her thigh harshly as he inspected her bits and moved in closer to get a better look.
"Very pretty, little mouse." She felt his thumb slip down further and softly massage until there was a little intrusion. She opened her eyes and watched as the tip of his thumb disappeared into her hole.
Snapping her thighs closed, Harry shot his eyes back up to her and removed his fingers. "Stop?"
It hadn't hurt her, but it was the embarrassment that had her shying from his touch. "I
 I don't know. It's
 not right."
"What's not right? The way a man and woman enjoy one another? Is that what's not right? Why would God go through the trouble of making humans with parts that can find pleasure in touch?"
"I think it's just meant for the sacrament of marriage."
"So, stop, then?"
She looked down at her legs dangling into the water and wished she were more bold like the girls she'd read about in her stories. The ones who'd found their lovers before they were wed and allowed themselves the indulgence of pleasure.
Harry gently wrapped his fingers around the space just above her ankle. "Look at me, mouse."
She looked into his green eyes and felt like she was being torn apart by her conscience. She'd never wanted to give in to her carnal pleasure as much as she did with Harry. And she never imagined that a man like him would defend her honor more than once. He was crude and undisciplined, but there was something tender, just for her, underneath the cold and pompous performance.
"Do you know why your little coo gets all wet like this, if not for the enjoyment of the act? It's human nature. It's how we were made. You do not need to be shy with me. If you want it, you can have it. As you've seen before, God will not smite you for such a thing as this."
The skin on her ankle where his hand was gripped felt warm, and it sent a wave of wicked craving through her insides. She wanted to reach toward him and push the curl from his forehead and slide her finger down his prominent nose over his plush pink lips just to see what he'd feel like under her fingertips. She wished she were brave enough to slip into the tub with him and fall into the temptuous ways of a dauntless woman.
He released her ankle and stood from the water, his strong, denuded body wet and dripping before her. She glanced only briefly at the organ hung heavy at her eye level before tilting her head back to look up at him. He bent as he took her chin in his hand. "What is it that you want? Tell me now."
She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm confused."
He puffed out a laugh and let go of her chin before he stepped from the tub. "Aren't we all, Y/n? No one really has the answers. Everyone is confused. You just have to learn to speak up for what you want most and hope that it wasn't the bad choice. No one can guide you but yourself."
She turned to watch as he pulled a robe over his body and walked toward his balcony. What did she want most? What if it was the bad choice?
Pulling her legs from the water, she stepped from the tub and guardedly followed behind him, the bottom half of her chemise soaked, which sent a chill over her heated skin. She stopped at the balcony door and coasted her eyes over the view of the castle garden with its fountains and tall trees. In the late spring, it would be a lovely place to stroll through, she thought. Harry was leaned into the stone railing, the tips of his curls in his damp hair already drying from the cool air whisping through it.
He was the sort of man who women whispered about. Both because he had such a rakishly handsome face (and form) and because he had the most brutish devil-may-care attitude. It made him quite a fascinating attraction. But the current of care he had for her underneath his thoughtless exterior was what drew Y/n's curiosity the most.
"You may do with me as you please. Make the decision for me. I won't say no." It took everything in her to spit the words out.
He turned and placed an elbow over the stone to lean into as he looked at her, his head cocked to the side as if she were a peculiar creature. "That does not please me. Indeed, I do not like being told no, but even worse is when I'm told yes and it's a lie."
"Then yes. I want to know. I may as well learn. Not just to please you but to discover my own pleasure."
Pushing himself from the stone, he blinked in surprise, a ghost of a smile turning the edge of his lip upward. "Then tell me what it is you want. Speak plainly."
She glanced behind her at the bed and then back at the king. "I'll
 I could lie on the bed, and you could touch me again. Maybe
" She looked down and felt every atom of her being light up with scorching embers. "I'd like to feel your kiss."
She hadn't even noticed that he'd stepped in front of her until she saw his bare feet standing before her. Lifting her head upward to meet his gaze, she could have melted from the warmth on his face. "I haven't kissed you yet, have I?"
Harry placed his wide palm on her frozen cheek, and she closed her eyes. He hadn't kissed her, but the tender touch had her skin sizzling and her heart racing. "You haven't yet kissed me. No."
Blinking her eyes open to look at him again, she watched his irises smooth across her features and drag over her lips slowly as his thumb slid down her cheekbone. "Then we must remedy that mistake."
She'd been kissed before. Lane had been drunk, and she gave in to his persistent bickering to shut him up and to sate her own curiosity. It was hard and dry and smelled of gin and ale and sweat. It hadn't been what she imagined a kiss should be.
So, when Harry nudged his nose against hers, and she felt his hand soft on her hip, she knew it before he'd even closed the gap between their lips, that this would be the kind of kiss she'd always daydreamed of.
She felt his breath over her lips, and his fingers squeezed her skin as his thumb dragged gently at her temple before he pressed his smooth mouth to hers, and the noise of her doubt was silenced. She hadn't even realized that her hands were clutched over the fabric of his robe at his chest, like he would drift away as if in a dream if she didn't hang on tight.
He opened and closed his lips around hers in soft, careful motions, and she stepped closer, beckoned by the pull of his hand at her side. She parted her lips to mimic how he was kissing her, and he moaned into her mouth. She had no time to be startled by the moan and that it signified his delectation, when she felt the wet tip of his tongue lave over her bottom lip before he pulled it into his mouth gently.
Oh god! She was wrong about everything! He didn't need to confess an undying love or obsession that was not there. He only needed to kiss her for her body and her mind to relent to him. It was delicate and confident, prurient and genteel
 it was bewitching.
Did one truly not need the magical bounds of love to bloom in rapture from a kiss? Her skin and her blood and the nails on her fingers and toes were all vibrating with the kind of sensation that she always assumed only happened when a soul had found the one it was predestined to.
His hand slowly pushed away from her face and wound to the back of her head as his other reached across her lower back until she was flush against his chest. Her heart fluttered so rapidly at her brazen reach, her hands moving upward of their own accord until she'd pushed her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.
Even with the chilled wind whipping over her thinly clothed frame, her blood burned hot. If he took her then and laid her in his bed and claimed her virginity, she thought she'd not say no. Because what was this? Why was the subtle unanchoring of her morals and her posture on right and wrong suddenly categorized as a lie and a truth? The thick veil of deception was quickly trampled by just a kiss. What else would she soon uncover?
When he parted from her, he did not remove his hands, but he set his gaze against hers with a soft wonder that carried over to his features. Slowly, she pulled her fingers from his hair and placed her palms on his shoulders, all in silence. Was he in awe just as she was? Surely not.
But his delicate touch at the back of her neck was an homage to something profoundly affectionate. It had all been unexpected. Perhaps even for him.
"I have much to do today, else I'd remain here with you. It's nearly ten, breakfast will be served promptly. We'll call for Phoebe to help you dress and begin your day."
He stepped away, and it was then that Y/n could feel the harsh wind cutting through the linen to her flesh. She stood, confounded, as she watched the king walk back into his room to dress himself. Frozen in her spot, she let her mind wander to her childhood when she used to play pretend that her prince had found her. He'd sweep her up, take her away, and they'd fall madly in love and rule the kingdom together. Was it something she'd somehow foreseen, or was it just the silly imagination of every young girl who wished for something better?
Confounded, maybe, but Y/n was armed with a new awareness, a definite truth that she hadn't been privy to before. That even those who mean well can tell a lie, and truth can be found in the most unexpected ways. It was an awakening for her to see the way her heart could soar, as if God himself had elicited it. And right then, her heart was in flight like a bird that knew the way it must go with an instinct that directed its path. It was not God that guided the way. It was her.
. .
Chapter 4 >>
. .
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fish189 · 21 days ago
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letters
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Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader
Summary: you are leaving for a month to visit your family. During your time away, you write letters to your husband, and he can't control his longing for you... or his need
Warnings: sappy Aemond, a bit of dirty talk I guess, nothing too bad
Note: short and filled with yearning again bevause tjat's who i am as a person ok
----------
You had been excited to see your family again. You hadn't seen them since your wedding to the prince, which had been a mere five moons ago. In that time, you had truly gotten to know Aemond, and had fallen in love with him.
But being parted from him
 it would be difficult. From your part, at least. You had admitted the morning of your departure that you would miss him. He had just kissed your forehead, urging you to go. 
“You’ll see me in a moon’s time,” he’d said softly, “I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Write to me,” you begged him so sweetly, “as often as you can. Please.” 
He had nodded, pressing a final kiss to your hand before he urged you into the carriage. “I’l see you soon.”
But a moon was a long time, Aemond now realised. Only a week in and he was already missing your warmth beside him. He’d wake up, feeling the cold spot beside him in his bed. It was then and there he decided to write his first letter to you.
He got up from the far too large bed, putting on a robe and sitting down at the small writing desk tucked into the corner of the chamber. He grabbed a quill and some parchment, thinking for a moment about exactly what he would write to you. 
‘I miss you’, perhaps?
He cleared his throat. Did he miss you? Truly? Perhaps he did, but what kind of dragon prince would he be if he admitted to that?
He started writing, choosing his words carefully. 
‘My dear wife,
I apologise for not writing to you sooner. I have been quite busy, but I am sure you understand.’
He paused for a moment, imagining your face. You would forgive him, he realised. You were far too sweet for him. He imagined you using that kindness to the servants at the Keep that was your own home, and felt a flicker of jealousy. 
‘I have been keeping busy with the duties of the realm, but the hours are long and the work feels less fulfilling without you here to share a cup of wine and discuss the day's events with. I find myself wishing to hear your thoughts, your insights, your perspective on things.’
That much was true. He missed the way you would come visit him in his study at the end of the day, before dinner was served. You would offer him that sweet smile, walk closer to him and stand beside him, close enough so that he could smell your perfume. 
‘It has been but a week since your departure, and already your absence feels never-ending. I find myself missing your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes light up when you speak of things you love. I am not a man accustomed to longing, but here I am, longing for you.’
He paused for a moment, wondering if he was taking it too far, being too eager. But he was not lying. He missed you.
'In hopefully three more weeks, I get to gaze upon your smiling face again. I will be counting down the days. I hope you are enjoying your time at home, with your family. Please remember the home you have here with me, as well.
‘Your devoted husband,’
Aemond paused, looking at the word ‘devoted’. He could start over, he supposed, just write down ‘your husband’.
He looked at the letter you had sent him, reading the loving words over and over again.
No. He wouldn't rewrite the letter. He was devoted to you, and you were allowed to know. He cleared his throat again, writing the final words.
‘Aemond Targaryen. Son of the King of the Realm, Dragonprince of the Seven Kingdoms’
There. A little bragging wouldn't hurt.
He sealed the letter, barking an order at a servant boy to send it to you. 
And then he waited. 
-----
When you got the letter from your husband, you had snatched it from your maid and ran upstairs into your bedchamber. You carefully removed the seal, opened the parchment and started reading.
The biggest smile formed on your face when you read his words. Sure, his letter was a lot shorter than yours, but his words meant the world.
He was longing for you, actually longing. He had written it down himself, and you had read the letter six times already. 
He missed you, missed your thoughts and presence and very essence.
You laughed softly when you read the way he signed the letter, clearly a way of his to save face. But you knew the truth. Your husband missed you.
You quickly grabbed parchment and a quill yourself. Breakfast could wait for now.
-----
It was a few days later when Aemond got your longing reply by raven. He hated to admit it, but his heart was pounding when he got word a letter had arrived for him. He opened the seal far too eager, reading the words like a man starved.
You wrote of how you missed him too. You had used beautiful words to say how badly you missed him by your side, how you wished to sleep beside him and feel him closer.
Aemond licked his lips unconsciously, remembering the way you always looked so effortlessly gorgeous when you woke up next to him, the early morning light always making you squint your eyes as you tried to wake up. 
You were bolder in this letter, stating how you couldn’t wait to return to continue on with your lives together. And you wrote of your dreams. Dreams of the family you wanted with him, of the life you would both build together.
He finished the letter, your fervent love declaration at the bottom. He took a deep breath, and he could swear he could faintly smell your perfume.
Had you sprayed some on the parchment? Minx.
You had been bolder in this letter, but Aemond could do better than that.
You had always been so shy in voicing your wants. In voicing what you desired. He wasn’t shy.
‘My dearest wife,
You paint a lovely picture of our future, sweet lady, yet a bold one all the same.
I dream of you, too.
I dream of you beneath me, your hair splayed across the pillow, your eyes closed in bliss. I imagine you arching into my touch, your body trembling with need as my hands explore every curve and contour. I will worship every inch of you, sweet wife, my tongue tracing your skin until you are dripping and begging for me.’
Aemond paused for a moment. He needed you, Gods, he needed you. But he also knew he had to reel himself in. He couldn't be too eager, too direct. He still respected you, needed you to know his needs were not just lust, but love as well. 
‘Forgive me, my lady, but my want for you never seems to end. You have bewitched me, it seems, thoughts of you always haunting me. Memories of you beneath me, moaning my name so sweetly. 
Know that my desire for you is rooted in the love I have for you, sweet wife. I crave not just your body, but your soul, your mind, your spirit. I am consumed by the need to be one with you in every way imaginable. When I make love to you, it is an act of worship, a testament to the way you have captured my heart so completely.’
It was incredible, the way he missed you so badly. Almost two weeks had passed now, and he had two more weeks to go. If he was lucky, that is. The journey in your carriage could take longer if you were unlucky with the weather, or a broken wheel.
He groaned annoyed. Impatient. 
‘Please know that every word I write, every thought I have, is colored by the depth of my love for you. I am yours, forever.
Your husband,
Aemond Targaryen
Dragonrider’
He couldn't help himself at the end. He was simply proud of the fact. How many people could call themselves a dragonrider? Not a lot.
He sealed the letter, ordering another servant around to send it with the quickest raven they possessed. And then he waited. Again. 
----
You had never felt your face feel as warm as it did when you read your husband’s letter. How
how
shocking! Scandalous! Arousing!
You thought about teasing him in return, writing a letter filled with depraved words. A letter in which you would admit that you had touched yourself while thinking of him. How your fingers could never compare to his.
But that wouldn’t be enough.
In the end, you wrote a short, straight to the point letter. 
‘Come visit me.
Yours, 
Your aching wife’
----
Aemond had barely finished reading your letter before he was bolting out of the grand doors of the Red Keep, pretty much shoving a knight off of their horse. He rode towards where Vhagar was resting, his heart pounding and his cock hard.
“Just you wait,” he panted out to himself, “I am coming, my love.” 
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othernightslikethis · 3 months ago
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SPRING LOVE
3,6k words
Smut, Bf x Gf
Kim Minju x Male Reader
Ahhhh she is so beautiful 😍😍😍
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As the current centre-back for Paris Saint-Germain, you’ve become the missing piece in the squad, which now sits comfortably in Ligue 1 and advances in the Champions League after knocking out Liverpool. With solid performances and impeccable skills, the press and fans don’t hesitate to call you "the new Maldini."
But none of that mattered. Not when you were with her.
Kim Minju.
She was your girlfriend. You met through mutual friends when you were both just nineteen. Back then, she was still a K-pop idol, and you were a rising star in Korean football—much skinnier than you are now. To say it was love at first sight would be... a lie. You got along well, but at the time, you agreed to stay just friends, as too many things between you seemed too different.
But everything changed after six months of deep conversations, shared laughter, and moments that brought you closer. That was when you finally confessed your feelings for each other. Your relationship was celebrated with joy, and your teammates were incredibly kind, offering advice—some of them a bit too much.
You never got to meet the members of Minju’s group, but it was never an issue. When IZ*ONE disbanded, it was a tough time for her, but you supported her unconditionally as she pursued an acting career.However, there was a moment when your relationship became fragile: when you received the offer from Paris Saint-Germain at twenty-two. The club was restructuring after the departures of Neymar, Messi, and Verratti—brilliant players who hadn’t managed to secure PSG’s long-awaited Champions League title.
You told Minju about the offer, and she celebrated with you, but both of you knew the distance would be an immense challenge. It wasn’t just moving cities—it was continents, cultures, routines. After many emotional conversations, you decided to break up and remain friends.
But that decision didn’t last long. At the start of 2025, you rekindled things, choosing to try a long-distance relationship. You agreed that if it didn’t work out, you’d part ways peacefully, with no regrets. Since then, whenever your schedule allowed, you’d fly to Korea to see her. And when she wasn’t busy filming, she’d appear in Paris, bringing a piece of home to your life in Europe.
It was hard, yes. The long nights and hectic days tested both of your patience. But every video call, every message exchanged in the dead of night, every reunion—it was all worth it. Because, in the end, no title, no trophy, no praise from the fans could compare to her smile.
That was what mattered. Her.
Kim Minju.
That was why your lovely girlfriend was there, in your mansion in France, a few days before the match against Aston Villa.
Minju had managed to carve out a break from her hectic schedule to spend four days exclusively by your side, especially to watch the game. Everything seemed perfect—the romantic atmosphere, the breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower framed by the mansion’s large window, the cosy silence of the evening... But in that moment, none of those details mattered.
What dominated the dimly lit room were Minju’s soft, breathy moans, echoing off the walls like a forbidden melody. She was lying on the sofa, completely naked from the waist down, wearing only an oversized hoodie of yours that barely covered her delicate frame. The muted light accentuated the glistening wetness on her thighs, where a tantalising slick had begun to trickle, betraying just how aroused she was. Her fingers moved with perfect precision inside herself, curling in just the right way to draw out another high-pitched sigh.
— Baby... Just like that... — She arched her back, lips parting in a mix of pleasure and frustration. — fuck, it’s not fair, ahnn... You promised you’d let me be on top today!
Her voice was a blend of complaint and provocation, but she barely managed to finish the sentence before throwing her head back, fingers clawing at the sheets as her thighs clamped involuntarily around your hand. Her eyes, usually so sweet and bright, were now darkened with desire, locked onto you with an intensity that nearly made you give in.
She was right, of course. You had promised. But the truth was, Minju was rubbish at being dominant. There was something irresistibly adorable about the way she’d try to take control, only to crumble minutes later, whimpering and writhing beneath you. It was as if her submissive nature always betrayed her attempts at command—and you loved every second of that contradiction.
— You say that like I have a choice... — you murmured, leaning over her as your fingers deepened their movements, feeling her shudder. — But we both know you prefer it this way.
Minju let out a sound between a moan and a protest, but the shiver that ran through her body and the way her legs fell open even wider were answer enough.
— Ah! No— not like this, baby...
Minju gasped as your third finger joined the other two, pressing lightly against her entrance before sliding in all at once, filling her completely. You weren’t exactly experienced with women—Minju was only your second girlfriend—but your time in Paris had granted you a few casual encounters. Minju, however, was different. She was the only one who could take three fingers. Her soft, slender frame might have been deceiving, but you knew just how well she could handle every inch of what you gave her.
— It’s too... ahn... much— she moaned, her fingers digging into your shoulder, nails biting into your skin.
You smirked, feeling how she was already clenching around your fingers, hot and tight, even as she complained.
— Bollocks. You fit just fine.
And then you began moving your hand with a firmer rhythm, three fingers sinking deep before pulling almost all the way out, only to push back in, faster this time. Minju cried out, her voice breaking into a sharp whine, and you felt her pulse quicken, her body twisting between the urge to pull away and the desperate need to press even closer.
— Fuck, stop! Stop for a bit! — she whined, but the trembling in her legs and the way her cunt pulsed betrayed her real plea: don’t you dare stop.You leaned over her, whispering against her neck as your fingers kept working, now with a curling motion that made her shudder.
— You can take three, can’t you? Want me to take one out?
— N-no! — She shook her head, eyes glazed with pleasure. Just— ahn— slower...
But you already knew she didn’t want slower. She wanted to be pushed to the edge, even if she pretended to resist. So instead of easing up, you added a slight twist of your fingers inside her, your thumb finding her clit at the same time.
Minju screamed your name, her body arching violently, and then—she fell apart.
Her muscles clenched like a fist, hips jerking uncontrollably, and you felt the warm rush of her release spilling over your fingers as she came, desperate moans tearing from her throat.When she finally stopped trembling, she was panting, face flushed, lips swollen from biting down on them.
— You... wanker... — she breathed out, still trying to recover.
You laughed, bringing your wet fingers to your mouth and licking them slowly, never breaking eye contact.
— Promise you’ll be on top next time.She let out a weak chuckle, both of you knowing full well neither believed that.
— Shut up and pull it out, come on.
Minju was still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze challenged you even as her body trembled with post-orgasm sensitivity. You obeyed, slowly withdrawing your fingers, feeling how she still pulsed around them—warm and soft. A trickle of desire dripped between her thighs, and you couldn’t resist—you ran your thumb over her, gathering some of that nectar before bringing it to your mouth, keeping your eyes locked on hers.
— Disgusting... — she murmured, but the blush creeping up to her ears and the way her legs shyly pressed together betrayed her words.You smirked, leaning over her, bracing yourself on your arms to avoid crushing her completely.
— You love it.
She tried to look away, but you gently cupped her chin, forcing her to meet your gaze. — Do you really want me to stop?
Minju bit her lower lip, hesitating. You knew that expression—it was the face she made when torn between what she should want and what she actually desired.
—...No.
The answer came in an almost ashamed whisper, and it was enough to make your blood boil. You captured her lips in a voracious kiss, feeling her melt against you, her hands gripping your back as if afraid you might vanish.
When you pulled apart, she was even more breathless, her eyes glazed.
— Then show me how you want it.
Minju hesitated for a second before rolling over, pushing you back against the sofa cushions. She settled onto your lap, still wearing that oversized hoodie that only amplified her aura of perverse innocence. Her hands trembled slightly as she undid your trousers, but when she finally freed your erection, her gaze darkened with desire.
— You’re... Big today. — She murmured, wrapping her hand around you experimentally.
You clenched your teeth, feeling her heat even in that minimal contact.
— Your fault.
Minju smiled then—one of those rare, wicked smiles that only appeared when she was especially confident or aroused.
— Then I should apologise properly, yeah?
Before you could respond, she leaned forward, taking you between her lips in a slow, deliberate motion. You groaned, your hands instinctively tangling in her hair. She wasn’t the most experienced, but the way she looked up at you with those big, pleading eyes as she sucked you like you were her last sip of water in the desert—fuck.
— Minju... Your warning came out more as a moan.
She ignored you, deepening the movement until you felt her throat constrict around the head. You arched your back, muscles tensing.
— If you don’t stop, I’m gonna—
Minju pulled back at the last second, letting you slip from her mouth with an audible pop. Her face was flushed, lips glossy and swollen.
— I want you inside me.
She didn’t need to ask twice.
In one fluid motion, you pulled her up, aligning her with your length. She was already so wet that she slid down without resistance, taking you all in one smooth movement. The two of you moaned in unison—her, at the sensation of being stretched open again; you, at the unbearable heat of her tightening around you.
— fuck
 — Minju arched her back, her hands gripping your shoulders. — So full

You held her hips, helping her find a rhythm.
— You can take it. You always can.
She began to move, hesitant at first, but soon gaining confidence. You watched, mesmerised—the way her breasts swayed slightly under her hoodie, the mix of concentration and pleasure on her face, the obscenely wet sound every time she sank down to the base.
It was beautiful. It was filthy. It was Minju.And when she started losing her breath, her movements growing uncoordinated, you took control, flipping your positions in one swift motion. She gasped in surprise, but you were already between her legs, lifting one over your shoulder to plunge even deeper.
— I said you could be on top
 — you growled, thrusting hard. — Didn’t say for how long.
Minju cried out, nails digging into your back, but her hips were already meeting yours. She was close again—you could tell by the way she clenched around you, by the way her moans turned higher, more desperate.
— Come on. — You ordered, rubbing her clit between your fingers. — Come for me.
She obeyed with a sharp cry, her body arching violently as the wave hit her. You held her through it, drawing out every spasm until your own back tingled, the pressure becoming unbearable.
— Inside? — You asked, already knowing the answer.
Minju nodded frantically, eyes brimming with tears.
— Inside, inside, please—
That was enough. You pulled her flush against you, burying yourself to the hilt as you came, her name spilling from your lips like a mantra.
When the haze of pleasure finally began to fade, Minju lay sprawled across your chest, utterly spent, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.
— Still think I don’t let you be on top? — You teased, brushing sweat-damp hair from her face.
She gave your chest a weak slap, no real force behind it. — Prat

Minju mumbled against you, but the satisfied smile on her lips gave her away. She was exhausted, but you knew her body would still respond to touch, always so sensitive after the first climax. Your hands slid down her back, exploring every curve, before gripping her arse firmly.
— Think we’re done? — You whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver.
She lifted her head, eyes slightly unfocused. —You still not satisfied?
You laughed, rolling onto your side to face her. —Not even close.
Your fingers found her clit again, rubbing slow circles as she writhed against you.
— Let’s try it like this. — You suggested, guiding her leg over your hip.
Minju understood what you wanted and adjusted, letting you slide back into her. She was so soft and warm inside, still sensitive but ready for more. You started with slow, deep strokes, feeling every inch of her stretch around you.
— This good?
She bit her lip and nodded, fingers clutching your arm. — Slower
 just a bit

You obliged, keeping the pace steady, but after a few minutes, she began rocking her hips against yours, asking for more.
— Fancy a different position? You asked, already knowing the answer.
She shook her head, breathless. — Want you
 from behind.
You didn’t need convincing. Gently, you helped her turn, positioning her on all fours on the sofa. She arched her back perfectly, and you couldn’t resist—running your hands over her curves before lining up and sliding in smoothly.
—Fuck
 You groaned, feeling her even tighter like this.
Minju buried her face in the sofa, muffling her moans, but you knew she loved it. You gripped her hips and picked up the pace, each thrust harder than the last.
— More
 more
 — She begged between ragged breaths.You gave in, losing yourself to the rhythm until she trembled again, her body clenching around yours. This time, you didn’t hold back—letting yourself go with her—until a wicked idea struck.You leaned down, letting saliva drip onto her even tighter hole, her arse, feeling her tense and glance sharply over her shoulder.
— Wait, what? Hang on, we’ve never done anything there! You can’t just assume I’d—
You raised a brow and smirked, pulling back and lining up against her again.
— You can take it.
— Like hell I can, you’re big, really huge! I’ll die if you—
She cut off with a gasp as the head of your cock pressed slowly into her arse.
— Relax
 — you murmur, holding her hips firmly as you slide just the tip inside her, feeling her initial resistance. — Take a deep breath
 like this

Minju moaned, her fingers digging into the sofa cushions, but she obeyed, inhaling slowly as her body adjusted to the gradual intrusion. You could feel the tension in her muscles, the near-suffocating heat, and you had to restrain yourself from losing control right then. Your heart pounded wildly, as if trying to escape your chest, and the air around you felt charged with electricity.
— Does it hurt? — you asked, stopping completely to let her adjust, your eyes fixed on her face for any sign of discomfort.
She shook her head, breathless, her lips slightly parted.
— No
 just strange. Keep going, but
 slowly.
Her voice was a silken thread, trembling faintly, sending a shiver down your spine.
You obeyed, advancing inch by inch, each movement calculated not to startle her. Until, finally, her body yielded and accepted you fully. A rough groan escaped your throat when she was completely filled, and Minju arched her back, her lips forming a perfect ‘o’ of surprise and pleasure.
— Fuck
 you fit so perfectly here
 — you muttered, almost breathless, the words gritted between your teeth. The sensation was indescribable—as if she enveloped you in a completely new way, tighter, more intense, as if she’d been moulded just for you.
She didn’t respond, but the flush on her cheeks and the way her muscles clenched around you said it all. You began to move, slowly at first, testing her limits, but soon found a rhythm that drew higher, more desperate moans from her. Your bodies intertwined, creating a symphony of muffled sounds and skin against skin.
— That’s it
 just like that
 — she whispered, tossing her head back when you hit that spot, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.
You smirked, mischievous, and repeated the motion, firmer this time, making her cry out.
— You like that, don’t you? Want me to go deeper? — Your voice was rough, thick with desire, and you felt your own pulse quicken further at her reaction to your tone.
She nodded frantically, her fingers now clutching the arm of the sofa as if it were her only anchor.
— Don’t stop
 please, don’t stop

Her plea was almost childlike in its sincerity, and a wave of possessiveness surged through your chest.You had no intention of stopping. Your hips rocked against her with increasing force, each thrust deeper than the last, until she began trembling uncontrollably, her moans turning almost tearful. The sound was intoxicating, and you leaned down to drag your tongue along her neck, savouring the salt of her sweat.
— Gonna come again? — you teased, feeling her walls clench around you. — Want to feel you squeezing me like this
 all of you

She couldn’t answer, only let out a high-pitched moan as her orgasm hit, her entire body curving as she clung to you like she was drowning. You held her steady, prolonging every spasm, until your own resistance gave way and you buried yourself to the hilt, spilling inside her with a muffled growl against her shoulder.
For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that, panting, glued together by sweat and body heat. The air around you seemed frozen in time, and you closed your eyes, committing every detail to memory—her scent, the sound of her breathing, the way your bodies fit together perfectly.You finally pulled out, and Minju collapsed onto the sofa, utterly spent, her eyes closed.
— I
 hate you
 — she murmured, without any conviction, her voice hoarse from moaning.
You laughed, lying beside her and pulling her against your chest. — Liar. You love me.She didn’t reply, but the small, satisfied smile on her lips was answer enough.
— You were insatiable today...
Minju breathed deeply, still catching her breath, her body relaxed and heavy against yours. You could feel her warmth mingling with yours, their skin slightly sticky with sweat. Gently, you ran your hand along her back, tracing soft lines up to her nape, where the muscles were still tense.
— You alright? — you asked quietly, your fingers massaging slow circles into the spot, loosening invisible knots.
She let out a barely-there sigh, sinking further into your embrace. — Mm-hmm
 just tired.
Her voice was drowsy, and you felt such overwhelming fondness it almost hurt.You smiled, understanding perfectly. You knew that even after the high, her body would still be sensitive—especially after what you’d done. Without hurry, you reached for the hoodie that had been discarded earlier and draped it over the two of you, covering yourselves partially. The soft fabric was warm and familiar, and Minju nuzzled into it with a murmur of contentment.
— Hang on. — You got up for a moment, heading to the bathroom to fetch a damp cloth and a clean towel. When you returned, she was lying on her side, eyes half-lidded but still awake. — Come here.
Minju turned with slight hesitation, and you began cleaning her skin with gentle strokes, running the warm cloth over her thighs, her stomach, her breasts—all with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity from before. She watched in silence, but you noticed the gleam in her eyes, the wordless gratitude.
— Did it hurt? — you asked, pausing when she winced slightly as you wiped between her legs.
— Just a bit
 but that’s normal, right?
She shrugged, as if trying to downplay it, but you knew every microexpression of hers.
You didn’t reply, just leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the inside of her thigh, almost paternal. — Here.
You grabbed some lotion from the coffee table and dabbed a bit onto your fingertips before applying it where you knew she’d be most tender. The massage was slow, almost therapeutic, and she let out a deep sigh, melting under your touch.
— You’re good at this
 — she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut, her voice fading to a whisper.
— It’s the least I can do. — You chuckled softly, finishing up before lying back down beside her. You pulled the hoodie over both of you, creating a cocoon of warmth between your bodies, and wrapped your arms around her. — Sleep. I’ll stay here. Night.
— Mhm, night. Love you.
Her voice was so soft you almost missed it, but the words reverberated in your chest like a bell. Within seconds, her breathing slowed, her face finally relaxed. You stayed there, listening to the quiet rhythm, your fingers playing with strands of her hair as the night passed slowly. The world outside could wait.
— Love you too.
547 notes · View notes
prael · 7 months ago
Text
Day 4: A Two-step Problem
Nmixx Sullyoon & Kiss of Life Belle x male reader smut
words: 9,667 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist
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"She's coming here? This weekend? To this house?" The concoction of shock and confusion, topped with a little bit of annoyance, is in both Sullyoon's tone and expression. "This house!? This same exact house that I am sitting in!?"
Her outburst quickly settles into a sulk as she slouches in her dining chair. Her father turns to your mother for help that she doesn't offer. He's on his own with this one.
"Look," he starts gently. "She's my daughter too and I want to get to know her. I haven't seen her in years."
"You barely talk about her." Sullyoon counters, arms folded defensively across her chest. Her tone is laced with accusation. "I don't know anything about her."
Your mother shoots Sullyoon a glare, one that causes Sullyoon to step well over the line.
"Why are you okay with this? Another daughter that's not even yours coming into our home?"
You stare at your food, praying for the ordeal to be over.
"Stop being silly," your mother reprimands. "You are my daughter, and I'll treat Belle as my own too."
Sullyoon gives you a side-eye, and while she doesn't say anything else, you can see how desperate she is for you to take issue with it too. While you may not be as opposed as Sullyoon, you do have a reservation. "Where will she sleep?" You finally speak up, looking at your mother.
"Sullyoon, can she stay in your room?" she asks.
"No!" Sullyoon snaps. It's clear that she's still processing her frustration.
"It's fine." You turn to your mother. "She can take my room, I'll take the couch."
Sullyoon goes quiet for a moment, her mouth falling open in shock. She looks almost offended that you're not fighting by her side. Then she asks, "What's wrong with you?" and rolls her eyes when your answer comes in the form of an innocent shrug.
"Thank you," your stepfather says, shooting you an appreciative smile. Sullyoon's chair scrapes the floor as she stands up abruptly.
"I'm done." After a curt announcement of departure, she's already headed to her room.
Her father sighs. "Let her go," your mother advises. "She'll come around."
-
A few hours have passed since the revelation and you're in your room. Soft pillows beneath your lower back and slouched against the wall. The soft tones of music from the speaker across the room fill the air.
"Can you believe that shit?" Sullyoon curses the whole idea. "Belle, my long-lost sister, is coming to live here. What are we, some kind of 90s sitcom?"
"Can we not do this right now?" You respond, struggling to focus on both her and her words at one time.
"I thought you were on my side." She pauses for a moment and lets out a soft sigh. "You didn't even argue it."
"It's not that deep, Sullyoon," you grunt out the words, as her hot breath hits your face.
"Yeah well..." She falters. "...It is to me." You feel her fingers thread through your hair before finding a handful of the short strands at the base of your skull. You hiss, feeling her pull on them lightly, but you don't fight back. "Do you think she'll be annoying? And say loads of weird American things?"
"I don't care," you dismiss, putting your hand on her thigh and holding the flesh tight.
"Oh." She clears her throat and adjusts her position. "Well, I do care."
"You might get along." Your tone lacks commitment. It's almost impossible to focus with the smell of her perfume filling your nostrils. You bury your face into the crook of her neck. "You smell so good."
"I bet she thinks she's better than us."
"Sullyoon!" you snap. "For fuck sake!" You put your hand on her waist and lift her off your lap, letting her naked form fall lazily onto the bed beside you. "Conversation or sex, choose one."
"Hey!" She exclaims, annoyed about being pulled free from your cock.
Your irritation quickly fades away as you turn your head to look at her. Her dark hair spills out beneath her, messy, wavy and soft. Her smile is mischievous while her dark eyes sparkle with humour and intrigue. A million thoughts cross your mind but none of them can beat out the singular reminder that she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Her features are uniquely hers and yet, they seem perfectly matched to your taste.
"Okay, I'll stop talking about her then."
There is a shift in the energy of the room. She turns away from you, positioning herself on her knees and resting her cheek against the pillow below. There she lies in wait, ass on display for only you. You bite down on your bottom lip as you clamber behind her.
You reach out and wrap your hands around her hips, squeezing her flesh in between your fingertips. "Sullyoon." The syllables roll off your tongue. "Sometimes, things are hard." You press your cock, still coated in her slick juices, against her waiting cunt. "But you have to just take it."
You push into her pussy from behind. You watch the way the hole expands and stretches around you. The soft, pink walls give in to your intrusion. You hear the little gasp and moan that Sullyoon releases upon feeling you enter her again. You keep going until her round little ass is flush against your hips and the full length of your cock is buried inside her pussy.
From this angle, Sullyoon can do little more than submit. And so she does, allowing you to hold her by the hips, dragging her body back and forth until it moves in line with your rhythm.
"See?" you tease. "Feels better this way, doesn't it?"
"Fuck..." Sullyoon whines. "I hate when you do that."
"What?" You chuckle and spank her across the ass before grabbing a handful of her flesh once again. "When I talk down to you like that or when I make you feel like a little slut?"
"Yes." She squeezes her eyes shut. You listen to every pant and every moan. You feel her thighs shake and tremble against your skin. You know she loves this; there's no other reason why else she would allow you to take over her body and treat her this way. The two of you may bicker and argue and fight, but none of that matters when you're alone together in your bedroom, exploring one another. For all your arguments, you know there isn't another person in the world that feels as perfect wrapped in your arms.
As taboo as it may be.
She looks at you over her shoulder through misty brown eyes with pouted lips, looking all too delicious to touch. "Please," she begs in a small voice that sends a chill up your spine. "Harder. Faster."
"Good girl." The words flow seamlessly from your lips. You hold tighter onto her ass, for fear of the pleasure making her collapse against the bed. You start pounding into her from behind. Each slap of your hips connecting against her ass rings out against the silence of the room.
Sullyoon's hand grips the pillow beneath her head, squeezing it tight as her outlet for her building pleasure. It becomes too much, and she lets out a long moan. You're quick to lean in, take hold of her head and bury her face against the pillow.
"Quiet," you scold. You slide your fingers into her mouth and let them rest against her tongue. She welcomes you in, letting her lips seal around your digits. Her tongue runs laps across the tips of your fingers and the sensation causes an involuntary twitch of your hips.
"There we go," you coo. You can tell by the way she squeezes down on your length that she likes it when you praise her. She might try to play tough and cold, but you've learnt exactly what buttons to push to get her melting at your touch.
You can feel yourself edging closer, and so you reach down further. Sullyoon's clit is sensitive when you press your finger against it, judging by the way she bites down on your fingers. It takes only a few gentle rubs to bring her to the same point as you.
She whimpers softly against your fingers. You can almost feel the muffled cries vibrating against your skin as the knot of pleasure in her tummy begins to unravel. "That's it," you whisper. "Be a good sister and cum with me."
Sullyoon bucks and thrashes in pleasure. She reaches her orgasm at the same time as you and the two of you ride out the waves together. With each throb, you fill her up until she's practically overflowing. Finally, she collapses against the bed and you follow her shortly after. Her chest heaves against the bedsheets, tired and worn, and finally satisfied.
"You can't call me that," she complains, voice strained. "It's not cute, it's gross."
"And yet every time I do, you seem to cum harder," you respond simply. She rolls her eyes and scoffs, before shuffling into your embrace and resting her head against your chest. You both lay in silence, spent bodies wrapped up in each other's warmth. You absent-mindedly draw circles along her bare arm while she draws in deep breaths against your chest.
"I'm serious about this Belle thing." She breaks the quietude, her voice soft. You sigh heavily. "I don't want her here."
-
And yet, Saturday comes around just like clockwork.
The five of you sit awkwardly in the living room. A tray of drinks rests on the coffee table, untouched, and Sullyoon keeps shooting you pointed glares. The situation could be cut with a knife.
"It's such a long journey," Belle explains, talking fast and with a certain chirp in her voice. "We had to leave at five AM for the airport. It was still dark!"
"Oh my!" Your mother gushes. "So you must be tired." Sullyoon rolls her eyes hard.
"A little," Belle admits. "But I slept most of the flight so it's okay."
"Don't worry," you add politely. "It's a quiet area, you'll be able to sleep in tomorrow." She has only been here an hours but it's impossible to deny how charming Belle is. She's got a wide smile and sweet expressions—just a natural aura about her that makes her easy to speak to. It doesn't hurt that she's pretty, with large, dewy brown eyes, and soft hair resting on her shoulders. She wears a pair of jeans that hug her legs tightly and a top that's tied above her belly button.
She gives you this wide smile, that she's already given countless times, and thanks you, adding, "That sounds like heaven." Sullyoon's scoff catches everyone's attention. Four pairs of eyes fall on her and she squirms, hating the spotlight.
"Something wrong, dear?" your mom asks. Sullyoon shakes her head and reaches forward to grab her glass of lemonade. You can't help but let out a tiny laugh. Your mother shoots you both a suspicious glare but doesn't say anything.
You hadn't even noticed that Belle had been looking at you, but when you turn to meet her gaze you feel your stomach flip upside down. It could just be your overactive imagination but something in the look she's giving you has you flustered. Then she laughs too, albeit nervously. Your cheeks warm up and suddenly you have to look away.
"It's almost lunch, how about you help us in the kitchen, Sullyoon." Then your mother looks at you, "and you can show Belle where she'll be sleeping."
"Uh, sure," you reply, your words being met by Sullyoon shooting daggers with her eyes. Once your parents and your stepsister are out of sight, you gesture to Belle and she stands.
"The house is huge," she remarks, following you out of the room. "My old place was basically a box compared to this."
"Well, we live in the suburbs." You shrug. "I can show you around town later if you want." The two of you head up the staircase to where the bedrooms reside.
"You'd do that for me? Really?"
"Of course," you chuckle. Her giggles send goosebumps across your flesh. You pause for a moment and point down the hallway, "Mine is this way."
"This is so cool," Belle whispers. Really? A house is cool? "I always lived in this little studio apartment. My bed was right next to my kitchen."
Her casual remarks about her life, however mundane they are, are captivating. It's nice to meet someone so different from your usual friend group. "What was it like in the city?"
"Different from here," Belle responds. "It's loud all the time and the streets are busy, no matter the time or day." You push open the door to your bedroom and she follows in while she continues, "It was exciting but also way too much, you know? The parties were crazy—like movie-level crazy."
You gently nod as her thoughts trail off and she starts looking around the room. You watch as she takes it all in. Having made at least half an effort to clear some space for her, it looked kind of bare, compared to usual anyway. "Here," you offer, leading her over to your wardrobe. You slide open a couple of doors and explain, "This section is empty and you can hang your clothes up here."
"You didn't have to. I've lived out of my suitcase before when I travelled."
"No bother. You're a guest, make yourself comfortable." You gesture around the room. "I cleared the desk in case you need it and the sheets are fresh." (Which is good, after what you and Sullyoon had been doing the night before.)
"Thank you. This is already better than I could have ever hoped." When Belle smiles again, you feel a little flutter in your tummy. "Sorry about earlier," she adds. "Was your sister mad because of me?"
"She'll come around." You give a half-hearted assurance. Sullyoon's feelings aren't yours to share, but Belle does deserve some peace of mind. "Don't worry about her."
"I always wanted a sister, I hope she likes me." Belle nods gently, a faint expression of disappointment flashing across her face before fading back to neutral. She pauses and purses her lips together for a second. "And...you? Are you happy I'm here?"
"I've had to put up with one annoying step-sister for a long time, a second can't be much worse," you joke. A laugh leaves her lips and the tension dissolves instantly. The two of you stay silent for a few moments before you notice Belle starting to squint. "What's wrong?"
"It's really hot in here." She places her hand on her forehead as if checking her temperature. The thick beams of sunlight that are streaming in through the open curtains highlight her point. Sweat has started to gather on her neck and brow.
"Lemme fix that." You push open a window and draw a blind down. Belle waits patiently behind you as the bright morning sun vanishes into a muted grey. "There we go," you announce, turning around—and coming face-to-face with her. You freeze as if trapped by her intense gaze.
Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is hot. Beads of sweat shimmer in the sunlight. She stares at you, silently saying something that you can't quite decode. She smells sweet, like vanilla.
"Thanks." Her voice is soft, almost as delicate as the moment itself.
"You're welcome..." You say back, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
"Uh, how about the rest of the house?"
"What about it?"
"Aren't you supposed to be showing me around?" She laughs and her soft tone breaks the tension. You shake the daze out of your mind and clear your throat.
"Of course. Let's go."
You point out the rest of the rooms, and then show her the bathroom, explaining, "My parents have their own so this is basically ours." As you head downstairs, you let her know, "Just try not to take the world's longest showers like Sullyoon." Belle laughs, which gives you the chance to admire how cute she looks when she's smiling.
-
It's been a low-key couple of days. Belle spent the whole time fawning over how cool it was to live out in the suburbs and subtly cursing how she had grown tired of the city—though half it felt like a sly brag. You had taken her into town the day before last, and while you're sure she would have been fine going back alone, she's asking you to take her.
Much to the annoyance of a certain someone.
"But Sunday is movie night," Sullyoon complains, lying on her bed. You're standing in the doorway, arms folded, telling her about your plan to accompany Belle.
"I'll be back in time and we can watch whatever movie you pick this week," you dismiss, already knowing she isn't going to listen to any attempt of yours to compromise. "Also, you could come with us."
"If I did come, then I would be hanging out with her, and I don't want to hang out with her." Sullyoon states blankly.
A quick glance to your side and you see Belle, standing in the hallway, hearing everything that Sullyoon is saying. There's a small pout that forms on her lips. A glimmer of sadness in her eyes. You feel a pang of sympathy. While Belle tries to smile as if it's nothing, you see right through the facade.
"Don't worry," she says. "I can go on my own." And with that, she heads off downstairs. You turn to your stepsister and shoot her a harsh glare.
"C'mon! Don't give me that look." Sullyoon pouts dramatically. "She's a big girl, she's used to being independent."
"Would it kill you to at least get to know her?"
"You're busy doing that for the both of us." She shoots an accusatory look. "Is one step-sister not enough?" Her words drip with insinuation, and you feel your face flush at what she's implying. You roll your eyes and curse at her, which makes her stand and walk towards you. Before she speaks, she pulls you by the arms and closes her door. "Oh come on! Admit it," she presses. "You think she's cute, huh?"
"So what?" You shrug and avert your gaze, cheeks red.
Sullyoon pauses, processing your answer. "Do you wanna fuck her?"
"Sullyoon!" You snap, feeling the blood rush to your head.
Her grin is devious, "You want her to replace me? Huh?" She teases. "Get a brand new stepsister who sucks your dick extra well?"
"You're sick."
"Oh, please. I've seen the way you two look at each other. Don't be surprised if she offers to top and tail with you tonight." Sullyoon smirks, "The couch must be so uncomfortable." Her voice is laced with sarcasm.
-
She said it was just going to be for essentials. A few shops to pick up items that didn't fit in her bags for the plane trip over. Yet, somehow, you find yourself browsing designer dresses for sale.
"It's my first weekend in a new country," she explains, pulling a silk purple dress free and pressing it up against her body. "Don't I deserve to treat myself?"
"I guess, but dresses like this? When are you planning on wearing them?"
"To dinners. To a club. On a date?" She cocks an eyebrow. "Who knows?"
"Wouldn't it be better to make the plans and then buy the dress?" You suggest with a laugh. Though you hate to admit it, the sleek material would look great on her.
"You hungry?" she asks. "How about dinner?"
"We should wait until we're home. Mum is expecting us both."
"Do you always do what you're told?" Belle pries.
"No...I—" You hesitate. She tilts her head to the side and flashes you a mischievous grin.
"Great. I'll get changed into this, we can dump the bags in the car and find a nice restaurant." She declares decisively. After rummaging around her bag for her wallet, she turns to face you. "Wish me luck, it's probably expensive."
"Wait—"
She's walking away before you can protest. You watch as she goes up to the woman running the place and pays for the dress. After that, Belle disappears behind a dressing screen. All the while, you're standing there, holding bags and looking confused.
There are a few silent moments. Ones where you try to formulate an excuse to turn her down; but just as quickly as they appear, the arguments vanish. In reality, the idea of a nice meal with Belle isn't exactly unappealing.
The curtain is drawn back, and she appears.
Wow.
It takes less than a second for your eyes to land on her waist. How the deep purple fabric hugs her figure so nicely, wrapping tight around her curves and squeezing her form. It's strapless and plunges into a v-neck that shows off so much skin. The hem stops mid-thigh and swishes with the movement of her hips.
"So? How do I look?"
You swallow, clearing a lump in your throat. "Incredible."
"That means you're paying for dinner then."
"Hey!" You start to protest. But it's no use, she's already laughing, slipping on a pair of white heels that pull the outfit together perfectly.
The restaurant she chose is tucked away from the main street. The soft yellow light glows through a window pane, casting a warm haze onto the sidewalk below. She holds your arm as she walks, using you for balance. The smell of her perfume hits you just as hard as her outfit does, sweet like vanilla.
"This place looks pretty fancy, right?" she asks with a cheeky smile. "You won't mind treating me, will you? After all, I have moved halfway around the world."
You roll your eyes and follow her in. A waiter welcomes you both, and seats you at a small booth in the corner of the dining room. A candle flickers in the centre, between glasses and cutlery. Belle scans the menu and occasionally takes sneaky glances across the table.
"So, how often do you take girls on dates?" she pries. "Not counting me."
"It's not that often, really."
"Then I must be special," she remarks playfully. "But don't worry, you're pretty cute too."
"Oh yeah?" You decide to play along. "Enough for a second date?"
"Hmm... maybe." The conversation is light and easy and just seems to flow naturally without needing any prompts or effort from either end.
Once you've ordered, Belle sips on a glass of wine, staring at you intently, her gaze unwavering, "I wish Sullyoon liked me as much as you do." Her statement catches you off-guard.
"I'm sorry for the way she's acting," you apologise. "She's probably fearing being replaced. She has always been a bit of a daddy's girl."
"I guess I can understand where she's coming from," Belle concedes, swirling the drink in her glass, watching as the crimson liquid swirls around gracefully. "I would be hesitant too. Change can suck sometimes, especially when it's unexpected." She takes a sip and then continues, "I was talking to my dad for a while, about coming over. And you know what he would talk to me about, every time?"
"Sullyoon."
Belle chuckles lightly and puts down her drink. "Yeah. He couldn't help himself. Always talking about the things she was doing. The friends she had. All those clubs she took part in. Made me so excited to meet her."
"Oh..." Now you understand.
"When I got here and realised that I wasn't gonna get a warm reception, it kinda hurt."
"Yeah. I know she can be...stubborn. Sometimes." You sigh. "Don't give up though, I know you'll get to know each other eventually."
She looks at you with hopeful eyes. "You really think so?"
"She warmed up to me eventually." You shrug and take a bite from your food.
"And how long did that take?" Belle asks, her tone playful once more.
"A couple of years."
She laughs again. "Ah, shit." She sits back in her seat, and then looks at you, intrigued. "What changed?"
"Maybe we realised we have stuff in common, or that we were more similar than we thought."
Belle tilts her head to the side, seemingly mulling over what you said. She purses her lips and squints her eyes like she's trying to connect invisible dots. She stabs at her pasta and silently returns to her food.
"What was that?" you ask.
"Nothing," she dismisses. "So, I heard you mentioning a movie night."
"Yeah," you reply. "It's kind of a tradition. We pick a shitty movie, order some pizza, and make fun of it."
"Guess I'm ruining that now?" she suggests.
"It's just one time, we've missed it before and I'm sure we'll miss it again."
"Maybe next week I can join you?"
You think about how movie nights usually end. Sullyoon, spread across a bed, with your head between her legs. You remember the feeling of her soft skin and warmth, the sound of her moans filling the air. And now that memory includes Belle sitting beside you both.
You choke on your drink slightly.
"Oh God." Belle gasps. "What did I say?"
"Nothing, drink just went to the wrong place is all." You cough. "Yeah, sure, you can join us."
Time passes so easily. The conversation is nice, and she's such an interesting woman. She talks about her life, the places she has been and the people she has known. And you reciprocate. By the time the check arrives, you feel like you've known each other for much longer than four days.
"You know, my dad talked about helping me find my own place. I can't keep your room forever," she admits as she's finishing up her last drink.
"That's fine, I can survive on the sofa."
Belle chuckles at that. "I feel bad for putting you out like this." Her fingers reach out to brush yours, lingering there momentarily before retracting. The contact sends a shiver up your spine. "How about we share the bed?"
"Excuse me?" you say in shock. She laughs again.
"Not in that way. I mean, we can put pillows between us or something. It wouldn't be weird, just two siblings sleeping in the same room." She pauses and chuckles. "Unless you snore."
"I don't!"
"Well, I guess we'll find out."
-
When you finally return home, the house is eerily quiet. Both your parents' cars are missing and Sullyoon has retired to her room. Belle carries her purchases while you follow close behind.
As you step onto the landing, Sullyoon's bedroom door opens. She's dressed in one of your shirts. The light that floods out highlights how long her legs are, with her toned thighs in full view. She stands and watches Belle walk into your shared bedroom, before turning her attention to you. "So?" She asks, arms folding.
"So, what?" you counter.
"You going to apologise for ruining my weekend?" she huffs, arms crossing defensively. Her pouty expression almost tempts you to bite back.
"You were invited."
Sullyoon scoffs. "Oh yeah. So that I could third-wheel. No thanks."
You pause and chew your bottom lip. "Did you get to watch the movie at least?"
"Yes, alone." Her frown intensifies. You try not to laugh at how adorable she looks. "Goodnight."
She stomps back into her room and closes the door behind herself. You bite back an amused smirk. Sullyoon has the tendency to be petty, but you never seem to realise how far she'll go until she does it. Still, you decide not to dwell on it, knowing that Sullyoon would rather ignore the problem than confront it directly. She'll forgive you when she decides to.
You round the corner into your room, bags in hand, and that's when you see her, pulling down the zipper that runs along her spine. The fabric falls in ripples and reveals her back. From the arch between her shoulders down to the dimples in her lower back, the milky skin is exposed. Your throat dries up instantly.
"How am I supposed to feel about you ogling me like that?" Belle jokes, glancing at you over her shoulder. Her eyes shimmer with intrigue.
"Sorry." You quickly spit and then turn around. She doesn't say anything but you hear her light steps over the carpet as she rounds you and closes the bedroom door.
"I was joking," she says while facing you. Her hair falls over her shoulders and ends right above the cup of her bra. She looks like a model straight out of the pages of some lingerie catalogue. You struggle to stay composed.
"So was I," you reply, pretending to be cool while you turn away again to set the bags down in the corner of the room. Belle laughs under her breath.
"I've gotten used to living alone. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can put something on, but I'm used to sleeping in nothing but the covers." she offers. "But I don't mind, honestly."
The silence settles between you two and becomes deafening. You let out a nervous sigh. "It's okay," you finally state, grabbing shorts and a shirt and heading to the bathroom to change. "Just give me a moment." Once inside, you strip yourself of your clothes and run the water from the tap. You cup your hands together and fill them before splashing the cold water onto your face. You stare at yourself in the mirror.
This isn't a big deal. It doesn't have to be. You're going to be cool about the whole thing. You can handle having another gorgeous stepsister lying beside you in bed. It won't be hard at all.
You put your clothes on and march out of the bathroom. Belle has made herself comfortable in your bed, laying back against the pillow with her phone in hand. Her eyelids are half-open as she scrolls through social media apps lazily. The bedsheets cover her up to her shoulders.
"I've always slept on the left," she states absently, eyes still glued to her phone screen. You gulp. She pats the empty space beside her, invitingly. "That means you're on the right."
She turns off her phone as you enter the bed. As you slide under the covers, she turns and slides away to give you room. Your legs brush against hers by accident. Her smooth calves rub against yours and you freeze up. Then you feel her hand reaching out, touching your arm gently before drawing away again.
"Are you shy?" she asks with a tiny giggle.
"No," you lie, hoping that your cheeks aren't too flushed from embarrassment. The room goes pitch black when she flicks off the lamp. Only the distant glow of a street light shines through the curtains. Your eyes adjust and you make out her silhouette against the bedsheets.
"Just relax." Her voice echoes softly in the dark. She places her hand atop yours and squeezes firmly. She brushes her fingertips up along your forearm, stopping briefly near your elbow before trailing them back down again. Each stroke sends little shivers shooting up and down your spine. The effect of her touch is hypnotising; a powerful yet delicate combination of warmth and tenderness.
The movements continue for a while, in silence, as your eyes grow heavy.
"Sweet dreams," she whispers.
"Night Belle," you manage to mutter. Before you know it, you drift off to sleep.
-
At first, you don't even register the sensation, as if you are in a dream. First, it's the tickling of her hair in your face, followed by the feeling of her soft skin in your hand. Then it's the warmth, all along the front of your body. Belle is pressed against you tightly and your arm is around her. Holding her as the little spoon.
Your eyes flicker open.
You lay there in shock, unsure what to do, but also unwilling to move. The warmth radiates off of her, soothing every inch of you that she touches. Her breathing rises and falls slowly, as though she hasn't stirred yet. Her fragrance surrounds you, intoxicatingly sweet, leaving you lightheaded.
You try to adjust the arm that's trapped under her but she threatens to stir awake, mumbling unintelligibly against the pillow, as she shuffles around to get comfortable against you again. She moves her body against yours and presses harder.
Suddenly, you become very aware of exactly which parts of your bodies are making contact. Her ass grinds up against your crotch and the sensation causes a wave of heat to course throughout your entire core. Panic kicks in as you will your morning wood to retreat as quickly as possible. Yet no amount of willpower can stop the natural reaction to her plush butt cheeks.
You focus your attention elsewhere, trying to distract yourself by thinking of mundane tasks to pass the time—anything to prevent yourself from acknowledging your growing arousal. You count the speckles on the ceiling and list off ingredients of your favourite foods.
It doesn't work.
You have to get out. You start by pulling away your body, minimising the contact and creating separation. But then there's your arm, still stuck under her. Gently, ever so gently, you lift yourself away, trying to drag your limb free.
"Leaving already?" comes Belle's question. Her tone drips with mock offence.
"What? Uhhh.." you stutter. Shit. Not good.
Belle flips around to face you. In the morning glow, she's positively radiant. A beautiful angel bathed in warm sunlight. Her silky hair flows delicately as she turns. She flashes a devilish smile and says, "Look at that, our first night sharing a bed and you're already cuddling with me."
You're speechless. Blood rushes to your cheeks and you feel your heart beat faster in your chest.
"It was nice," she smiles. "Even if you were poking me in the ass."
Your jaw drops. Shame bubbles in the pit of your stomach and causes your skin to prickle. She laughs and pushes the sheets down to your waists. She's fucking topless. Your eyes widen as you catch sight of her breasts, perfect teardrops that hang deliciously against her chest, crowned by erect pink nipples. The sight sends you reeling into total disarray.
"You can't help it, I know." Her voice cuts through your dazed thoughts like a blade slicing through butter. "All guys wake up horny." She shuffles a little closer. "I can help it, though." Her hand snakes down beneath the sheet, into your shorts, and suddenly there's the unmistakable sensation of her fingers wrapped around your cock.
"Belle—" Her name leaves your throat weak and cracked. Heat envelops you and your brain goes into overdrive. No way is this real.
"Shhh," she whispers, leaning in until her lips are hovering close to yours. "I want to help," she says with a mischievous smirk.
She starts slowly stroking your dick. At first, it feels strange and foreign, but gradually melts into pleasure as the friction increases. Belle continues to stare, watching as the corners of your mouth twitch and twist, as if studying her own effect on you. Every time your breath hitches she seems to gain more confidence. She grips tighter and works her wrist faster, building up a steady rhythm.
"See, we can share this room." She keeps moving her hand up and down in perfect strokes, varying the pace every few seconds. Sometimes fast and firm, then slow and gentle. It's enough to drive anyone mad. "Isn't it great?"
"This is so messed up," you manage to groan out as your hips lift involuntarily.
"Is it?" She kisses the corner of your mouth. "Doesn't seem that bad to me."
She's right. It feels incredible. Despite everything, you don't want her to stop. You lean into her, desperate for her to kiss you, but instead, she pulls away, giggling softly. That only serves to frustrate you further, which seems to encourage her even more. She quickens her pace and leans closer to you again, stopping inches away from kissing distance once more.
Your eyes grow heavy again, but this time it's not sleep that overtakes you. Instead, it's bliss.
"Belle, what the fuck..." you whisper. Pleasure is burning hot in the base of your gut. Her wrist rolls as she jerks you off harder. "Why..."
She lets you go, hand slipping out of your shorts as quickly as it entered. "Here." She cups your hand in her own and pulls it towards her chest. "Feel free to touch." You know what happens when you allow temptation to guide your actions. Sullyoon is a case and point.
Despite that, you're unable to resist.
Her breast fits perfectly in your palm. So soft. Your fingers graze over the sensitive nipple. The moans that follow sound heavenly, even more so when accompanied by her coy smile. Without warning, her lips press against yours, sealing off any sort of protest. Her tongue dances across your bottom lip and into your mouth. Soft. Wet. Hot.
Heat pools between your legs. Her hand returns to its former place around your cock. She's so slow now, achingly deliberate. Your mind spins endlessly; overwhelmed by desire.
When you pull back, she gives a sly wink, "Tell me what you think, hm?"
"It feels so fucking good," you sigh. She responds with another kiss. The room fades to silence beyond your muffled moaning and wet kissing sounds. Time itself seems to grind to a halt.
"I knew you'd enjoy it," she murmurs into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe before continuing, "Now...how about you return the favour?" Her words trail off as she lifts one of your fingers into her mouth. Her tongue twirls around it for a moment and then releases it with a wet pop.
"Sure," you mutter, too distracted to care about anything else. You slip your hand beneath the duvet and then push at her hip, turning her onto her back. You admire her upper body. From her chest to the curve of her hips, to the dip of her waist, she looks divine. Belle lies back and spreads her legs. And when your hand snakes between her thighs, she raises her arms above her head and grips the pillow tight.
"Fuck," she gasps as your fingertips run along her slit gently, enjoying how she bucks upwards to meet your digits.
"You're soaked," you marvel.
Belle grins wickedly and exhales slowly. "Mhm," she agrees. "And who's fault is that?"
"Me," you respond quickly.
You brush up and down her pussy with agonising slowness, revelling in how her slick fluids cling to your fingers, and coat them in their essence. After a few seconds of exploration, you circle her clit slowly with two fingertips. Her eyes snap shut instantly and she whimpers softly under her breath. It's mesmerising. She squirms wildly, biting down hard on her bottom lip to stifle her squeals of ecstasy.
Then she lets out this long drawn-out moan while she squeezes the pillow tight against the back of her head. "Fuck," she curses.
Your finger sinks inside of her effortlessly.
"T-that feels..." she whimpers between staggered breaths. You pump in and out of her, curling upwards against her walls every single time. Her hips sway to meet your thrusts, matching them perfectly. The sight drives you insane.
You withdraw your finger from her depths and circle it across her folds. Her legs tremble in anticipation.
"Please," she begs. Your cock throbs painfully.
She tilts her head backwards, baring the pale skin of her neck to you. An offering. One you take happily.
You press your lips against her soft flesh, savouring her taste. Her scent overwhelms you. You can feel her pulse thrumming frantically just beneath the surface of her skin. There's something intensely primal about being able to feel someone else's heartbeat racing against your own.
Your teeth clamp down on the area between her jaw and collarbone, holding her securely as you explore every inch of her sex with newfound fervour.
It isn't long until she writhes beneath you, panting heavily while clinging desperately to the bedsheets around her. Your movements grow faster, more frantic. Hungry even.
She threatens to get loud, and you know how bad that could be. There's a reason Sullyoon always comes into your room, it's the furthest from your parents, and even then you find yourself putting a palm over her mouth. Now it's just one thin wall. One thin wall separates Belle's moans from Sullyoon's ears.
So you shut her up the best way you know how.
She seems surprised when your mouth crashes against hers, silencing her squeals with your tongue, but the feeling is fleeting. Her arms wrap around the back of your neck, pulling her closer towards you. She tastes like strawberries and smells faintly of vanilla.
You absorb her moans into your mouth as she cums on your hand.
Her thighs tighten around you, locking your fingers deep within her core. She shudders violently as waves of pleasure wrack through her frame. Slowly but surely she relaxes again, letting out contented sighs mixed with tiny giggles of delight. When she opens her eyes again, her pupils are dilated and wide, shining brightly. She stares up at you dreamily. Her cheeks flushed red. Lips plump from kisses.
"Holy shit." Belle exhales hard before speaking again. Her voice still shakes with euphoria. "Good morning indeed."
"Yeah," you chuckle, rolling back to give her space.
"No," she stops you by placing a hand on your stomach. "We haven't finished."
"We haven't?"
"You haven't." She runs a hand down your body until it's back to how all this started. This time, she pushes your shorts clear of your hips and lets your erection spring free. She's climbing up and over you as she speaks, "Let me return the favour. We're family now."
Then she takes you into her mouth. Your thoughts blur together into a haze of lust and arousal, blinding your vision temporarily. Everything else fades away except for this girl who sucks your dick like she needs it to survive. Her tongue swirls around the crown of your tip teasingly while she bobs back and forth steadily. She hums around you, sending vibrations reverberating throughout your entire length, sending tingles shooting up and down your spine.
As her effort rises, so does she. Onto all fours and swinging a leg over yours. She's giving you this look—this hungry stare. You're hers now. Totally at her mercy. She keeps eye contact as she sucks you deeper than before. Then, without warning, her head lifts away from your cock completely, leaving behind a slick trail of spittle dripping down her chin. She wipes it away with her knuckles nonchalantly. Still wearing that predatory expression. Something about the action, the confidence of it, it makes you shiver.
She starts to stroke you, right before she dips her pretty face down to place her lips on your balls. Then it's her tongue, warm and wet against the sensitive skin. She alternates between tender kisses and loving licks all while staring up past your cock to meet your gaze. It's unbelievably hot.
"Don't cum yet," she whispers sweetly before returning her mouth around your length again.
"Can't promise anything," you groan back.
"Cute," she murmurs around your shaft.
Belle works you for a while. Those smokey eyes watch your every involuntary reaction while she worships your cock. Every twitch gets a quiet giggle. Every choked moan is met with a little lick across the tip.
It doesn't take long until the fire in your belly begins to spread.
"Belle," you strain, barely keeping a hold of your composure. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."
"Not yet," she says with a smirk. "Here."
She shifts ever so slightly again, pushing her chest towards her pumping hand. She presses your tip against the hard nipple and jerks you off, alternating between the stiff buds. All you can do is watch, totally transfixed by what's happening before you. Her movements grow quicker and more frantic. Until it becomes almost too much.
You let it out, right onto her pretty little tits. Thick ropes across her flawless skin, painting her while she smiles. Even after you've been spent, she keeps working your shaft until it becomes painful. Oversensitivity has never felt sweeter.
"Oh god." Belle looks down at the mess you've made on her chest. Her grin is devious. She slips off the bed, taking a spare towel from underneath it and wiping at her chest and your crotch. Once you're both clean, she tucks you back in and crawls onto your torso. With a small bounce, she nestles down and lays on top of you. Her chest presses against yours.
"So," she coos, resting her chin on your sternum. "That happened."
You laugh and she quickly joins you. There's a feeling of shared exhilaration hanging between you both. A giddiness that comes from knowing you have just crossed an invisible boundary together.
"That was so fucking hot." Belle brings her palm up to cradle the side of your head affectionately. Her thumb brushes small circles against your temple, tracing patterns along the outline of your cheekbones. After a few seconds, her smile starts to fade. "Do you hate me?"
"Why would I?" You ask sincerely.
"I don't know. You're my step-brother. And I just..."
Her tone makes your heart ache ever so slightly, causing you to reach out for her face and cup her cheek in your palm. "If you hadn't made a move, I would have anyway," you confess.
"You're as messed up as me, then."
She has no idea.
-
Towel and a change of clothes in hand, you start to open the bathroom door when you hear your name. Sullyoon's distinct voice. You hesitate, halfway through the threshold, and turn back to see her walking down the corridor. "So, what, you don't like me anymore?"
"What are you talking about?" You retort defensively.
She puts on this mocking voice. "'Yes Belle, I'll take you to town.' 'Yes Belle, I'll take you to dinner and stand up the sister I actually know.' You've known her for two minutes! Two!"
You feel shame rising inside your chest. It's a weird feeling that just trying to be a good brother (or a bad one) has driven some divide between you and Sullyoon. You try to explain, "She's flown to a whole new country. It's difficult. We have to welcome her. If I didn't have to do it alone then we could see each other more." You sigh, "She really wants to hang out with you, you know."
Sullyoon crosses her arms, looking smug, "Oh, I bet."
"She does," you insist, trying your best not to appear too frustrated with her. "She was excited about movie night and she wants to join us next week." To this, Sullyoon simply scoffs.
"Yeah, right."
There's a pause where neither of you knows what to say. Eventually, it is broken by your stepsister's words.
"Doesn't change the fact that you left me alone on our night." She pouts dramatically, her bottom lip sticking out adorably. You roll your eyes at her antics. Sometimes, her stubbornness can border upon childishness.
"Sullyoon," you say flatly. "Come on. That's not fair."
She shrugs dismissively, clearly unconvinced. "What's not fair is that we haven't done it in almost a week."
You drop your towel and clothes on the bathroom floor and step out quickly towards her. You quickly hold your palm against her plump lips to silence her. "Not so loud."
She grabs your wrist, pulling her mouth free. "Our parents are out, calm down." But then she uses the leverage to yank you forward, right into her arms. "Maybe you should make it up to me."
"Sullyoon." You chastise. Boundaries exist for a reason, and doing this out here in the hallway is not what you agreed. You pry her away and walk back into the bathroom.
She follows each step, and as soon as you turn back to close the door, she's already slipping through and closing it herself. Before you have a chance to protest, Sullyoon's hands grab your face and bring you into a fierce kiss. She wastes no time sliding her tongue between your lips, demanding entry. You resist for only half a second before giving in fully, allowing yourself to become consumed by her passionate embrace. Her fingers grasp tufts of your hair tightly, tugging at the strands gently enough that it sends pleasant shivers running down your spine instead of hurting.
"The hell are you doing?" You eventually ask when she breaks away from your mouth, albeit reluctantly.
"Making up for lost time," she whispers as she slips down to her knees, grabbing the sides of your shorts.
You panic. "Hey, hey—" you exclaim as you stop her. She looks at you confused as to why you aren't happy with getting blown. She furrows her brows and then forcefully tugs them down. Your soft cock springs free, hanging mere inches from her waiting lips. Sullyoon licks them in anticipation while keeping her eyes trained solely upon yours.
But that's when she notices something.
There's a brief moment where the two of you lock gazes; where there should be nothing but lust swimming amidst those hazel irises, there is concern. She inhales sharply, catching a scent which throws her into alert mode. You can practically see the gears turning within her brain.
She stands up immediately, stares you dead in the eyes and says, "What the fuck is that?"
"What?"
"Don't play dumb with me, dumbass. You smell like sex and there's lipstick on your cock."
Shit.
"Belle!" Sullyoon calls as she marches back down the hall, bursting into your bedroom. You almost stumble over your shorts and rush to pull them back up to your waist. You dash behind her, terrified at what will happen next.
You round the corner into your room and Sullyoon is standing at the foot of your bed. Belle has her phone in hand, still lying in bed, with the covers up to her chest.
"Slut!" Sullyoon snaps.
"Excuse me?" Belle sits up straight, clutching the duvet to cover herself up properly, glaring back at your sister angrily.
"You heard me. Stay the fuck away from him. He's mine. My brother."
You wince in the silence. Belle just stares at the furious Sullyoon while the gears turn in her mind. Glancing back and forth between the two of you, she's clearly piecing it together. She smirks and then chuckles. "Oh my god! You're fucking him!"
"That's none of your business." Sullyoon retorts sharply.
"Now it all makes sense," she says while pointing her finger and waggling it between you and Sullyoon. "Do I threaten you?"
"No." Sullyoon lies, rather poorly.
"That's cute," Belle laughs. "So, what, you're in love with your brother?"
"No!" Sullyoon snaps, more assured of herself that time. "That's gross."
Belle gives you a look. "So it's just about the sex? What's the big deal?" She asks bluntly. "Clearly he has a type." She gestures to you and smirks again. "There's enough of him to share."
Sullyoon scoffs at her proposal. "Share?" she repeats incredulously. She glances back at you and you offer nothing but a shrug in reply. "Absolutely not," Sullyoon responds firmly.
"Why?" Belle questions innocently.
"I don't wanna."
"Come on," Belle whines, letting her frustration show for once. She throws up her hands dramatically as she argues passionately, "Look, I understand wanting to keep him all to yourself, believe me! He's adorable." As she speaks, her eyes rake up and down your body appreciatively, making heat rise to your face rapidly. "I'm not trying to steal him or anything. Actually, we might just have more in common than you think."
Sullyoon rolls her eyes. "Unbelievable," she sighs.
"Just picture it," Belle insists. "The three of us, here, together."
"What are you suggesting, exactly?" Sullyoon crosses her arms. She isn't going anywhere.
"A threesome."
"Belle..." you caution, but it goes unheard.
"You can even go first," Belle offers casually.
This is ridiculous. Completely absurd. You watch the scene unfold in disbelief. Sullyoon appears to mull the proposition over, her foot tapping impatiently against the carpet as she thinks. There's no way she will agree. Not in a million years would she even consider such a thing... Right?
Sullyoon closes her eyes briefly and inhales deeply through her nose before exhaling slowly. She looks between both of you several times until she finally meets your gaze again and nods decisively. "Fine. Let's do this. Right here, right now." Her tone has turned resolute, decisive, confident, and bordering on cocky.
Your mouth falls agape. Is this really happening?
"Wait. Really?" Belle seems equally shocked by this sudden change. Apparently neither one of you expected her acquiescence quite this quickly or easily.
You look between the two girls. Back and forth. They're doing the same. It's this strange triangle of hesitancy and confusion.
"So how do we...?" Sullyoon trails off, obviously unsure as to how things work from this point forward. She's used to your shared normal, your routine; just the two of you having sex. Spontaneity demands creativity.
"I don't know. It's kinda..." You chime in but don't know how to explain it.
Belle rolls her eyes at the two of you. "Oh my god. Come on." She scoots closer toward the edge of the bed, pulling the duvet away. It slides off her shoulders revealing the perfect curve of her bare breasts. It's not like you've forgotten the sight of them not long ago (nothing about Belle is forgettable) but it sure does hit differently under the context of the situation. She gestures to the bed behind her. "If you two want to fuck, just fuck."
Sullyoon shoots daggers at Belle but still decides to approach regardless. When she reaches you, she grabs your hand roughly and drags you onto the mattress with her. It's all so easy, so natural, falling into a tangle of limbs with her. Even if Belle is watching, even if she's sitting right there. None of that matters anymore because once your mouths collide, everything else fades into insignificance.
You taste the sweetness of her saliva. Feel the warmth radiating off her skin. Smell her familiar perfume, lavender and honey. She's all around you, encasing you completely and enveloping you entirely until all that remains is her. The kiss grows more intense, tongues wrestling as she straddles your lap and grinds her crotch down onto yours eagerly. Desperately seeking relief from the throbbing between her legs.
Then her fingers snake beneath your shirt and lift it over your head, breaking contact. She flings the clothing across the room carelessly before returning the attention to your lips once more. As she leans in for another embrace, you remember exactly where you are, who's there with you, and why they're here.
"Belle—" you start, breaking away mid-kiss. You gesture to her awkwardly as Sullyoon starts mouthing at your neck.
"Mmm?" She answers as she crawls towards your outstretched hand.
"Are you okay with this?"
She takes it upon herself to grab hold of your wrist and guide your palm right onto her naked breast, guiding it around with her own grip. She holds you there until you get the memo, massaging it gently between your digits whilst rubbing her fingertip atop your finger delicately, coaxing you to tweak her erect nipple. "Very," she finally replies.
"This is so weird," Sullyoon remarks, lifting away from your shoulder as Belle moves to her side and perches on her knees.
"It was already weird before I got involved," Belle jokes back, giving you a mischievous grin. She brings her free hand up to cup Sullyoon's cheek.
Sullyoon shies away, "I won't kiss you."
"I wouldn't expect it."
They look at each other for a moment, as if silently coming to some kind of understanding that transcends verbal language altogether. After a few more seconds pass by without further incident, you see them exchange conspiratorial smirks, as though they were sharing some hilarious joke at your expense.
Sullyoon pulls her top over her head, while Belle makes a move at your shorts. For the second time this morning, she's pulling your cock free from them, only this time, she's presenting it to Sullyoon. Her hand wraps around the shaft and starts to jerk it up and down, eliciting a low moan out of you which catches their collective attention. Belle smiles slyly.
In her delicate lace bra, Sullyoon lowers her head, opens her mouth and presents her tongue. Belle presses your tip onto her tongue and Sullyoon is quick to lap at it hungrily. She slides her hands up along your thighs, gripping firmly as she takes you deeper.
"That's hot," Belle murmurs softly, still pumping you.
All you can do is bite your lip and watch as your stepsisters service your length together, competing for its pleasure and attention. They swap turns, passing you back and forth while occasionally meeting in the middle, sucking along either side. It's a little awkward, the way they get in each other's way, but somehow that makes it hotter. Seeing their cheeks squish together, heads bump and lips brush accidentally while fighting for dominance over your dick.
At one point, when Sullyoon has sucked you all the way to the hilt, you notice Belle burying her fingers into Sullyoon's hair. Then the hand slides further, until it cups the back of your sister's head. Then she pushes, holding her in place while she swallows your entire length. Sullyoon panics at first, spluttering slightly against your shaft before she relaxes, settling into the gag, taking it for a bit longer before Belle releases her.
"Fuck!" Sullyoon gasps once she has the freedom to breathe. Strings of spittle connecting her open mouth to the tip of your cock. "Why?"
"Because it's hot," Belle shrugs.
"She's right," you manage to groan out. "Very hot."
"See?" Belle states triumphantly. She places her hand behind your sister's head again, "So do it again."
Sullyoon doesn't put up any resistance. Belle pushes her down, holding her down again as you enter deep into the wet confines of her throat. Sullyoon grips tightly at the flesh of your thighs and tries to relax her body. Despite the initial discomfort, there's no denying that having someone else dictate the terms of her oral servitude adds another layer of eroticism to the whole affair. Belle lets her resurface with a deep gasp for air, spit smeared across her chin, a thin strand dangling precariously between the underside of your erection and the tip of her tongue.
"Look at how pretty you are like that," Belle coos condescendingly while stroking Sullyoon's hair affectionately, almost lovingly even. In spite of everything else, the humiliation of being reduced to such an object, you catch Sullyoon blushing at the praise. Even more shocking, Sullyoon seems to lean into her caresses willingly.
"You've made her blush, Belle." You joke lightly, breaking some tension. It earns a glare from Sullyoon. The humour is short-lived.
After another couple of rounds, during which you have to fight every instinct within yourself not to cum in either of their mouths, Belle asks, "Can I see you ride him?"
One thing is becoming clear: Belle loves to watch.
Sullyoon sits up and wipes the excess saliva from her jawline with the back of her wrist, still panting slightly from being choked so thoroughly. After regaining some composure, she merely nods her consent. There's an underlying tension, however subtle, woven throughout their interaction now but a hint of mutual respect borne from seeing the other's ability to please you so well.
As Sullyoon stands, Belle seems to ponder. On her knees, staring at her sister's body, as if admiring every aspect of her figure; slender legs, tight waist, and cute ass. You get it. You've been there. Gawking at Sullyoon from afar, stealing glances while nobody notices, fantasising about those very curves. And yet it's surreal seeing somebody else experiencing it in front of you.
When Belle speaks up, she points to Sullyoon's shorts. "May I?"
"Go ahead," Sullyoon mutters nonchalantly, almost absentmindedly. Her full focus seems to revolve around climbing onto your lap. Meanwhile, Belle carefully peels away the fabric that clings to Sullyoon's lower body, easing her out of them until her legs come free. In a series of graceful motions, Belle has exposed Sullyoon down to nothing—helped because Sullyoon never wears underwear in the house.
As Sullyoon settles over your hips, resting on her knees, Belle crawls up next to you, positioning herself comfortably alongside your body. She props herself upright, leaning sideways against your torso for support. With a finger, she traces shapes across your chest, drawing abstract patterns into your skin idly while keeping her eyes locked exclusively forward, entranced by Sullyoon above you.
She takes hold of your dick at its base. Taking her time to drag both it and herself against each other, exchanging spit and slick fluids that coat them. There's a little sway and rotation to her hips, teasing incessantly until the anticipation threatens to drive you mad. The soft skin of her tummy looks so tasty from here, rising and falling slowly as she breathes and moving as she rolls her body.
There comes a point where enough is enough.
Just as you reach to grab yourself and guide it inside of her, Belle stretches her hand down between Sullyoon's legs and takes hold of your cock instead. She slaps your tip against your sister's swollen clit. Up and down, hitting the sensitive button repeatedly. All it takes is one errant flick downwards, however accidental (or not), and now your cockhead is nestled snugly into Sullyoon's entrance.
Belle draws her palm back up over your body. "Sorry, my bad," she giggles. Except you know better, seeing the smug twinkle that sparkles behind her irises. Before you can say anything more, Sullyoon succumbs to gravity and the pleasure it brings. Her hips sink down. Accepting inch after inch of you inside of her welcoming pussy until every last bit fits snuggly within her walls. She groans quietly.
It's all so familiar—the sensation of being enveloped by her velvety folds—but still wonderful nonetheless.
The shift of pressure when she begins to grind on top of you reminds you of those many times in the evening darkness, those instances when all that mattered was staying silent. Now you have an audience. Somebody watching intently from your side.
Belle watches the action unfold, a gasp here and giggle there. Sullyoon's body arches back subtly whilst she rocks her pelvis back and forth rhythmically atop yours. Her eyelids droop heavily as ecstasy surges through her veins, causing goosebumps to prickle over her smooth flesh as she rides.
"You like riding your brother's dick?"
"Y-Yes," Sullyoon stutters out, too preoccupied to register fully what she said. This sets off the deviant in Belle. You sense her growing bolder, more confident with her lecherous remarks knowing they'll be met with little to no resistance.
"You gonna cum on it?"
"Yes!" Sullyoon cries. Every downward motion presses her clit against your pubic bone, sending waves rippling through her petite frame. You grip her waist firmly, helping her. Her ass collides loudly against your thighs when she bottoms out each time. There's hardly any need for you to buck your hips and meet her.
"Yeah, you love fucking your stepbrother, don't you?"
Sullyoon only whimpers. Whatever argument or shame she might muster has fallen prey to her own desires. Now that she's been given permission—to indulge these fantasies openly with others—it appears as though she'll never go back. How can anyone turn away from such bliss?
And to your own amazement, neither of you seems fazed by the fact Belle bears witness to everything transpiring before her eyes.
"So dirty. Such a bad girl." Belle's tone is sultry sweet like honey dripping off a spoon. She leans closer and plants her lips against yours softly. It takes a second, a single heartbeat passing in silence where your tongue darts forward to greet hers. Suddenly the kiss has become something fierce and passionate—an exchange filled entirely with unbridled hunger that knows nothing besides passion itself. Nothing exists beyond its carnal needs right now except for maybe one thing...
An explosion erupts deep within Sullyoon; an eruption so violent that it causes her entire form to shake uncontrollably atop you. Her moans fill your bedroom, and her whole body draws tense before collapsing limply upon you like a marionette whose strings had just been cut loose by some unseen force. She quivers and writhes atop your throbbing shaft.
"Must be one hell of a ride," Belle comments through laboured breaths.
"Find out for yourself," you respond, matching her energy.
"Mmmm," she purrs thoughtfully whilst absentmindedly tracing circles across Sullyoon's exposed backside. "Let's switch, 'kay?"
You're quick to respond. Grabbing onto Sullyoon's ass cheeks, digging your fingertips firmly into each supple mound as you hoist her upwards. Your cock slips effortlessly free, causing a shudder to run through you both simultaneously before pulling apart completely. A mixture of sexual fluids oozes messily down her thighs when you set her aside on the mattress.
Now it's Belle's turn.
The atmosphere shifts drastically as she straddles you. Where previously things had taken on this languid dreamlike state—with Sullyoon's gentle undulations atop your cock, punctuated by moans echoing throughout the room—now the urgency returns anew.
Once Belle has mounted you correctly, sinking down until she reaches hilt-deep within herself, then she starts gyrating wildly. Hips rolling furiously fast and grinding her sex hard against yours, driving you deeper than ever before.
Her tits bounce deliciously from the impacts and her lips purse prettily with exertion. From nothing to everything in the blink of an eye. She's leaning over you, pressing her forehead against yours and staring right into your soul as she rides your cock mercilessly. And those eyes—those beautifully smokey eyes—are burning with lustful fervour.
Belle's hot breath mingles sweetly together amidst the haze surrounding you two. Then her lips crash against yours in a searing kiss that steals away whatever remaining oxygen you have left within your lungs. Tongues dance between teeth, entwining passionately against one another until you're forced apart by necessity.
"How is he?" Sullyoon speaks up. She sounds remarkably coherent despite appearing like a spent mess lying sprawled out beside you two.
"Fucking huge," Belle gasps in response without breaking stride. Her pace doesn't slow at all, if anything she speeds up even more in defiance to accommodate your size better. Her voice wavers slightly when she speaks again. "He feels so good," she murmurs softly against your earlobe.
"Give me his face," Sullyoon demands, crawling closer to you, propping her body upright next to your head. Once her hands cup your cheeks and tilt your face up, she swings a leg over your head and positions her snatch directly above your mouth. Then she descends downwards gently, pressing herself flush against your lips.
As soon as contact occurs between tongue and slit, Sullyoon jolts upright suddenly as bolts shoot straight towards her core. Eagerly lapping away at her glistening cunt causes a ripple effect throughout her whole physique, making her hips gyrate involuntarily against your open mouth.
Belle continues slamming herself down hard atop you, rocking your entire foundation relentlessly. She throws her head backwards as the momentum builds steadily higher and higher. Unrestrained groans spill freely from her throat unchecked as pleasure overwhelms every other rational thought inside her brain. Meanwhile, you feast on the nectar that flows forth copiously from your step-sister's pussy, savouring the ambrosia coating thickly around your tongue as you slurp it greedily down.
Time loses meaning while submerged beneath the sea of sensations cascading over you ceaselessly—nothing existing beyond the confines of flesh pounding against flesh nor the taste saturating every inch of your being.
You claw for some sort of respite, finding your fingers digging into Sullyoon's ass as a makeshift warning of the feeling in your body. You're close but they won't stop, in fact, Belle works harder.
Everything escalates tenfold. Everything gets faster; harder; wilder.
It drives you absolutely insane.
Your cock spasms violently inside of Belle's convulsing sex. Simultaneously, she's screaming something incomprehensible—not quite words necessarily but definitely conveying something meaningful nonetheless. The surge of euphoria crashes through you like waves crashing upon the shore during a stormy night—ferociously crashing through every fibre of your being with unrestrained vigour. Cum floods her depths in hot thick spurts and her body tenses rigidly, shaking fiercely whilst gripping tightly onto you for stability. Sullyoon trembles too, twitching sporadically and squealing loudly through clenched teeth before eventually slumping forward once again, collapsing heavily upon your face while riding out her orgasmic peak alongside yours.
Seconds feel like minutes, minutes seem like hours.
Eventually, the intensity fades, replaced instead by gentle numbness which fills the void afterwards. You lay there, breathing raggedly—heart hammering heavily within ribcage and sweat trickling down skin dampened thoroughly, amongst bodily fluids staining sheets soaked in evidence of prior debauchery. Eventually, your sisters roll off of you.
Silence prevails for several long moments afterwards. No sound penetrates beyond shallow breaths. Nobody says anything; no words need be uttered aloud to express emotions present right now anyway.
***
Three days later, you wake up in bed, sandwiched between your sisters. Legs intertwined, warm skin brushing against one another and soft chests pillowing against your sides. Asleep.
This isn't unusual—not anymore. How quickly it has all become routine to sleep squished between them.
It's also not weird or uncomfortable. At least, you try to convince yourself of that. Because otherwise...well...
You decide not to finish the thought. Instead, you opt to focus solely on enjoying the sensation of having both beautiful girls wrapped snugly around you. Revel in their warmth and breathe deeply their scent. Cherish this dirty, taboo arrangement for all it's worth. There will surely come a day when everything falls apart; when reality inevitably comes knocking at the door. But until then, why not indulge? 
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starmapz · 6 months ago
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what you know - ch9: (ex) friends || r. sukuna
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❊ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]
❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞
❊ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.
❊ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.
❊ words ; 12.2k.
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With a soft click, the Career Services Office door shuts behind you. Dropping your bag on the bench just outside the door, you pull Shoko’s attention from her phone.
“So? How did it go?”
Slipping paperwork carefully into your bag, you nod. “Good! I only need to make a couple of changes to my resume and cover letter and they gave me some good suggestions for options,” you explain.
As a part of your final couple of semesters in your final year, your Copy Editing and Proofreading class has an internship requirement. On one hand it’s stressful, especially given that you’ll need to adjust your life to the schedule of having an internship on Tuesdays and Thursdays on top of classes throughout the week, but you’re also excited.
And then there’s the case of Sukuna.
Although you wouldn’t exactly call the last time you saw him a pleasant encounter given Sukuna had broken down, not to mention his abrupt departure, his emails had been a bit more reassuring.
[email protected] - Friday, 6:02 PM home?
[email protected] - Friday, 6:24 PM Home! Thanks for checking in, Kuna :)
[email protected] - Friday, 6:29 PM yeah. thanks for earlier. makes it easier to be around the kids
You had smiled to yourself as it seemed he was finally admitting to the fact that maybe help wasn’t so bad. Maybe he didn’t have to handle everything alone.
More encouraging still, was his follow up email.
[email protected] - Friday, 6:32 PM can you watch them more? i’ll find a way to pay you back after the trial
You hadn’t exactly considered the repercussions that looking after Sukuna’s little brothers would have on your schedule on top of the fact that you’re required to get an internship to graduate.
But if Sukuna can handle it, then you’re more than willing to bear some of his burden if it means he’ll accept your help. Maybe you can lessen the dark circles that seem burnt into his skin like a brand, even if it means you take on a burden of your own.
It’s worth it. He’s worth it.
Shoko groans, pulling your thoughts back to the present. “God, I hope my resume only needs a couple of tweaks. I don’t think it’s very good,” she mutters, pulling it out of her bag.
Peeking over the top of the paper, you shrug. “If it’s any consolation, it’s pretty.”
“Did you just call my resume dumb but pretty? I feel like you did,” she chides.
You laugh in unison with her, shaking your head. “I haven’t even read it! It’s probably more impressive than mine is.”
As her laughter dies down, Shoko rolls her resume up in her hand, batting your shoulder with the paper. “Nice save,” she snorts. Giggling, you step aside as she stands up to head into the Career Services Office next. “I’ll catch you later,” she waves as she steps inside.
Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you make your way to the car and return home. As if projects and studying weren't enough, to think that you now also need to apply to publishing houses while competing with every other student in your program is
 a lot. 
With a sigh, you stretch your arms over your head as you take a seat at your desk and begin the long application process of applying to nearly every publishing house in town.
–
Rocking back and forth on the ball of your heels, adorned in cute knee-high boots that match your beige knit sweater, you await one of the three brothers at the door. Over the past couple of weeks, your tattooed counterpart has slowly allowed you to help him.
And thank god for that.
After the intensely emotional moment you’d shared with him outside his apartment after meeting with Hiromi, Choso and Sukuna’s behaviour had grown increasingly worrying. Yuji’s boisterous personality remained somewhat dulled with an underlying sadness, but every so often he would relax under your care and his giggles would light up the apartment.
Choso was a different story. You wondered often if he had heard the discussions between the four adults chatting about legal papers. His already extremely reserved personality had faded into a monotonous and ghostly presence of what was once a very bright and lively child. If ever someone had seemed to be running on auto-pilot, this was it.
Your concern had only grown when you’d stood beside Sukuna just outside of your Literature History class as he received a phone call from Choso’s teacher, concerned for his mental health and well-being.
How Sukuna is meant to explain his child brother refusing to speak not only to classmates, but even his teacher, neither of you truly knew. The pride Sukuna carries on his back that strains and weighs down his already heavy shoulders prevented him from telling the truth. He’s not the picturesque guardian that the school expects him to be at the end of the day, but to admit that he’s about to fight to keep his brothers in his custody feels like defeat to a man like Sukuna.
The battle hasn’t even begun and he’s already losing.
Sukuna remained nestled carefully within your heart, lighting a fire deep within that urged you to help him fight. Like a firefly, it seemed to buzz within, guiding you towards the man you’d come to know as surprisingly warm and thoughtful, in spite of his rougher edges.
Yet it seemed that man was buried under so many layers of stress that you hadn’t caught wind of that warmth in weeks. Sukuna had become somewhat of a shell of his former self too, more on edge and growing wearier by the day. You may see him every couple of days as you look after his brothers or he manages to make it to class or lunch, but between his quick departure and the bone-tired state he returns in after his shift, you don’t get many opportunities to speak.
The only positive you can find across the whole situation is that he’s accepting your help. He’s trying with what meager energy he can find.
In the midst of your troubles with the three brothers, your schedule had briefly become a scattered mess as well. Between running to interviews, classes in which Sukuna struggled to arrive in a timely manner, and looking after the boys, you had been spread thin as well.
At least your schedule would become more predictable, beginning today.
The door creaks open just far enough for Choso to peek up at you. His eyes are devoid of anything beyond recognition as he steps back to let you in. It tugs at your heartstrings to see him so withdrawn.
“Hey sweetie,” you greet him softly, gently ruffling his dark hair. He blinks as his hair, which has grown quite long now, falls into his face, obscuring his vision, though he doesn’t otherwise react.
With two months until the court date, you pray he comes out of his shell again. Two months of reserved silence doesn’t bode well for his mental health, especially when you’re certain Sukuna will win the case regardless.
Sure, his odds aren’t amazing, but those kids love him and in spite of the fatigue that plagues his mind and body, you catch glimpses of the fire lit within to win the court case.
“Where are your brothers?” You query with a small tilt of your head.
Choso’s gaze drifts to the hall where the bedrooms are. You shoot him a tight-lipped smile, sighing as you reach the hall. The bathroom door is shut, the sounds of running water penetrating the barrier. Brushing past the room, you poke your head into the open door to Yuji’s room. The most lively of the bunch, his feet are kicking as he sits at his desk, crayons scrawling across paper.
Stepping inside, you greet him with a smile.
His response isn’t as enthusiastic as you hoped, but he still calls your name out as his eyes brighten at the sight of you.
“Hey, sweetheart,” you ruffle his hair as you step up behind him to peer at his coloring page. To your surprise, it isn’t the Avengers book that he’s been coloring over the course of the past few weeks (Spider-Man is his favorite), but a page with a familiar blue hedgehog on it. You blink once as you recognize the pose, it looks like it’s straight from the cover of the GameCube game you’d left here a while ago. More notably, you notice that the lineart doesn’t gleam in the same way the printed pages usually do under the lamplight.
It’s drawn in marker.
Faint traces of erased lines remain at the edge of Sonic’s eyes (are they eyes? Is it one eye? How does that work?) and now that you’re standing over the desk more, you can see the faint outline of another character at his side. Shadow.
You smile to yourself, somewhat bittersweet, at the sweet sight of Yuji leaving the sketch blank and staying in the lines to the best of his ability. He likely hopes that at some point he’ll be able to complete his joint artistic effort with his brother.
The sound of a door opening grabs your attention and you excitedly make your way over to Sukuna, who’s clad in a blue polo and khakis. Clearly he’d be stocking shelves for the evening. Running a hand through long salmon locks, his eyes slide over to you as you appear from the doorway of his brothers’ room.
The dark circles under his eyes don’t look so bad today, though his expression remains stoic. There’s no cracks to his practiced facade of control, his crimson eyes set on your face as he examines the way you actually bound towards him, clearly excited. He raises an eyebrow as he casts his gaze down to your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt.
“Something happen?” He brings a hand up to casually scratch beneath the collar of his shirt, the polo material irritating against his skin.
“You remember how I needed to get an internship this semester?”
“Mhm.”
“Aaaaand you remember how I was really hoping to get a position in that printing house on the main bus route to save some money on gas?”
His lip quirks upwards at the corner as he takes a step towards you. One strong arm wraps around you in something between a headlock and a hug, causing you to giggle. “‘Course you got it. Atta girl,” though his tone lacks the usual timbre he reserves for you and his brothers, you can see the way something within him shifts, something akin to pride resonating through him.
With your face practically shoved into Sukuna’s way too bulky chest, your cheeks quickly warm. You’re more than positive that he can feel it when you stumble back as he releases you after a moment, a glimmer of mischief buried deep beneath the haze of exhaustion.
“Thanks Kuna,” you can’t help the way your eyes crinkle at the corners as your heart pounds in your chest.
Loving him from afar isn’t easy, but it’s better than not loving him at all.
Sukuna makes a motion that he’s headed for the kitchen. You trail after him, watching as he reaches into the fridge for leftovers and a water bottle. 
Choso sits silently at the table towards the back of the apartment, leaning on his palm as he stares outside. With tupperware in one hand and a large metal bottle in the other, Sukuna pauses to stare at him. Something akin to guilt flashes through his eyes, but he quickly steels himself.
You briefly wonder if he believes he can win, something you’ve been doing your best to reassure all three brothers of. Something you genuinely believe.
“When do you start?” Sukuna gruffs, turning his attention back to you.
“Tuesday next week.”
“Excited?”
“I’m a bit nervous, but
 yeah,” you smile, grateful he’s entertaining the conversation given how clipped chats with him have been over the last couple of weeks. During lunch or classes on campus, you can usually goad him into a conversation about your professor’s strange obsession with conspiracies (which turned out to be true, much to your dismay), but that’s the extent of his chatty mood usually. You don’t blame him, though. You know he’s worn thin.
The only sign that the Sukuna you know is still there are the minute breaks, the moments where he silently seeks your company, falling into step with you and letting his arm brush against yours. The days when he spreads his legs while he sits at the lunch table and you would give him a hard time for manspreading when his thigh leans against yours, but he only does it to you, so you second-guess teasing him.
“You’ll be fine,” he assures, taking a seat on the couch as he stuffs his dinner into his backpack. “You’re a hard worker.” He smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 
“Compared to you, I seem like I sleep on the job.”
Your smile falters as Sukuna forces a laugh. “Hmph. Maybe.”
Sukuna’s capacity for conversation has grown infinitely thinner as the days pass and his sleep lessens. Where that leaves his anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface, he does what he can to keep it at bay, especially when it comes to you and his brothers. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of his conversational skills.
The air grows quiet, interrupted only by the gentle creak of the chair that Choso shuffles quietly on and distant cars in the January cold.
“I can’t believe this is our last year,” you comment mostly for the sake of creating conversation. You know Sukuna doesn’t have much gas in the tank for it, but you find yourself wondering if talking at him helps ease his worries and distract him from the thoughts that plague his restless mind.
“Mm. You lookin’ forward to working?”
“I think so! What about you?
His gaze flashes towards you, narrowing slightly as he straightens, pulling a pair of keys from the bottom of his bag. “No.”
Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “You have time! Especially if you decide to change your major-”
“Why would I do that?” He snaps, lip curling into a snarl. Crimson irises flit between your wide eyes, your brow knit together by a crease.
Shit.
That carefully composed facade Sukuna’s been sporting the last week cracks, his simmering frustration crashing through the walls he’s erected to protect those around him from his own gripes.
Biting your lip in uncertainty, you stammer as you attempt to backtrack under his harsh stare. “I- I just thought-”
“Thought what? Thought I’d be better off doing something more useful? Something that makes more money?”
“What?” You blink as you process his cold tone. “No, I-” your words die in your throat as you examine his set jaw and the way he’s gripping his backpack with white knuckles. What really strikes you is the way something akin to offense gleams in his eyes. You’re accustomed to accidentally prodding where he doesn’t want you, but his edge isn’t usually so cold when you dig a little too deep into his psyche. “It just seemed like you were considering something else.” You want to tack on a mention of an art degree, but Sukuna scoffs before you can continue.
“Is history not good enough now, princess?”
You visibly recoil at the cold way his nickname for you slips off his tongue like venom. What nerve had you struck? “No, what-? No. I’m sorry, Sukuna. I just got the wrong idea, I guess.”
Maybe you shouldn’t have prodded into something that can be a touchy subject for him, but you thought you’d moved past this, and he asked first. Then again, this isn’t the Sukuna you’ve come to know after all these months. The man staring back at you is a product of a world that’s tearing him apart, his emotions awry.
But it still hurts when he takes it out on you.
With a sigh, he checks his watch. “I gotta fucking go,” he mutters, zipping up his bag and grabbing his coat from the rack near the door. Tossing them both on, he slips his hand into his pocket, surely shuffling through it in search of a cigarette, before the door shuts behind him with a slam.
You can only watch in confusion and dispiritedness as the lock flicks shut and the sounds of his footsteps fade outside.
One step forward
 two steps back.
You sigh, shutting your eyes for a moment as you stare where he last was. Dragging your hands over your face, you push to your feet, deciding for once to forgo studying in favor of finding something to do with the kids. Maybe it’s time you litter the apartment in bead frogs to go with all the lizards that are still haphazardly strewn everywhere.
To your dismay as you turn towards the hall, you find Choso staring at you from the table. Fuck. You’d forgotten he was there. His expression is unreadable and your chest tightens.
With the most convincing smile you can muster, you usher him from his chair and lead him towards Yuji. “Did you two ever figure out how to make bead frogs?”
Choso’s deep brown eyes examine you as he stares straight up at you. “Are you okay?”
It chokes you up to hear the little boy worry about you. You don’t dare look at him, lest he see the way your eyes burn with salty warmth. So you just smile, nodding. “Of course! Let’s go find your brother.”
Hopefully your tone was more convincing than your expression.
–
The door opens thirty minutes later than usual. Both boys are already asleep (you hope), and have been for a while now, which is unusual for Sukuna’s evening shifts.
He pauses at the door with his keys, a habit you’ve noticed he picked up since the day he found Choso asleep on your lap and had nearly awoken him with the clattering of his keys on the table. When his eyes meet yours, he drops the keys onto the table and locks the door behind him without a word.
His backpack slides from his shoulder with a thud and a muffled clattering of utensils. “You can go.”
You purse your lips at his blatant dismissal of whatever the hell happened earlier. Had you really upset him that much?
“Sukuna, can’t we talk about-?”
He firmly says your name, his eyes steely as you stand and take a step towards him in an effort to reach out. “Not right now.”
Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It’s almost embarrassing; to stand there and so blatantly have him deny your request to talk things through after you’ve looked after his brothers for over nine hours. After he’s finally accepting your help and allowing himself to be vulnerable in your presence. “Please, Sukuna-”
Your name rolls off his tongue again, unyielding. “Go home.”
It’s always like this with him. Where that hole in your heart that Sukuna’s nestled so comfortably within eats away at its own chasm. It punctures you, twisting along with the way you still feel for him, knowing that his cold demeanor is the product of a world that threatens to crush him.
But the rational part of you is reminded of Kento and Shoko pulling you aside to warn you not to let him step on you.
Picking up your jacket and bag, you pull your boots on without shooting him another glance. “Asshole.” It slips past your lips before you can really think twice about it, but you’re too caught up in your emotions to care.
You’re gone before Sukuna’s frustration can flare and he’s standing alone in his apartment. The air is still, sound for the heavy air that suffocates him. The TV is still on, you were quietly watching Holes. He supposes there aren’t many non-horror options that you likely haven’t seen with the kids at this point given that he doesn’t have cable or any subscriptions of any kind.
His hair is sticking to his forehead, his skin sweat-slicked between his shoulder blades as he sits down on the couch, dragging his hands roughly over his face. The kids don’t usually pick this movie. He doesn’t remember it.
“You’re mean.”
Carefully guarded, Sukuna raises a brow. “Why’re you awake, brat? You got school tomorrow.” Choso doesn’t reply. With a sigh, the oldest brother scratches the back of his head. “She’ll come around, Choso. Go to bed.”
Choso stands his ground, not moving.
God, the first words he hears from his brother in days and it’s that he’s mean?
Is he really?
He examines Choso’s face, his eyes trailing up to the two bundles of his long hair gathered at the back of his head. Had you put his hair up? Surely the kid hadn’t done it himself. It suits him, and frankly Sukuna’s just glad his hair is out of his face.
He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he has a stare-off with his little brother.
This isn’t that big of a deal. He just didn’t want to hear you point out his inadequacies. He knows his major is useless. He knows he shouldn’t smoke. He doesn’t want to hear it. Surely he hadn’t been enough of a dick that he was wasting what had been laid out clearly as his last chance with you. Right?
You don’t curse often, but even you had called him an asshole.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, pushing up from the couch and pulling on his shoes without a second thought. He’s down in the parking lot as fast as his legs can carry him, searching for your car. To his relief, you’re waiting for the engine to warm up in a guest parking spot.
He jogs over, knocking on the window. You bristle, practically jumping out of your skin at the sight of the burly man at your side.
“Sukuna, you scared me,” you gasp.
“Sorry.”
You frown, avoiding his gaze as you set your phone down. “It’s fine,” you mumble quietly. “What do you want?”
“To talk. About how I was an asshole.”
You stare blankly at him, quietly examining his face. “I told you that you had one chance-”
“Then don’t let it get that far. I’m not wastin’ my chance, I’m fixing things before it gets to that point.”
“It’s not fair that you get to decide when we do or don’t talk about things.”
Sukuna leans his forearms in your car, sighing as he hangs his head within the heat. Your car dips somewhat under his weight. “I know, princess.” He lifts his head, his crimson eyes gleaming in the glow of your dash lights.
You figured he would keep talking but when he just stares blankly at you, you find yourself sighing. “I thought you were letting me in. Letting me help.”
“You are helping me,” he points out.
“I’m helping the kids.”
“That helps me.”
Groaning, you frustratedly run a hand through your hair. “That’s not what I mean,” you grumble, shooting him a glare. “You keep pushing me away.” His fingers flex into fists as he leans into the warmth of your car further.
“It’s better this way.”
“You’re so frustrating,” you groan, slumping back into your seat. “It’s not better! I’m trying to be your friend, I’m trying to be here for you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.”
Sukuna’s jaw clenches as he merely listens.
“Honestly, tell me what you would have done if I’d left like you asked me to when you had a panic attack.” You look at him expectantly, watching the way that the lights on your dash suddenly seem very interesting to him. He swallows hard, crossing his arms as he continues to lean into the car, perched on his elbows.
Your heat is working overtime to keep you warm as the air that slips past Sukuna clings to your skin, raising it in its wake. Sukuna seems unaffected by the cold, focused anywhere but you. His mind is racing, searching for an answer in the white noise of the car, as though the check engine light will provide the answers he’s searching for.
“You should check your engine.”
You want to groan, roll your eyes, and scream in frustration all at once, yet all you can manage is to stare, stunned to your core that those are the words he chose. Your hand finds the gear shift to put the car in reverse and finally he gives in.
“Fuck, wait.” He huffs, reaching way too close across your body with his long arm to stop your hand from moving the gear shift. His fingers are chilly as he pulls your hand back, proceeding with the familiar act of fiddling with your fingers.
Sensing that this won’t be a short conversation, you flick the key in the ignition once, shutting off the engine, but keeping the heat on. As the engine rumbles to a halt, the distant sounds of cars down the road and faint chatter fill the air. The bulb that illuminates the entry of Sukuna’s apartment continues to flicker, the occasional darkness casting a serious air over his sharp features.
“The first time I ever had one was the day after my dad died,” Sukuna admits with a strained voice. His thumb slides along your knuckles. “It didn’t matter how sick he was. He never wanted me to have to take care of my brothers more than for a few hours.” His face contorts into something between sadness and anger. “I didn’t know how to change a diaper. Didn’t know what Yuji liked eatin’ ‘sides chicken fingers and shit. I think he really believed she’d come back n’ take care of us, or at least them.”
Your lips part as you sympathetically squeeze his fingers, but you don’t dare interrupt.
“Had to look it up on YouTube. How to change a diaper, I mean.” He scoffs, bitter resentment painted across sunken eyes. “Yuji wouldn’t stop cryin’. It was all fuckin’ day, all the time. Must’ve been five in the morning when I finally got both kids asleep at the same time.” His tongue runs along the seam of his lips. “Dunno if you’ve had one before,” he casts a glance at you as he references a panic attack, as though he’s unwilling to admit what it is. You nod. “But I just remember layin’ on the floor of the washroom, staring at the ceiling. Couldn’t tell ya how long I laid there.”
It never seems to matter how upset you are with Sukuna, his situation always manages to twist your heartstrings. He can play you like a violin and he doesn’t even seem to have any clue of the kind of influence he has over you.
“So, if you wanna know what I woulda done,” he shrugs half-heartedly. “That, probably.”
Undoubtedly, this is his best effort of letting you in. Showing you he’s listening. Fixing things before they’re blown out of proportion because he got short with you.
You offer him a sad smile. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Me too.”
“Next time, can we just talk before things get this far, Kuna?”
He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as the familiar nickname slips so easily off your tongue. “There won’t be a next time.”
Your lips quirk upwards, brow raising as you challenge his statement. “With you? There will be. Next time though, just start by telling me you aren’t in the mood to talk about something, okay?”
His lips press into a thin line at your lack of faith in him. He knows it’s founded, but it hurts regardless. Still, you somehow seem to find the space in your heart to be patient with him when he needs it most and for that he’s grateful.
“You got it, princess.” He pauses, tapping the side of the car as he drops your fingers into your lap. “Listen, I think I gotta start taking more shifts.”
“More?”
The concern etched into your brow is cute. “Yeah. I need to almost double how much I usually make. So, double the shifts.”
“You already missed class yesterday,” you point out.
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I get by.”
“You’re lucky you’re the type of guy who barely needs to study to pass,” you grumble with narrowed eyes.
He snorts, amused. “Yeah, maybe.” He sighs. “I know you got your internship startin’ up next week, but
” he trails off, as if he’s debating whether he should even ask you.
“You need help?”
He sighs. “I gotta take some night shifts.”
Dread churns in your stomach. “You’re never gonna get any sleep.”
“I’ll find time.”
“Where? Your schedule is full.”
“What other option do I have?” He grunts, exasperated. “An extra months’ rent ain’t gonna appear outta thin air.”
“You could always ask Toj-”
“No.”
You should have expected that. Red irises stare you down firmly, pupils mere pinpricks.
“You can take my bed if you stay,” he doubles down, scratching his chin.
Heat travels up your neck, finding a place on your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Something about staying in his room, in his bed, makes your heart take off. Yet he can mention it so casually, like it’s not a big deal.
“Um- right. Sure,” your words come out more mousey than intended, and you can only pray that the dim light that barely illuminates you is hiding the nerves that would otherwise show in the way you avert your gaze and chew on your lip.
To your dismay, that doesn’t seem to be the case.
Sukuna blows air out through his nose in a faint laugh as he slides a bit closer to you. The heat of his breath is warm, hotter than anything the car can manage as it tickles your neck. “Cat got your tongue?”
The battle between warm and cold air suddenly seems suffocating. The distant chatter seems to scream, and the motors of passing cars feel as though they could shake the ground you walk on.
“No!” You exclaim, a little bit too quickly as you find yourself wincing. “I’m fine. Just cold,” you lie, shrinking as you hug yourself.
His chest rumbles in laughter as he stands, slapping a hand down on the roof of your car. “I’ll email you my shifts. Go home.” This time when he says it, his tone is mild. “Didn’t waste my last chance?” He asks, turning his attention back to you with a conviction in his eyes that has you smiling sympathetically.
“Not yet.”
“Good. Let me know when you’re home.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back into the warmth of his apartment building.
Your eyes trail after him as he pushes through both sets of doors, leaving you alone in the quiet of the night. Shutting the window, heat wraps around you, enveloping you once again within its embrace. Yet for some reason as you stare at the spot where you last saw the tattooed man, a shiver wracks your body.
–
Smoothing your pencil skirt, you push through the doors of a warmly-lit restaurant. The little local spot has an air of familiarity to it, decorated mostly with photos of dishes served nightly and the occasional photo of the owner’s family. Tucked away in the corner is a table with a spare seat reserved for you.
With a sigh of relief, you take a seat beside Suguru, your eyes trailing the length of the table to see who was able to make it. You notice two things at a glance. One, you’re severely overdressed, though you knew that would be the case after coming from your internship. Two
 Why is Toji sitting across from you? No, the real question is how are Toji and Satoru sitting beside one another?
The question must be written across your face in bold lettering, because Toji nudges Satoru with a chuckle as everyone greets you happily. Satoru’s mischievous grin matches Toji’s smirk as he spots your confusion.
“They have more in common than I think anyone expected,” Suguru comments with an amused smile.
“Aw, that’s sweet,” you grin, taking a moment to attempt to rub the tiredness from your sunken eyes without smudging your makeup. “I’m glad everyone’s getting along.”
Suguru leans forward to get a better look at you, eyes narrowed as he examines your expression. “Can you look at me for a moment?”
Confused, you tilt your head as you turn to face the raven-haired man. Leaning back in his chair, you watch his expression subtly downturn.
“Have you been sleeping?”
“Of course!” You jump to your own defense quickly, straightening in your seat as you brush imaginary crumbs from your lap. “I’m fine, Suguru. I just had early class today, then my internship, and now dinner.”
“I see,” he hums, moving on. “How’s the internship?”
“Ooh, I wanna know too!” Shoko leans forward over the table to better see you. You can practically envision her kicking her feet under the table in search of details (and gossip).
At this point, even Kento’s attention is now drawn to you from the end of the table and you feel yourself shrink as the table begins to turn their collective attention to you. Everyone here may be your friends, but it’s still a lot of pairs of eyes.
“Um-” You chuckle, running a hand through your hair. “It’s going well! Everyone’s been really nice. Well, mostly everyone- but they have me doing coffee runs and shadowing the other editors right now,” you explain.
“Sounds like you’re well on your way to your career,” Suguru smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Suguru, you gotta ask the hard-hitting questions,” Shoko scolds playfully with a light smack to his bicep. His brow raises as she practically tries to lean over him to get to you. “What do you mean ‘almost everyone’?” She asks, her interest piqued.
Chuckling, you shake your head. “It’s really not that exciting,” you insist. “There’s this one Literary Agent, I think he’s the boss’ nephew or something, that’s just a bit much. I can’t really tell if he’s hitting on me or insulting me half of the time.”
Shoko’s nose wrinkles in disgust as Nanami recoils with a roll of his shoulders.
“And our graphic designer is just weird. She cooks bacon in the breakroom on one of those plug-in hot plates.”
“That is odd,” Suguru agrees.
“I think I get six coffees per day for her alone. Oh- and the other day I spent my whole break listening to her talk about this book she read over the weekend. I swear I could tell you the whole plot.”
“Sounds riveting,” Suguru chuckles, a glimmer of light passing through his gaze. “I’m sure the rest of your colleagues are fans as well.”
“Our publicist was telling me they have a drinking game during Christmas parties where they send the graphic designer to talk to the boss and every time he yawns or checks his watch, they drink.”
“Sounds like my kinda people,” Shoko snorts, grinning at you as the table returns to individual conversations.
Throughout the dinner, you’re quick to notice the way Toji seems to meld to the group seamlessly, offering snide remarks that have you wondering at times if you have a second, more gruff Satoru. It’s almost like he’s a strange blend between Satoru and Sukuna in a sense, and you can definitely see how Toji and Sukuna would be friends.
It’s heartwarming to see him blend in so seamlessly, because if Satoru can get along with Toji, he can get along with Sukuna as well, if they can both quit being haters for ten seconds.
Despite how worn out you are from the long day, the dinner with friends was much needed (even at the cost of two drinks for Satoru and one for Suguru), given that you’ve had to skip out on lunches with them every Tuesday and Thursday and even the occasional other weekdays as well in favor of your harsh schedule. Once you’ve paid, you get to your feet and pull your coat over your shoulders, brushing yourself off and grabbing your keys when you’re tugged aside harshly.
Yelping, you blink as you’re standing in front of Kento and Shoko.
“C’mon, we’re going for dessert,” Shoko insisted, tugging you along.
“What? I’m not hungry.”
“Doesn’t matter, dessert goes in your second stomach,” Shoko dismisses you.
“My second what?”
Before you know it, you’re whisked away to a small bakery down the street that you’re beyond certain is Kento’s choice. As much as he gives Satoru a hard time for sweets, the man has a fairly big sweet tooth himself- as long as the sweets include pastries. A good strawberry mille-feuille would have the man starry-eyed with his wallet on the counter.
Shoko, on the other hand, opts for a single macaron, which you second. Who can say no to a macaron shaped as a little kitty after all?
Holding the treat delicately in your hands as you smile at the sweet orange decorated kitty, you cross your legs and take a look around the bakery. Loaves of bread likely line the walls during the day, the displays usually vibrant with the reds and blues of fresh fruit pies. It’s fairly barren now, but the smell of bread and warmth of the oven still carries with it a sense of peace that puts you at ease.
“This is nice,” you comment, taking a bite of the macaron.
Kento nods. “It’s been a while since it’s been just the three of us.”
With a scoff, Shoko points her brown macaron straight at you, a bite taken out of it. “Yeah and whose fault would that be?”
Pouting, you nibble at the shell of your dessert. “There’s just been a lot going on,” you insist, leaning back in your chair. “Sukuna’s been-” you pause, lifting your head at the realization that Shoko doesn’t know about the lawsuit. Your eyes trail to Kento, whose gaze flashes with understanding.
“Sukuna’s been what?” Shoko pushes. “I swear I’ll shove his balls so far up his-”
“WOAH, woah! Okay Shoko,” your eyes widen and you find yourself nearly dropping your treat at the mere mention of whatever the hell she was gonna say. “As i was saying,” you flash her a glance, willing away the heat creeping up the back of your neck. “He’s been taking more shifts than usual, so I’ve just been balancing that with the internship and classes.”
“And sleep, and studying, and projects,” Kento points out, crossing his arms as he finishes his blueberry mochi cake. “When was the last time you read a book, or watched a movie?”
Hesitating, you find your gaze drifting to the wall. “... I watched Ice Age.”
“No, you watched Yuji watch Ice Age,” Shoko accuses, a brow raised. Finishing her macaron, she dusts her hands off on her pants and sighs. “Listen, we know you like him a lot and it’s great that you’re helping him- and thank god Kento knows so I can talk to him-”
“You’re such a gossip,” you mutter under your breath.
She just shoots you a sweet smile, continuing. “But seriously, you need to put yourself first. I’m glad he’s treating you better-” she pauses, staring expectantly at you.
Your gaze flickers between your two friends. “He’s treating me fine, stop worrying.”
“Great. The point is, he needs to go easy on you. I know he’s got a lot of shit going on, but so do you.” Shoko taps her fingers on the table, leaving the ball in your court.
“Sho, I swear I can handle it,” you roll your eyes, “but if it’s too much, I’ll talk to him. Promise.”
“Pinky swear, girl. You’re way too sweet to that man and I know you’d put him before yourself.”
Wrapping your pinky around hers, you roll your eyes, though you’re unable to help your smile.
“You owe me a girls’ night for bailing the other day by the way.”
“I’m sorry, Sho,” you pout.
“I’ll get over it. Ken here got to be my girls’ night buddy. I couldn’t convince him to get a color but he did get his nails done.” Shoko pulls his hand out from where it was crossed over his chest. You can faintly make out the gleam of clear polish on his nicely manicured nails.
“I have no need for colored nails,” he neutrally declares, shooting Shoko a mildly distasteful look as she holds his hand out to you.
Leaning back, you squint at him. “I think blue’s your color.”
Kento frowns. “Did you mishear me or are you choosing to ignore me?”
Shoko hums. “No, I see it. Like a darker blue.”
“Girls. Please,” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose at your antics.
“Don’t act like you’re above this, Kento. I bet you still have a bottle of black nail polish back home somewhere,” you tease.
“That was a long time ago-”
Shoko leans in, resting her cheek against her fist. “Oh yeah, you had an emo phase, didn’t you?”
Laughing as Kento blushes profusely, rose dusting his cheeks, you lean back in your seat, relaxing in the warmth of your friends’ care. Your bed may be calling you, but Kento had a point when he asked when the last time you’d read a book or watched a movie was. But it wasn’t a book or movie that you were really missing, it was a girls’ night (featuring Kento).
You stay at the cafe much longer than intended, finding yourself curled up in thick blankets well into the night, but with a content smile on your face.
–
After the fourth day that you don’t see Sukuna at lunch, Uraume had approached you to bring him some worksheets, not to mention he has a paper due literally tomorrow that he doesn’t know about and you won’t see him until the weekend.
His schedule had been rough on you, but it had been downright cruel to him.
When he did manage to make it to a lunch or class, he would pass out within seconds, softly snoring on whatever surface he found himself on. It seemed he had to be physically moving in order to stay awake, otherwise he was dragged into the clutches of the sandman with no fight left to give.
The worst sign of his fading will was when you had gotten a call from Choso and Yuji’s school that Sukuna hadn’t arrived to pick them up. There was a surprising amount to unpack with that call between the fact that Sukuna had missed their pickup time and the fact that you had now been marked down as their emergency contact.
The latter
 That was something you would unpack later.
As for the former, when you arrived at his apartment with both boys and rang the buzzer not once, not twice, but thrice, he was little more than a zombie, barely managing to stay on his feet. You swear you saw his drowsiness pop like a bubble over his head at the sight of you with his brothers, downright shocked.
Swears had poured from his mouth like floodgates had opened and all you could do was watch as he dragged his hands over his face in frustration, thanking you before shutting the door, claiming he would be getting some real sleep, lest this happen again.
Making your way up to his door now, you hope the man who greets you has a little more life in him than that day, but it’s not usually a good sign when you haven’t seen him for a bit.
Squinting as you approach the buzzer, you raise your brow at none other than Toji Zenin, sliding his finger along the metal box hanging on the wall in search of the number to dial for Sukuna. Stopping beside him, you stick your finger out to point at the number, which happens to be unmarked.
Toji flips to face you, face relaxing from his squint.
“Fancy findin’ you here,” he grins, the scar at the corner of his lips stretching.
“Hey, Toji!” You greet, returning his smile. The sight of another of Sukuna’s friends at his door is relieving given just how drawn thin he’s been lately. “Visiting Sukuna?” 
“Mhm. Got somethin’ for him.” He wiggles a small box in his hand as he dials up to Sukuna’s apartment. “Fuckin’ asshole didn’t even tell me he moved, had to steal his address from Uraume,” he grumbles, more to himself than you.
You blink at him. Huh. Well that’s
 Considerably less reassuring than Sukuna reaching out to Toji. Especially if Toji isn’t aware that Sukuna’s dad passed away, he’d have no clue about-
There’s a small click and the sounds of shuffling, before Choso answers with a disheartened “hello?”
“Choso?” Toji’s brow furrows in confusion. “That you, kid?”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Toji?”
Your brow raises as Choso recognizes Toji’s voice. You’re aware Toji’s known Sukuna for a while, but you honestly weren’t expecting him to know Choso if he didn’t know about Jin’s passing.
“You visitin’ your big bro?” Toji queries.
“... I live here.”
Toji scowls deeply, casting you a confused glance. When you don’t mirror his confusion, he clicks his tongue.
“Hey, Cho! Can you let us in?” You call out, attempting to warm your fingers in your pockets as Toji doesn’t budge.
Shuffling resumes on the other line, followed shortly by the telltale buzz that the door’s unlocked.
“I’m missin’ somethin’ here, ain’t I?” The raven-haired man asks, a gruffness to his tone that’s familiar in the way Sukuna also speaks. They’re so similar in some ways, though Toji is far more outgoing than Sukuna. You suppose it’s probably the fact that he’s the Football team’s resident kicker. Still, they share a resemblance in their attitudes.
With a tight-lipped smile, all you can do is nod in reply.
“Shit,” he mutters, following you into the building as you lead the way up to Sukuna’s apartment.
You knock politely, clutching the folder of papers you have for Sukuna to your chest.
“- and add the potatoes when the water starts boiling. Use your fork to test- what are you doing here?” Sukuna turns his attention to his friends at the door mid-sentence, slipping outside and shutting the door behind him abruptly. You step aside, casting a glance between the two ridiculously tall and muscular men as Sukuna glares at Toji.
Sukuna looks
 well, better than you were honestly expecting. He doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of passing out or being sick, a The Misfits black hoodie hanging loosely over his shoulders while a pair of dark gray joggers cling to his hips. His hair isn’t styled, stray strands of pale pink sticking out in different directions while some hang over his forehead.
“Got somethin’ for ya. And since your stubborn ass never shows up to lunch and you won’t answer my damn emails, I know ya need it.” Toji holds a visibly calloused hand out, the unmarked box you’d previously noticed now held expectantly for Sukuna to take.
Sukuna’s sharp glare flickers between Toji and the box. With a huff, he lifts the box from Toji’s hands, opening the tabs and peering inside. An old Samsung with a crack through the side of the screen sits at the bottom of the box. Sukuna’s head whips up to face Toji, his eyes blazing. “I don’t fucking need this.”
“My ass. Your phone’s been broken for months,” Toji scoffs, completely unphased by Sukuna’s irritation. “It’s just my old one anyway, but it’s better than nothin’.
Sukuna straightens and you spot a familiar flicker in those crimson eyes. Offense. “If I needed a fuckin’ phone, I woulda bought one,” he grits, shoving the box against Toji’s chest.
As he straightens, it strikes you just how tall and imposing Sukuna is. You can’t imagine it’s easy to make Toji look small when he’s nothing to scoff at either, but Sukuna manages it without fail.
“Don’t gimme that bullshit. I’m not fuckin’ stupid, Ryo. I know somethin’s up and you need a hand.” Toji rolls his eyes, shockingly relaxed for someone under Sukuna’s fire. You know they’ve been friends for a while, but you can’t say for sure how much time they ever spent together. Yet, Toji stands up to him like he knows nothing will come of his anger, as though it’s a facade.
“I’m managing just fine,” Sukuna hisses.
“Are you?” Toji quips, a brow rising behind the black strands of his bangs. “‘Cause I know Jin wouldn’t dump Choso on your ass outta nowhere, so what the fuck is goin’ on?”
Sukuna’s seething at this point, taking a step towards the football player. That may work on others, but Toji isn’t so easily intimidated.
“That’s none of your fuckin’ business,” Sukuna grits.
“Stop bein’ such a fuckin’ prick!” Toji finally snaps, his free hand flying through the air in exasperation. “You used to be my best friend, asshole! You were my fuckin’ family and you fucked off like it was nothin’!”
Sukuna doesn’t respond, brow furrowed and jaw set. His teeth grind from the pressure of his clenched jaw, sending the tension straight to his head as a headache begins to set in.
Left in silence, Toji continues. “Don’t look at me like that. I tried to get you out to the basketball courts with me, to see a movie, anything’. Somehow, you became more of a colossal asshole than I am,” Toji hisses.
As you realize this isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, your eyes flit to the door, wanting to slip inside and escape the uncomfortable situation you’ve found yourself in the middle of. Unfortunately for you, Sukuna’s blocking the door and you don’t exactly feel like interrupting is the best course of action here, leaving you to simply watch.
You’re accustomed to Sukuna being quiet, he’s never been all that chatty, but during arguments is when he tends to run his mouth. Now, standing in front of Toji, the silence of his simmering anger is off-putting. Toji seems to realize this too, shifting on the balls of his feet.
But words evade Sukuna. His mind races with rage-induced insults, anything to drive Toji away, get the man out of his business.
Yet his tongue is tied because Toji is painfully right.
Toji has always had an attitude that rivaled Sukuna’s and never backs down from a fight. His sharp and witty tongue would tell off Sukuna whenever he needed some perspective and the two were fiercely protective of one another. Toji was like a brother to Sukuna back then.
But he was also an asshole. Still is. He was raised by a family notoriously well-known for being as equally wealthy as they are terrible and Toji had always been on the receiving end of it. He’d grown rebellious and indifferent at a young age and acted out at every turn, eventually settling as he got older into brutish and cocky indifference, though most just branded him as an asshole.
Yet Sukuna made him look like a saint as of late.
“Christ, Ryomen. You really got nothin’ to say ‘bout all of this?” Toji runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, the black strands slipping down over his forehead once more. “Maybe I should just ask your fuckin’ brother, I swear sometimes it’s like Jin didn’t even raise yo-”
Sukuna’s anger flares once more, pulled from his thoughts of the past. “He’s fucking dead, Toji.” Venom drips from Sukuna’s words, silencing not only his friend, but the world around you seems to hold its breath too. Nothing about the tense situation is comfortable but you don’t dare move, biting your lip to keep from making any noise.
Toji blinks once, twice, three times. The words take a moment to process as he stands straight, before his brow furrows deeply. His mouth opens and closes a number of times as he searches for something to say, his spare hand scratching at his chest before hanging there for a moment, clutching at his shirt.
“When?” To your shock, Toji’s eyes are glazed with tears, and all you can do is shuffle from foot to foot, feeling nothing but sympathy for the poor man. From what you know of Jin, he was patient and kind and if Toji was Sukuna’s best friend, you can imagine he likely shared that kindness with Toji.
Sukuna’s expression takes a somber turn, the tension in his jaw dissipating somewhat. “Been a bit over three years.”
Toji blinks, a warm trail running down his cheek which he quickly wipes on his sleeve, burying his unprocessed grief beneath a layer of anger as something occurs to him.
“You didn’t think I’d wanna know?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, they both know the underlying issue of their problems all stem from Sukuna’s stubbornness. “You didn’t think to fuckin’ tell me?” This time, there’s more bite to his words. He may be glossy-eyed with sorrow, but he’s equally pissed now.
“It’s not your fucking business!” Sukuna barks, gripping the door frame with a white knuckled hand as he grits his teeth again. You peer past him at the door, searching for an escape, but Sukuna’s still soundly in your way.
“Like hell! He was more of a father to me than my parents ever were and you know that!” Toji takes a step back, turning to pace in a circle as he drags a hand down his face in disbelief. “Y’r such a fuckin’ prick, Ryomen. You always were, but shit.”
Someone clearing their throat down the hall turns your attention towards them. A kind-looking older woman with gray hair and soft eyes is just barely leaning out her door. “Sukuna, dear. Can I ask you to take this elsewhere?”
Turns out she’s your guardian angel.
To your relief, Sukuna simply points at the elevator, making a point of staring down Toji. The football player sighs deeply, rolling his eyes as he leads the way in silence. Sukuna casts you a glance, which then flickers towards the door in a silent question.
You nod, relieved, and slip into his apartment, finding Choso standing in the kitchen alone staring at the floor. He looks startlingly like a puppy with its tail between its legs.
Of course he would have heard everything.
As the door clicks shut behind you and you shuffle to slip your boots and jacket off, his gaze rises to you. A deep crease knits his brow, his eyes searching yours for something he doesn’t seem to find. Kneeling down, you wrap your arms around him in reassurance.
“Hey, sweetie.” You keep your voice soft and kind as Choso’s arms gingerly wrap around you. “Your apron looks great.”
He doesn’t reply, clinging tightly to you.
“Have you checked the potatoes?” A nod. “Are they ready yet?” A shake of his head. Frowning at his silence, you nod. “Do you wanna sit down?” 
Choso nods again, pulling back and plopping down right in the middle of the kitchen.
“Oh, I meant-” Choso looks up at you with those sad puppy-dog eyes and you plop down beside him. “Nevermind.” Sitting cross-legged, you glance around, but you don’t hear or see Yuji. “Where’s your brother?”
“At a friend’s.”
That’s a relief. You nod, ruffling Choso’s hair. At least you’ve gotten a couple of words out of the reserved little boy.
“What are you making?” You ask curiously, trying to peer up at the counter. From where you’re sitting, all you can make out is the top of the pot that you assume the potatoes Sukuna was giving instructions about earlier are boiling in.
Choso fiddles with the bottom of his apron. “Pie.”
“Pie? Shepherd’s pie?”
Choso nods.
“That sounds great,” you grin in an effort to lighten the mood, but Choso isn’t receptive to your efforts. You shuffle to sit closer to him, wrapping your arms around your knees. You’re not built for the floor like the kid is. “Do you wanna talk, Cho?” You query, quietly observing the way that his little hands, fiddling with his apron, slow to a halt before dropping into his lap.
“Why’s Kuna mad at Toji?”
You sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“I like Toji. He’s nice. Mostly.”
You blow a breath out through your nose in a semblance of a laugh, a faint smile drawing your lips upwards. “Mostly?”
Choso doesn’t share your amusement outwardly, but he entertains your question. “He was like another older brother,” he shrugs.
“With all the good and bad of a big brother. I get it,” you chuckle, shifting to lean back on your arms as you struggle to find a comfortable way to sit on the kitchen tile. “Did you spend a lot of time with Toji?”
Choso nods. “They ditched me at the theater once.”
Your brow raises. “At the theater?” Your question is laced in disbelief.
Choso nods.
“Why?”
“They wanted to see a scary movie.”
“Wow, they were mean older brothers,” you agree, absolutely planning on giving Sukuna a hard time for that.
“Dad grounded Kuna for a month.”
“He deserved it,” you smile, rubbing the kid’s back gently. Looking for any excuse to get up off the floor, you point up at the pot on the stove where the water continues to boil. “Let’s check the potatoes again.”
Choso nods, getting to his feet and stepping up onto a small stool.
“Careful not to burn yourself,” you urge, standing behind him as he takes a fork and stabs a potato. When it comes up on the fork easily, Choso turns off the stove, shooting a glance at you in a silent question of whether that’s what to do. You nod, helping him dump out the water and potatoes into a strainer and teaching him to mash them.
As he jabs the masher into the bowl of starch, he sticks his tongue out in concentration as you add salt and milk to the mixture for him.
Out of nowhere, Choso slows to a halt, his head whipping to face the window. Tilting your head, you follow his gaze when you realize that the two men who walked outside to continue their argument have raised their voices and they must be right below the window as you can faintly make out their words.
“Why wouldn’t you ask for help?”
“I don’t need help!”
Turning to Choso, you smile. “Keep mashing, okay?”
His eyes trail after you as you grab your boots and slide the balcony door open, stepping out into the cold. Hugging your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, you peek over the railing at the two men below.
“If you weren’t my friend, I swear I woulda socked ya in the jaw by now, you-”
“Hey!” You call down, catching their attention as they both look up at you. “You’re upsetting Choso.”
Sukuna inhales a long breath, sighing loudly. “Look-” Sukuna begins, his voice strained in an effort to keep it down for Choso’s sake. “I don’t need any help-”
“Don’t need any help or don’t need my help?” Toji interjects, casting a glance at you. Your eyes widen slightly, heat rushing up your neck. Yeah, you could understand Toji being a bit hurt at the idea that Sukuna let you in while he pushed away his best friend.
Sukuna’s fingers curl at his sides into fists. “I don’t need your help,” he snarls.
“Fine.” Toji finally gives in, sick of not getting anywhere with the brash and stubborn history major. He shoves the box against Sukuna’s chest, turning on his heel to walk away. “My number’s on the note in the box. Call me if ya decide to stop bein’ a prick.”
Sukuna seethes as he watches Toji get in a beat up old Honda and drive off. If it were any colder, you swear you would be able to see steam coming from his ears. When the car’s out of sight, Sukuna’s sharp gaze rises to you, his expression unreadable besides his obvious anger. “Go inside. You’ll catch somethin’,” Sukuna calls.
“I will. You come inside too, you don’t have a jacket,” you point out.
Sukuna hardly even noticed, in truth, but regardless he makes his way inside just as you do. Shivering as warmth envelops you once more, you run your hands up and down your arms a few times in an attempt to generate heat while you pull your boots off.
Choso’s standing by his potatoes, unevenly chopping carrots and putting them in a smaller pot alongside some corn. He’s shockingly good in the kitchen, making his Christmas gifts and his eagerness to follow you as you cook make more sense.
Returning to Choso’s side, you help him fill the pot with water, setting it on the stove as you wait for the veggies to boil.
“Why are Kuna and Toji mean to each other?”
You ponder his question for a moment, dreading the idea of the former walking through the door anytime now. “They’re not very good at talking about their feelings,” you land on as an explanation.
“Why?”
Frowning, you contemplate his query.
You’re glad Choso’s speaking more, but his questions are giving you a run for your money.
“Not everyone is as good at understanding their feelings as you and I are,” you explain. “Your brother isn’t very good at it.”
“At what?” He gruffs, pushing through the door.
Fuuuuuu-
“Don’t worry about it.”
Luckily for you, Sukuna isn’t in the mood to argue with you. “Need a minute to cool off,” he grumbles, trudging to his room and shutting the door with an unintentional slam.
Sighing, you return to the vegetables as they steadily come to a boil.
Choso stares hard at the boiling pot above his line of sight, his brow knit into a deep scowl.
“What’s up, honey?” You ask with a tilt of your head, leaning down a bit to his height. He shakes his head in an effort to get his long hair out of his face, deep in thought. When it doesn’t work, he pushes it from his face, but it just falls back into his eyes. “Can I help?”
He nods, watching your movements as you quickly jog to the washroom to grab a couple of hair ties that you’d left behind the last time you’d helped him put his hair up. It only takes a moment before you’ve tied two messy buns up at the back of his head.
Now able to see, Choso’s thoughtful expression returns. “What’s up, honey?” You try again.
“Will you talk to Kuna? He listens to you.”
You chuckle quietly. “I don’t know about that.” Still, he does listen to you
 a portion of the time, which is more than can be said for most. “What do you want me to talk to him about?”
“Being friends with Toji.”
Your heart twists at the meaning behind Choso’s words. Whether he misses Toji or simply wants Sukuna to be happier, you can’t say for sure, but it’s endearing nonetheless.
Gently rubbing his back, you nod. “Sure. When you can stab the carrots with a fork, turn the stove off, okay? Be super careful.”
Choso nods.
Making your way over to Sukuna’s door, you cautiously knock.
“Come in.”
Twisting the knob, you push inside slowly. His room is a bit messier than the last time you were in here, the memory making your heart race as you recall your heated kiss. Light floods in from the window, better illuminating the art and posters on his walls, as well as what you’re sure is a pile of lightly used hoodies that seems to have taken over his desk chair. His weights are scattered carelessly in front of his dresser, his work polo discarded atop the wooden furniture.
Sukuna eyes you from where he leans against his headboard, his gaze still filled with mild irritation, though he is holding the phone that Toji handed him. You suppose that’s an overall positive.
“Whaddya want?” Sukuna grumbles, though the frustration within his sharp gaze doesn’t carry over to his voice.
“Well,” you begin softly, making your way over to his bed to take a seat beside him. “I originally came to drop off some stuff and let you know you have a paper due tomorrow-”
“Fuck that,” he groans, slumping down as he goes through the new phone setup screen.
“- five thousand words, by the way.”
“On what?” He sighs, the phone illuminating his features as he continues going through setup.
“Charles Dickens.”
“No. You’re fuckin’ with me.”
“I’m unfortunately dead serious.”
Crimson eyes finally part from the phone as Sukuna scowls at you, searching for any sign that you’re lying. When he doesn’t find one, he flips onto his stomach with a muffled groan into the pillow. His bicep brushes your thigh and you swallow hard, reminding yourself he doesn’t feel that way for you and it’s just an accident.
“I fuckin’ told you she’s a conspiracy theorist,” he gruffs from deep within the pillow, barely audible past the material.
You giggle, thankful for the somewhat lighthearted subject. “I still can’t believe you were right.”
“Wish I wasn’t.”
Silence falls over you as Sukuna remains buried in his pillow, finally raising his head with a prolonged sigh. He rests his chin on the pillow, staring tiredly at the gray material of his headboard. The fabric is worn where he usually sits, beginning to tear where his back slumps against it when he uses his laptop.
Not like he has the cash for a new one anyway.
“Is that all ya came in here for?” He asks finally, eyes still trained on the way threads are pulled taut in the fabric, barely held together as they wear thin.
“Uraume had me drop off a couple of things too. But-”
“Why’d you bring Toji?” Sukuna interrupts suddenly, lifting his gaze to scowl at you.
Blinking at his sudden change in demeanor, you shake your head. “He was here when I got here.”
“That prick,” he mutters under his breath, dropping his chin to stare at his headboard.
“You know, Choso sent me in here.”
“Great,” the salmon-haired man mumbles, “what does the brat want? I left the recipe for him.”
“Be nice to your brother. He’s going through a lot,” you scold.
“And I’m not?” He hisses, his head raising to look at you. When you return his scowl, he backs down, chin on his pillow again.
“Cho misses Toji. He wanted me to talk to you about being friends with him again.”
Your words silence Sukuna’s sharp tongue as all he can do is stare down at the black pillowcase beneath him. He shuffles slightly, his arm pressing into you.
He may be stubborn about Toji, but his brothers never fail to crack his tough exterior. As of late though, his demeanor doesn’t simply crack when it comes to his brothers, it crumbles. Sukuna flips onto his side, eyes downcast as he faces you now with one arm under the pillow and the other moving up to rest on your thigh.
Your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his large hand squeezing the plush of your thigh.
Mirroring Sukuna’s frown, you set your hand over his softly. “What happened between you two anyway?”
Sukuna sighs. “Nothing, really. We just didn’t talk about heavy shit so I never told him what was goin’ on.”
Of course that’s all there is to it. Grimacing, you drum your fingers lightly over the back of his hand as you debate whether you want to say something. His eyes watch the movement intently, drawn to the way your fingers feel so soft on his skin.
“I’m gonna say something-” you pause, watching his eyes flicker up to meet yours, “- and you aren’t allowed to get upset with me.”
Sukuna’s brow twitches, curling into a scowl. “I don’t get mad over every little thing.”
If ever there was a time you gave Sukuna a look, this was it. “So last week, when you chased me down to my car-”
Flipping back to his stomach until his face is shoved back in his pillow, he mutters a “shut up” that barely makes it to your ears, thoroughly muffled. Regardless, you laugh, gently patting the hand that remains on your thigh.
“I know you’re letting me in, and that’s great, but Toji’s just trying to help too,” you point out.
Sukuna doesn’t move, the musculature of his back rising and falling steadily as he stubbornly keeps his face buried in his pillow.
“You never told me he used to be your best friend.”
“You never asked.” Again, you can barely make out his words.
Sighing, you rest a hand on his back. His muscles seize briefly beneath the tips of your fingers, before relaxing as you rub small circles between his shoulder blades. Sukuna lifts his head finally after a moment, turning his face to you as he remains on his stomach. He looks more at ease than he has in a long while, likely because he obviously skipped class to sleep, though you’re sure the gentle massaging of your hand is nice too.
“Why is it so bad to let him in?” You query, the tips of your fingers brushing against his spine. A shiver overtakes him, though he does his best to mask it.
“I took the damn phone,” he grumbles, as though there isn’t a bigger point to this whole situation.
Your lips press into a thin line as you stare at the stubborn man. Your fingers pause as you contemplate your next words. “The Zenins are pretty rich, aren’t they? Why don’t you ask for a hand with the lawyer-”
“I’m not a fucking charity case,” he hisses, every muscle pulled taut as he glares at you, an unspoken warning laced within his tone that you’re pushing his buttons.
You work your fingers across his muscles again, soothing him to release the tension in his shoulders. Slowly but surely, he relaxes in the silence, basking in the warmth of your hand.
“I never said you were. You could pay him back.”
“No.” He gruffs firmly.
It takes everything in you not to raise your head to the heavens and groan. Sukuna can be so ridiculously frustrating sometimes.
Stubborn as a mule, you have no other option but to give in. “Well
 Just remember what Choso said.”
“I took the phone, isn’t that good enough for the brat?”
“It’s a hand-me-down phone, not a friendship bracelet,” you point out, unable to stifle the giggle that comes with your words.
Sukuna cracks an eye open, rolling it dramatically before flipping his face to stare at the wall. A comfortable silence hangs over you as Sukuna shuts his eyes after a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers smoothing across his muscles. The sun warms your skin through his window, goading a yawn from you as you find yourself leaning against his headboard. Your fingers slide along his shoulder blades as you find yourself shutting your eyes in the serene warmth of the afternoon sun.
Your hand slowly begins to still as fatigue overtakes both of you, and you bask in the cozy environment like a cat finding a patch of light.
It’s not until you hear a clank from the kitchen that you’re snapped out of your drowsiness and realize that Sukuna’s not the only one with a paper due tomorrow.
Glancing at the time, you pat Sukuna’s back gently. His head raises as he blearily looks you over, a questioning look on his face. It’s painfully sweet, the way he seems to be wondering why you stopped like a cat wondering why you’re no longer petting them.
Seems like you were a pair of happy cats for a moment.
“I need to go write that paper, and so should you.”
He hums in acknowledgement.
“I’ll help Choso get the food in the oven, sound good?”
Sukuna hums again, rubbing his eyes.
“Send me your number, by the way. I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”
“I have a morning shift after I drop the brats off,” he grumbles. “I’ll try to be there.”
“Just don’t forget about your paper!” You remind him, slipping off the bed towards the door.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Bonus points if you talk about Dickens’ death conspiracy theory!” You chant when you reach the doorway, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of your lips.
He snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “Where he died doesn’t fuckin’ change anything.”
With a grin, you just giggle along, heading out the door.
With his hands clutching the edge of the mattress, the burly man stares silently at the gray carpet beneath his feet. He can barely make out the sound of your voice, saccharine sweet and gentle, as you direct Choso while helping him put together the meal.
Lifting a hand, he subconsciously scratches at his spine between his shoulder blades, sending a shiver through his body.
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❊ a/n ; soooo this was originally meant to end on a different scene but by the time i hit 20k words i figured i should split it LOL sorry for the delay! had to take a small break for my mental health, but! the next chapter is already at 8k since i chose to split this, so i should be able to get it out soon <33 as always, thank you so much for all the love! i've gotten so many sweet comments, rbs, and asks and i absolutely love hearing everyone's thoughts on the chapter. ily all <33
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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune
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fairytaleendingss · 5 months ago
Text
Room for One More?
Chapter 11
Summary: James has had time to think during the days he'd been away and through this, has come to a shocking revelation.
CW: Swearing, creepy man being unnerving (nothing inappropriate happens though).
Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10
This is a shorter one but I just wanted to get something out. I have more of a solid plan now of what I want to happen next to stay tuned for some more updates soon!
--
You started to feel better over the next few days. Remus checked on you periodically to make sure you were making progress while Sirius hovered awkwardly, not quite sure what he was supposed to do whenever the two of you happened to be in the same vicinity.
You weren't sure what had come over him recently, but things between the two of you had been stilted to say the least.
By Wednesday you were back on your feet and back at work, meaning Remus' job was done, however, you desperately hoped that things between the two of you would continue to be civil in the aftermath. Who knows? Maybe you'd even become friends.
James was also getting home from his trip today and you were bubbling with a combination of nerves and excitement. You'd found yourself missing him while he was away. Everything had been strange, to say the least and James was the person out of all your roommates who you were the most comfortable around by far. He just had this light energy about him that was able to balance everything out around your house and without it, things had just felt off. You couldn't quite place your finger on what it was but James Potter just had a way of putting you at ease.
Although, you couldn't help but feel slightly guilty for wanting him there for your own selfish purposes. You knew things had been particularly rough for him after the revelation at New Years and you knew he needed this time to get away from everything and clear his head.
You pondered this concept as you sat back in your desk chair, pen pressed into your cheek and eyes gazing off to nowhere. When did things become so complicated? you thought to yourself.
"Whatcha thinking about?" Mary sang, sliding across the linoleum office floor on her own chair. Mary was always pretty but you took note of it today in particular. Her hair was pulled up on top of her head in a tidy bun and she had a burgundy lipstick on, one that was a departure from the usual neutral tones she went for at work.
You raised a brow at her, choosing to pass by her question.
"You look lovely. Got plans tonight?"
Mary bit her lip as she often did when she was excited.
"It's Lily and I's four month anniversary tonight! I know it sounds silly to celebrate it but if I'm being honest, it's kind of a big deal! Today marks the longest official relationship I've been in!"
"Oh my gosh! Mary, that's wonderful!" you chirped. Then you paused. "Hold on, what do you mean 'official relationship'?"
Mary sighed. "Well, technically there was this guy in high school that I talked to for like a year over Snapchat but he lived in America and we never met in person so it doesn't really count."
You rolled your eyes at her fondly. "You had an internet boyfriend?"
She gave you a gentle slap on the shoulder. "What? I was like fourteen!"
"Okay, fine. Whatever. Congratulations anyway," you replied.
"Thanks girl! Now tell me," she scooted forward slightly on her chair, leaning in as if to share a secret. "What's going on with you and Sirius?"
You sighed thickly. "Unfortunately, there's nothing to tell."
"Really?" she looked surprised. "So you still haven't talked about anything that happened on New Years... or you know, before that?"
You shook your head. "Nope. In fact, honestly, we've barely talked at all recently. It's like he's avoiding me or something."
"That's is odd," Mary muttered. "I mean Sirius isn't usually known for being subtle. For some reason I had it in my head that maybe he would've gone all prince charming and come to your aid while you were ill," she chuckled.
"Ha! No, none of that. Every time we were in the same room, he'd just stare at me like I had two heads and then stutter out some excuse to rush away."
Mary let out a genuine laugh at this. "Yeah, actually that does sound like him. He's uh, not really much of a caretaker."
"No. Well, actually, it was... um, Remus who ended up doing most of the caretaking," you muttered bashfully.
Her eyebrows shot up like rockets. "I'm sorry, WHAT? Did I just hear you say Remus, the man that supposedly can't stand you, looked after you while you were unwell this last week?"
You shrugged but you couldn't deny the way your cheeks warmed at the thought. "He was quite wonderful actually."
A playful smirk overtook her. "Yeah, I bet he was. What? Did he like, bring you soup, and stroke your hair until you fell asleep?"
"Shut up," you joked. "You read too many romance novels."
"Hey! It's not my fault that you're living out the plot of New Girl!"
"You know, it actually kind of is, right?"
She shrugged. "Well, maybe that was the plan all along. I think Remus would definitely be Nick-"
"Anyway," you stated pointedly, before her comparison could get too deep. "You should probably get going. It's after 5 and you don't want to be late for your special date tonight!"
"Oh, shit! You're right," she exclaimed, jumping from her chair and racing to grab her coat.
You chuckled to yourself as you watcher her scramble for her things, calling out a hurried "goodbye" as she headed for the exit.
You took your time packing up that night, both having nowhere to be and also not looking forward to going home. You wondered if maybe Sirius would be out working tonight but you doubted it since James was supposed to have arrived home today and you suspected they'd want to spend some time together.
"Are you heading off now then?"
You abruptly turned on your heel, eyes wide as you noticed Glenn standing closely behind you. You hated when he did that. He was always creeping up on you when you were distracted.
You gave him an awkward smile, hoping he would say a quick goodbye and then leave you be.
He returned the gesture broadly, flashing his perfectly pearly white teeth in a way that you could tell usually worked to make girls swoon. It didn't, however, work so well on you.
"Yeah. Just finishing up now."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Ah. Well I see that Mary has made an early exit. Do you need some company walking out?"
You cringed internally. There was something just so artificial about him. Like he was constantly putting on an act, displaying qualities that he thought people liked to see. But you could see right through it and honestly, it left a bad taste in your mouth.
"That's very kind but I'm okay by myself."
He shook his head stubbornly. "Nonsense! What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you go alone in the cold?"
You restrained yourself from rolling your eyes. Clearly it wasn't going to be so easy to shake him off.
"Okay, then," you relented unwittingly. "Lets go."
The walk from your office on the seventh floor down to the front exit was particularly awkward. Glenn hovered at your side, not saying much but just sending you that unnerving smile of his every so often. As you approached the front steps, you were more then relieved to see a familiar figure waiting by the door.
"James! What are you doing here?"
He looked up from his phone, flashing you a genuine grin, one that made your heart feel warm, instead of causing bile to want to rise in your throat the way Glenn's did.
"Hey!"
He approached with rapid footsteps, engulfing you in his warm arms. You relaxed into his hold for a moment, savoring the feeling.
You pulled away at the sound of a throat clearing beside you. Glenn was looking between the two of you with an unreadable expression.
"Oh! Sorry," James corrected himself, only then noticing the other man. "I'm James, Y/n's roommate. Nice to meet you."
He stuck a hand out towards Glenn, which the latter man shook with a reluctant hesitation.
"Glenn Mulciber. We work together."
You didn't like the way the man was looking at James, something akin to jealously flashing across his eyes in a way that made your skin crawl.
"Well, thanks for walking me out, Glenn but James and I'd better be going. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, right. Okay," was all he said before he turned on his heel and stalked away, his demeanor suddenly very cold.
"Well, he's an odd sort of person," James observed as the two of you began the journey home.
"I'm not a fan of his, to tell you the truth," you responded. "He's weird. He kind of creeps me out."
"Hmm," James muttered thoughtfully, although you could tell his mind was elsewhere.
"You don't have to keep coming to pick me up from work, you know? I'm perfectly capable of making it home myself."
James shrugged. "I know, I just like spending time with you."
You felt your heart swim at his words and had to turn your gaze away from him in the hopes that he wouldn't see the embarrassment on your face.
"Well, um... how was your trip?"
"Good. Yeah. It was good."
He was fiddling with the hem of his coat, looking vaguely off into the distance as he spoke to you. Something seemed off about him. You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering what was going on.
"Is everything okay?" you questioned. "You seem nervous or something."
"Um, well," he hesitated for a moment before turning to face you. "Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."
You felt your heart sink into your stomach as a slew of worst case scenarios began to run through your mind. You did your best to keep composed.
"Okay, what's up?"
James released a heavy breath as if he was preparing himself for the words to follow.
"So, while I was away, I had a lot of time to think about things,"
"What kinds of things?"
"Well, you know, just everything that's been going on. When I found out about Lily and Mary back on New Years Eve, I was heartbroken..."
You sighed feeling a rush of sympathy. "Yeah, James about that, I'm really sorry. You shouldn't have had to find out that way, I-"
"No! No, it's okay!" he interrupted. "What I was going to say was actually that I was heartbroken at first. But then the more I thought about it, the more I realised, I've been in love with Lily for so long that I think at some point I just started to like the idea of us together more than I actually liked her, if that makes sense."
You sent him a look of confusion.
"That's not to say I don't like her of course," he rushed to amend. "She's a great friend and obviously she's beautiful and a wonderful person and all that but I think that I just got so comfortable with wanting her that I didn't realise when I didn't really want her anymore..."
You couldn't help but chuckle at the boy’s rambling. "James, what are you trying to say?"
Then he stopped walking suddenly and you followed suit. He turned to look at you then, his face serious and eyes ablaze with an unfamiliar friction.
"I think what I'm trying to say is... that night made me realise that I have feelings for someone else."
In that moment, despite the cold of the street, heat began to swirl around you. You felt energy of an unknown source drawing you together in a magnetic pull as James gazed down at you with a look of yearning clouding his dark eyes. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked up at him. Your eyes raked over every inch of his face; his sweet smile, the dimples in his cheeks, the stupid curls that he couldn't contain no matter how hard he tried. He was beautiful.
Then, without warning, he leaned in and your lips connected.
It was like the world faded around you. The noise of the cars and the crowds and the hustle and bustle of London in the evening, all just melted away. You didn't care that you were standing in the middle of the street, with icy tendrils of wind piercing your skin. You didn't care that you had a rock in your shoe or that your hair was blowing in your face. In that moment, all you cared about was him and the feeling of his soft lips against yours.
It wasn't desperate and passionate the way it had been with Sirius. No, James' kiss was sweeter, gentler, filled with warmth and comfort just like he was.
When you pulled back, James had a playful smirk on his face. He licked his lips, looking down at you affectionately as he used a finger to push his glasses up on his nose.
"So," he muttered. "Will you go out with me, then?"
You rolled your eyes. "Of course I will, you idiot."
He laughed a little and intertwined your fingers with his own.
"Okay good. I just wanted to make sure."
You scoffed as you began to walk once more, hand in hand and smiles painted on your swollen lips.
--
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kunikame · 8 days ago
Text
constellations in your name. - malleus d.
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warnings : fem reader, marriage of convenience/arranged marriage, malleus is kind of an ass at the beginning, sebek shit talks you for a bit, reader is referred to as "my lady" and "princess", numbers are written.. ?, english is not my first language, nothing else i hope w/c : 8.3k
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it all started with a promise, long before you were even born. your kingdom was small, quite unremarkable, really – the only notable feat to its name was that your ancestors were “friends” with the draconias. 
this “friendship” served as a basis for trade and to maintain positive political relations throughout history, all thanks to an established deal. the heirs of the families would be wed whenever it was deemed politically necessary (read: convenient). 
relations between the fae and humans were beginning to go awry a couple of months before you were to be born. and as fate had it, the draconias were also expecting an heir. the families and ministers sat down for a lengthy discussion about the next course of action, and it was then decided – you and the draconia heir would be wed when you turned eighteen.
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“i don’t have to do anything if you can’t catch me!”
“lady [name]! return here at once, your carriage is waiting for you!”
your melodious laughter rang out throughout the palace, accompanied by the erratic click-clack of the heels leading your escape. you masterfully navigated the palace hallways, dodging the staff and the maid hot on your dress trail, freedom being the only thing on your mind.
last night you had your farewell ball, which means today you’re leaving for briar valley. from childhood, you kept hearing stories about how you’d marry the neighboring prince, malleus, after you turned eighteen. initially, it was all you’d ever dream and talk about – for what princess wouldn’t want to marry a kind prince?
then, stories about him came around.
turns out, he wasn’t kind.
in every new story about him, the source described him worse than in the previous ones. according to them, he was ruthless and terrifying, uncaring and unkind, instilling fear into the hearts of everyone he encountered. but, if that were true, how was briar valley prospering so?
you didn’t understand the controversies tied to the situation – you just knew you weren’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of marrying someone described with such words. it wouldn’t do much good for your image, or for the image of your kingdom, for which you’re supposed to tie the marriage in the first place.
However, as you were now nearly nineteen and the doomsday clock had long finished ticking, you realized you couldn’t keep stalling the inevitable – your escape was then cut short by your personal knights, trappola and spade, blocking your route. “traitors,” you muttered under your breath before swerving around in a desperate attempt to continue fleeing, unfortunately your maid has caught up and was now cornering you like a wild animal. that’s when you knew you had lost this battle.
“lady [name], it is high time for your departure. they are expecting you at castle blackscale tomorrow afternoon. please, board the carriage. you as well, sirs.”
once seated with your knights on either side, the horses neighed and off you went – to your doom.
“are you nervous, princess?”
you looked to your left, making eye contact with the raven-haired knight you’ve known since you were eight, and upon seeing the genuine concern in his eyes, you stopped fidgeting with your hands for now.
“a little, i’m afraid. i have never met the prince before, so the situation is quite nerve-wracking, you understand.”
deuce nods at that, and with one final glance towards your hands, chooses to gaze out the window instead.
“do not fret, my lady, i am almost certain everything will turn out alright. the stories may have just been overexaggerated speculations.”
“i pray you are right, ace.”
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castle blackscale loomed over the hills in the distance, and as your eyes wandered over its silhouette, you found your hands fidgeting once more. the trip was filled with conversation with either one or both of your loyal knights, but you had a feeling none of ace’s horrible jokes or deuce’s oblivious questions would distract you from the reality settling in this time.
you were grateful they could come along with you – you weren’t sure how you would survive this without them.
the two morons have been knights in training under their fathers and the leader of the guards when you were a child, you’ve known both of them since they were seven and could barely spell ‘swordsmith’ – you were there for their failures and successes, watched them grow from weak little boys to the strong and dependable knights they are today. when the time came for you to choose a pair of knights as your personal guard, the choice wasn’t a hard one; it was a certainty set in stone the moment you befriended them. though there were attempts to talk you into different options, such as sir trey clover or cater diamond, the stars dictated that your life was to go like this, and who were you to disobey fate, when obeying was of no drastic consequence?
ace and deuce held a greater level of your trust than nearly anyone in your palace – they were much like your eyes and ears, always standing on your sides, alert and on guard. you could rely on them to protect you, but also to keep you entertained when there were no noteworthy matters for you to attend to.
as the carriage neared the palace gates, you found yourself hoping they wouldn’t be forced to put their skills to use quite yet.
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“welcome, princess [name], we’ve been expecting your arrival.”
you curtsied to the retainer who welcomed you, thanking him politely for the hospitality. the dark throne room was lit up only by the sunlight filtering in through the painted glass windows and the green flames in the hanging goblets. your husband-to-be sat perched on his throne, looking mildly uninterested in the entire situation.
“prince malleus currently has certain pressing matters to attend to, but i assure you, you will have time to get better acquainted at dinner. for now, zigvolt will guide you to your chambers. if you need anything at all, do not hesitate to call upon any of the staff – they will be entirely at your service. the princes’ knights, zigvolt and vanrouge, included, granted they are not with his highness.”
you nod curtly, glancing toward malleus, who was already getting up to leave the room, then to the green-haired knight you now knew to be ‘zigvolt’ waiting for you by a door on the left side of the room. ace gently nudges you forward, and your feet slowly carry you on this new adventure you’re not entirely sure you even want to take part in.
“here you have the kitchen, though i am certain you do not necessarily care about that. that is the door to the gardens, to the left is the training ground for the royal guard. the castle staff's chambers are situated on the first floor of the eastern wing of the castle, while the knights are located on the second floor. the prince has reserved rooms for the two knights accompanying your highness, but if you so wish, it can be arranged that they stay nearer to your chambers,” as you walked through the castle with the knight in black, his tone of voice never once changed – it always kept its steady and flat tone, as if he was about as uninterested as his prince – and the only sound heard other than his monotone voice were your footsteps echoing in the black brick walls, “further up in the eastern wing are the princes’ retainers. the west wing, where we are currently, holds the castle library, just down this hall. a large collection of books in various genres is housed in it, and you are welcome to use it. the top of the west wing holds the princes’ chambers.”
zigvolt suddenly turns a corner after the seemingly endless flights of stairs, leading you down yet another endless hallway, until he stops outside a room with looming double doors of intricate design, which he pushes open once you stand behind him.
“directly under which are your temporary ones. prince malleus decorated and picked this room himself; he hopes it is to your highness’s liking.”
the room is.. certainly something. the design is entirely gothic, decorated with some grotesques near the ceiling, beautiful in an almost haunting way. no matter what terrible things people say about malleus, they certainly cannot state his taste is lacking.
“It is wonderful, thank you, sir ..?” you paused, looking at him expectantly. while you did know his name was zigvolt, it seemed uncouth for you to refer to him by it when he hadn’t directly introduced himself to you yet – he had to be given a chance to pick how he wanted to be referred to. you were the outsider here; you couldn’t afford to assume.
he bowed at a precise ninety-degree angle, then straightened up immediately, “zigvolt. sebek zigvolt, prince malleus’s personal knight, at your service, your highness.”
you smiled, hoping to ease his.. awkward politeness. you weren’t used to being held at arm’s length by the staff, everyone at your palace called you ‘lady’. “thank you, sir zigvolt. but you need not refer to me that way, ‘lady’ is enough – i would prefer it so, truthfully.”
ace startled at that. he knew where you were coming from, but this was not your home territory. you’ve barely been here an hour, it was much too soon to make these requests. at the odd look he saw ‘sebek’ send you, he shared a glance with deuce, who, based on his expression, was probably having the same doubts as ace, “my lady–”
you raised a hand to stop him, and he was silenced immediately.
“it is quite alright, ace. i have merely stated my preference. whether sir zigvolt abides by it is entirely up to him. thank you again for guiding us, sir zigvolt. i would like to take you up on the offer of having their chambers moved to a closer proximity, if that is alright. i just know they couldn’t stand being far from me, isn’t that right, deuce?”
deuce straightens like a wooden sword, smile bright and cheeks pink, “yes, princess. it would be quite terrible.”
as your melodious laugh rings out through the dark hallways – without you running from a maid this time around – you fail to notice the way ace is studying the knight in black armor, and how said knight looks between you and deuce in bewilderment at your interaction. how could you be so friendly with the staff meant to serve you? how could you ask him to refer to you less politely? have you no shame, no class? is this how all human royals behave? it was vile. but he remembers what sir lilia vanrouge told him – be polite and fulfill every request of the princess. so he does.
“yes, i will inform the staff and have it arranged. if you have no further questions, i must return to my duties. i hope you enjoy your stay, your high– .. lady [name].”
though he stumbled through it, he has fulfilled your request, and you found yourself smiling at him in gratitude.
perhaps your stay here wouldn’t be so miserable, after all.
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you were quickly proven wrong.
sitting at the long dinner table face-to-face with your soon-to-be husband, you found yourself fidgeting with your hands once more.
initially, you thought it wouldn’t be so bad – perhaps ace was right, perhaps the scary stories really were just overexaggerated speculations, perhaps he genuinely was a kind man – but sitting here, trying desperately to curl in on yourself under his scrutinizing stare, you realized you were still terrified. terrified of what this meant for you, for your kingdom, for him, of him.
every attempt you made at striking up conversation was quickly shot down by dry and monotone answers, or completely ignored, and it was starting to seem like aloofness was painted into the walls of the castle and fused with the air they breathed in here with how everyone you’ve come across seemed to have it as a personality trait.
“you are scared.”
you nearly dropped your cutlery. his voice suddenly entering your ears while you were distracted was the last thing you needed – and unfortunately, the way you practically jumped upon hearing him seemed to confirm his suspicions without you needing to say anything.
“you need not be. i bear no ill intentions towards you, the queendom of roses, or humans. this is merely business to me – a deal neither of us signed off on, yet unfortunately, must carry out. we need not spend time with each other if you do not wish; it is enough if we feign the image of a happy marriage for the people and ministers. are you able to do that?”
as you stare at him, you realize you were, once again, right. he genuinely was entirely uninterested in this entire situation, so much so that he doesn’t even want to see you when he doesn’t have to.
still, you once swore to yourself that if you were to be married to a stranger, you’d want to, at the very least, be his friend. you wouldn’t let yourself be deterred by the fear in your bones, tremble in your hands, and the coldness in his eyes.
“yes. despite that, i would like to at least be on positive terms. get to know you. i cannot pretend to love someone i do not even know.”
he stared at you in complete silence for a moment – even sebek’s body went rigid behind malleus – then shook his head.
“that will not be necessary.”
then he got up and left you alone at the table, without looking back. 
to his credit, the silver-haired knight you now knew to be ‘silver vanrouge’ shot you a sympathetic look over his shoulder. if everyone else at this castle was against you, at least he seemed to feel sorry for your predicament.
that night, after ace and deuce escorted you to your chambers before turning to retire to their own, you sat at your intricately designed vanity. the woman in the mirror was not you – at least, you didn’t recognize her as you. you were way more cheerful and bright, but this woman was exhausted. then, as you reached for your hairbrush with a sigh, there were three gentle raps against the door. you startled momentarily, but brushed it off. perhaps ace or deuce forgot to relay some information from home.
“come in.”
one side of the double doors opens, but the person who walks in isn’t either of your knights, no – it’s the one you recognize as silver.
“i apologize for bothering you so late, your high– lady [name]. i came to apologize in place of the prince, and to, perhaps.. explain his earlier behavior.”
he stood in the doorway, one hand behind his back and the other hanging loose at his side. silver looked like the very image of a knight, back straight and poised in quiet confidence, but not smug. he seemed almost as if he wanted to shuffle his feet in embarrassment – coming to a lady's chambers in the middle of the night was sure to raise some alarms.
despite the situation, you found yourself giggling and turning in your seat, ready to hear him out properly. since he put in the effort to come here so late, he deserves that much, at least.
“it is quite alright, sir vanrouge. i wasn’t expecting the prince to welcome me with open arms – i am not particularly enthusiastic about this arrangement, either. i am merely here to fulfill the promise i made to my parents and my kingdom. i just wish his highness made it easier to like him.”
the last part slipped out unintentionally, and your hand immediately shot up to cover your mouth, ready to apologize a thousand times over until the man opposite you let out a quiet chuckle, “i understand. that is what i came here for – the prince hasn’t always been that way. When I was just a knight in training, he was the kindest prince this kingdom could have, and they referred to him as a real treasure. then the.. rumors started to spread. about how briar valley was filled with evil people, the royal family at the center of it all, about the prince being ruthless and evil. the fae were looked down upon, the scum of this land. then the queen passed, and the king disappeared, so prince malleus was left to shoulder the responsibilities of leading and protecting the kingdom on his own. if he couldn’t prevent invasions by being loved, he would do so by being feared.”
silver then looked from you to the marble floors, which suddenly seemed quite interesting, “he’s.. the prince is a kind man, beyond the veil of cruelty he hides behind. i am certain if you keep trying to reach him, he will let you. the prince has not had a single relatively friendly interaction with anyone from outside the castle walls in many years – and even within them, the staff does not exactly.. treat him as a friend, i am sure you have already taken notice. i beg of you not to give up on him just yet, my lady,” you watch as he bows at a pristine ninety-degree angle, much like sebek had done earlier in the day, except silver's bow feels more genuine.
my lady. he had referred to you as ‘my lady’. though initially he stumbled over ‘lady [name]’ as if it were a foreign concept, he has now assumed you as one of his own, and it lit a small spark of pride in your heart.
“you need not bow, sir silver, please,” he straightened with wide eyes, looking at you as if you had just told him to perform sword tricks blindfolded, “thank you for telling me that. i will continue trying to get through to the prince.”
he smiles at you – almost beaming – and you realize that, even if it was not malleus, at least you still managed to make one friend tonight.
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the next day, you woke up practically glowing.
after the conversation with silver, you had brushed your hair while thinking up several plans on how to convince your husband-to-be to grant you some of his time and attention – ways to soften him up, if you will.
that's how you found yourself in the library shortly after breakfast, which malleus had not attended, unsurprisingly. you had later learned from silver that he takes his breakfast much earlier. as such, you chose to start your day by browsing multiple books in the ‘romance’ genre. ace and deuce, ever the loyal helpers, decided to assist you in this endeavor until they were called off to attend training with the blackscale knights. you had by then written more than enough notes on ways to romance a man in your humble opinion, but you decided to stick around a tad longer. the library was absolutely breathtaking; it would be a waste not to take a moment to explore it entirely. and that is how you came across malleus. he was sitting in one of the quieter corners, intently reading a book on grotesque architecture, looking like a black rose – hauntingly beautiful, and incredibly rare to find.
you stared at him in silence, torn between turning around and pretending you never saw him or joining him, until he sighed and closed the book, now looking up at you as if you were the single greatest bane of his existence.
“how may i help you.”
“i did not.. know you had an interest in.. architecture.”
“you know nothing about me.”
you shuffled your feet in embarrassment – he was right about that, what you said was foolish, but you didn’t know how else to begin a conversation at that given moment.
he sighed once more, placed his book on the dark wooden table near which he had previously sat with much remorse, as if leaving it would physically harm him, and left the library.
when you approached the table, you found he had left a page marked in the book, and upon opening it, learned he was not exactly studying architecture – he was studying grotesques and gargoyles.
an idea struck you almost immediately.
when you first arrived at the castle yesterday, you had noticed the exterior walls were decorated with several gargoyles. as you walked around them now, you paused under every one of them to study them in depth – from their design and special features to where they're located, as if that held any significance. you were not an expert on gargoyles, but you had a feeling malleus might be.
“my lady, might i inquire as to what it is you are doing?”
your heels had caught in the soil while you hastily turned around, and you would have fallen flat on your behind had it not been for the knightly reflexes of the silver-haired man in black armor, who caught you just in the nick of time.
“.. thank you, sir silver, that would have been quite the.. embarrassing fall, to say the least. i am studying the gargoyles of castle blackscale in an attempt to get a better understanding of them.”
he bows, not as deeply as he had last night, but instead as a way to say ‘you’re welcome’. “the gargoyles..? do you have any at your palace, my lady?” one arm steady behind his back in knightly fashion, while he points the other to the right, inviting you to walk with him; or rather to lead the way to your next destination while he follows close behind. you take him up on the offer with a smile.
“oh, no, i fear i do not. our palace walls were mostly decorated by the family crest, roses, vines, and card soldier statues. .. i suppose those would count as a type of grotesque, no?” you glance back at him, taking notice of the way his eyes don’t leave you, even when he’s thinking. “hard to say, my lady, i am not much of an expert on this subject. you would do better discussing it with the prince,” there’s a moment when realization flashes across his features and you grin, “.. is that why you are studying the gargoyles?”
“quite right, sir silver. i accidentally interrupted him while studying a book about grotesque architecture this morning, so i will attempt to use it to begin a conversation with him at dinner.”
he nods in understanding, supporting your idea without directly letting you know. silver believes it might work – malleus does quite enjoy talking about gargoyles. you stop under the next one, gazing up at it in wonder while the knight stands behind you.
“is that a goat? with wings? .. fascinating. i can understand why the prince would enjoy these. does the character have mythological importance? .. i believe that is a grotesque; i do not see a water sprout anywhere. do you?” silver observes as you circle the statue on the castle wall, thoroughly intrigued, and before he can form a response, someone else answers in his stead.
“that is a gargoyle. the water sprout is in its mouth.”
you freeze and silver bows on instinct, his body reacting before his mind has even caught up to the situation. then you observe the goat-gargoyle once more – malleus was right, there truly was a water sprout.
“oh, i see it now. thank you, prince malleus. these are quite intriguing creatures, i can see why you are fascinated by them.”
“i am not fascinated by them. i merely enjoy looking at them.”
you gaze at him with a near blank stare, were it not for the eyebrow lifted in amusement, “that is almost entirely the same thing,” silver fears you had just dug your own grave, but then malleus chuckles – genuinely chuckles – and he has to take a moment to consider whether perhaps his prince had been kidnapped and replaced with an impostor.
“you might be right. there are some more fascinating gargoyles near the turret, if that interests you. however, i must ask you not to kidnap my knights off duty the next chance you take to explore the castle.”
silver's face lights up in shades of pink and red, strongly resembling the roses you grow at home. unfortunately, you only catch a glimpse of it before he hides his face behind his hair while he bows, precisely ninety degrees once more. you giggle behind your hand and look at malleus, now far less scared than you were before, “i will have you know i kidnapped no knight of yours, sir silver offered to be my escort on this adventure.”
malleus’ face scrunches up in confusion, looking between you and his knight, “.. sir silver?”
before he can look into it much further, silver straightens up in a rush only to bow once more, this time to you, “it was a pleasure escorting you, my lady, i must now return to my duties. i wish you a pleasant day.”. and off he goes, knightly confidence thrown directly into the dungeons as you watch him nearly trip over his feet twice.
“.. my lady?”
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a week had passed since your arrival at castle blackscale, and with each day, you found your room looking more and more like you. on the first day, it had been terribly dark – beautiful, but dark. now, there were books scattered all over the marble floors, the curtains were open, and flowers in vases littered every clean shelf you could find. 
you’ve been doing extensive research on romance, gargoyles, and grotesque architecture just to keep conversations between you and malleus flowing. instead of that, however, you seemed to attract the attention of everyone but him. many of the flowers around your room were from the castle staff, ace, deuce, and to your surprise, even silver.
how did everyone but your husband like you? 
the castle staff were all so kind to you. it had shocked all of them when you requested they call you ‘lady’, but much like sebek and silver, they all obliged. it had become like second nature to them now – they all greeted you with a pleasant ‘good day, lady [name]’ and a smile. you had begun to feel right at home. deuce had never once strayed from calling you ‘princess’, and ace had always referred to you as ‘my lady’ – those names were like their telltale signs; after all, they were the only two people to refer to you as such. ace, however, had competition now – silver.
out of every staff member at the castle, silver had been the kindest to you. escorting you when your knights couldn’t, keeping you company on your spontaneous adventures, doing his best to assist you with the malleus matter. you didn’t particularly understand why he’d taken such a liking to you, but you didn’t quite mind it, either. his partner seemed to like you the least out of everyone.
well, after malleus. malleus seemed to dislike you the most.
that didn’t mean you’d give up, though. you would continue in your efforts to befriend or court him. whichever happens first.
that is why you are currently in the castle garden, picking the most beautiful flowers you can find in an attempt to arrange a bouquet for your husband-to-be. you had made sure to ask the gardeners which flowers you could pick from beforehand; it would be a shame to ruin their centerpiece if you just picked carelessly.
Just before you were about to leave the garden, content with the bouquet you put together, you noticed a mop of black hair glistening in the sun, peeking out from behind the wooden fences of the gazebo. upon approach, you found malleus sitting inside, with yet another book in his lap.
“not grotesque architecture this time?”
his head snapped up, startled by your sudden appearance. He may have been too engrossed, as he hadn’t heard you approach at all. he opens his mouth to reply, but the words are caught in his throat when he notices the flowers in your arms.
you follow his gaze in confusion until you remember why you came here in the first place, “oh! yes, apologies, these are for you. .. though, now that i think about it, it might be slightly unsuitable to give you flowers from your own garden..” you feel your cheeks heat up a little, opting to instead look at the toes of your heels rather than his face. by the seven, he must think you’re absolutely witless.
thanks to that, you miss the way malleus’ eyes widen and his ears turn red, scolding words over you disrupting his reading time repeatedly stuck in his throat. “no- i-” he clears his throat, acting as if the thoughtful gesture didn’t just send his pulse racing, “thank you. i will cherish them.”
you look at him with stars in your eyes and a smile so bright it could rival the sun, and malleus seems to understand why all of his staff members seem to gravitate towards you instead of him a little better. speaking of staff members

“is vanrouge not with you today?” he asks after taking a quick look around.
“no, your highness. should he be?”
you invite yourself to sit on the bench opposite him, and he has to physically suppress a sigh. “no. i was merely surprised, since you seem to have spent much time together since your arrival,” there's a pause as he looks at you, where he considers why he’s the only one you’re seemingly keeping at arms' length. still, he chooses not to address it quite yet.
“oh, sir silver has been helping me come up with ways to talk to your highness, that is all.”
you laugh a little before realizing your mistake, hand immediately shooting up to cover your mouth again. you’ll dig your grave before you get a chance to befriend him at this rate. his eyebrows shot up in time with your hand, mildly shocked at this revelation, “why would you need help from vanrouge to talk to me?”
“because.. your highness has.. um, not been entirely welcoming..? i was getting turned away at every opportunity, so he offered to.. um, assist me.. haha..”
he’s been turning you away because he’d assumed you wouldn’t want to talk to him. and now you’re telling him it was the other way around? is that why he’s the only one with a brick wall between you?
he heaves an exasperated sigh, informing you of his side of the matter, and now it all seems clear. the situation is so utterly ridiculous, you find yourself laughing with no restraint – etiquette classes thrown out the windows – and it’s the most freeing feeling you’ve ever felt. 
and to the surprise of even the birds flying about, malleus laughs with you.
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“i conversed with him! first in the garden, and now over dinner! all my hard work was not in vain! can you believe it?!”
“congratulations, princess!”
“it went surprisingly well, my lady! even the princes’ side of the table was astonished. zigvolts’ expression was hilarious, if i do say so myself.”
“i quite agree with you, ace – his expression read something between astonished and horrified. i will never forget it,” you share a laugh as you walk down the winding hallways of the castle, slowing down when you hear voices in the distance. you were never one to eavesdrop, but one of the voices you recognized as sebeks’, and you were curious as to what he was saying – it sounded like a post-dinner debrief.
“she’s horrible.”
“sebek,” that one you recognized as silver, “watch your mouth.”
“what? i don’t like her. she’s too giddy and sunshine-full for prince malleus. it’s vile.”
“sebek.”
“she treats all the staff members as if they were equal to her, it’s like she’s looking down on everyone without it being direct. ‘please refer to me as lady [name], i prefer it that way.’ who does she think she is?! she’s not at home here!”
“sebek.”
“she’s so picky with her food, she’s most definitely spoiled. and her two knights are- are absolute buffoons, they can’t even hold their swords right! she’s so clumsy and oblivious and–”
“zigvolt. what is it you are talking about?”
there's a sudden clattering sound, and you can only assume he'd dropped something, but you can’t quite hear it over the sound of your heart pumping in your ears. is that what he thinks of you? is that what everyone secretly thinks of you? you turn to glance at ace and deuce, and by the deep frowns, furrows in their brows, and clenched jaws, you can tell they are way more angry than they’re letting you see. whether it was over what he’d said about them or you, you weren’t certain.
“p-prince malleus! um, we were just–”
“who is ‘we’? i did not say a single thing other than warn you to watch your mouth. you alone were speaking of lady [name] in such a way, i would never do that. do not drag me down with you,” silver was.. defending you?
“thank you, silver. zigvolt – i strongly advise you to keep my wife’s name out of your mouth for future convenience, she has been nothing but kind to everyone in the castle, even you. if you disagree, you should perhaps spend some more time with her instead of slandering her in her absence. in fact, i am officially cleaning you of duty tomorrow – you will spend the day with my wife. as her escort. you will attend to all her needs and fulfill her every request. is that clear?”
“... yes, your highness.”
“splendid. silver, i hear lilia has been looking for you.”
his footsteps echoed down the hallway as he took his leave, leaving your group and the other two knights in stunned silence. his wife. he had referred to you as his wife. well – that is what you are to be, on paper, but you’ve never heard him say it, or even acknowledge it.
“... since when does he call you ‘silver’?”
“.. i have no idea.”
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the next day, as promised, sebek followed you around everywhere, much like your shadow. he goes with you to the library to return some of the books you’ve finished, then to the kitchen to greet the staff and ask for some frozen peas you could have – even though he had no clue what you’d want them for, he still carried them when you handed the bag to him – and then finally, to the back of the garden. you’ve been spending the greater part of your days here since you discovered the duck pond, hidden behind many weeping willows and thorny bushes.
sebek had lived at the castle his whole life, and he’s never once seen it before.
you sit down on the grass and he looms behind you like a statue, staring at the poor ducks as if they’ve personally offended him. you reach behind, expecting him to hand you the bag of peas, but he doesn’t. he continues staring.
“.. sir sebek? the peas, please?”
he’s knocked out of his trance then, hastily handing you the peas he watches as you open the bag and throw some of its contents to the ducks. upon realizing its food, they race to see who can get to it first, and suddenly, there’s an all-out water-splashing, pea-destroying duck war happening right before his eyes. your laughter rings out, and you throw more peas in, then turn your head back to look at him over your shoulder.
“you may sit down as well, i do not bite – at least, i am not aware.”
he hesitates for a moment. does this count as a request? you turn back to the ducks, and he realizes that no, that was not a request, you were giving him a choice. you don’t want to force him to interact with you if he doesn’t want to; you were giving him the place to decide. and so with mild awkwardness, he sits on your right side, a polite distance away. you smile and hand him the pea bag, out of which he takes a generous handful, and copies your throwing motions. the ducks move to destroy the peas thrown by him, much like they destroyed yours.
“how long have you lived at castle blackscale, sir sebek?”
“my whole life. my family has served the draconias for generations, being a knight in the blackscale guard was my birthright.”
you hum thoughtfully, “i see. do you enjoy being a knight?”
“i do. it’s my life's calling, and to me, there is no greater honor than protecting the royal family of briar valley.”
“what about the people?”
he turns to you, brows furrowed in confusion, “what about the people, lady [name]?”
“do you not also consider it a great honor to protect the people of briar valley? the loyal subjects of the draconias?” 
when you look at him, there’s a shadow of conflict flickering in his eyes, and you can tell he’s never really thought about it before. you find yourself a little disappointed. he’s as much of a knight as silver when it comes to strength, confidence, and poise, that you cannot deny. silver is more of a knight with his mindset than the current sebek, however – where sebek hesitates to answer, silver’s first thought was the people. 
“you are a very strong and brave knight, sir sebek, i cannot deny that. but on questions like those, you cannot hesitate. the royal family would not exist without the people. the people here would not exist without the royal family. the current times are tough on both sides, and peace is balanced on a scale,” you turn back to the ducks, throwing them the last of the peas from the bag in your lap, “i am not telling you to choose one or the other, that is impossible in theory, but you must decide where you stand, what is important. you are not only part of the blackscale royal guard, you are also part of the blackscale guard. who will protect the people if not the knights they chose?”
on that day, for the first time since he was ten, the sun shone brighter, and sebek zigvolts’ heart felt lighter.
for the rest of the day, he continued following you around on your adventures, but he no longer loomed like a shadow behind you. he stood on your side, walked barely a step behind, participated in idle conversation, observed how you interacted with the things and people around you, and he realized he was wrong.
you were not spoiled, nor oblivious – you were kind. you didn’t secretly look down on the people around you; you genuinely believed they were your equals. you were patient. you waited while he explained his view on certain matters before stating your own. you were considerate. whenever you asked for something, you reassured the staff ‘not to rush’ as you had more than enough time – yet they rushed anyway. you always thanked everyone, you didn’t expect things naturally. you showed him how you transformed one of the old and dusty spare rooms into a fully functioning art room of your own, and sebek learned you were also talented. you were intelligent.
and he was wrong.
when he admitted to his mistake and bowed, begging for your forgiveness, you merely told him to straighten up and smiled, accepted his apology, and asked if he’d like a cup of tea. he sat down on one of the many chairs in the art room, the others soon occupied by your knights, silver, and you, and he realized you had somehow transformed this cold and dark castle into a ‘home’.
later that night, he had gone to apologize to prince malleus also, for slandering his wife without fully knowing her beforehand, and the prince smiled at him, much like you had.
“as long as you have learned from your mistake, your transgression is forgiven, sebek.”
sebek. not zigvolt, simply sebek.
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the following days, malleus waited for you with breakfast. and lunch. and dinner. when he had a free moment, he chose to spend it with you, and if not him, then he would send silver or sebek to accompany you. ace and deuce were growing increasingly jealous of how much of your time the blackscale knights were taking up, so they also started taking turns following you around.
you were now either seen with sebek and ace, silver and deuce, or malleus by your side at all times.
it was incredibly amusing – to the castle staff as much as to you.
“i’ve heard you grow certain rare rose breeds at your palace, is that right?”
“oh, yes, it is. we are particularly proud of our roses, amongst other things. i believe you would love the rose gardens, they are the perfect place for reading.”
malleus hums in thought, as if taking your suggestion into deep consideration, “then we shall visit when they next bloom.”
he took a sip of his tea, eyes returning to the book in his hand while you mixed your paints not far from him. the thought of him wanting to visit your homeland warmed your heart – you could already imagine him strolling around the rose gardens, the very picture of beauty and grace.
“what are you painting today?”
you grin, gazing over at him momentarily, “the very rose garden i just told you about.”
“from memory?”
“i will try my best.”
“i wish you luck on this experiment.”
all recent afternoons have been spent like this – him, occupying a chair in your art room with a book while you painted anything that came to mind – conversation flowing freely over shared tea and classical music from the record player you found in the room while you were cleaning it out. it was pleasant and comfortable, and it wouldn’t be hard to imagine spending your life like this.
then there was only one month left until the wedding.
and suddenly, all your free time was taken over by dress fittings, consultations with the retainers regarding the dishes, decorations, music, and color scheme. you were thankful malleus was also present for most of it; you might’ve had at least fifteen panic attacks otherwise. 
every night, you returned to your room more exhausted than the last, and your beloved art room collected dust in the silence, frozen in time exactly how you last left it. 
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“well.. what do you think?”
the room was shrouded in stunned silence, even the clock on the wall stopped ticking in fear of breaking the moment – the dress was finished.
“it is
 wow.. my lady, you have.. never looked more beautiful than you do now..” your ginger haired knight said, voice somehow hesitant to leave his throat yet his words were filled with conviction. he dropped to his knee, right hand on his heart, as if swearing loyalty until his final breath to you once more, like he had done years ago.
deuce mirrored his actions, though his eyes never once left you.
“excuse me, is lady [name] here? prince malleus is– oh.”
you turn towards the voice, startled out of your mind, until you recognize the silver mop of hair and black armor, “sir silver! what do you think? should i have some more taken off the trail? is it not too.. obnoxious?”
he shoots you the softest, kindest smile you have ever seen, “no, my lady, you are the most beautiful bride briar valley will ever have.”
he stares for a moment longer before realizing what he came here for, but before he can warn you, disaster is already stirring behind him.
“silver, what is taking you so long?”
eyes wide as saucers, he practically jumps his prince to prevent him from seeing you, immediately turning him around and leading him away from the door before he even has the chance to step through it.
“prince malleus! yes, she is in there, but you must wait a couple of moments before you can talk to her. i fear it is.. quite important.”
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the night before your wedding, you were, understandably, incredibly nervous.
what if you tripped during your walk? what if your veil got caught on something? what if malleus said no? your relatives and his, the ministers, two entire nations will be watching this wedding – you cannot embarrass yourself.
before you could overthink the situation any longer, two gentle raps sounded against the door, and you sat up straight on your bed.
“come in.”
no matter who you expected to open the door, you would be wrong, and you were stunned into silence when malleus stepped into your room.
“i apologize for coming here so late, i just.. i could not sleep, and by the looks of it, you could not, either.”
you nod, still clearly dazed as he makes himself comfortable at the foot of your bed. he looks around your room once, then twice to really take it all in, and nods, “i like how you decorated it here. could you bring a touch of this to my– our chambers also, once you move there?”
“yes, of course. .. wait, what?”
he looks at you, head tilted to the side, as if not understanding what about that you find so odd, “yes? oh, were you not aware of the move? .. or is that not something you want? it can be arranged for you to stay here, if that is what you would prefer..”
“no! no, that’s alright, i don’t mind. i just wasn’t.. told,” you were so exhausted you didn’t even notice your speech becoming impolite, but malleus didn’t seem to care, either – rather, he was smiling.
“great. .. just to make sure, you are not.. going to say no during the ceremony.. are you?”
you sit up straighter, suddenly very aware of the conversation currently happening, “no! .. are you?”
“no, i was not planning to. i have begun to quite enjoy your presence as of late.”
you return his smile, one of your many worries lifted. malleus didn’t seem ready to leave just yet, neither were you tired enough to sleep, so you chose to do the one thing you do best: talk.
“have i ever told you about the time ace nearly beheaded another knight during training?”
his eyebrows shoot up, amusement glistening in his eyes as he stares at you, moving closer so the conversation can happen in hushed whispers – a secret shared between nearly-newlyweds, “no, you have not.”
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the church bells ring out through briar valley as you make your way down the aisle, veil sliding over the carpeted floor like a shadow behind the sun, shimmering along with your dress, akin to stars left in your wake.
this was your big day, one you’ve been waiting for since you were informed it would happen – a promise to be fulfilled, nearly twenty years in the making.
your loyal knights with tear-filled eyes escort you to this adventure, much like they have to many other ones since you were eight with dirt-stained dresses and scraped up heels; except this time, you were the very image of nobility and elegance. a swan taking flight from a pond with water lilies, a new star coming to life, creating a brand new constellation with its neighbors, which serve as the veil you pull behind you. you have burned a brand new image into the sky, and it is entirely in your name – it lives solely for you.
as you finally reach malleus, hands intertwined, his constellation connects with yours. somewhere to his right, you notice silver and sebek, also on the verge of tears.
“you look beautiful.”
it's a quiet whisper amid ceremonial chaos, but you heard it loud and clear, and now you were crying, too.
“you don’t look so bad yourself, malleus.”
the minister performs the wedding speech special for the royal family, you nod when you’re addressed and smile when you should, you say your vows without much struggle – but you can feel the finale breathing down your neck and despite malleus assuring you he wasn’t planning to say no, you find yourself doubting, wondering, whether he was telling the truth.
“do you, prince malleus draconia, take this woman, princess [name] hearts, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and heath, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto her for as long as you both shall live?”
there's a silence so loud it makes you want to rip your hair out, as if time itself has paused just to keep you on your toes, but then malleus grins while squeezing your hand, “i do.”.
that’s all it takes for you to breathe again.
the minister smiles, “and do you, princess [name] hearts, take this man, prince malleus draconia, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and health, to love, honor and obey, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto him for as long as you both shall live?”
“i do.”
you exchange the rings you chose not even that long ago, silver bands of gothic designs with briar rose stones and inner inscriptions only you two know about, and the minister speaks once more, “by the authority vested in me by the kingdom of briar valley, i now pronounce you husband and wife and what the seven hath joined together, let no man nor woman put asunder. you may now kiss the bride.”
before he even finishes speaking, malleus’ hands are already on your cheeks, lips connected as if he’s been living and breathing for this very moment his entire life.
perhaps he has been – and perhaps, so have you.
your rings glisten in the sunlight, and two nations cheer, as for the first time in over a century, the people they forced to marry seem genuinely happy with the decision.
it all started with a star, long before you were born, and even longer before the promise was made. the constellations in your names have long existed in the sky – they were merely waiting for you to acknowledge them.
who were you to disobey fate, if obeying was of no dire consequence?
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emmiesoverthemoon · 2 months ago
Text
emergency kitty babysitter's club
pairing: platonic ot8 x reader
word count: 7.1k
summary: you have to head out of town and you can't leave your precious cat alone, so you decide to call in a favour from your favourite 8 friends.
tags: fluff. cat nonsense. established friendship. skz being skz
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You don't anticipate chaos. Not at first at least.
In fact, you expect this to go quite smoothly. After all, the request is simple, the time commitment minimal, and your companions—though chaotic—are all capable adults. Mostly. You tell yourself that a cat-sitting arrangement with your friend group is no different from asking anyone else. Perhaps it will even be charming. Domestic. Bonding.
You should have known better.
The group chat has barely been appropriately renamed to “emergency kitty babysitter's clubđŸŸâ€ when panic begins to unfold.
channie: wait is something wrong why is it named that???
hyunjin: if this is a real emergency i’m going to cry
seungmin: i bet it’s something ridiculous like ‘her plant looked sad’
you: wow okay rude. it is NOT a plant this time thank you.
you: i need someone to watch my daughter, princess murder volcano for the weekend pls pls plsđŸ˜Œ
A long pause follows. A virtual silence, if you will. Then—
han: i’m sorry her name is WHAT...
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
“Princess. Murder. Volcano,” you repeat aloud, as if saying it in your own voice might lend it dignity. As if verbal confirmation would translate through to the men when the conversation was indeed, online. The cat in question is peacefully purring in your lap, snoozing and occasionally huffing or twitching, as if she is in the peak of dreamland.
you: i didn't name her that
you: she chose it herself
jeongin: what kind of cat chooses her own name ???
minho: the dangerous kind. i remember her. she scratched my thigh and then stole my snack.
you: that was one time! she's just a baby
hyunjin: she stared straight into my damn soul. don’t get me started on MY SHIRT. i still have nightmares abt it. she knows things we don't
you: okay....dramatic... no daughter of mine has been raised to behave in such a way
you: anyway listen. i’ll be gone for three days for my cousin’s wedding. i just need you guys to check in, feed her, play with her a bit ! nothing wild. she mostly just sleeps and runs up and down the hallway.... pleaseeee !! i'll treat you when i come back
felix: i’ll do it!! đŸ„ș i love cats
binnie: me too! this’ll be fun đŸ€©đŸ€©
minho: you are all fools. she is not a cat. she is a small, elegant war criminal.
seungmin: sounds like your type hyung
You close your eyes and count to ten.
They do, in the end, agree. Through passive-aggressive commentary, chaotic enthusiasm, and mild dread, they do accept the mission. You feel something close to warmth bloom in your chest. Relief, maybe. Gratitude.
Foolish, foolish you.
Because no amount of love or loyalty can prepare a group of overworked idols for one deceptively fluffy, emotionally manipulative, semi-feral feline with the spiteful intelligence of a Victorian widow plotting the downfall of every man who ever wronged her. You're sure that it will be okay—she is not one to misbehave for you!
On the day of your departure, you smile and you wave goodbye to the boys. You leave your precious, sweet, innocent daughter, Princess Murder Volcano in their hands.
And so it begins.
You have yet to even reach the airport security line before your phone begins vibrating incessantly in your bag.
The group chat has transformed into a war room.
channie: she’s glaring at me
felix: nooo she’s just curious đŸ„șđŸ„ș she’s probably getting used to you
minho: she’s plotting his downfall.
seungmin: if we just don't leave the back door open it'll be fine
You resist the urge to laugh aloud. Instead, you open the chat and peek at the latest photo: Princess Murder Volcano perched on top of your fridge, fluffed out like a disapproving cloud, eyes narrowed at the mere concept of human interaction, let alone with a man. Her ears are slightly tilted outward and back, and her boofy tail curls and uncurls like a fuse.
you: she can be people shy at first! it's fine i promiseâ˜șgtg, i’m at security!
You really should know better.
Day One's debacles begin with Chan, who has shown up with a clipboard.
There are bullet points, color-coded sticky tabs, and a hydration log. He has scheduled enrichment time, litter scooping, feeding windows with optional treat intervals. He has printed out an actual feeding plan and is now consulting it while crouching near her pink food bowl.
“She gets fourteen grams in the morning and ten in the evening, right? Split into two intervals to match her natural hunting cycle?”
“Sure,” Seungmin says, already bored. “Why not teach her to file taxes while you’re at it?”
Princess Murder Volcano sniffs the food and walks away, choosing instead to stare unblinking at Chan from several steps away, paws tucked neatly beneath her body like a loaf of bread with grievances.
He attempts to coax her closer with a laser pointer. She does not even blink.
“Enrichment prevents behaviour problems,” Chan mutters, turning the dot in desperate, swirling patterns across the hardwood flooring. “Keeps their brains active. Lowers stress hormones.”
After an embarrassingly long time, Princess does move, albeit not for the laser pointer; instead she leaps onto the kitchen counter and reaches one paw out. Slowly, with deep intent, she knocks his full water bottle off the island. The metal hits the floor with a loud thud.
Chan stares, stunned by her audacity. She blinks unapologetically and returns to her loafing position.
“Well. Okay.”
Minho, predictably, arrives with armour. Not literal armour—but there is a cautiousness to him that screams veteran of previous battles.
“She remembers me,” he mutters, standing stiffly just inside the door. “I know she does.”
“She’s a cat, hyung,” Jeongin says, watching from the safety of the hallway.
“Exactly. She remembers.”
Minho kneels slowly, cautiously. He extends a small stuffed mouse toy attached to a string. She sniffs it once, then lashes out with surgical precision. A single clawed swipe—nothing dramatic, just enough to leave a faint raised red line trailing down his knuckles.
Minho retracts his hand like he has touched a stovetop.
“She’s gentle,” Felix offers, concerned.
“She’s vengeful,” Minho replies, moving to the kitchen and muttering something about boundary-training and spiritual warfare. He proceeds to scatter cucumber slices across the floor in a perfect circle and perches behind the couch to observe.
“She won’t cross it,” he says grimly.
She immediately does, as if spite itself fuelled her small being.
Hyunjin arrives like he is walking onto a battlefield dressed for the Met Gala.
Hair messy but in the most perfect way, rings meticulously stacked on his fingers, scarf flowing behind him like a war banner. He steps inside and freezes, locking eyes with the cat perched atop your windowsill like a queen guarding her castle.
“Ah,” he says softly. “It’s you.”
The others barely glance up. This is normal for Hyunjin.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he continues, toeing off his shoes. “That day you stole my heart... and then shredded it.”
“She sat in your laundry basket,” Han deadpanned from the couch.
“She clawed my silk shirt,” Hyunjin corrects, voice laced with betrayal. “She knew it was silk I swear.”
Princess Murder Volcano yawns.
He drops his bag with theatrical flair and strides forward slowly, never breaking eye contact.
“You and I,” he says, his voice low, “have unfinished business.”
The cat does not move.
Hyunjin crouches, level with her gaze. “Do you yield?”
Her tail twitches, as if challenging him.
A slow, intense silence descends upon the room. Felix stops mid-sentence. Jeongin holds his breath. Even Minho peeks over the back of the couch like a drama-hungry spectator.
And then—lightning fast—she leaps down from the sill and brushes against Hyunjin’s legs on her way to the food bowl. Not submissive. Not friendly. Just... dismissive.
Hyunjin stands there, stunned.
“She... walked past me.”
“She’s over it,” Seungmin says, “You should be too.”
“No,” Hyunjin breathes. “She won. She chose kibble over me.”
He drops onto the arm of the couch like a spurned lover, eyes dark with tragic reflection.
“She’s more powerful than I imagined.”
Changbin enters the space with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever at a birthday party.
“PRINCESS!” he bellows, holding out a treat with both hands. “WHO’S A LITTLE DANGER? WHO’S GOT TINY MURDER IN HER PAWS?”
Princess drawls out a long meow in reply.
The room stills.
“She—she talked to me,” Changbin whispers.
“No, she warned you,” Minho says without looking up from his cucumber circle.
Changbin sits cross-legged, letting her sniff his hand. She headbutts his palm once—then immediately darts to the other side of the room as fast as possible like nothing significant had ever happened.
“She’s playing mind games,” Seungmin notes.
“She’s mysterious,” Changbin defends, completely smitten.
Han, meanwhile, is documenting everything.
There’s a ring light set up in the hallway. He films in whispered tones like he’s in a nature documentary. From behind the bookshelf, you can hear him narrating.
“This is day one,” he says solemnly. “She’s taken the high ground. Morale is fracturing. Chan has retreated to the kitchen. We’ve lost Minho to paranoia and Hyunjin to drama school delusions.”
He zooms in on the cat as she licks her paw like she owns the place.
“She shows no sign of fear. No remorse. Only mild boredom. I think she’s toying with us.”
“She is,” Jeongin says flatly.
Felix brings a level of sincerity no one else can match.
He sits near the coffee table, legs criss-cross on the floor, hands cupped and eyes full of stars.
“Hi, baby,” he coos gently. “You don't have to come over if you don't want to. I'm just happy to share your space with you. I come in peace...”
Princess blinks and lets her eyes bore into Felix.
He gently places a treat in front of him and looks away, nonthreatening. She creeps forward, her tiny white paws creating dainty steps. She swiftly munches up the treat, making loud chewing noises as she looks up to him.
And then, like a miracle, she pads forward, climbs into his lap, and curls up into a small spherical ball of cream fur.
“She chose me,” Felix breathes.
She stretches one paw and knocks his phone off of his thigh to the floor with a soft thud.
He beams nonetheless.
Seungmin does not volunteer to help with the cat. He simply shows up—hood up, earbuds in, sipping a coffee—and looks around like he already regrets it.
“She’s not going to eat you, she’s actually really nice!” Felix assures him.
“That is not what I’m worried about,” Seungmin replies blandly, “I’m more concerned that I will become emotionally attached and she will ruin me.”
The cat blinks at him from atop your bookshelf.
He blinks back.
A beat passes.
Seungmin sighs and takes a seat on your sofa, pulling out his laptop like he is prepared to work from within enemy territory. He does not try to pet her. He does not speak in high-pitched tones. He simply exists near her, radiating mild disdain and infinite patience.
Oddly
 she seems intrigued.
He catches her watching him, head tilted ever so slightly. When he slides his iced coffee onto the side table, she’s down in a flash, silently stalking over.
“Boundaries,” Seungmin warns, not even looking up.
She presses her nose to the condensation on his cup. He shifts the cup a small distance away. She shifts closer. They lock eyes.
“This is not a power struggle,” he mutters. “You will not win.”
She flops dramatically onto the table and begins licking her paw.
Seungmin exhales through his nose. “You’re ridiculous.”
But—he adjusts the cup. Just slightly. So she will not get brain freeze.
“Softie,” Han teases, watching from across the room.
“I will sue you,” Seungmin replies calmly.
When she curls up next to him twenty minutes later, back pressed against his leg like a smug little heater, he pretends not to notice.
He scrolls through his phone at low volume.
She purrs, sending vibrations of a healing frequency through his leg.
He glances down. “You’re manipulative.”
She yawns and stretches, her paw stretching out to push against his thigh.
“
Fine. You are a little cute.”
And finally, Jeongin, youngest, least experienced, attempts to contribute by making popcorn for everyone. But alas, the microwave begins to smoke.
“I can feel her staring at the microwave like she wants to set it on fire with her mind,” he reports, waving a dish towel near the smoke detector.
In attempt to clear some of the smoke from the popcorn bowl, he slides the glass door which leads to the backyard open for exactly twelve seconds.
A breeze slips in. A white blur streaks across the living room floor.
“Wait,” Jeongin says, eyes widening. “Where’s the cat?”
Everyone becomes quiet. Not peaceful quiet. Not earned. Just that too still sort of hush that lands like a dropped pin in a ticking bomb room.
Felix’s head whips around. His whole body jerks upright, like his soul has left his body and come crashing back all at once.
“She was just on the couch,” he says, eyes already scanning the room. “Right here. Right here—where is she?”
No answer.
Only the soft creak of the barely ajar screen door, further nudged open by a lazy gust of wind.
Minho reacts first.
No sound. No warning. Just pure instinct—he vaults over the arm of the couch and lunges for the door like a SWAT officer. He throws it wide, scanning the yard in one sweeping glance, already halfway onto the porch.
“She’s out,” he confirms darkly. “Backyard perimeter compromised.”
“What?!” Chan bolts upright from the kitchen island, eyes wide and already haunted. “How did she—”
“The door,” Seungmin mutters from under his breath, standing with stiff annoyance. “The one I said not to leave open?”
“Technically it was closed,” Han says, following behind with his arms full of cat toys and very little shame. “Just
 lightly. Emotionally closed.”
“She’s a cat,” Hyunjin says, appearing in the doorway in a billowing cardigan. “Not a ghost.”
Jeongin is peering out the window, pupils blown like saucers. “She’s in the garden beds. I see her. She’s rolling in the dirt like she belongs there. She's gonna be all dirty!”
And she is.
Princess Murder Volcano—tail flicking, eyes glowing in the sun like two shards of vengeful turquoise—sits proudly among the petunias like a warlord surveying her domain.
“Do not spook her,” Minho warns, raising one hand. “Don't even think about calling her name.”
“She’s already seen us,” Felix whispers, pressing his forehead to the glass. “She’s watching. She knows. She knows everything.”
“She’s licking her paw,” Changbin says, breathless. “Is that... a threat?”
“It’s worse,” Hyunjin replies solemnly. “It’s mockery.”
The mission unfolds in chaotic fragments.
Chan is pacing the kitchen, pulling together what he calls an “extraction strategy.” Of course, no one listens.
Jeongin is already outside with a blanket, tiptoeing through the grass like a nervous cartoon thief. She turns her head slowly, tracking his every step.
“I'm just visiting,” he says softly. “Just a simple gardener. I mean no harm. I'm benevolent—”
She hisses, a sound like a kettle left to scream too long. Jeongin flinches so hard he nearly topples backward into the bush of roses.
“She’s not playing,” he yelps, scampering back toward the house. “She is not playing!”
Felix crouches at the back door, treats in one hand, heartbreak in the other. “Sweetheart,” he calls gently. “You remember me, right? I gave you a treat. You let me boop your nose. That meant something to me.”
She blinks, then turns away nonchalantly.
“Cold,” Hyunjin murmurs from inside. “She’s colder than an ex.”
“She knows we’re panicking,” Seungmin says, rubbing at his temples. “She’s feeding off it.”
“Okay,” Han says, now back with what appears to be a laser pointer strapped to a stick. “New tactic. Diversion and distraction. We blind her with red dot science, someone sneaks in from the east.”
Minho ignores him. He is moving again—silent, smooth, low to the ground.
You would almost think he had trained for this. He probably has, considering his own cats.
He rounds the edge of the deck, eyes locked, stance relaxed. The cat watches him, tail twitching like a fuse.
The moment stretches—
And explodes.
She bolts straight up the nearest tree.
Minho stops mid-step, closes his eyes briefly like he is experiencing a full system failure, then turns slowly on his heel and walks back into the house.
“She is in the oak tree,” he reports dully. “That's as far as I go.”
“She’s gone feral,” Han gasps.
“She's been feral,” Seungmin mutters.
“She’s majestic,” Felix whispers again.
Five of the boys pace aimlessly. One climbs a fence. One googles “do cats feel remorse.”
And Jeongin, still in his socks, saves the day.
He kneels near the garden path—no fanfare, no grand speeches—and opens a pouch of tuna, the stinky kind, the kind you only use in emergencies or emotional blackmail.
The snap of the foil seal is the only sound in the yard.
And slowly, like a queen descending from her throne, Princess Murder Volcano pads down the tree.
She does not run. She saunters. She stops three times to clean her paw. She makes eye contact with everyone.
Then she walks right into the kitchen, brushes the length of her body against Felix’s leg affectionately, and curls up on the floor like nothing ever happened.
Silence again. Except now, it is different. Heavier. Awestruck.
“She is chaos incarnate,” Hyunjin says finally.
“She is victory,” says Minho.
“She is unbothered,” says Jeongin, holding the empty tuna pouch like a relic from war.
“She is grounded,” says Chan, grabbing his clipboard. “Indefinitely.”
The cat yawns and knocks the treat jar off the counter.
Day Two begins with hope. Dangerous, foolish, hubristic hope.
The morning is bright. Birds are chirping. The cat is purring, curled at the foot of Chan’s bed like a cherub who has never committed a single crime.
“You know,” Chan says, sipping coffee and watching her fondly, “I think we’re getting the hang of this.”
Seungmin looks up from his phone. “Did you just say that out loud?”
“I’m just saying she seems
 relaxed. Peaceful. Like she trusts us.”
Hyunjin pokes his head into the kitchen, blinking sleepily. “What are we talking about?”
“The cat,” says Felix, feeding her another treat with the reverence of a man giving communion. “She’s mellow today.”
“Oh,” Hyunjin says, yawning. “So we’re jinxing it early. Cool.”
The idea comes from Minho.
Which is important, because it means no one can argue.
“She’s filthy,” he says bluntly, arms crossed. “She smells like mulch and attitude. She's got patches of green and brown all over her, her fur was white when we arrived.”
“She rolled in the flowerbed and played in the grass,” Jeongin adds from the couch, nose wrinkled. “Like, rolled. Fully. I watched.”
“She looks happy,” Han says, filming a slow zoom of her face. “This is the look of a woman who’s done crimes and will do more.”
“Right,” Minho continues, ignoring them all. “Which is why we’re bathing her.”
Silence.
Then seven people speak at once:
“You what—”
“No no no—”
“Do you want to die—”
“Minho, I care about you—”
“She’s going to eat us,” says Seungmin, entirely serious.
“She is literally purring right now,” Minho replies. “It’s the perfect time.”
“That’s a trap,” Chan says.
“She’s coiled,” adds Han. “Like a spring. Or a snake. Or a regret.”
Felix looks pale. “Do we have a will? Like
 a shared one?”
Despite every sign from the universe, the decision is made.
The bathtub is filled—warm, shallow, with a drizzle of cat-safe soap.
Hyunjin lights a candle “for peace.”
Han plays gentle jazz “to soothe the mood.”
Jeongin Googles “feline CPR” just in case.
Felix brings in a towel he warmed in the dryer. “Because if we’re going to die,” he says quietly, “we should do it softly.”
Then: the lift.
Minho picks her up—gently, firmly, reverently—and she allows it.
Allows it.
The calm before the storm.
He lowers her into the water.
And hell opens its eyes.
She does not scream. She screeches.
A blood-curdling, feral wail that hits octaves human ears were not built for.
In one fluid motion, she launches from Minho’s arms, scrambles up his shoulder, over the curtain rod, and disappears between the ajar bathroom door and the wall.
“WE LOST VISUAL,” Han yells, diving for his camera like a war correspondent.
“HOW IS SHE WET AND DRY AT THE SAME TIME,” Seungmin shouts, slipping on a towel and crashing into the doorframe.
Felix is on his knees, arms out. “It’s okay, baby. We’re sorry. We respect your boundaries. Please—”
“I SAW MY LIFE FLASH BEFORE MY EYES,” Chan wheezes from the hallway floor, clutching his ribs.
Water is everywhere—on the ceiling, in the walls, soaked into the very foundation of the house. Someone is crying. It might be Jeongin.
Minho stands in the center, drenched and bleeding from a scratch across his cheekbone, eyes distant.
“
She drew blood,” he says faintly.
“You drew her wrath,” Hyunjin corrects, holding an ice pack to his forearm.
“She did this with her eyes open,” Han says, holding up footage that looks like a scene from a horror film.
Jeongin is curled in a towel cocoon, whispering, “She looked at me and I felt
 judged.”
Thirty minutes later, the bathroom is destroyed, the cat is mysteriously pristine, and no one knows how the towel rack got bent like that.
She is lounging again. Dry. Groomed. Purring.
Minho walks past her like a man just out of war.
“She let you think you were in control,” Chan murmurs.
“She let me live,” Minho replies.
“Was the bath worth it?” Seungmin asks.
Minho does not answer. He just opens a can of tuna, places it before her like a tithe to an ancient god, and leaves the room in silence.
Later, evening sweeps through the house. A sweet, domestic dream. One full of good intentions and garlic bread.
“We’ll make dinner,” Chan had said, sleeves rolled up and optimism shining in his eyes. “Something simple. Cozy. Homemade.”
Jeongin had nodded eagerly, already pulling out mixing bowls. “Like a family.”
“We are a family,” Felix had smiled, clutching a whisk like it meant something.
In the background, Minho had narrowed his eyes. “What are you all plotting?”
“Love,” Han replied, unconvincingly.
The house fills with delicious smells. Onion sizzling in olive oil. Dough rising on the counter. Tomato sauce simmering in a pot that Felix insists on stirring with one hand while cuddling a dish towel with the other.
“You stir it so lovingly,” Jeongin observes.
Felix beams. “You have to respect the sauce.”
Hyunjin floats in from the hallway, sleeves rolled, lip gloss shimmering, “I've come to taste.”
“You've come to steal bites,” Minho corrects, slapping his hand away from the tray of garlic bread.
“She’s watching us,” Jeongin whispers suddenly.
All heads turn.
Princess Murder Volcano sits atop the fridge like a gargoyle in judgment, pupils blown wide. Tail twitching. Back hunched.
Chan narrows his eyes. “She’s got the zoomies.”
“No,” Hyunjin murmurs. “She’s got plans.”
It happens all at once.
One moment, Felix is piping filling into ziti shells, Han is singing into a ladle, and Jeongin is kneading dough with flour on his nose.
The next, there is a thud, a growl, and a blur of white fury tearing across the countertop like a tiny demonic tornado.
“NO—” Chan lunges for the sauce pot. Too late. The spoon flips. The tomato sauce arcs in the air like a slow-motion crime.
“THE SAUCE—!” Felix cries out, reaching with both hands.
It lands on Jeongin’s hoodie.
She leaps again—onto the drying rack, which collapses under her wrath. Metal clatters. A bowl crashes to the floor and shatters like a scream.
“She’s climbing the spice rack!” Minho shouts.
“She’s in the spice rack,” Han corrects. “She’s wearing the cinnamon like war paint!”
The cat zips past, yowling—a streak of fur and chaos. She skids across the freshly mopped tiles, slams into the pantry door, then bounces back with renewed energy.
“I feel the adrenaline,” Hyunjin gasps, flattened against the fridge. “She’s faster than light. She’s broken the sound barrier. She’s a myth.”
“She’s going to knock over the—”
CRASH.
Flour. Everywhere. A puff of white explodes like someone’s summoned a baking ghost.
Felix vanishes inside the cloud.
“Are you alive?!” Jeongin coughs, blinking through flour tears.
A flour-covered hand emerges, waving weakly. “Tell the sauce
 I loved it.”
They try to corner her. They try.
Minho leads the charge, wielding a laundry basket like a net. “Block the exits. Coordinate. Outthink her.”
“She has no thoughts,” Han yells. “She’s pure instinct!”
“She’s in the cupboard!” Jeongin shouts, peeking inside and immediately slamming it shut. “She stared into me. She knows my sins.”
Meanwhile, Chan stands silently in the center of the room, hands on hips, face unreadable.
“She has chosen violence,” he says simply. “And seasoning.”
Eventually, the chaos fades. The sauce is salvaged. The ziti somehow managed to survive.
Princess Murder Volcano re-emerges covered in flour, a single noodle stuck to her side, and promptly curls up in the sink to nap like nothing happened.
Jeongin leans against the counter, breathing hard. “She broke three things.”
“She broke my sense of peace,” Hyunjin murmurs.
“She broke the laws of physics,” says Han.
Felix just stares into space. “The filling. It
 it flew.”
Minho tosses a towel onto the counter and sighs. “Next time, we order pizza.”
“She’d still attack the box,” Seungmin says from the doorway, sipping water like he has seen this all before.
Chan places the last clean dish on the rack, closes his eyes, and whispers, “I miss when we were in charge.”
There is a night time rotation schedule taped to the fridge. A real one. On paper. Color-coded.
“For our sanity,” Chan had declared, waving a highlighter like a sword. “For survival,” Seungmin added, darkly.
Because she does not sleep alone.
Oh no.
She selects her human—a new one each night, like royalty distributing favour—and curls up precisely where they had hoped to stretch their legs.
She is warm. She is heavy. She is a little loaf of tyranny.
Tonight, the duty falls to Han.
He approaches the bedroom like a man entering war.
Blanket: comfortable. Pillow: fluffed. Water: on the nightstand. Notebook: ready, just in case inspiration strikes.
He is calm. Composed. Hopeful.
“She’s already in there,” Felix warns from the hallway, whispering like it is cursed knowledge. “Claimed the center of the bed.”
Han squares his shoulders. “This is fine. I’m flexible.”
“She sleeps diagonally,” Jeongin says, walking past with the empty cat food dish. “No remorse.”
“Love requires sacrifice,” Han mutters, and enters.
The light is soft. The sheets are warm. She is
 watching.
Perched on his pillow. Eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Tail curled, neat and smug.
Han smiles with gentle dread. “Hey, queen. Mind if I
?”
He lifts the blanket. Slips in.
She does not move.
The seconds tick by.
He turns slightly. She adjusts her weight—to press directly against his ribs.
“
Cool,” he exhales. “This is fine.”
12:38 a.m.
He receives a text.
you: hey!! just checking in! is my daughter being good? đŸ±apparently you have the night shiftđŸ’€
Han types back with one thumb beneath the blanket, moving as little as possible.
han: define good
han: i’m not allowed to roll over and she has full custody of the blanket
you: lmaoo she does that đŸ«Ł just don’t breathe too loud
you: i can't lie to you she's not amazing to sleep with when you're a new person... something about unfamiliarity or wtvr
han: great to know💀
2:17 a.m.
Han is awoken to a pressure on his ribs. He slowly opens his eyes to see Princess Murder Volcano sat upright, directly on his body, her tail slapping lightly against stomach.
“Can I help you,” he whispers.
She steps forward, kneels gently
 and places one paw on his mouth. Astonished, he slowly reaches for his phone and texts the group chat.
han: her FOOT is on my MOUTH.
felix: do not resist. accept her.
binnie: you must be on the left side. she likes the left side of the bed. your mistake.
seungmin: sleep is a concept. not a right.
channie: stay strongđŸ˜«đŸ˜«
hyunjin: do you have any idea how many tiny teeth she has. do not make her use them.
3:03 a.m.
Another message from you causes Han's phone to chime.
you: also she sometimes sleepwalks. so like if she gets up and stares at the wall
 do not engage
He reads it and gazes to where Princess Murder Volcano is situated.
She is already sitting at the corner of the bed, staring into the corner of the room, her tail occasionally twitching.
Han tosses the blanket over his own face.
3:49 a.m.
Han dares to shift by one inch. Which subsequently causes the white furball to let out a low growl. A warning, if you will.
He texts the group chat once again.
han: i made eye contact. she knows i thought about moving. i am not safe
felix: if she headbutts you, congrats. that means she’s claimed your soul
seungmin: stop being dramatic. she’s like 4kg
han: 4kg of fury and emotional manipulation. she blinked and i felt shame for existing
5:10 a.m.
You receive a photo from Han. A close-up of his arm, pinned beneath her white little loaf-shaped body. Her head rests between his elbow and ribs. One eye open. Watching.
han: my arm is asleep but she is not. i have not moved in hours
You find yourself cooing at your screen. Your cat is typically not one to cuddle up so comfortably with strangers.
you: omg she likes you đŸ„č this is such a good sign!!
Han does not respond. Instead, he stares at the ceiling, a man transformed. Broken. Blessed. He is vibrating with exhaustion, fear, and the slightest sense of pride.
“She picked me,” he says aloud to the dark room. “I was chosen.”
She promptly moves to sneeze on his neck and falls back to sleep.
7:00 a.m.
The sun rises, leaking golden warmth through the once dark room. The serene morning silence is interrupted by the bedroom door creaking open. Chan peeks inside.
“You alive?” he whispers.
Han stares at the ceiling with hollow eyes. “She took my soul and the entire blanket.”
“She does that,” Chan nods.
“I think she forgave me for existing,” Han mutters.
Princess Murder Volcano is curled on Han’s chest, peaceful as can be, one paw flopped over his heart like she owns it.
Maybe she does.
The rest of Day Three began with an unsettling silence. Not the cosy, purring kind that hinted at nap time, but a stretched, suspicious quiet that crept beneath doorways and settled behind bookshelves. No zoomies. No morning murder-screech. No judging loaf formation in the hallway. Just
 stillness.
Felix, already on edge after surviving her 8 a.m. biscuit-serving ritual on his spine, narrowed his eyes as he passed the laundry room.
“Where is she?” he muttered, peering around the corner with all the suspicion of a nature documentary narrator about to witness a predator strike.
Then he saw her. Striding slowly across the hall, tail lowered, ears relaxed, but with a strange hesitance in her step—as though she was deep in feline contemplation. She paused just outside the laundry room door, glanced around as if checking for witnesses, and slinked inside. Felix followed at a careful distance, peeking around the doorframe with theatrical stealth.
She sat in the litter box. Still. Unmoving. For twenty long seconds.
And then—without scratching, burying, or doing anything at all—she stood, turned around, and walked away.
Felix's jaw dropped. “She did nothing.”
He pulled out his phone, thumb flying across the screen as he typed into the group chat.
felix: she entered the litter box room.
felix: stood there. did NOTHING.
felix: then LEFT.
felix: with PURPOSE.
The replies came quickly.
jeongin: maybe she just forgot what she was doing
minho: or maybe she's smarter than all of us and doing psychological warfare
But Felix had already descended into veterinary message boards. In the next ten minutes, he had read five conflicting articles, started a pros-and-cons list of emergency vet clinics within driving distance, and built himself a surveillance pillow fort near the hallway with granola bars and a water bottle, determined to document her every move.
She reappeared eventually, strolling past him like he was a coat rack. She leapt up onto the back of the couch, sneezed so hard her whiskers twitched, then dramatically flopped onto her side in a sunny patch like an overworked heiress.
Felix gasped audibly. “Oh my god, she fainted,” he breathed, frantically texting the group.
felix: SHE FELL
felix: I THINK SHE FAINTED
felix: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY
By the time Chan arrived in the room, Felix had both hands in his hair and a cold rag on his own forehead. “She’s sick. She didn’t go. She looked at the box and left.”
Chan blinked. “Felix, she’s literally sunbathing.”
“She sneezed, Chris. That is how it starts. I’ve been researching. She could be hiding a bladder infection. Or worse—emotional constipation.”
Chan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before unlocking his phone. “Alright. Time to bring in the expert.”
You were just finishing lunch when your phone rang—FaceTime from Chan. You accepted with a smile, instantly greeted by Felix’s frazzled face and the distant sound of your cat dramatically licking her paw.
“Is she dying?” he asked before even greeting you.
You blinked. “What? No? What’s going on?”
Felix spun the camera dramatically, showing your cat flopped halfway off the couch cushion, tail twitching like a lazy metronome. “She went into the litterbox. Did nothing. Came out. Sneezed. Collapsed. Collapsed.”
“She does that,” you laughed at their turmoil around a bite of your meal. “It’s her post-zoomie burnout pose. Very theatrical.”
Chan appeared on screen beside him, eyes squinting. “Would she
 fake something like this?”
You nodded immediately. “Yes. Absolutely. One time she limped for a full afternoon because I didn’t give her a bite of my toasted sandwich. The limp vanished the second she saw me grabbing treats.”
Felix’s entire soul left his body in that moment. “She’s too powerful. I believed her.”
“I always do too, it's okay,” you said fondly, watching her slowly roll over and bite the couch cushion for no reason at all.
“She trusts you,” Chan offered Felix quietly after a moment, smiling as he looked down at her now curled into a lazy pretzel. “She doesn’t act like this around all of us.”
“She's showing Felix her weirdest sides,” you confirmed. “That’s like
 soulmate trust. I think she's selected her favourite.”
Felix looked into the distance, visibly moved.
Later that afternoon, she returned to the litter box, did her business without fanfare, then strutted out like she had not just sent a grown man into an existential spiral. She leapt into Felix’s lap without warning, turned exactly one circle, and settled.
He did not move for the rest of the night.
“She forgave me,” he whispered, one hand resting on her back like she might disappear if he exhaled too quickly.
Seungmin glanced over, unimpressed. “She just stole your seat.”
“Same thing,” Felix sighed, blissful.
By the time the third and final day of the babysitting debacle had come to a close, all eight of your friends were waiting by the door before you even stepped inside.
The moment your car pulled up, the house shifted into high alert. Shoes half-on, limbs frozen mid-motion, the boys gathered like war survivors at the threshold of sanctuary, a desperate hush falling over the living room.
“She’s here,” Chan muttered, peering through the front blinds. “Everyone act normal.”
Hyunjin tossed the feather toy behind the couch like it was a weapon. Jeongin kicked a half-chewed slipper under the rug. Felix, wild-eyed and exhausted, stood silently clutching a lint roller in one hand and an empty treat bag in the other. Han wordlessly pointed at a scratch across his thigh, his expression haunted.
And then
 the front door opened.
You stepped inside with a bright smile and a suitcase sat behind you, immediately greeted by a chorus of overlapping chaos.
“She is not normal,” Seungmin declared, pointing accusingly toward the armchair.
“She bullied Jeongin out of his beanbag,” Minho added flatly.
“She licked a power outlet,” Changbin said, somewhere between awe and concern.
“She gaslit me,” Felix whispered, eyes unfocused.
But before you could react, a blur of fur bolted across the hardwood floors—and suddenly she was there.
Your cat.
Your sweet, precious baby girl, appearing like a cherub descending from above. She meowed softly, nuzzling your shin with gentle affection before curling herself around your ankles like a silk ribbon.
You leaned down immediately, scooping her up into your arms, cooing with all the love in the world. “Hi, my love! Did you miss me? You were a good girl, weren’t you?”
Felix made a noise like he had just been stabbed. “GOOD GIRL?”
“She’s an agent of chaos,” Jeongin protested, watching as your cat blinked up at you with pure, wide-eyed innocence, a slow blink that screamed loyalty and purity and complete, unprovable deceit.
You looked between them all, frowning. “What are you talking about? She’s perfect.”
“She knocked over a plant on purpose,” Minho insisted. “Made eye contact and everything.”
“She scaled the bookshelf,” Chan added, crossing his arms. “Like, the entire thing. And sat on top like she owned it.”
“She stole my hoodie,” Han muttered. “Dragged it under the table. Growled when I tried to get it back.”
“She has mood swings,” Seungmin said, pointing again. “I saw her smack Hyunjin in the face. Twice. For breathing too loud.”
You blinked at them, brow creased in disbelief, while your cat snuggled into your chest in your embrace, already purring loud enough to be heard across the room.
“She’s literally purring,” you said gently. “You guys must’ve imagined it. She’s my baby.”
“She’s playing you,” Hyunjin whispered. “She’s been training for this moment for all three days.”
As if on cue, she looked toward the rest of the group from the safety of your arms, eyes glinting, tongue just slightly poking out in a silent mockery of their pain. Then she nestled her head into your shoulder, curling her fuzzy tail around your wrist with practiced sweetness.
You kissed her head. “Aw. She’s tired. You guys must’ve worn her out from playing so much.”
Eight boys stood in varying stages of psychological collapse. Felix actually sat down.
“She’s gaslighting you in real time,” Chan said quietly.
“I think I have to go lie down,” Jeongin whispered.
“Is this what defeat feels like?” Han asked no one.
You only smiled, oblivious, heading toward the hallway with her still in your arms. “C’mon, baby, let’s go to your room.”
Your cat peeked over your shoulder at the others as you left the room, her face calm, smug, and victorious.
Hyunjin pointed a trembling finger. “Did you see that? She winked. I SWEAR—”
The door shut gently behind you.
Silence hung heavy over those remaining in the room.
Then Felix collapsed backwards onto the couch. “She won.”
By the time night settled in, the house had mostly recovered. Mostly. Chan was nursing a scratch on his bicep with a glass of wine he insisted was “purely medicinal.” Seungmin was researching feline behavioural psychology. Felix had fallen asleep mid-rant while laying on your sofa, with his legs tossed carelessly over your lap.
You sat nestled on the couch beside beneath your shared blanket and a cup of tea, your troublemaking child curled in your lap—technically on Felix's shins—like she had never once wronged a soul. She blinked slowly, innocently, while you gently stroked her back.
The TV screen flashed on.
“Alright,” Han said as he stepped into the room like he was about to deliver a TED Talk. “Enough lies. Enough manipulation. The truth... needs to be witnessed.”
You turned toward him with a raised brow. “What is this?”
“A documentary,” Han said, remote in hand, pride in his stance. “Or rather... a document of war.”
The screen lit up with an opening title:
“Emergency Kitty Babysitter's Club: A House Held Hostage” Directed by Han Jisung. Edited by Han Jisung. Victims: All of Us.
It began with hidden cam footage—timestamped clips from every chaos moment of the week. Your cat skidding across the hardwood at 3 a.m. like a possessed banshee. Knocking over a cup of coffee with surgical precision while Minho gasped in the background. Standing on the kitchen counter, face inside the butter dish, as Felix whispered, “Not again
” from behind the camera.
Cue dramatic music. Zoom-ins. Slow-motion replays. Commentary snippets from the boys layered over the clips like it was some kind of crime series.
“She stared at me and shoved my AirPods off the table,” Chan’s voice narrated solemnly as the clip played. “She knew.”
“She stole a sausage right off my fork,” Jeongin said during a cutaway interview, looking dead inside.
It was ridiculous. It was over-the-top.
It was brilliant.
And yet, as the footage continued to play, you gently scratched behind her ears. “Princess... this isn’t you, is it?”
She yawned, long and slow, and nestled deeper into your lap—unbothered. Unmoved.
“She is literally in the footage,” Hyunjin said, exasperated. “She bit me in 4K.”
“She’s misunderstood,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head.
Han hit pause and turned to you, devastated. “You’re choosing her over us.”
“She’s soft,” you said, petting her side. “And pink. And perfect.”
"Pink doesn't even make sense!"
“She screamed at the mailman like he owed her money,” Changbin snapped.
But you just smiled down at her. “My little angel.”
The credits rolled. The final clip played without sound: your cat perched regally atop the fridge while Felix cried in the corner, holding a can of tuna she had rejected minutes earlier.
A masterpiece. A warning. A call for justice.
And completely ineffective.
Because by the time the lights came back on, you were already dozing off on the couch, her purring against your chest, the embodiment of peace and domestic bliss.
She opened one eye, glared at Han, and flicked her tail once like a queen dismissing her critics.
The boys would never recover.
But you? You were exactly where you belonged.
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inspired by my beautiful sweet innocent daughter dior
everyone say hello
taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325 @slut4junho
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hellishjoel · 2 years ago
Text
talk me down
3.7k / therapist!joel x f!reader
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Summary: You’re finally ready to sit down and discuss your obvious daddy issues. Your therapist, Joel, has his methods. 
Warnings/Information/Heads-Up: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, abuse of position (therapist!joel), discussions of parental divorce, daddy issues, praise kink, daddy kink, pet names, cursing/swearing, age gap, handjob (for a lil bit?) unprotected p in v, cockwarming (if you squint?), breathplay (I’m running out of breath typing all this are we good to go?) 
A/N: this is my first fic wow how exciting, I can’t thank my new friends enough for the brainstorming and helping make it to tumblr so let’s just get on with it yeah? tell me if you want more, my requests are open x
“Oooh, fuck,” you gasp, your head coming back up to watch as his hand disappeared under the drape of your skirt. Suddenly you felt him cup your aching mound, taking in a short breath at the feeling of finally getting some much-desired pressure down there.   “So fuckin’ wet
 were you this wet during our whole session, kitten?” He asked. It was sick and twisted, you knew it was. That’s why you let out a shameful little nod, your legs wanting to clench around his hand there.  He let out a disgusted scoff, you deserved it. You wanted to fuck your therapist. 
“So what brings you here today?”
Your eyes shyly evade his, instead choosing to graze over the belongings of your new therapist’s office. It looked like a small library the way books were lined up and stacked on the shelves. The desk behind him was a dark oak, and everything had its place, not a pen out of line. After you deliberately ignore his question, he probes you again.
“It says on your intake form that you have... A distant relationship with your father due to your parents' divorce. Is that something you want to talk about with me today?”
His voice is sweet like honey, but you’re the only one dripping. You failed during your extended research on therapists to check his picture because you had no idea you signed up for someone so fucking handsome.
Your jaw was tight as you clamped your legs tighter together one draped over the other, trying to conceal your growing arousal. Talk, or he’ll think you’re mute!
“Yes.” You say, clearing your throat as you readjust your skirt over your lap, tugging at the hem.
You confide in Joel about the hardships of your parents growing up. The house was never quiet, always fighting, tearing each other down, and it just wasn’t healthy. You thought you’d thank the lord the day they filed for a divorce. You didn’t expect to lose the relationship you had with your father in the midst of it all.
You were still young, trying to grow up and learn, his absence mattered to you, even if it didn’t to your mother. He came around a lot at first. He’d pick you up from school and steal you away for a few hours, getting ice cream to celebrate your reunion with him.
But then, he got a new girlfriend. You weren’t sure how she managed to replace both you and your mother, but she did. You saw him less, he started not meeting your expectations. Soon, he became a weird distant memory. Now, as a young adult, you combat all the unjust things the wake of his departure caused. You couldn’t bear the thought of dating someone your age. Everyone was young and immature, asking for nudes over text after the first date if they even got your phone number at all. Now it was all just over social media or dating apps.
“Older men are just more... Refined. They have their priorities and goals, and they’re like... Actually accomplishing shit. Guys my age are just..” You paused, your eyes meeting his own to fill in the gaps.
“.. Not meeting your expectations?” Joel asked, his pen clutched in his hand as he scribbled something in his notepad.
“Right.” You let out breathily, your eyes falling to the chest hair you could see exposed by his button-up shirt.
This was a perfect example because look at Dr. Joel Miller! His Ph.D. decorated the wall with numerous other accolades on his shelves, so you knew he was smart. Being a therapist made him a good listener, you’d never have to feel like you were the therapist to a frat guy again.
You let out an involuntary whimper, a white-hot flash soaring through the pit of your stomach. You were dripping for him, and you could feel it against your clenched thighs.
“I know talking about these topics is difficult, but you’re doing a good job.” He praised you as you felt your chest and cheeks flush red with his attention.
Your breathing was staggered, you needed to release the tension between your legs desperately.
“You-- uhm, you think I’m doing a good job?”
His eyes flashed up to you with the question, something dark and tantalizing about the way he looked over you now. It was like a predator meeting prey the way his eyes began to rake over you.
Your arousal was obvious in the way your knee anxiously bounced up and down, continuing to readjust in your seat, begging for him to tell you that your time with him was up so you could go home and use your vibrator on your clit, thinking about Dr. Joel Miller between your legs.
You watched as he stood up from his chair across from you, your eyes tracking him as he nodded slowly. He clasped his hands behind his back, his strong biceps fighting the material of his shirt for dominance. The hand closest to you came down and did a delicate sweep around the rim of the chair you were sitting in.
“You’re doing great, baby girl.” He praised again, stopping to stand next to you. You were eye-level to his waist, your lips parting at the sight of the bulge in his pants. Oh, fuck me, so that’s what he’s been hiding behind his notepad.
His hand gently reached out to you, two straight fingers under your chin as he tilted you up to look at him. Your long eyelashes batted at him, teeth piercing down into your bottom lip. You let out an involuntary sigh as his hand moved up your cheek, bringing you in to rest against his thigh.
He was warm, and he smelled like Old Spice, god, you could swear it was the same one your dad used to use. You whimper at the thought, digging your face gently further into his protection. You felt his hand gently caress the back of your head, stroking back your hair from your face.
You wanted him, your pussy wanted him, and the throbbing need for his attention and affection was incurable. You began to press kisses into the material of his pants, losing all pride as you fell to your knees in front of him and palmed your hand over his growing erection.
You braved looking up at him, his face watching you in adoration, like he was proud of you.
“Is this what you want? I’ll do whatever you want.” You say meekly, desperate to please.
“You know what I think you need?” He asks, his voice dropped an octave, and it was making you purr. He was more sultry now, his hands finding yours and guiding you up off of the floor. You finally shake your head, your hands gently moving up his chest and feeling his toned pecs and broad shoulders.
Seeing him this close made your heart flutter. He was so handsome, so grown. His wispy curls were adorning the same salt and pepper as his beard. He had worn lines by his eyes and on his forehead, his curious mind must always be causing his brows to furrow. He had you breathless at the mouth and achingly wet down below.
“I think you need me to take care of you. Is that what you want, baby? Someone to show you how much they care about you? Someone to be where you need them most?” His strong hand is traveling down your front now, Joel’s pointer finger curling into the front of your skirt. Your lips part as he tugs so hard that you’re falling into him, your small hands clutching the landscape of his biceps.
“Yes-- fuck, please Joel, yes.” You nearly beg. Be there for me, be inside me.
He let out a heavy grunt of satisfaction, closing the distance between you as he cradled your face in his big hands and connected your lips. You felt safe, letting your walls fall down as he took care of you.
You melted in his hold, Joel’s tongue carefully gliding over your bottom one in a request for you to part yours for him. You followed his lead, a whimpering moan leaving you as you felt his tongue invade your mouth. He was moving you backward methodically until the back of your thighs hit the desk you previously admired. Your hips shook the frame, hearing pens and some papers clatter to the floor.
You felt overwhelmingly hot, you needed to shed some layers. Like the mind reader he was, Joel’s hands moved down to the hem of your top, breaking your heated kiss to discard the material in his way.
He generously cupped your breasts held away by your bra, another desperate moan leaving you as you watched him through hooded eyes admire your body. His hands were quick to settle on your hips, fingertips burning into your skin as he lifted you up onto the desk with ease. Fuck, he had the kind of strength that looked effortless.
Joel was taking charge, and it was so nice, he knew exactly what he wanted to do, and you didn’t have to worry about anything. His legs nudged your own open, cool air finally greeting your needy pussy. The sensation had your head falling back, accidentally breaking your kiss once more.
“Oooh, fuck,” you gasp, your head coming back up to watch as his hand disappeared under the drape of your skirt. Suddenly you felt him cup your aching mound, taking in a short breath at the feeling of finally getting some much-desired pressure down there.
“So fuckin’ wet
 were you this wet during our whole session, kitten?” He asked. It was sick and twisted, you knew it was. That’s why you let out a shameful little nod, your legs wanting to clench around his hand there.
He let out a disgusted scoff, you deserved it. You wanted to fuck your therapist.
“You want daddy to take care of that for you with his cock?” His foul words had you at a loss of your own, your jaw slack as he pressed his hips into yours and you could feel his dick pressed right up against your pussy.
“Take daddy’s belt off.” He grumbled his orders, a quick nod leaving you. You didn’t want to waste his time.
“Yes.” You whimpered.
“Yes, what?” His voice was stern and articulate, making you bend your will as his close proximity flooded your senses. You couldn’t find his belt soon enough. You popped the button of his jeans and nearly tore off the zipper at his ask.
“Yes, daddy.” You whimper, a greedy smile on your lips to see you earned his favor. He adoringly cupped one side of your cheek as both of your heads rested against one another’s to watch you pull down his dark briefs.
He let out a strained grunt at the release, his flesh going to slap against his tanned stomach. He was already unbuttoning his shirt as you made a fist around him, watching his face to see how he liked it. Too fast? A little slower? Too rough... You paused and spat down on him, your eyes darting back up to his as he let out a satisfied sigh. Let me do it perfectly for you, Joel.
“So good for me.” He purred, his thumb brushing down the slope of your nose and over your swollen bottom lip that you had bruised from biting down so hard on it. He pushed the tip of his thumb past your lips, the intrusion a surprise but you eagerly sucked to appease him. The action made him swell in your hand to fullness, even beginning to feel too heavy in your hand as you continued to work over him.
“Is this all for me?” You asked eagerly, a sweet smile gracing your face.
You watched as he leaned in, your eyelashes fluttering closed as he came to press his warm lips against the crown of your head. “All for you, baby girl.” He mumbled against your forehead.
“Oh,” you let out in a sweet surprised little moan, your hand working over him eagerly faster. You didn’t care if you got off at this point, as long as he did.
“Lie back, baby.” His voice was rocky like gravel, you could already see his chest heaving at the attention of your hands. You did as he asked, but not before he unclipped your bra so your tits were on full show for him.
You reached one of your hands back, already gripping the edge of the table as you braced yourself for him. He was so large, easily the largest you had ever been with. You wanted to feel every inch of man that he was inside of your throbbing cunt.
Your skirt was merely an obstacle in his way, watching him toss it up to show your lacey panties underneath. You bit down on your lip with a wide smirk on your face, he really liked the lace.
“So fuckin pretty,” he admired, your hands coming to rest over his own, your nails gently grazing down his forearms to his fingers. His pointer finger and thumb grazed over the soaked material, admiring how he could see your pretty pussy underneath it. The lace was so dainty and fragile in his hands, he could just--
You gasp as his large hands rip the delicate lace right open, a messy opening of broken threads but now, he had unlimited access to your sex. He was so strong, you hoped he would split you open the same way.
His hands took a grip on the tops of your parted thighs from the outside, taking one foul yank as you felt him press his cock between your wet folds. You were back to gripping and stroking over his forearms, your delicate hand coming up to feel his stubbled cheek.
“Joel please, I need you.” you whimpered out, his head nodding against yours as a few of the curlier strands on his head fell onto his forehead. He was so handsome when he was turned on.
Joel’s heavy huffs broke the eye contact of his cock gliding up and down your arousal, the slick lubing him perfectly. He was perfectly glazed over now, all because of you, his heavy thumb coming down to gently circle over your throbbing clit.
You let out a cry at the much-needed attention, your walls pulsing for him to fill you up.
“Joel!” You whined out in anticipation, your jaw dropping as he finally guided his tip to you without warning and slammed into your depths until he bottomed out in one thrust. His hand was quick to clamp over your mouth, stopping you from letting out a sobbing moan as tears started to swell at the brim of your eyes.
“Don’t want anyone to hear us, princess,” His voice was broken by grunts and loose breaths, his palm swallowing your hot high pitched whines. “Or else we’ll have to stop.” You did not want him to stop!
You quickly shook your head and clasped your wrist around his which kept your mouth shut. I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you Joel. A tear slipped as you peppered apologetic kisses to the inside of his palm, your eyes desperately connecting with his in a silent ask for him to please continue fucking you.
Joel swiveled his hips back, his jeans clinging to his upper thighs as he rolled back into you. You couldn’t help but clench your eyes closed and let out a broken moan. He filled you up in all the best ways possible, he was perfect inside of you, every goddamn inch. You didn’t realize how loud you had gotten, his hand pushing your head down further into the desk and squeezing into your cheeks until you snapped out of it.
“What did fuckin’ tell you?” He punched out. God, you could feel him pulsating inside of your tight walls.
“God, this tight pussy feels so-- fuckin’ good.”
You moaned quietly at the compliment, a blissed-out smile on your lips still against his palm as he started a steady rhythm rocking into you.
You whimpered as the desk started to creak with each of his heavy thrusts, pinching your ass against the desk but he felt too good to complain. Sure, you’d have a red line imprinted on your cheeks, but hell, it was so worth it. “Such a good fuckin’ girl, little angel for me-- fuck,” he grunted as he used the hand wrapped around your mouth as leverage, holding your head down as his hips snapped into you mercilessly. You were crying out moans into his palm, but nothing loud ever left the room, just like he wanted.
Your hands are clenching at the desk now, desperate not to fly off. Through blurry eyes, you saw his face, tight and twisted as he admired the way your breasts bounced with each of his thrusts.
You bravely reached up to take his hand around your mouth, shifting it down to wrap around your windpipe. You gave him an angelic little smile, biting down on your lower lip to hold in your dirty moans.
Joel watched you in awe, nodding with his sick little half-smirk as he started to squeeze at the sides of your throat. Fuck, he’s done this before, he knows exactly what he’s doing. The heightened experience turns you on, he’s not some 20-something idiot who cares only about getting his dick wet. Joel wants you to cum.
“You look at me baby.. fuck--, don’t break eye contact until you wanna breathe, darlin’.” His accent drawled in your ear and made your pussy even wetter for him. One of his hands squeezed at the sides of your delicate windpipe, his other hand snaking between you two as his electric fingers found your buzzing clit.
The attention was a lot, but you were a whore for it.
His thrusts grew sloppier, but he was pacing himself, Joel wants you to cum first.
You whimper at the idea of him putting you ahead of his own interested and needs, your head growing foggy as your wrist wrapped around his own that held you down but you didn’t look away from his amber eyes. He licked his lips in desire watching you, your lips parting for air as you finally looked away.
He followed through on his promise, his strong hands going lax as your head fell to the side, eyes closing in bliss while your pussy fluttered around his dick.
“Fuck baby girl,” he panted through a mumble as his spare hand massaged over your breasts. “Got me losin’ my goddamn mind.” He moaned something that resembled your name, pinching at your sensitive peaks until he had you whimpering.
“Joel I- oh god,” your stomach dropped as the tip of his dick massaged at your sweet spot, a cry threatening to spill from your lips but you knew he didn’t like you being too loud in his office so you hold it in, your cheeks going hot red.
It was all too much. Your foggy head, his hands on your sensitive bits, his fucking dick slamming into you. You felt so small in his hold, his body shielding you from the outside world as he drove you face-first into your earth-shattering orgasm.
“Joel-Joel please, fuck, I’m gonna-,” Your chin tilted up and your back arched, his hand instantly moving back up to your throat so you could feel even more floated during the crash of your orgasm.
“Cum for me princess. Cum for me now.” He demanded in a mumble.
It coursed through your body like an electric current, your body short-circuiting from the amount of pleasure it was receiving all at once.
Your lips were parted, but nothing came out. You couldn’t hear a thing, only Joel, only him as he ruts himself against your core and you feel him spill his hot cum into the depths of your sex. You lazily smirked as you made your walls flutter around him, your core pulsing. Could almost feel him in your belly.
His breaths were heavy, heavenly. It made your skin clammy, the both of you so fucked up that you were stuck in place. You didn’t realize it, but you had reached up to cup his face, your thumb gently gliding down the curve of his crooked nose. Your lips gently came together as your head came up, kissing the tip of his nose before going to lay back down on his desk.
“Oh, baby girl,” Joel purred in adoration, his mouth coming down to greet yours in a delicate kiss. “Did such a good job.” Both of you were so drunk on your orgasms, everything was so perfect.
You lazily kissed him back, your arms wrapping around the tops of his shoulders with your fingers lightly fisting the hair at the nape of his neck to keep him close as he softened inside of you. You could stay here like this forever.
You glanced over just in time, seeing the last grain of sand fall down in his glass sand timer. Your session with Dr. Joel Miller was over.
He helped you hop off his desk, your wobbly legs needing to find their strength again. His cum was already meeting the tops of your inner thighs, your face blushing at the feeling. You were quite literally gaping for him.
Joel cleared his throat and easily pulled his jeans back up to the top of his hips at his waist, securing his belt and zipper before he fisted your discarded, ripped apart panties.
“Oh,” you whispered a bit embarrassed at the sight of them. You had just finished pulling your shirt back onto your torso, stuffing your bra inside your purse. No way you were going to try and put that thing back on. You reached out for him to hand them over, your eyes widening as he pulled his hand away and stuffed them into his pocket.
“For safe keeping
” He trailed off, his eyes still dark as they looked down at your wide ones. Well, you weren’t getting those back any time soon. They were his now, your torn to threads black lace panties. You nodded and weakly smiled, still trying to catch your breath.
Joel walked you out, tapping his absentminded secretary’s desk to tell her to find something in both of your calendars for a future date.
“I think I can really help you work this out.” He told you on your way out.
As you left his office, you felt like everyone knew what you had just done. But for now, it was just a secret for you and your therapist, Joel.
---------------- taglist: let's be fr lol If you liked talk me down, check out pretty little thing!
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kiwriteswords · 7 months ago
Note
I am devouring your Hotch and shy!reader fics! Would it be okay to request a blurb/fic about Hotch asking reader to call him Aaron for the first time?
Call out my name when I kiss you so gently [Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader]
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Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 1k|| AN: I hope you enjoy! Thanks for sending this in xx!
Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, hinting to intimate moments, shy reader
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It was an unusually quiet evening when Aaron Hotchner decided to break the formality that had subtly lingered between you. Though the hours were dwindling into night, his mind was nowhere near the looming shadows of criminal profiles and cold cases that typically occupied his thoughts. Instead, Aaron was wholly fixated on the woman sitting across from him at his dining table, your shy smile lit by the soft glow of the candle between you both.
The night had already gone a bit backwards, with certain
indulgences happening before dinner, but here you both were, sitting across from on another at his dining room table. 
You had met him with that same gentle smile several times outside the tense walls of the BAU, on quiet dates that Aaron had arranged to be as normal as possible—a stark contrast to the grim realities of both of your day jobs. Tonight marked another milestone; just hours ago, you and Aaron had crossed a line that had previously only been hinted at with coy glances and hesitant touches. Now, after experiencing a closeness that neither words nor time could adequately encapsulate, Aaron found himself grappling with a new kind of urgency.
As you laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of your hair behind your ear—a nervous habit he’d come to recognize and adore—Aaron watched the way the candlelight danced in your eyes--framed by thick lashes that fluttered like the wings of a nervous bird whenever his gaze lingered too long. Despite the warmth of the room, you hugged your arms around yourself, the sleeves of your oversized sweater slipping slightly to reveal the delicate skin beneath.
Aaron cleared his throat, shifting his focus from the flickering candle to your eyes. “You know,” he started, his voice softer than usual, “I’ve been thinking
”
You tilted your head, curiosity painting your features as you met his gaze. “About?”
“About us,” he replied, folding his hands on the table. “And how different this—what we have—is from everything else in my life.”
You nodded, encouraging him to continue, though your fingers fiddled with the edge of your napkin, betraying your nerves.
Aaron took a deep breath, choosing his words with the precision of a man who spent his life weaving through verbal minefields. “When we’re here, like this, it’s not about the job or the cases
 It’s about you and me. And when you call me ‘Hotch,’ it feels like we’re still there, back at the office, not here.”
You paused, the napkin now still in your hands. “I didn’t realize
 I’m sorry, I just thought—”
“It’s okay,” Aaron interrupted gently with a reassuring smile, reaching across the table to cover your hand with his. “It’s what everyone calls me there, and it makes sense. But here, with you, I’m just Aaron. And I’d like it if you called me that, especially when it’s just us.”
Your cheeks colored, and you looked away briefly before meeting his gaze again. “Aaron,” you tested the name, and his heart skipped at the sound. It wasn’t just the name, but the way you said it—softly, intimately—that marked a departure from the ‘Hotch’ he was to the rest of the world.
He smiled, his usual stoic expression softening in the candlelight. “Thank you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 
There was a warmth in his chest, a lightness that Aaron seldom felt in the confines of his role at the BAU. Hearing his first name from your lips, not as a superior or as an abstract figure of authority, but as someone personal, someone separate from that life, grounded him in a reality he wanted more of. 
This was a world where he could be a man, not a unit chief, where he was defined not by his job but by these quieter, cherished moments.
The rest of the evening passed with a new, tender rhythm. Aaron listened intently as you shared stories of your childhood, your voice growing stronger with each memory. He noticed the way your body relaxed, the initial stiffness from your nerves dissolving into a comfortable ease around him. Every laugh, every candid confession, seemed to stitch a tighter bond between you, threading your lives together with each shared secret and smile.
Later, as you stood together in the quiet sanctuary of his living room, Aaron pulled you close, his hands resting on your waist. “I’m glad you’re here
with me,” he whispered, bending his head to catch your gaze. The proximity, the shared breaths, the way your eyes searched his—all of it felt profoundly right.
You smiled, your earlier shyness melting into a quiet confidence. “Me too, Aaron,” you replied, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was a simple act, yet it held layers of meaning. Each time you said his name, it reinforced the intimacy they were building, a stark contrast to the formal barriers that usually surrounded him.
In that moment, as the distance of formalities and last names faded into the background, Aaron felt a profound sense of peace. Here, in the quiet intimacy of his home with you, he was just Aaron—and that was more than enough. 
He cherished the way his name sounded coming from you, not just as a term of endearment but as a symbol of the unique place he occupied in your life, distinct from everyone else’s perceptions. 
This Aaron was someone only you knew, and as the night deepened, he realized just how much he had longed for someone to know this part of him.
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Tag List:
@zaddyhotch
@estragos
@todorokishoe24
@looking1016
@khxna
@rousethemouse
@averyhotchner
@reidfile
@bernelflo
@lover-of-books-and-tea
@frickin-bats
@sleepysongbirdsings
@justyourusualash
@person-005
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nayziiz · 1 year ago
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Comfort Person | LN4
Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her)
Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!
Masterlist
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Attending the McLaren gala marked a significant step forward in their relationship. For a whole year, they had carefully cultivated their love away from the prying eyes of the public, choosing to keep their affection shielded from the spotlight. Their social media presence, though scant, hinted at a deeper connection, evident through the occasional birthday mentions and celebratory nods to his triumphs on the racetrack.
But this gala was different. It was a statement, a declaration of their commitment, and a subtle unveiling of their love to the world. While their relationship had been an open secret among close friends and those within the inner circle of the Formula 1 world, this event would bring it to a broader audience.
For her, agreeing to attend the gala was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Stepping into the glamorous world of Formula 1, filled with its high-profile personalities and dazzling events, was a departure from her usual realm. She had only dipped her toes into this world on three occasions, each time experiencing the thrill of the races in Monaco, Belgium, and Silverstone. Yet, despite her limited exposure to the paddock, she found herself drawn to the adrenaline-fueled atmosphere and the magnetic pull of his passion for the sport.
Her demanding career imposed limitations on her ability to accompany him to every race and event, forcing her to carefully select which ones she could attend. Despite the constraints of her professional obligations, she was determined to be there for him in whatever capacity she could manage.
For him, her unwavering support transcended physical presence. Knowing that she would wake up in the early hours of the morning or stay up late into the night to watch his races brought him immense comfort and strength. Her dedication, even from afar, served as a source of motivation during the most gruelling moments on the track.
In the midst of the frenetic pace of the Formula 1 season, her steadfast encouragement provided him with a sense of grounding and reassurance. Whether she was cheering him on from the stands or sending him words of encouragement through late-night texts, her presence loomed large in his heart and mind.
Their relationship was built on a foundation of understanding and compromise, with each of them making sacrifices to support the other's dreams and aspirations. While her absence at certain events weighed heavily on her, she took solace in the knowledge that her love and support transcended geographical boundaries.
The day was a canvas of intimacy, each moment painted with tenderness and shared anticipation. As they lingered in her apartment, the world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of them enveloped in a cocoon of affection.
Showering together was a dance of intimacy, the warm water cascading over their bodies like a gentle caress. He tenderly washed her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp with care and devotion. In that shared moment of vulnerability, their connection deepened, each touch speaking volumes of their love for one another.
As she dried her hair, she watched him with a soft smile as he meticulously shaved away the stray stubble, his concentration mirrored in the steady strokes of his razor. Even the simplest of tasks became moments to be savoured in each other's presence, the ordinary transformed into something extraordinary by the power of their love.
For him, the mundane rituals of getting ready took on new significance with her by his side. Every glance exchanged, every shared laugh, was a reminder of the profound joy he felt in having her as his partner. Her presence infused even the simplest moments with an electric energy, sparking excitement in his heart and a smile on his lips.
As he stood poised with the razor in hand, ready to rid himself of the faint traces of stubble that adorned his face, she intervened, her voice soft but determined.
“No, leave it. It looks hot, my love,” she said, her gaze lingering on him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. He paused, caught off guard by her unexpected request.
“But I thought you hated facial hair,” he replied, a hint of confusion tingling his words. A playful smile curved her lips as she stepped closer, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. 
“I've grown to love it because it's on you,” she confessed, her eyes sparkling with affection. He couldn't help but chuckle at her response, his heart swelling with warmth at her words.
“You're special, you know that,” he murmured, his voice laced with genuine admiration.
“Uh, huh. That's why you keep me around,” A mischievous glint danced in her eyes as she teased him. He pulled her into his arms, unable to resist the urge to shower her with kisses. 
Lando couldn't help but chuckle as he left her in the bathroom to put the finishing touches on her makeup. With a playful grin, he made his way to the kitchen to retrieve some snacks before the event.
After a few minutes, he heard the soft tapping of her heels against the hardwood floors, signalling her emergence from the bedroom. He turned, almost instinctively, his curiosity piqued by the sound of her approach.
His breath caught in his throat as she sauntered past him, the fabric of her dark orange dress flowing around her like molten lava, casting a mesmerising glow in the dim light of the apartment. She looked radiant, her beauty captivating him in a way that never failed to leave him breathless.
As she disappeared into the kitchen, he couldn't tear his gaze away, his jaw dropping slightly in awe. She was stunning, more breathtaking than he had ever seen her before.
When she finally turned to face him, their eyes locked in an unspoken exchange of admiration and affection. In that moment, words seemed unnecessary as the intensity of their connection spoke volumes, filling the space between them with an electric energy that crackled with anticipation.
“Are you just going to sit there and gawk at me?” She asked, her tone light but teasing.
“Yes,” he replied without missing a beat, his gaze lingering on her with unapologetic admiration. A mock scowl crossed her features as she shook her head, a hint of laughter dancing in her eyes.
“Well, stop it. You look stupid. Go put on your suit before we're late,” she instructed, her voice tinged with playful admonishment.
After dutifully adhering to her request and donning his suit, Lando returned to the kitchen to find her engrossed in replying to a few messages. With a tender smile, he approached her from behind, his footsteps silent against the floor.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pressed a gentle kiss to her neck, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver down her spine. She leaned back into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she tilted her head to the side, allowing him better access.
In that moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them cocooned in a bubble of affection. His touch was a soothing balm against the chaos of the day, grounding her in the present and reminding her of the love they shared. As he lingered against her, his arms holding her close, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. In his embrace, she found solace and reassurance
“I can't wait to do this with you for the rest of my life,” Lando whispered, his voice filled with sincerity as he gazed into her eyes. A soft smile graced her lips as she met his gaze, her heart swelling with love for him.
“Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper but resounding with a depth of emotion that echoed his own.
In that fleeting moment, the weight of their words hung in the air, binding them together in a promise of forever. It was a declaration of their love, a pledge to stand by each other through every twist and turn that life may bring.
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idleoblivion · 1 year ago
Text
"Shopping Spree" Crewel x GN Reader
Synopsis: Your professor finally takes you on that shopping trip he promised, and you get more than just new clothes.
Part 1 Part 3
Word Count: ~2k
A/N: I can't explain why I am so down bad for this man but here I am with more smut of him. Let me know if I should make a part three, cause I'm definitely considering.
Warnings: Teacher/student relationship, gn reader, shy/nervous reader, semi-public sex, dirty talk, overuse of the word 'puppy', oral sex (m!receiving), masturbation, praise kink
You sat completely rigid in the leather seat of his red sports car. You shifted a bit, not uncomfortable from the seat but from this trip already being such a large departure from what you’re used to. A part of you felt like you were sullying the whole car by even being inside it, looking very pedestrian compared to the driver next to you.
Crewel clearly preferred to dress formal and polished even on his days off. Over his outfit he still wore his signature coat, fluffy and luxurious as ever. When he picked you up, he had laid out the plans he had for you today. He was taking you to a luxury shopping mall, where you could buy almost anything you wanted. The only condition was that every outfit you tried on you had to show him for approval. His justification was that he couldn’t let you walk out of the store with something that didn’t flatter you..
“If you’re going to be my puppy, you’re going to have to dress the part.” He had said to you earlier.
He pulls into the parking lot and you’re immediately struck by the grandeur of the building. It looked even larger than the malls you were used to, and even from outside it radiated an air of expensiveness.
He opens the door for you once the car is parked, and puts his hand on your lower back as you walk beside him. He guides you towards the entrance of the mall and you step in together.
The inside of the mall was incredibly intimidating. Every store in sight has windows filled with products you couldn’t dream of affording. You repeat a question you had earlier to him, with newfound concern at your surroundings.
“You’re really sure I can get clothes here? I would’ve been happy with a regular mall too.” He tsks at you, “Yes, I am sure. In fact I insist, because I won’t have a puppy of mine running around in clothes unbefitting of them. And there will be no talk of the price either, that isn’t for you to worry about. No more yipping, follow me. We’ll try on some things in here first.” He pulls you into what would be the first of many stores, and you start browsing their selection with him.
---
You had been shopping for more than three hours now, and you were a bit overwhelmed with everything you had gotten. You left every store he brought you to with at least one bag of new clothes, which he carried for you. 
True to his word, he made you show him every outfit you wanted to buy. Almost all of them he approved, sometimes adding something or taking just one thing away, but he hadn’t outright refused anything you picked out. What caught you a bit off guard were all the outfits he picked. You knew he’d probably be giving you suggestions, but weren’t expecting him to pick whole ensembles that he demanded you try on. They were all very much his aesthetic, elegant black and white pieces with an occasional hint of red. He looked extra pleased after you would try those on, and ended up buying every single item he had picked out for you. It wasn’t a big deal, if letting him choose some things for you was the price for a whole new wardrobe, you didn’t mind at all.
You were finally at what he promised would be the last store. You actually didn’t see much that you liked, but he had found a few things he wanted to see you in again. The salesperson brought you both to a fitting room in the back and left you there. The room was decently large, with a few different places to hang your clothes and a stool. You resumed the pattern you had both established; He would hand you an outfit, you’d show him and he'd give his judgment, he'd hand you another, rinse and repeat until he was satisfied. 
You stepped out of the room to show him the latest choice. He pondered for a second before giving his thoughts.
“Hmm
It fits your body very nicely, and the colors look great on you. Yes, we’ll get this one too.”
You smile at his compliments. You go to reach for the next outfit he has in his hand, but he doesn’t give it to you. He steps past you and makes his way towards the fitting room.
“Um
what are you doing?” “I’m coming in with you. This one has clasps in the back you’ll probably need help with.” He pushes through the door and waits for you to follow. You hesitate, but after a pause you enter anyway.
He stands to the side and starts preparing the outfit for you. You wait for him to turn or face away from you, but instead he looks right at you expectantly.
“Well?”
Realizing what he means, you slowly start undressing yourself. You feel his eyes staring holes into you the entire time, watching every movement you made and looking your body up and down. Once you’re down to just your underwear, you nervously turn to face him again. You expect him to hand you the clothes to put on, only to find they’ve been unceremoniously tossed onto the stool. He steps toward you empty-handed, and you have to fight the urge to back up a little.
He places his hands on your sides and holds you in front of him. He leans down to kiss you, gently at first, but increasing in intensity very quickly. He bites your lip which makes you gasp, and uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. His hands start sliding lower down your body, and you push at his shoulder to get him to break the kiss. He pulls back, looking somewhat confused.
“W-we, we can’t
there’s people here, and the worker might-” “The worker won’t bother us in here, and the only other customers were all up front. If anyone came back here, we’d hear them. Nothing bad’s going to happen, puppy, not when you’re with me.” He presses his lips to your neck and starts sucking lightly, then moving to kiss along your collarbone. His hand trails upwards to fondle your chest, and the heat in your body becomes unignorable. You stifle a moan as he leans to flick his tongue over your nipple.
“Professor
” you whine meekly. The sheepish tone in your voice makes him groan.
“Do you have any idea,” He starts between hot kisses to your skin, “What you’ve been doing to me all day? Looking so cute in everything I put you in, being so good for me
”
He stands straight again and eyes you hungrily. “You like being good for me, don’t you puppy?”
You nod rapidly, but he shakes his head back. “Words, puppy.” “Yes professor, I like being good for you.” Your face is burning, but you make yourself say it anyway.
He reaches for his belt and starts undoing it. “Then get on your knees.” You obey and sink to your knees in front of him. He grabs your chin and tilts it up towards him, smirking at your doe-eyed expression.
“Keep your hands on the floor, no touching. Do you understand?”
“Yes, professor.”
“Good. Stick out your tongue.” He holds your chin still while you put your tongue out. He frees his cock from his pants with his other hand and taps it on your tongue a few times. You don’t break eye contact, knowing you’d probably be scolded if you did.
“Now open that sweet little mouth for me, puppy.”
Again, you obey, and he slowly puts his cock in your mouth. You suppress the urge to gag as it reaches into your throat slightly and he holds you there. He curses at the sight of you taking him in all the way.
“Fuck puppy, you’re good, so good for me. You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face, right?”
You manage a small, choked “yes, professor” around his cock, which is all it takes for him to start fucking into your throat with fervor. Tears start welling up from his pace almost immediately. The fat tears rolling down your cheeks only make him rougher with you. You want to press your hands against his thighs, but you keep them on the ground like he instructed. He keeps praising you all through it, telling you how good you’re doing and how perfect you look like this. It makes you press your legs together and squirm a little on the floor, which doesn’t go unnoticed by him.
“Are you feeling needy, puppy?” He pants as he keeps thrusting into your mouth. “You can touch yourself if you need to, I give you permission.”
You take him up on that immediately, and reach down to play with yourself. The stimulation plus the almost feral look on his face has you moaning around his cock now, bringing him closer to the edge.
“Be good for me and swallow it puppy, and show me when you’re done. Fuck, that’s it puppy-” He continues to ramble as he approaches his high.
With a loud groan he finally cums in your mouth. He holds your head still while he does, and you do your best not to choke while you swallow everything he gives you. When he finally lets you go, you sputter for a second trying to catch your breath. Remembering his commands, you look back up at him and stick your tongue out again, showing you had left nothing.
“Good fucking puppy
” he pulls you up from the floor to kiss you again. He holds you close to him and you shakily grab him back. “Did so good for me, so good.” His praise again has you writhing in his grasp.
“Professor
” You start whining again with a slightly hoarse voice, “I-I, I need you
touch me, please?” “Hmm
no, I don’t think I will.” You look up at him wide-eyed. Was he seriously going to leave you so worked up like this? “B-but, you said I was good! I was good for you, right?”
He chuckles at your obvious desperation. “Yes, you were puppy. But I think we’ve spent too much time in this fitting room already. So we’ll pick up where we left off back at my house, alright?” That stops your thoughts in their tracks. “Your house?” “Did you think I was taking you back to that destitute dormitory of yours? Of course not, you’re spending the weekend with me and I’ll bring you back Monday. Plus there are a few
extra gifts I’d like to give you there.” His eyes turn a bit dangerous once again, and he smacks you lightly on the ass, making you yelp. He laughs and lets go of you, turning to exit the fitting room.
“Get changed, we’ll get something to eat and head there after.” Once he leaves, you stand still a bit in shock at your situation. The whole weekend, with him? If this is what he would do in a dressing room, what would he do when he had you alone at his place? The thought made heat start pooling in your stomach again.
Snapping out of it, you hurriedly get dressed again and make yourself presentable. You try to calm your nerves, reminding yourself that you still need to act natural while you’re at the register with him. After a few deep breaths and a final attempt to fix your hair, you meet him outside the room.
“Ready to go, puppy?”
“Yes, professor.”
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planetdream · 1 year ago
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PLUTO !
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CHARACTERS ! vampire!lee minho, human!reader [ft. human!kim seungmin, servant!han jisung]
GENRE ! horror/thriller—vampire!au. “romance”. smut. minors dni.
SYNOPSIS ! when your fiancé, seungmin, fails to return home after notifying you of his departure from count minho's estate, you decide to search for answers yourself.
WORDS ! 12.2k more or less
THIS FIC CONTAINS ! writing inspired by the various varieties of dracula. horror [vampirism. gore—body horror: details of blood and bloodsucking. spiders. strange creatures. nightmares and overall very lucid dreams. allusions to character death.] hypnosis. hallucinations. manipulation and gaslighting. kidnapping? and references to religion [christianity/catholicism], prayers and comparisons to a Higher Powerℱ. mentions of food. infidelity and smut [one wet dream. pussy eating—a lil bush appreciation. hair pulling. big dick minho. grinding. fingering. worship. term master used once. degradation—whore shaming. choking. nipple play/breast fondling. lots of spit. squirt n cum.]
💌 extremely self indulgent. all the thanks and love in the world to the homie, @cosmicbyeol for beta-ing for me n overall being an incredible help !!! đŸ„ș also, as always, accepting feedback and constructive criticism!!
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The last three weeks have been weary, to say the least. You had been elated as your fiancĂ©, Seungmin, was scheduled to arrive back in the city after a nearly two-month-long business trip. With the day of his return steadily approaching, you found yourself excitedly performing various small tasks in preparation for the moment you finally see him again. Then the big day arrives and Seungmin is nowhere to be found. No big deal; perhaps his arrival is a bit late, or he may need time to himself to unwind after long travels. If anything, he’ll show up at your door the next day with flowers and a gift, ready to tell you all about his journey and the people he’d made connections with. 
Then the fourth day comes, and by that point, you’re knocking on his front door but to no answer. You stroll past his home on your evening walks and the lights aren’t on. You’ve revisited the post office, checked in with relatives; and still, nothing. Seungmin is seemingly lost to space and time. By the sixth day, you’ve written a letter to Count Minho, the friend and business partner that Seungmin had been staying with; explaining the situation and the fact that you’ll be visiting while in search of Seungmin. 
Count Minho is a mystery to you. Seungmin never spoke with you about his relations with the Count, and you never pried into the specifics of his work business. From what you do know, Seungmin’s work involves him being in contact with several different people from real estate to archaeologists and historians, to priesthoods and other religious leaders. You simply assumed Count Minho had been one of the aforementioned, or possibly an artifact seller or buyer; as Seungmin is interested in the hobby himself, and has countless other buyers and sellers he knows. While the Count is a mystery, you feel that there is a possibility that he can lead you back into the arms of your lover. 
After a few days of planning and packing, you finally decide to get started on your journey. By the Sunday of the third week, you’re lodging with some very nice people in the town nearest to Count Minho’s estate—which is only about a two-hour distance away—you choose to stay in the village to get the word out about Seungmin. 
The townsfolk are a welcoming and lively bunch. You were fed, rested, and told stories of both local legends and the juiciest gossip around town. On the eve of your final night in town before you join the Count, you mentioned him, and the room fell silent. A feeling of unease weaved its way into the small kitchen you’d been standing in. The two women beside you failed to meet your gaze. You had already been told of the creatures said to be lurking through the forests between town and the area of the Count’s estate. A classic story of a wolfman who is out to kidnap unsuspecting young men and women; only brought up because of very recent alleged sightings. 
A third woman finally spoke up. Urging you to forego your plan of visiting what she called such a vile and off-putting man. There’s a legend about the man who lives in the castle at the edge of the forest—whom you presume to be Count Minho—who comes into town during the night of the first full moon of the spring season, with the sole purpose of terrorizing people in their homes; feasting on their organs and drinking their blood. The last occurrence happened nine springs ago: a family of five, two completely drained of blood and tossed to the side, with another two torn piece-by-piece; left mixed in a pool of wasted blood. There had been one remaining survivor, eyes removed from their sockets, who only could say one thing: “He called himself God.”
Though the story terrified you—you refused to let that stop you. If Count Minho is some extraordinary beast, then let you be the one to stop him if it means you get to become one with Seungmin again. 
Alas, the day to meet Count Minho has come, and the women you shared dinner with last night are appalled to hear that you were insistent on making your way to Count Minho’s estate. Knowing that they cannot stop you, they wish you luck and pray for you, gifting you a crucifix for safety on your journey. 
By the time you approach Count Minho’s estate, it is about an hour after sundown. The sky begins to dim rapidly, as the former golden-pink hue of the sky begins to turn into a deep purple and later fading into black. The temperature drops by the hour but thankfully the winter season is coming to an end. The snow is already clearing up, and in a couple days it will have been long gone and forgotten for generous showers of rain. 
Your arrival, predestined and arranged to be brought by carriage, led you here. And as you pull into the gates of the estate, an unsettling feeling hits you. Deep in the pit of your stomach as if something had crawled inside of you and is now scratching to be freed. Despite that, the feeling of discomfort quickly begins to wash over you, seemingly dispersing into fascination—like a group of butterflies or a bouquet of flowers flourished within your body and spirit. You feel a lot lighter, elevated as if a veil was pulled over you. 
You can hardly see the castle in the darkness, but if you strain your eyes hard enough, you may be able to see the silhouette of the grand estate. Though that’s no use, the surrounding forest, and deep black sky work as a void, shielding away any ounce of natural light, encompassing the castle within its secrets. The moon, nearly full, and friendly to those who respect it, is useless as the structure of the castle casts away the inquisitive nature of the celestial body—nothing will be brought to light or justice tonight. 
The carriage, drawn by three black horses, halts in front of the main entrance. Several long, white, cylinder candles light up the main door of the Count’s castle. The entrance is similar to that of a cathedral’s—two heavy-looking doors adorned with indescribable red patterns; swirling into shapes that seemingly recreate human-like faces. It’s vague. At a simple glance, the patterns reflected by the candlelight look like faces, but the longer you look at them you realize otherwise. The patterns seemingly have no rhyme or reason, endless red swirls that are simply just decorations. 
Atop the door is a large arch, and in the dead center is a sculpture of a man—perhaps it’s of the Count. In the brief flicker of the flame, you can see the face of the sculpture. Its face is horrid, angry even; a permanent scowl displayed. But in that short second, you notice its eyes, big and red, fixated directly on you. There’s a chill that runs down your spine in that brief moment of eye contact. And while every nerve in your body warns you, there are matters that the Count needs to assist you with that are bigger than just a feeling. 
In your deep thought, one of the doors opens with a loud screech, almost like the scream of someone. It garners a gasp from you, shaking you out of your head and back into reality. Before you know it, your feet are moving faster than your brain and you step out of the carriage. Collecting your bags and holding them tightly, thanking the coachman for bringing you safely. As you turn back to the door, it’s open wider than before, but still, the Count is nowhere in sight. 
You walk closer, hand reaching up to touch the door and you enter, eyes unable to find a resting place. There are candles everywhere, several of them as if there are no electrical lights within the place, despite the huge chandelier hanging from above. The smell of the place does not come from the candles—it’s something else that draws you in, a familiar scent perhaps from your past, but you’re unable to put your finger on it. You step further into the home and when you do, the door behind you slams shut, making you jump and turn back. 
The slam is followed by an unsettling silence, practically deafening. You call out. 
“Hello?” You look around. Just ahead of you is a long hallway, lit up with candles. You’re not sure how long the hallway is, as at a certain point, the light from the flames is no longer visible, fading into a pitch-black blanket. The walls are decorated with cobwebs and a boring gold and red damask; the colors are fading, or at the very least very dusty and in need of upkeep. The floorboards are wooden and when you shift, they make an awful creaking noise. This castle has been around for a long time—centuries even, likely and believably kept within the Count’s family. Modernity has not caught up to it. 
“Hello?” You begin again. “I’m Y/N. I wrote to you a few weeks ago as I had some inquiries for you about Seungmin.” 
Your voice trails off. There’s a cloud of unease that reigns above you, and still, as you stand in the foyer of this already strange place, there’s a familiar warmth that surrounds you. When you breathe in, your chest expands, hair brushing against your neck as you sigh in both contentment and exhaustion. 
“Good evening,” You heard his voice, but you hadn’t heard him come over. “I have been expecting you.”
You open your mouth to speak, but any aforethought words get caught in your throat at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. You catch his eyes immediately, locked into his stare, lost in the deep sands of his chocolate brown eyes. There’s a soft yet teasing nature behind them and it draws you in, latching onto you. He looks to be a lot younger than the age you heard him to be. His lips curve into a smile as he sticks his hand out for you to shake. Though, quite frankly, you’re not sure if you’re supposed to bow to him or not. 
“Yes, um,” You shake his hand, giving a small, shy smile. You’re unable to take your eyes off of him. 
“Come on. You must be cold and tired, let us go sit.” He speaks before you get the chance, letting you collect your thoughts. “Feel free to leave your things there. They will be collected.”
You nod, setting your belongings down and following Count Minho deeper into the castle. You’re unsure if it is because you’re a bit tired, or some very serious architectural error, but the interior of the castle is like a labyrinth of sorts. The Count opens a door you initially assumed to be a room—but instead turned into another hall of rooms. He turns left on his heels and into a side room, you follow along. 
The room you enter is small but comfortable enough for three or four people to have their space. Ahead of you are big windows, covered with thick black curtains that scrape against the floor. To your right is a fireplace, a huge flame already burning and keeping the room nice and toasty. On the right are three large bookcases that reach the ceiling, the multicolored spines of the books add little pops of color. In front of you are two velvet chairs facing the fireplace, divided by a porcelain side table and atop of it are two books and a tea set. 
The room is very neat overall. A couple of misplaced books here and there, sat on the floor. Otherwise, it’s eerily neat. As if the Count rarely uses the room but chronically dusts because everything is just for decoration. The Count takes a seat and as he beckons you over, eyes diverted from your face, as he pours you a cup of tea. You move hastily, sitting at the chair across from him. 
“Hibiscus,” He says, a small smile on his face. “It also seems that I’m forgetting my manners. Those in the town call me the Count, however, you are welcome to call me Minho.”
“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with and host me,” You begin, ready to get to the point. The Count—Minho—nods. “As I mentioned in the letter sent, I’ve arrived here to look for my fiancĂ©, Seungmin. I’ve only received letters from his arrival and departure, and not many in between those times; which is unlike him on his usual work trips. It’s been weeks now, three to be exact. And since you are a friend of his, I was hoping you knew of his whereabouts.” 
“I fear I will be of little to no help to you, my dear.” His choice of words, while peculiar, are selected carefully. “Seungmin is a near and dear friend to my heart and I truly hope that he is safe, wherever he may be. The thing I can say is, he had been acting a bit—” He pauses, seemingly pondering on the right word to say before continuing. “A bit
abnormal.”
“He had been here at your home for nearly two months, what exactly do you mean by abnormal?” You inquire, pressing Minho to say more, not caring of how your tone might sound.
“He began to have these dreams, and some active hallucinations. Completely plagued by them. Night terrors, I’d say. He feared whatever he had seen, and while he initially confided in me about it, he soon concluded that I was untrustworthy. Somehow, Seungmin lost touch with reality.” 
Plagued by nightmares is something that you take note of. A month into Seungmin’s stay at the Count’s castle, you began to have these vivid dreams. Some good, some horrendously terrifying and, well, a large percentage of particularly electrifying dreams. The most recent—waves crashing together on a violent stormy night on the sea. You’re aboard a ship, standing in the center of the forecastle, and all around you are piled up bodies; and there’s blood on your hands and arms, staining your skin. Blood soaking into the fabric of your clothing. It felt immensely real. You felt the unease of the rocking boat, you heard the crashing of the waves and the squawks of the birds circling overhead. Weirdest of all, you could smell the blood; almost craving it. The dream ends with the sounds of a heart beating and the rushing of blood flooding to your brain. And then there’s nothingness. 
The Count takes a sip of his tea, and you choose to follow suit. Though, the tea is bitter, even with the added sugar, and not slightly tart as Hibiscus tends to be. Quite frankly, the taste is gross, but you drink out of respect. You do your best to keep a straight face at the taste, quickly setting down the cup. A small smile appears on Minho’s face, exhaling with a short laugh. 
There’s a knock at the entrance of the door. In the frame of the door stands a slender figured man who seems to be a tad shorter than the Count. He’s rather cute with his medium length hair and round cheeks, though he wears a blank expression on his face. He turns to you, doing a brief bow and opening his mouth to speak. 
Minho interjects first, walking towards the other man. “This is Han. Very simply, Mr. Han is my servant. Forgive me, Han here, was supposed to see to your arrival, but he had other obligations to take care of.”
The two look at each other, but only the Count smiles. Han keeps the same stoic facial expression, looking more exhausted than anything. The Count begins speaking once again. “Y/N, here, is the fiancĂ© of Mr. Kim. You remember Mr. Kim, don’t you, Han? Y/N informs me that Mr. Kim didn’t arrive safely back home, now is that right?”
The Count looks to you, and you stand from your seat, nodding. “I’ve gotten a letter of his departure but he hasn’t been home yet,” You let out a deep sigh. “I just miss him so much. I hope that he’s safe wherever he is.” 
The air in the room is thick with tension. For the three of you, this has to be an outstanding situation right? For you, as young as you are, to have the love of your life—the man you plan to marry and give yourself to—to go missing without much word. And for the Count, who has been a longtime friend of Seungmin, having to deal with the weight of potentially being the last one to see Seungmin. 
“A friend of Count Minho is a friend of mine,” Jisung smiles. “I’ll do my best to help you find Mr. Kim.” 
Han and the Count step off to the side to exchange words briefly. Han turns to leave and the Count turns back to you. “Hungry by chance?”
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The dining room is rather spacious, and includes a fireplace, which seems to be a running theme within the Castle. The wooden floor panels are mostly covered by a large, deep red rug. Red is the main color of the decor of the room; the velvet dining chairs and all the flowers,—from the pansies to the roses—even the dinner plates; are red. Despite this, it’s clear that Count Minho has quite a bit of money to have afforded all of this: from paintings to small artifacts that decorate end tables and small statues of gargoyles. Perhaps he is indeed a collector of sorts. 
Minho pulls out your chair, pushing it back in once you’re seated. He then takes his seat at the other end of the table. There’s a spread of food on the table and various bottles of wine, to which the Count motions for you to help yourself to. After making yourself a plate, you pour yourself a glass of wine—a red, twirling the liquid within the glass, foregoing the tradition of smelling the aroma and instead shooting it straight back. The wine is rather sweet and washes down smoothly; more like juice than a wine. 
Count Minho watches you eat with inquisitive eyes, studying you. He drinks from his wine glass as he stares at you. “What exactly do you know about your fiancé’s career?”
You meet his gaze, eyes fixated on you with a squint; it all makes you a bit uncomfortable. It’s like Minho can read every bit of you with just a simple look. 
“Not very much.” You admit. 
“Oh?” The Count is especially interested now. “Had he told you anything about me then?”
“No. Only that you were a long-time friend.” You pour another glass of wine. “Although..”
You trail off, unsure of if you should mention the story you heard from the town. You look at the Count, and he raises an eyebrow to you. 
“I had been staying in the town nearby for a few days before coming here. And well, I’m not too sure how to explain it. The only things I know of you come from word of mouth, and well, they aren’t very good.”
“Go On.”
You recite to him the story you had been told about the man in the castle who would come into the town and terrorize its citizens. At the end of the story, Minho erupts in laughter. He’s holding his stomach and chuckling, wiping faux tears from his eyes. 
“Let us just say, I have more valuable things to do than whatever that is,” Minho rolls his eyes. “I only ask because you intrigue me. That, and I never thought of Seungmin as someone who would lie to their lover, really.”
The word lie is interesting. You’d always perceived Seungmin to be an honest man, really. The two of you forged your relationship on the basis of being fully honest with each other. You never thought you would ever come close to doubting Seungmin nor his truthfulness, his faithfulness even; but Count Minho’s tone of voice—the seriousness coating every bit of breath he takes—along with the fact that you don’t truly know of Seungmin’s work, has you second guessing yourself. Now it’s your turn to press him. 
“Continue.”
“I’m saying, you don’t know what the man does for a living but you choose to throw away all inhibitions and potentially roll yourself into danger for a man you almost transparently know next to nothing about.” The Count pauses to sip more of his wine. “Seungmin was into things of the rather unusual variety, I’ll have you know. If you want, I can show you the things that he and I were discussing.” 
You take Minho up on his offer, and he gives you a small smile in return. 
“While I’d love to get to work on such matters tonight, I’m afraid I must go to sleep. I have some important matters to tend to in the morning. Shall I show you where you’ll be staying?”
—
You follow Minho, out of the dining room and down the endless hallway. The wallpaper is practically peeling, and the higher ceiling riddled with cobwebs notably hasn’t been cleaned up in quite a longtime. The obvious decades old paintings that were placed against the walls had been covered in dust and grime, dimming the vibrancy intended by their various artists. He then stops at a white door, turning the knob to open it. The room is dark and cavernous, but with the help of a lit candle sharing its warmth with the candles previously naked and cold, you see that it’s actually quite spacious and bright. White and light brown decor gives the room a light and more alive look in comparison to the thick dreariness of the parts of the castle you’ve seen so far. It’s almost like venturing into another world, or peeking back into an oddly shaped past. 
“Breakfast will be served early in the morning. Sleep well.” And with a smile, Minho exits, closing the door behind him. 
In the silence, thoughts begin to fester, nipping away at your well-being. You’ve gotten next to nothing so far from this meeting with the Count, but tomorrow is a new day and you hope he can give you insight into this world of Seungmin that seems to be unraveling. It’s confusing—for a brief moment you find yourself questioning your decisions. Have all of your life choices led you to this exact moment? The Count is vague in his ways of doing things—it’s like he’s not even trying to hide the potential of his true nature. He appears like any other person, but there’s something more to him than what meets the eye. You’ve been caught in a web of mystery, slowly sinking deeper and deeper.
You find that your bags are sitting next to the bed and you reach in to find your night clothes. Once you lift your shirt over your head, you cannot help but feel like eyes are watching you. Covering yourself, you scan the room in an attempt to soothe your psyche, and as expected, you remain completely alone. Shaking the feeling, chalking it up to being nervous about being in yet another new place, you continue to change your clothing. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you reach into your bag to pull out a letter you received from Seungmin. 
“My dearest heart, 
There is not a moment that goes by where I am not thinking of you. On my lonely and rather daunting work evenings, I look to the sky and am reminded that we share the same view together. You are the one thing keeping me balanced and sane. I know that you are waiting for me to return, and I want nothing more than to return to the safety of your warmth. Until then, look to the sky and be reminded of me. 
K.S”
Once finished reading, you press the letter against your chest. The second to last letter you received. Initially, it was rather hard to sleep at night after you received it. You had longed for your lover—missed his existence to no end, and you still do. There is nothing in the world that you would rather have than the gift of your lover returning to safety. You long for Seungmin, aching for the chance to finally touch him again. To hug, to kiss, to feel every inch of him once again. Today marks the third week since you had last heard from Seungmin, and from tonight onward, you demand to get the answers you deserve. 
You gently place the letter onto the nightstand. You kneel onto the floor, elbows pressed against the bed with your hands together in prayer. You had never been religious, nor, in a situation in which you felt you needed to pray before—but it has become a habit of the last few weeks. Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply. 
“Dear God,” You begin. “Please align me with my lover. Please return him to me safely.”
Pulling back the covers, you snuggle into the bed, drifting off into an idyllic night's sleep. 
You’re stuck. Seemingly, your body is paralyzed; hands resting at your sides, legs pressed together. You try to move, starting with a pinky and then your foot, but the longer time goes on, the more your ability to move lessens. Unable to even move your head left or right. You’re completely stuck. Not to mention, stuck in some complete void of a room, unable to see anything. 
There’s a vibration around you. It’s a subtle vibration, though you can feel your body swaying back and forth as if suspended in the air somehow. Just then, there’s a spotlight. It shines in your face before spirling in circles, lighting up various parts of the area you are in; but still, there’s nothing but darkness, even in the brightness of the light. Just until you view a quick flash of something briefly catching the light. The light runs from the figure before spinning back to shine itself on the mystery. 
Despite its distance away, you can see the thickness of the short hairs that decorate the body of the arachnid. The many eyes of the spider sparkle in the light, its eight moving legs speeding their way over to you. You watch as it clicks its mouth, salivating as it makes its way to its fresh catch. 
Here you are: a mere fly in the realm of the spider. 
At a blink of an eye, the spider is circling you, inching closer and closer until you can no longer see it from your horizontal position. Suddenly! It lurches, jumping atop of you. The spider sinks its fangs into you, piercing your skin harshly, burning. The attack against your skin causes blood to splash everywhere, spraying onto your face and body. You shriek in horror—attempting to send signals for your body to wake up from its terror. Your entire body burns; throat dry and brittle from yelling so much. The area around where the spider’s fangs are latched inside of you, both itches and stings. Feels like you’re getting pumped for your blood yet also injected with its venom. 
If possible, your body gets stiffer. Cold. Vision fading.. And fading until there’s nothingness. All you can feel is the body of the eight-legged creature draped over you; taking and taking freely. 
Despite the nightmare, you feel rather refreshed waking up. A minimal amount of light shines through the curtains. Stepping out of bed to the faint smell of food, you yawn and stretch briefly before heading to the closed door. Stepping into the hall from the confines of the room you spent the night in, you take a few steps across the hall to look out into the window. It looks bright and comfortable outside, a stark difference between the drab, dreariness of the castle’s interior. 
When you arrive at the dining room, there’s a full spread of food. Toast, tea, and a plethora of fruits and berries. In the daylight, the interior of the dining room looks a lot dustier, as if it's barely used. And to be fair, it seems as though only the Count and his dedicated servant occupy the estate. Which you wonder about—does Count Minho have no family? And what about Mr. Han? Any lovers? Who exactly is the Count and what was Seungmin’s business with him?
“Will Count Minho be eating with us?” You ask as you take a seat. 
“Sir is taking care of some business this morning. This breakfast is all yours.”
“You won’t be eating?” 
“Ah,” Jisung sighs with a smile. “I had a big breakfast earlier.”
With that, Jisung lets you begin eating. He simply just stands there, and while his eyes aren't on you, you can feel him observing your presence, similar to Minho. 
“So, Mr. Han,” Playing with your food as you speak. “How long have you worked for Count Minho?”
“Only a few years. Feels like a lifetime, though,” He turns to you, a small smile on his face. 
“Are you also a friend of Seungmin?”
“I’d only spoken to Mr. Kim a few times before his most recent visit. I typically stay out of all of Count Minho’s business affairs. I prefer to deal with the home side of things,” Jisung nods. “Speaking of, you’re free to explore the castle if you’d like. The Count won’t return until later.”
“Really? Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?” The opportunity to explore this grand castle piques your interest. You raise your eyebrow towards Han and he nods in response. 
“It’s no problem, really. To warn you, some rooms aren’t used as much anymore so they might be a bit untidy. Almost time for some spring cleaning.” Han gives you a short, dorky laugh. He’s adorable, if that’s the word. He seems to be on the more timid side, probably doesn’t speak to many people other than Count Minho on any given day. “Jisung, by the way, you can call me that.” 
“It’s nice to officially meet you.” You smile. “Can I ask you one more thing?”
Jisung nods. 
“What room did Seungmin stay in?”
“The room that you are staying in.”
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The castle looks rather different during the daylight. The hallways feel hollow, completely blank despite the moderate amount of clutter in the form of various books and paintings littering the sidelines. While the idea of a large estate is stunning, it is clearly a bit too much for only the Count and Mr. Han. You wonder if Count Minho has been previously married—or even married at all; to be fair he looks a little young, but it’s possible he’s had a lover in the past. Perhaps that’s why he’s so understanding of your pursuit to find Seungmin. 
You return to your room. Beginning at the bedside table, you tour around the room, looking for clues that might help you. Searching the dressers in the room, you make your way over towards the small desk in the far corner. Opening the drawers of the desk, there remains nothing but untouched letter paper. Scanning the area for any unchecked marks, your eyes fall towards the bed. Dropping to your knees, you crawl the short distance to the edge of the bed. Pulling the bed skirt up in anticipation only to be left with nothing but dust bunnies. This initial search leaves you empty handed but you go off to make your way through the rest of the Castle. 
The castle is indeed like a labyrinth. Some doors open to an empty, decrepit room of various doors. Admittedly, you’re a bit too afraid to open one of the random doors. You’re not familiar with the layout of the estate, and you refuse to get too deep into this trap of a home. One door opens to a windowless room, and the singular wooden chair in the middle causes you to back out of said room slowly. 
Continuing on your pursuit through the endless halls of Count Minho’s estate, you approach a doorless room. Without needing to walk in, you can tell by the bookcases that it’s a library of sorts. Making your way through the entryway of the library, you find that the temperature of the room is noticeably colder than the hall. The library has dark wooden shelves filled with books from the ceiling to the floor, and you know that if Seungmin was here, he’d be able to tell when and where the shelves were constructed. He would always pick up little pieces of knowledge like that—claiming that he didn’t know why yet, but knowing such would help further him in life; and importantly, in his studies. 
You run your fingers over the spines of the books as you stroll your ways through the library. There are books spanning across language and subject—the majority of it, completely unidentifiable to you. 
You come across a leather-bound book displayed on one of the bookshelves, cover forward. It’s dark, dusty, and might even be a little dirty. The cover of the book itself is twisted, the skin of the book twists and dives into different layers, somehow folding the cover of the book inside of itself. It’s complex and strange, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Just to hold it, the weight of the book is heavy, somehow warming up in temperature. To feel the book, to hold it in your hands, it intrigues you just as much as it disgusts you. 
The language of text presented on the pages is unknown to you. The drawings that accompany the writings, however, are disturbing. Dark and detailed illustrations of creatures that you would never have thought of. Upon the first page is a visualization of a winged creature with the distant silhouette of a man. Only there’s a huge eye where the head would be, and its legs are tangled and twisted together. Turning a page, you’re presented with another drawing. An illustration in charcoal of a dark figure. The drawing looks as though it’s been drawn in haste; a rushed, frantic effort. Alongside is another illustration of a mouth—though without ink, the artist did their best to emphasize the splotches of blood that stain the mouth. What stands out the most are the set of razor sharp canines that protrude from the teeth—two sets, specifically. Beholds, the only romanization on the page: Vampyre.
A chill runs down your spine, but you’re unable to remove yourself from the grasp that the book has. Turning page after page, overstimulating yourself with various images of creatures that are likely to lurk in the shadows. The longer you examine, the more your head pounds. Nausea interrupting all plans you may have had. Head spinning and spinning, visions bending and thrawn within itself. Figments of the images you’ve viewed imprinting themselves on your vision in dark splotches like a memory. The new and the strange tangling itself within your memories, hiding within them for safe keeping. 
“Y/N?” There’s a light voice that breaks you out of your spell. 
When you come to, Count Minho is standing over you, his cold hand pressed against your forehead. You look around the room, sitting in an opposite corner of the library than you originally remembered. 
“Are you alright?” He asks. 
“I’m not too sure,” You sit up straight in your seat. You look towards the open window and the sky outside is completely dark. Somehow, it appears that hours have passed. What a freaky and strange thing. 
When you look up at Minho from your position on the chair, you’re immediately pulled into the pools of his eyes, locked in. “You must be hungry, yeah? It’s dinner time.” 
Just like last night, Minho leads you to the dining room. Just like last night, he slides your chair out and pushes it in for you. The spread of food tonight is different from last night, and you notice that some of the decor around the room looks different as well. Your vision hasn’t quite recovered from its hectically blurred state, and in your moment of disillusion, none of this interests you.
“Is there something wrong?” Minho asks as he sits. What isn’t wrong? You feel a rather painful shift in your own mood. 
“I think I might be a bit tired.” You exhale. Despite aching for the continuous pursuit of knowledge, sickness continues to trail behind you. Uncertainty creeping its way up to the forefront of your thoughts. You’re unable to escape the feeling that there might be something seriously wrong. Anxiety rests in the pit of your stomach, slowly eating away at you. Refusing to look at Minho, you pick at the food on your plate. Honestly, you feel rather sick. Your vision, while still painfully blurry, continues to spin ever so slightly. Placing your hand flat against your forehead to find that you’re burning up on flu type levels. You look across the table toward Minho and your vision doubles, triples, then suddenly you're seeing eight versions of him. 
It’s a bit of a hassle to move the heaviness of your hand, fingers slowly creeping up to grasp onto the wine glass. You close your eyes to soothe your vision, taking the glass into your hand fully. 
Minho coos. “I was really looking forward to dinner with you; but if you’re tired we can postpone our conversation.”
Taking a sip and allowing it to savor on your tongue. The slight, unsuspecting note of pomegranate makes you smile—something comforting in the mixture of mess you’re currently feeling. 
Grace be to God. When you open your eyes, your vision returns to normal. It’s something of a miracle. 
“No. It’s fine. That strange book in the library,” You look at Minho and struggle to find the words. All that remains in your head is visuals of every creature you saw depictions of. 
“What book?” He doesn’t follow. 
“It has drawings of these strange creatures in it. Some kind of horror book, I think it made me a bit sick.”
“I’ll tell Han to search for it so that I can have a look,” 
Dinner continues with only a few moments of silence. The topics range from a variety—the original focus of conversation on Seungmin before venturing off elsewhere. Count Minho gives you insight on what he does; referring to himself as someone who studies human nature, communication and our state of existence. He loves the study of humans and thus dedicates his life to it, choosing to be of help in any way he could be. Of which, is how he met Seungmin, and from there, they became partners due to their similar interests. Somewhere, is a layer of information that Count Minho refuses to give up so soon. 
“May I walk you to your room?” Minho asks, rather politely, but your room is not too far from your current position. Still, you say yes to him. 
Unlike dinner, the very short walk is in total silence, but Minho’s presence is comforting. You reach the door to your room in no time and Minho steps in front of you before you can say anything. The silence continues as Minho and you stare at each other. Though, the silence turns to static when Minho leans in to kiss you. His lips on yours and you don’t even bother to pull away. Instead, you kiss back, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He pulls away in haste, muttering a goodbye before walking off into the darkness of the hall.  
You step into your room and therefore, instantly step into a pool of guilt and confusion. Seungmin is so far from the forefront of your mind—for you to indulge in a kiss with another man and to not think once about your lover. What kind of monster have you become?
Once changed into your night clothes, you peel under the covers and you pray. You don’t feel like yourself, and the feeling creeped upon you. The thoughts in your brain are mixed together, both elaborate and unintelligible, a mixture of things you know and things you never knew. Images of those same creatures stain the darkness when you close your eyes, peeling back layers of the person you once knew to be you. Before sleep finally engulfs you, you pray for the guidance of whoever is listening. 
Minho guides you towards the bed. Red and black satin sheets fitted across the bed and the pillows. Minho pushes you against the bed and huffs out a short laugh, smirking at you. You bite your lip out of nervousness, peering up at him. 
“You’re so beautiful, my rose.” Minho’s hand is soft against the skin of your knee. Lightly, he drags his nails against your thigh, inching closer and closer to the material of your nightgown. 
Before he does anything, he leans down to kiss you; eyes closing as your lips work in sync, souls melting together. The kiss deepens for just a moment until Minho pulls back, brown eyes staring into your own. He plants one more quick kiss against your lips before his hands begin working beneath your gown. He slides your dress up to your waist, admiring the softness of your belly and the smoothness of your skin. One kiss above your navel and another kiss below, is all he lets himself have before he gets too deep into it. 
You make it easy for him, foregoing underwear to allow your lover easy access. Minho can only scoff, but he shuts himself up with another kiss to your mound. “Just for me, my dear?”
“Only you, love.” You smile at him, motioning for him to come closer. Minho, of course, follows suit. He would give you a billion and one kisses if he could. 
When the kiss breaks, Minho drags you towards the edge of the bed. Spreading your legs apart, he drops to his knees beginning his worship of your cunt. Tongue flailing out, slurping up every drop of your wetness, soft lips drenched in your flavor—and there’s no other way Minho would rather have you than at his complete surrender. His hands grip your ass, trying to push you into his face. Lips covered in slick and spit, puckering around your clit, sucking it in; Minho’s head bobbing up and down slightly, moaning into your cunt. 
“So fucking delicious,” Minho mumbles, continuing with his feast. Your hands fly to his hair, pulling with every lick and suck he gives you. Moaning freely, not caring if the entire world can hear you. In fact, maybe the entire world should hear you. 
Minho eats you sloppily, savoring not only your taste, but the feeling of your cunt against his skin. The feeling of the softness of your pubic hair against his skin is like heaven to him. Sometimes, he’ll spend time rubbing this face against the hair before he dives into your cunt. Not to mention the feeling of your juices soaking into his skin, which he’d use as a natural moisturizer if he could. Minho’s obsessed with every inch of you; from your cunt to your skin, to the very blood that courses through your veins.
His fingers push into you as his tongue swirls against your cunt. His lips suck your clit into his mouth, tongue lightly beating against the tip of the bud. Minho pushes his saliva to the front of his mouth, soaking your clit in a mixture of his spit and your juices. 
Your fingers pull against Minho’s hair, tugging harshly against his scalp but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He might even ask you to pull harder. You push Minho against your cunt, slowly grinding your hips against his face. Moans bouncing off the walls as you drip onto Minho’s tongue. Minho takes this opportunity to suck on your clit just a tad harder, triggering your pending orgasm. Eyes rolling to the back of your head allowing you to see colors as warmth rocks through your body. Limbs daring to curl together, Minho doesn’t allow you to move from the hold of his hands nor the warmth of his mouth. 
Minho slowly kisses up your body. You can feel the remnants of his kisses even after he’s long gone from a spot because of the wetness on his lips. He kisses at your neck, then your cheek, and finally your lips. Deepening the kiss as he taps his cock against your cunt, you invite him in. 
Three long orgasms later, you and Minho are snuggled in bed, snoring softly beside each other. Suddenly, you’re woken up by a loud bang. Looking to your side, you find Minho unbothered, still asleep, chest rising gently with each breath. There’s another bang, louder and possibly closer than last. You slide out of bed, looking back at Minho’s sleeping figure before making your way towards the door, hand reaching for the glass door knob. 
There’s another loud crash as you twist the handle of the door. You step into the hall of darkness, wooden floor cold against the bottom of your feet. Closing the door behind you, you venture out into the darkness. The halls of the castle are quiet, unmoving; day in and day out they remain the same, even in the dead of night. It’s rather sorrowsome, actually. So full, yet so empty—the castle feels like it's dying. 
Another loud bang. Followed by another and another. One after the other, four beats apart. The knocking appears to get louder with each step you take towards the staircase. You raise your foot to take that first step, there’s another bang once you firmly plant your foot against the stair. Quickly but carefully, you make your way up the staircase. In the near distance, towards the end of the hall presents a glimpse of golden light. 
Letting your legs guide you, you make way towards the door at the end of the hall, almost floating. The knocking doesn’t stop, getting louder and louder the closer you get to the door; but when you try to halt, you’re guided to your destination by a sudden force; body stiffening, neck making a sharp turn as you peek into the room. The crackling warmth and light emitted from the fireplace sets a gorgeous, homey scene. 
“Help.. Me..” 
Your eyes shoot towards the ground until you find the fingertips of a man laying in a puddle of blood. But before your brain can process who the person is, you’re snatched away. Falling fast into a pit of darkness. 
You awake in the dead of the night to a knocking at your door. It’s soft and subtle, but has been consistent enough to pull you from your sleep. One knock after the other, four beats between each knock. 
Tossing the covers away, you step out of bed. Muscles tough and sore, there’s an unease as you rub the sleep from your eye, feeling as though you’re encumbered in your own head. You take another heavy step, the knocking still not ceasing. One step after another until you reach the handle of the door, and only then does the knocking stop, floorboards creaking as the sound of footsteps shuffles away. 
A minute goes by until you decide to open the door. The hallway is dark, the only light is coming from the window across the hall. You look towards the moon—there she is, full in all of her glory, bringing the spring equinox along with her. You walk towards the window, looking down towards the ground and noting that the snow has completely melted. There’s a dark, shadowy figure in your peripheral that breaks your appreciation for nature. Turning in the direction, there’s nothing in the distance. You follow, passing by the kitchen and making your way to the stairs. The shadow dissolves into the darkness at the top of the stairs, beckoning you to chase after it. 
Once you reach the top of the stairs, there’s a sliver of light peering from the far end of the hallway. The trek over isn’t that long, and once you’re within a few feet you slowly approach the door, tiptoeing your way over. Creeping up to the doorframe, you hold your breath as you peek into the crack of the room. There’s not much to see, just a steady fire and its continuous cracking. Until you hear a moan and your eyes dart to the location of the sound. 
There, you spot Jisung sprawled out on the chaise, half of his limbs hanging off as Minho straddles over him. Attached to his neck, Minho wastes most of his meal, letting blood slip from his mouth and drip down Jisung’s neck. You gasp, fully taken aback by the action you are witnessing. The townspeople were right to warn you—the Count is a monster. Or maybe something worse. 
After the accidental announcement of your arrival, Jisung locks eyes with you. Your gaze, however, is stolen by Minho once he turns around, peering up from his feeding position. He’s wide-eyed with blackness covering the entirety of his eyes, lips and chin stained red with blood. Once Minho realizes it’s you who interrupted his feed, he gives you a wide, bloody smile—showing off the two sets of fangs at the top row of his teeth, the outer fangs just slightly bigger than the inner fangs. For a moment, time seems to slow down; you watch as a small droplet of blood drips from one of Minho’s fangs, and before it fully releases, Minho swipes it with his tongue, licking over his fangs for extra blood. 
Before you can turn back and run, Minho is already behind you in the blink of an eye. 
“Unfortunately, my dear, running is useless,” The Count grabs you by the collar of your pajamas and forcefully drags you into the room. You fight him off but your hits do nothing to him. Letting go of you, Minho pushes you onto the ground. “Stay.”
Jisung stands up from his position laying across the chaise, dipping a rag into a bowl of water sitting on the side table. You watch Jisung with inquisitive eyes as he wrings out the rag, carefully cleaning up the marks and the blood stained to his neck. Minho, meanwhile, is facing the fireplace with his arms crossed and one finger pressed to his lips. Jisung finishes cleaning himself up, and begins moving around to avoid eye contact with you. In horror, you watch as Jisung takes a tarantula out of its cage and places it into his mouth, chewing as he turns to walk out of the room—leaving you alone and helpless in the clutches of Count Minho. 
Minho tsks once, then once more. A hand on his hip as he shakes his head. He extends his arm, quickly swiping away all of the candles and books the rest atop the fireplace as a loud, angry cry escapes from his chest.  
“I thought that maybe,” Minho begins. “Just maybe. I’d have an extra night or two before having to do this to you. You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” 
Minho turns to you. An insincere smile on his face, fangs hidden away but some of Jisung’s blood still covers his face. You spring to your feet, not wanting to stay on the ground when it’s clear that Minho has the advantage. Backing away from him slowly, eyes searching for anything to use as a weapon, though Minho can tell your every move. 
“Did you..did you do that to Seungmin?” You’re near tears. They don’t fall, only brimming along your tear ducts. 
Minho’s jaw clenches at the mention of Seungmin. “You really do care about him, huh? Seungmin this and Seungmin that. I fear your admiration for your lover has made you blind. You have played right into the palm of my hand, little lamb.”
“You want to know where Seungmin is? He’s dead.” Minho laughs. A deep belly laugh. “Though, it wasn’t me who did it.”
“Years ago, I showed Sir Kim something that I thought he could handle, only to find out otherwise. I promised him knowledge, the freedom to view the extensive, valuable, book collection within my library, at any time he chooses; and most importantly, the opportunity to discover something otherworldly—new to him, although very old to me. Something that could provide him everything he’s ever wanted. At least, that’s what this power did for me. Seungmin wanted to become a new man, and I was the only one who could offer that opportunity.”
“Then, two months ago, Seungmin showed up at the door. Exclaiming that while he wasn’t ready in the past, this time he’s ready to surrender his soul. Turns out, it was a ploy to kill me. I should’ve known better, truthfully. Seungmin is smart, almost as cunning as I, and well, he very nearly gave me a run for my money. But let’s just say, how should I put this, I have someone who is willing to do anything I say. Including kill.”
You shake your head in disgust, backing up from Minho; but he pursues.“What are you?”
“I once referred to myself as a God. However, over the years, I realized that I am God. I have seen men with beast-like abilities and looks, men with the ability to rise from the dead, but the simple power of those imbeciles doesn’t even come close to mine. It’s something entirely different.”
“I mean, you read that book didn’t you? A dull-looking half-dead creature with fangs? You’re quite different from Seungmin, but you’re still special. You might not have understood the text, but perhaps, you used context clues?” Minho continues, “You might not have known it, but your fiancĂ© was a part of a very dark world, angel. You see, he was actually the one that wrote the book. And he left you blind to it all, not knowing of his inevitable future. And now, yours.”
Minho winks and moves closer to you with each word, though you take steps back, not wanting to be too close to him. Eventually your back hits the wall and Minho almost pressed against you. His sharp nails come up to your neck, tracing over until he finds exactly what he was looking for, inhaling deeply. 
“Are you going to kill me, too?”
“There,” He taps the tip of his finger against your neck, just above your collarbone. The sharpness of the nail presses into your skin, breaking the initial layer, not deep enough to cause bleeding. “If I put my mouth right here, I could drain all of you in less than six seconds. Kill you? Heavens no, I actually believe that you’re pretty valuable to me.”
Minho looks into your eyes, passing along discomfort in the form of a stare. Then he pouts at you, mockingly. 
“No need to be scared. I mean, it’s not like you can ever leave me, at this point, so it’s best you put your fear aside.” Minho smirks once more. “From the night you’ve arrived, you’ve been drinking my blood. I’m already inside of you. I know every little thought in that pretty little mind of yours, I’m in all of your dreams. And guess what? You will never, ever be able to get rid of me.”
“Now tell me, has Seungmin ever touched you like this?” Minho asks, the tips of his fingers tracing against your neck, palm cupping around your throat, he stands firm behind you. There’s dense heat against Minho’s fingertips and a slight burning sensation from the sharpness of his nails; it’s such an intense feeling, unlike any you’ve experienced before. As electrifying as the feeling of his touch is, it’s also revolting, horrendous. There was a spark whenever Seungmin touched you, but Minho’s touch is different; it burns in all of the right ways. 
“I could give you things Seungmin would have never even dreamt about,” Minhoïżœïżœs voice is soft, silky. The heat of his breath against your skin tickles, but ignites a particular burning of desire. Minho is something similar to the devil and still, despite it all, there’s a familiar heat that creeps up within you. “I could open doors for you that were previously closed. Anything you want, could be yours. All you have to do is accept all of me.”
The hand that had previously been resting against the softness of your belly, is held out for you to accept. You stare down at his hand, biting your lip at the temptation. Minho plants his lips against your neck to give you one small kiss after another. 
For the sake of Seungmin, you want to turn away. If this had been just a few days ago, you would have likely fought in honor of Seungmin. The entire reason you’re even here, in the Count’s castle, is because of Seungmin. And still, in spite of all of that, as much as it makes you feel physically ill, stomach turning at the thought, every single fiber of your being craves Minho. You can feel the heat of your bodies meshed together every time you imagine what it’s like to have him between your legs. When he looks into your eyes, it’s familiar—like home. 
Every alarm is firing off and still, you put your hand in Minho’s—accepting his offer. Minho’s hand interlocks with yours, and you can feel him smile in between his tiny butterfly kisses. His hand holds yours tightly, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. Plump lips dragging against your skin, until he stops momentarily—taking a deep breath. Minho lets out a sharp, rich groan; knees throbbing as he bucks into you. And it’s at that moment you can feel Minho’s cock pressed heavily against your ass. Minho holds you against him, hips moving against your ass slightly, as he breathes in your scent. 
The moment is broken once you feel four razor sharp punctures in your neck. Minho’s low, guttural moans vibrate against your skin as his teeth penetrate layers of skin. The feeling is strange—it stings and burns, but also has a light cooling sensation. 
With the more blood Minho takes, the more his eyes fade into black until the whites are no longer exposed. Minho is absolutely captivated by the taste of your blood. It’s absolutely bewitching. He can taste every memory, every inch of trauma and pain, all of your love and most importantly, Minho can taste a bit of your soul—completely unguarded and vulnerable; ready for him to take and do as he pleases with. 
Minho continues draining you of your blood. It’s around this time that your vision becomes blurry, the room grows disorienting, tipping from side to side with each blink. You’re clutching Minho’s hand as tight as you possibly can be, jaw slacking and freely giving away soft moans. Even though he’s drinking from you, Minho never stops the movement of his hips. Hand clutching your own, pressing your arm against your stomach firmly. His other hand is tight on your hip, holding you in place. Somehow, your body feels both light and heavy, like you’re nailed to your spot but also elevated, floating in space. Your eyelids are getting heavier, a milky white film covering your eyes as Minho continues to take and take from you.
By the time you feel like your legs are going to give out, Minho gives up on drinking from you. “I can’t believe you’ve been hidden from me all this time, my little lamb.”
Minho whispers into your ear, voice equal parts soft and sweet. The way he can easily slip between calm and composed and dominant and overbearing is scary. 
“Let’s make this official, what do you say, love?” It’s less of a statement and more of a demand. Minho bites into his wrist, pushing it towards your mouth. But you refuse, attempting to turn away, though Minho does not allow it. Forcing your mouth open with his other hand, fingers dipping into your mouth, watching with a smirk on his face as droplets of his blood drip into your mouth one by one. 
There’s not really any significant taste to Minho’s blood. Indeed, his blood is thicker than water—but also very smooth going down. Minho spins you around, lips fast against yours. This kiss is full of iron and spit, completely messy, tongues fighting against each other. You, surprisingly to Minho, are the one who deepens the kiss further, pressing your body against his. Hands running all over his body, tugging against his clothes. 
You can feel yourself changing rapidly. Inside of you is a particular burning passion that you haven’t felt in years. It’s amplified when Minho’s fingers trickle up and down your sides. When the kiss parts, you and Minho lock eyes. Your chest rises, breathing in deeply because the room has gotten a hell of a lot hotter—or is the oxygen leaving your lungs? 
Minho takes the lead this time, pushing you atop of the sofa. He stands over you almost menacingly, clouds of lust like darkness clouding his eyes. He takes the chest of his shirt and tears it in half with two hands, as easily as it takes one to blink. He lets the shirt fall from his body, pulling his arms from the sleeves. Unbuttoning his pants just slightly before he kneels on the couch beside you. His lips on yours once again, though briefly. Minho takes the fabric of your clothing and tears it in two, just as he did his own shirt. You’re completely exposed to him, completely naked beneath his stare. You put your arms up to shield your indecency, but Minho doesn’t allow it. Taking your wrists in his hands and pinning you to the comfort of the sofa. 
Holding your wrists with one hand, Minho holds your jaw in his other hand. “Wish you could see how heavenly you look right now.” 
At this moment, Minho decides that you’re the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. So does he worship this embodiment of a higher place? Or does he further defile it? Should he ravish you? Perhaps he should take his claim over a body and soul that is now his forever. The worship may come a little later. He looks down at you, a frenzied little fledgling overtaken by uncontainable lust. A near mirroring reflection of sin itself. You pupils are completely blown and the whites of your eyes grow into a red color. He stands tall above you, like a God. Eyes of lust looking back at you, so deeply into the crevices of what’s left in your soul. 
You claw up at Minho, wanting to feel him. Wanting to be comforted by the glory that is Minho. The Ultimate Being—your master. 
“Imagine if Seungmin were to see you like this, intoxicated with such lust—and none of it towards him,” Minho kissed over the spot where he bit you, planting more kisses against your neck. “Would he be pathetic? A coward who cums in his pants at the sight of another man touching you?”
Minho’s lips move from your collarbone to your chest, displaying a range of kisses against your skin. “Or would he demean you for disgracing him in such a way? Would he call you a whore at the sight of you, turning his face in disgust?” 
Minho continues talking in between kisses against your skin. Lips kissing down the valley of your breast as his left hand creeps up to fondle your left breast. You moan at his touch, the coolness of his skin against the heat of yours. Minho looks up at you. “My precious little lamb isn’t a whore, are you?”
You shake your head vigorously at Minho’s statement. He can only laugh at you. He doesn’t believe it and deep inside, you don’t believe yourself either. 
“Your whole purpose of being here was to find your fiancĂ©, and instead, you’re beneath me and dripping onto the chaise. That doesn’t sound like something someone who’s not a whore would do, does it, little lamb?” 
You shake your head in denial. Reaching up to him, dragging the tips of your fingers down his chest. With each exhale, with each minute that goes by, it becomes harder and harder to fight your cravings. Thrusting your hips up, gyrating in the air, trying to entice Minho into touching you. Unable to sort the words in your head to form a coherent sentence. 
“But you’re fine with being a whore aren’t you?” Minho nods, pouting just slightly. When you’re not nodding along with him, he grabs you by your hair, forcing you to nod along with him. “What a good little lamb. From here on out, you’ll only be a whore for me, ok?”
Minho releases your hair from his clutches. Licking his palm, he drags it down from your navel to your cunt, pausing a moment to bury his fingers within the hair on your mound, slightly tugging at it. He teases you for the moment; fingertips feathering lighting against the skin of your inner thighs. He brings his fingers back to your cunt, dragging down your slit, teasing into your wetness. Minho circles over your clit with two fingers, watching your face as you bite your lip. Two of his fingers slowly slip inside of you soon after, thick, already knuckle deep inside of you. 
Minho’s free hand finds a new position, tightening around your neck. The roughness of his hands is missed when he slides his hand down your chest, cupping your breast. He leans down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, coating it with saliva, teeth slightly grazing against it. He continues scissoring his fingers into you, thumb pressing down flat against your clit. Minho moves his thumb in tender circles, still applying pressure. Swollen lips leave a mess of spit on your breast, dripping onto his hand. 
He lifts his head from his original position, eyes covering every inch of you. Once his eyes land on your cunt, Minho kneels—a quick kiss planted at your clit before he attaches his mouth to it, sucking you in. Warm, wet mouth slurping and licking, voice vibrating against your cunt. You moan into your hand, but Minho snatches it away; a quick, stern look up at you. The more he hears your moans, the sluttier and messier that Minho gets; moving away slightly to spit against your cunt, watching as it drips down to his fingers. All before he’s back at it, slurping and moaning against your cunt. 
“Fucking cum,” Minho talks into your cunt. He speaks his demand into you. The climax hits you hard, cum spraying all over Minho’s face, even drenching a bit of his hair. It takes Minho and yourself by surprise, and you’re almost ready to cover your face in your hands, but Minho flashes the most gorgeous smile to you. Face soaked, licking his lips to taste more of you. 
If he wasn’t firm about his desire to devour and conquer you, he was now. Minho fully undresses himself, cock hard and heavy, leaking and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s like your minds come together. Just with a touch you know the things that Minho wants to do to you. Your desires are equal and because of it, you’re a step ahead of him. Your eyes land on him, completely sucking into the visual of his cock. Large but not too veiny, a shade or two darker than the rest of his skin and it’s absolutely glorious. He’s thick, the tip of his cock heavy and shining with precum. It’s hard to keep your appetite for lust contained, and for a moment, you wonder why you’re even holding back—you’ve seen just a glimpse of freedom, is it too much to indulge and savor the taste of what you’re becoming? 
Your movements are faster than what the logical part of your brain can comprehend. One moment you’re spread open and the next, you’re straddling Minho, hand caressing his face. Minho looks at you with such an insatiable gaze. He hadn’t read it in the cards that you could possibly take control of the situation, and it enthralls him—what a wonder you are. You grind against his cock, sliding your slick cunt across his shaft. Pressing your hands to his chest for balance, adjusting the speed of your grinding until you’ve finally found the spot that sets off the fireworks within your brain. Unfortunately, it’s not enough for Minho, grabbing your hips and pressing you onto his cock, controlling your movements. Other than the added pressure, Minho guides your hips just a tad bit faster. 
Sliding up, you reach behind to hold Minho’s cock into your hand. It has a bit of weight to it and is slick with your juices. You tap the head of his cock against your cunt a time or two, then slowly sink down, engulfing him into your cunt. The thickness of his cock gives you a fervent sensation, cunt fluttering to take more of him, inch by inch. 
You throw your head back as you continue riding Minho. There's a brief, but slight sting of pain when you open your mouth to moan. When you look towards Minho, mouth agape, he looks back at you with such adoration and awe—the first time you felt his genuineness for something other than rage.  Minho helps you continue to ride him, his hands on your hips to guide you up and down his cock. You bring your tongue up to lick your lips when you finally notice the feeling of the fangs protruding from your gums. 
The feeling of exhilaration encompasses your whole being. You can’t help but let out a laugh at the current situation. You feel elated. You feel powerful. Pure and utter bliss slowly peeking out beneath the many layers of lust. 
“Bite me, my dear, go ahead.” Minho reassures you, a hand soothingly rubbing against your thigh. 
You indulge in the opportunity. Sinking completely down on Minho’s cock, crying out at the sensation of being filled by him. You press your nose against his neck, breathing in Minho’s scent before you sink your fangs into his skin. You can feel the shift in your eyes when you drink from him. His blood tastes immaculate like this. What divine nectar he carries within. It’s insanely sweet—not exactly in a tart or sugary way; he tastes similar to fresh fruit. 
You continue to drink from him, tongue licking haphazardly, unwilling to let any of Minho’s blood go to waste. 
From his blood to his cock, Minho is all around you. You feel so full of him, and you are in every sense of the word. His arms wrap around you, caging you in as you take your time feeding from him. He moves a hand between the two of your bodies, thumb pressed against your clit to rub in circles. You gentle rock against him, slowly increasing the speed of your hips once you realize you’re fairly latched onto him. Unwilling to free him from your hold, you would die like this if needed. 
Your climax hits you and transforms you into such a state of pure ecstasy. Every nerve in your body is electrified, and the blood of Minho amplifies that. Minho has you under a spell: blood coursing through your veins, cock pinned deep, spilling his cum inside of you. He’s so cold to touch, but you’re both on fire. It’s way too much yet you’re still captivated by him. Sent into overdrive, your body gets heavier—it's hard to control and you continue to take and take from Minho. It’s no problem to him, though; hand on your back to soothe as your body becomes stiff atop of him.
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You awake in Minho’s arms, not completely sure of where you exactly are. The second you open your eyes, you’re not nearly ready for how extraordinarily bright the lights in the room are. You groan in response, but Minho is alert to soothe you. 
“Be still, my little flower.” Minho is whispering, purposefully; he knows first-hand how troubling it can be to be reawakened like this. But still, his voice rings around your head. 
How strange. You can hear every little sound a lot clearer, a lot louder. The initially faint crackling of the fireplace now louder than before despite the distance. The heat of the fire reaches you as well, blazing, although it does not stick. The ticking of the clock is a doomful reminder of the passage of time. Then you look at Minho, and you can hear how hollow he is. There’s an absence within him, a huge, dark, cavernous hole. He is nothing more than a host for whatever this disease is that he has given you. A man without a soul. 
And still. He holds the entire world in his hands. 
“There’s so much I have to teach you,” Minho expresses this with great excitement. He presses a chalice of blood to your lips and just a whiff of the smell puts you in a daze; salivating and feigning to taste. “Now here, drink up.”
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alioopshi · 2 months ago
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I’ve been having a lot of thoughts about all the nuance surrounding the name “Murderbot” in the books vs what we’ve seen so far in the first two episodes of the show. I’ve seen a couple other people referencing this difference too, but I haven’t seen an explanation anywhere and I felt compelled to write it
below the cut are detailed descriptions of events at the beginning of episode 1 of Murderbot, and several parts of All Systems Red, plus a little bit of commentary and an even smaller amount of analysis and speculation
In the show, the very first scene depicts SecUnit standing guard in a large group of humans, just finishing up a mining contract. Via voice over, SecUnit tells us that right now, it has to follow humans’ orders because if not, it’ll get its brain fried by the governor module. But not for much longer, because it’s been working on something. Some of the human workers, who are celebrating the end of the contract, approach SecUnit and begin harassing it, discussing how it must follow their commands. They tell it to raise its arm, and they use a blowtorch to burn SecUnit’s armored hand. They stop before causing enough damage to SecUnit to incur a fine from the company. After being left alone, SecUnit then enacts the plan it has been working on. With a “here goes nothing” and the risk of death and dismemberment if the plan doesn’t work, it disables the governor module’s ability to administer punishments for disobeying orders. SecUnit is shocked and amazed that it works. It then decides the first thing it needs to do is give itself a name, and after discarding a few ideas, it changes its own designation from its original serial number to “Murderbot.”
(which, side note, the end of the opening scene kind of makes me laugh because buddy, without any context, the name Murderbot is not any better than Freedom Unit or Security Bot or whatever the other options were. they’re all absolutely TERRIBLE names lmao)
This is quite the departure from what happens in the books. At the beginning, our protagonist does not have a name for itself at all. It just refers to SecUnits in general as “murderbots.” The lowercase-m “murderbots” is meant to be derogatory, in the same way it uses the term “sexbots” as a derogatory term for ComfortUnits. So, it’s a bit of a misunderstanding when Gurathin later reveals that “it calls itself Murderbot.” It does not pick Murderbot to be its name by choice! It is outraged at the invasion of privacy and also profoundly uncomfortable with being called that. From that point on, the PresAux humans only ever refer to it as SecUnit (and in later books it only ever introduces itself to new people as SecUnit). It isn’t until the very last line of the first book that it refers to itself as capital-M Murderbot. Throughout the entire rest of the series, uses of the name Murderbot are very rare, and most happen in its own internal monologue.
For the TV show only folks: you may come across some book-readers who primarily refer to SecUnit as SecUnit, and avoid using the name Murderbot (myself included) as much as possible. This is why. Book!Unit really really hates being called Murderbot by other people. The avoidance of the name Murderbot is coming from a place of empathy, not a place of disrespect/ignorance of SecUnit’s chosen name (I could see this being a logical conclusion if you’ve only seen the show). (atp I’m kinda leaning towards calling book!Unit “SecUnit” and the tv!Unit “Murderbot,” we’ll see, since the re-designation at the end of the opening scene definitely gives “this is the name I’m choosing for myself because it’s what I want” vibes that are completely absent from the book.)
I don’t think the show is necessarily wrong or that the book is necessarily better! they’re just very different in my eyes. I’m curious to see whether the derogatory lowercase-m “murderbots” gets used at all in the show, and whether it’s used by SecUnit or by any humans, and whether it’s used before or after the “it calls itself Murderbot” reveal. I said in another post that the show has left me wanting for the nuance that is present in the books, and I think some of the complexity surrounding its name could be introduced if Gurathin first reveals that “it calls itself Murderbot,” and then afterwards one of the hostile parties tells SecUnit “you’re nothing but a murderbot,” especially if this gets tied in with the mystery of SecUnit’s corrupted memory we glimpsed in the show.
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dany-is-my-queen · 7 months ago
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A QUESTION OF LOYALTY XVIII
Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader
Word count: 3.9k
Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best. Note: Nearing the finale!!!!
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King’s Landing slept, but the castle itself seemed to breathe, its walls whispering secrets to those who dared to listen. The tension in the air pressed heavily against your chest, and you felt a storm brewing—one you had unknowingly stepped into.
A voice stopped you in your tracks.
“Y/N,” came the cool, precise tone.
You turned to see her—Queen Alicent—standing at the end of the hallway. She looked every bit the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, her emerald gown shimmering in the dim light, her crown glinting atop her auburn curls. Her expression was unreadable.
“Your Grace,” you greeted, bowing your head out of respect.
“Out for a midnight stroll?” Alicent asked, her voice calm, but there was an edge to her words.
“I could ask the same of you, Your Grace,” you replied carefully.
A small, humorless smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve become quite the fixture here in King’s Landing, haven’t you?” she said, stepping closer. Her voice lowered, carrying the weight of a confession wrapped in accusation. “How bold of you, to linger so freely between us.”
You stiffened but kept your voice steady. “I have no intention of causing discord, Your Grace.”
“No intention?” Alicent repeated, her words sharp as glass. “And yet here you are, speaking to me in one breath and whispering to Rhaenyra in the next.”
“I never meant to come between you and her,” you said quickly, your voice firm but laden with regret. “Whatever exists between Rhaenyra and me
 it was never about you. And certainly never about dividing what was once a friendship.”
At that, Alicent’s composure faltered. For a moment, the queen’s mask slipped, and the raw pain beneath was exposed.
“Friendship?” she said bitterly. “You speak of something long dead, something she killed with her lies and her disregard for everything we once held dear. And now, you, of all people, defend it?”
“I don’t defend anything,” you said softly. “But I see the pieces of what you once were to each other, and I cannot fathom why it must be this way.”
Alicent’s lips tightened. She turned away from you, her voice lowering. “You don’t understand. You couldn’t possibly understand. Rhaenyra takes what she wants without a thought for the ruin she leaves behind. And you—you’re just another piece in her game.”
“That’s not fair,” you said, a spark of defiance creeping into your tone.
“Fair?” Alicent turned to you, her voice rising slightly. “Do you think life in this castle is fair? Do you think I chose this? Rhaenyra and I were once bound by sisterhood, by trust. And now? Now she mocks me, disregards her duties, and drags you into her chaos. And you let her.”
Her words struck a nerve, but before you could respond, Alicent straightened, her queenly composure snapping back into place. “If you truly wish to avoid discord, Y/N,” she said coldly, “then stay out of her bed. And stay out of mine.”
Her departure left you reeling, her words cutting deeper than you cared to admit.
When you arrived at Rhaenyra’s chambers, the air was thick with anticipation. You hesitated at the door, steeling yourself before stepping inside.
Rhaenyra was seated by the fire, her silver hair spilling over her shoulders in waves. She didn’t look up as you entered, but you could feel the tension radiating from her.
“Do you enjoy testing my patience, or does it come naturally to you?” she asked, her voice low and sharp.
“I’ve done nothing to provoke you, Princess,” you replied, closing the door behind you.
She turned to face you, her lilac eyes blazing with frustration. “You’ve been with her,” she accused. “The Queen. Do you think I don’t notice the way she watches you? The way she clings to the scraps of your attention, as if that will somehow fill the void in her?”
“She’s your stepmother,” you said firmly. “And once, she was your friend. This animosity between you two—it’s insane, Rhaenyra. I don’t understand why it must be this way.”
Rhaenyra laughed bitterly, rising to her feet. “You sound just like her,” she said, her tone mocking. “Do you honestly think that woman has ever cared about anything other than herself and her children? She would see me destroyed if it meant keeping her precious Aegon on the throne.” Alluding to the toddler.
“Is that what you truly believe?” you asked, stepping closer. “Because from where I stand, the two of you are doing everything in your power to destroy each other.”
Rhaenyra’s expression darkened. “Are you defending her now?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.
“I’m not defending anyone,” you said.
“You think so little of me,” she said quietly.
“I think the world of you,” you said, your voice softening. “But this path you’re on—it terrifies me, Rhaenyra. And now? Now, you’re letting hatred consume you. It’s not who you are.”
“Who I am?” Rhaenyra repeated, her voice trembling. “Do you even know who I am anymore, Y/N? Because I barely do.”
The vulnerability in her words cut through you, and you felt your resolve weakening. But you forced yourself to hold firm.
“I never wanted to come between you and Alicent,” you said quietly. “I never wanted to be the reason for this
 madness. But if you keep letting this consume you, Rhaenyra, it will destroy you.”
For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, she looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Do you love her?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
You hesitated, the weight of her question pressing down on you.
Rhaenyra’s lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, she turned away, her shoulders trembling.
“Go,” she said finally, her voice breaking. “Before I say something I can’t take back.”
You hesitated, your heart aching at the sight of her pain. But in the end, you did as she asked, the door closing behind you with a heavy finality.
They demand loyalty, but neither of them see what this is doing to you.
But these conversations with them never actually took place, did they?
———
You awoke with a start, gasping for air, your chest heaving as though you had just surfaced from the depths of the ocean.
Your mind reeled, struggling to make sense of what you had seen—the faces, the voices, the impossible places. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real. And yet, the weight of it all pressed down on you like a specter haunting your every breath.
Who was that woman? And what did she mean, “You cannot save them both”?
Shaking, you sat up, clutching your knees to your chest. The Targaryens had often spoken of dreams—visions of dragons, of fire, of doom. Had you inherited some fragment of this gift, or curse, through your bloodline? Or was this simply your mind fraying under the strain of war, grief, and guilt?
Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, her gaze cold as a dragon’s stare.
“You’ve cost us a dragon,” she said, her tone sharp. “Do you understand what that means, Y/N? What you’ve done?”
Her words struck like a blow. You forced yourself to remain calm, though guilt burned in your chest. “I acted in defense of us, Your Grace,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing within you. “Aemond is dangerous. If I hadn’t—”
“You shouldn’t have acted at all!” she snapped, cutting you off. She stood abruptly, her fury spilling over. “Do you know what whispers are spreading now? That perhaps you still wear green beneath your black. That you’ve done this to weaken us!”
“That’s not true!” you protested, taking a step forward. “I’ve done nothing but serve you ever since you arrived. Make it up to you.”
“Have you?” Her voice was low now, but no less dangerous. “You’ve cost us more than a dragon, Y/N. You’ve cost us faith. Our allies question our strength. They wonder if we are too divided to win this war.”
Her words sank deep, but what hurt the most was the doubt in her eyes.
“You think I’ve betrayed you,” you said quietly.
“I don’t know what to think anymore, You’ve done this before, Y/N,” she said, her tone sharp and cutting. “Sworn yourself loyal to me, only to betray me when it suits you. “She admitted, her voice breaking slightly. “All I know is that your actions have jeopardized everything we’ve worked for.”
“I am loyal to you,” you insisted, though you could feel the ground slipping beneath your feet.
“And yet, I wonder,” she said, her gaze piercing. “You carry secrets, Y/N. I can feel them, even if I don’t know their shape. You keep part of yourself hidden. Do you still carry a banner for the Greens?”
“No!” you cried, the accusation cutting deep. “It wasn’t about them. It was about my mother. About Rhaenys.”
Rhaenyra’s fury faltered for a moment, her eyes narrowing in confusion.
“She taught me to act with honor,” you said, your voice breaking. “To protect those I love, no matter the cost. When I saw Aemond, I thought of everything he’s done—what he’ll do if left unchecked. I thought
”
Rhaenyra’s expression shifted, her anger mingling with something softer—pity, perhaps, or understanding. But it wasn’t enough to extinguish her bitterness.
“Rhaenys was a great woman,” she said coldly. “But she’s gone, Y/N. And you are here. You can’t hide behind her memory to justify your mistakes.”
“I’m not hiding,” you said, stepping closer. “I regret what I did, Rhaenyra. Truly. That’s not who I am—not who I want to be.”
Her gaze remained icy, her doubt a blade to your heart. “You’ve said that before. How can I believe you now?”
“Because I’m still here,” you said, desperation creeping into your voice. “I could have turned my back on you a hundred times. But I haven’t. I’ve stayed.“
Her shoulders slumped, the weight of the war and your betrayal pressing down on her. “Actions have consequences, Y/N. And yours have cost us dearly.”
One thing was clear: you had to find a way to earn back Rhaenyra’s trust, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.
What awaited you there was no respite—only more pain.
Alicent stood in her chamber, her hands trembling as she gripped a letter. She was dressed in simple green robes, a shadow of the queen she once was. The years and the war had worn her down, stripping away the pride and power she once carried.
She turned to you, her expression filled with anger and disbelief. “Do you think I wouldn’t hear about it?” she demanded. “The attack on Aemond—your attack on my son!”
You swallowed hard. “Alicent, I—”
“Don’t you dare try to explain it away!” she interrupted, her voice trembling with fury. “Are you mad? He is my son, Y/N! My boy! How could you
 how could you do this?”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly,” you said, your voice thick with regret. “I acted out of anger, out of grief. I didn’t mean to—”
“To what?” she spat. “To harm him? To weaken him? To kill him!”
Her words struck like a whip, leaving you reeling.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“But you did,” she said, her voice breaking. Tears filled her eyes, though she tried to blink them away. “You’ve hurt me more than anyone else ever could.”
You took a hesitant step toward her. “Alicent, please
 I love you.”
She shook her head, her tears spilling over. “And I love you,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But love doesn’t undo the damage.”
You wanted to comfort her, to hold her and promise that things would get better, but you knew it was a lie.
“You’ve chosen your side,” she said finally, her voice cold now. “And I
 I cannot follow you there.”
You stood in silence, watching as she turned away from you. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do. The gulf between you had grown too wide to bridge, and all that remained was the ache of what could have been.
———
The war had taken a grim turn. News of the First Battle of Tumbleton reached King’s Landing like the toll of a funeral bell. Rhaenyra’s forces had not just been defeated—they had been betrayed. The Betrayer, Hugh Hammer, has switched sides mid-battle, leading to the sacking of Tumbleton. Refugees flooded into the capital with tales of fire and blood, of dragons turning on their own, and of the town reduced to ashes.
When the report reached the Black Council, Rhaenyra’s face turned ashen. She sat on the Iron Throne, her hand gripping the armrest so tightly her knuckles whitened. “The gates of King’s Landing will remain closed and barred,” she ordered coldly, her voice trembling with restrained rage. “No one enters without my command.”
———
The city was restless, the tension palpable as the gates remained shut and whispers of betrayal spread through the streets. You found yourself wandering the Keep late one evening, seeking solace, when you stumbled upon Helaena. She sat alone in a dimly lit corridor, her hands busy weaving a garland of pale flowers.
“Helaena,” you said softly, and her head snapped up, startled.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she murmured, though her tone lacked any real malice.
“I needed a moment away from the madness,” you admitted, sitting beside her. “And you?”
Her lips curved into a sad smile. “I’m always away from the madness. That’s my role, isn’t it? To sit and weave while the world burns around me.”
You hesitated before speaking again. “I never wanted this war, Helaena. And I never wanted you to be caught in it.”
She tilted her head, her gaze searching your face. “But you’ve made your sacrifices. And now
 you live with them.”
For a moment, all you could do was nod.
“I wish there was a way to make it right,” you said.
“There isn’t,” she replied softly. “You can only choose to stop making it worse.”
———
The dungeon was dim, the air thick with the smell of damp stone. Corlys sat on the bench in his cell, his silver hair catching the faint torchlight. When he saw you approach, his lips pressed into a grim line.
“You’ve come to speak your piece, then?” Corlys asked, his voice edged with bitterness. “If you’re here to defend her actions, save your breath.”
“I’m not here to defend Rhaenyra,” you said softly, stepping closer to the bars. “I’m here because I owe you an apology—one long overdue. “I’ve made mistakes. I was blind to how far things had spiraled. And I regret it. But that’s not the only thing I regret. I regret letting my grief, my anger, and my confusion push you away after my mother’s death.”
Corlys froze, his expression softening slightly as your words sank in.
“When I learned the truth about my parentage, about my real father
” you continued, your voice wavering, “it was like my whole world had been torn apart. I didn’t know what to believe, who to trust. But you
 you were always there for me. You were a father to me, even when I didn’t deserve it. And I was an idiot for not seeing that.”
For a moment, silence filled the space between you. Then Corlys let out a long sigh, the chains on his wrists rattling as he leaned forward. “If I failed you, it wasn’t because I didn’t care—it was because I didn’t know how to reach you when you were hurting so deeply.”
“You didn’t fail me,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I failed you. I shut you out when I should have leaned on you. And now, after everything that’s happened—after Addam—I see how much I’ve let you down. I’m sorry, Corlys. Truly.”
Corlys sighed again, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his own regrets. “We’ve all let each other down, haven’t we? Addam, Rhaenyra, you, me
 this war has stripped us of everything we once were.” He looked up at you, his eyes weary but still full of a quiet strength. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that regret alone changes nothing. If you want to make amends, you have to act—and you have to do it now, before there’s nothing left to salvage.”
“I’ll try,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ll try to reach her, to help her see reason before it’s too late. But I don’t know if she’ll listen.”
Corlys gave a small, sad smile. “She may not. Rhaenyra’s fear has blinded her, and the walls she’s built around herself are taller than ever. But you have to try. Because if you don’t, Y/N, who will?”
His words lingered in the still air as you nodded, the weight of his wisdom settling over you.
“I’ll do what I can,” you promised, turning to leave.
As you walked away, Corlys’s voice called after you, softer now but no less firm. “And Y/N
 no matter what happens, remember this: you were always my daughter. Blood or no blood. And that will never change.”
Tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t turn back.
———
The atmosphere in the hall outside Rhaenyra’s chamber was tense as you arrived. The guards stationed at her door exchanged uneasy glances when they saw you approach. They were hesitant, as if unsure whether to let you pass.
“I need to speak with Her Grace,” you stated firmly, your voice carrying the weight of urgency.
One of the guards stepped forward. “The Queen has asked not to be disturbed.”
“She is certainly not with the council” you asked, your brow furrowing.
The guard hesitated. “No, my lady.”
Something in his tone gave him away. Your eyes narrowed, and without waiting for permission, you pushed past him toward the door.
“Wait—” the other guard started, moving to intercept, but you had already opened the door wide enough to see inside.
The sight before you made your blood run cold. Mysaria was lounging in Rhaenyra’s bed, her bare back to you, the sheets tangled loosely around her waist. Her white hair spilled over her shoulders like silk, and her knowing eyes flicked toward you with a smugness that twisted your stomach.
Rhaenyra sat at the edge of the bed, pulling on a robe hastily. Her face flushed—not with guilt, but with frustration.
“Lady Y/N,” she said sharply, her tone carrying an edge of warning. “You have no right to barge in here.”
Your heart sank, the weight of everything crashing down as you stared at her. “I needed to speak with you. Clearly, I’ve interrupted
 something.”
Rhaenyra sighed, her gaze hardening. “This is none of your concern. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Sleeping with a whore? You snapped. Have you truly stooped this low, Rhaenyra?”
At that, Mysaria smirked, seemingly unfazed by the insult. She leaned back against the pillows, her posture almost taunting.
Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger, her cheeks still flushed. “Careful with your words, Y/N. You’re hardly innocent. Or have you forgotten who you have bedded? Alicent Hightower, of all people.”
Her words hit you like a slap, but you refused to flinch. “Alicent is no prostitute,” you countered coldly. “She is nothing like this.” You gestured toward Mysaria, who raised a delicate brow but said nothing, content to watch the argument unfold.
Rhaenyra stood then, stepping closer to you, her voice low and venomous. “You don’t get to judge me. Not after everything. Not after you turned your back on me time and again. Do you think I care what you think of her—or of me? I don’t.”
The words stung, but it was the emptiness in her tone that broke something inside you. She wasn’t doing this because she loved Mysaria. It was a distraction—a way to drown her pain, her regret, her anger. And somehow, that made it hurt even more.
“Do you even hear yourself?” you asked, your voice trembling. “This
 this isn’t you, Rhaenyra. This isn’t the woman I
” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “You’re letting yourself rot, and you’re dragging the realm down with you.”
Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. For a moment, the two of you stood there, the tension between you suffocating.
Mysaria finally broke the silence, her voice smooth and mocking. “The Queen does not need your judgment, my lady. Perhaps it is time you left.”
You turned your glare on her, but you didn’t dignify her with a response. Instead, you looked back at Rhaenyra, your expression softening despite the anger coursing through you.
“I came here to warn you,” you said quietly, your voice laced with exhaustion. “But I see now that you won’t listen. You’ve surrounded yourself with people who feed your delusions instead of telling you the truth. And I can’t keep fighting for someone who refuses to fight for herself.”
Rhaenyra’s eyes flickered, a brief crack in her façade, but she didn’t say anything. She simply stood there, silent and unyielding.
Without another word, you turned and walked out. The echo of it lingered in the hall, just like the ache in your chest.
———
The night felt colder than usual as you walked through the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, your mind spinning from the confrontation with Rhaenyra. The anger had ebbed. You needed solace, a quiet reminder that not everything in this world had to be so broken.
You found yourself outside Alicent’s chambers before you even realized where your feet had carried you. The guards stationed outside her door gave you a glance but said nothing, stepping aside as you quietly entered the room.
The chamber was peaceful, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the windows. Alicent lay on her bed, her chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. She looked serene, her face untroubled by the weight of the day.
You hesitated at the edge of the bed, watching her for a moment. She was so different from Rhaenyra in this moment—so still, so calm. The storm that had been raging inside you began to quiet, replaced by a tender ache you couldn’t ignore.
Carefully, you sat on the edge of the bed, your fingers trembling as you reached out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. Her skin was warm beneath your fingertips, and your touch lingered, tracing the curve of her cheek with the gentlest care.
Alicent stirred slightly, a soft murmur escaping her lips as her head tilted toward your hand. Though her eyes remained closed, her features softened, as if she recognized your touch even in sleep.
Your heart swelled, and without thinking, you took her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers. The fit was familiar, comforting, as if the world outside these walls didn’t exist. You brought her hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles before resting it against your chest.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness. “For everything.”
Alicent didn’t wake, but her fingers twitched slightly in yours, the smallest sign of acknowledgment.
You stayed there for a while, content to hold her hand and watch her sleep. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel at peace, even if only for this fleeting moment.
-----------
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