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shuafiles · 2 months ago

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roses [j.jh]

MDNI, 18+

SUMMARY | think i should text my ex (fwb)? what happens when jaehyun sees his ex-fwb with another guy?

PAIRING | ex fwb!jaehyun x afab!reader (with reader x jungwoo)

CONTENT | ex fwb to ?, college!au, unprotected sex (on pills), oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, creampie. (probably more that i missed but its just smut)

WORDS | 4.3k

A/N | im so bad at giving summaries but it’s basically roses by jaehyun :D not proofread

you knew how to get under jaehyun’s skin. well, not on purpose, but he sure as hell was sending daggers in your direction as he saw you all cozied up with a tall blond-haired guy at his frat party. jaehyun scoffed as he took a sip out of the red cup in his hand. how dare you bring a boy into his house in the first place.

jaehyun’s gaze never left you as you laughed at something the french fry guy said. “bet it’s not even funny.” he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes as you placed your hand on the guy’s arm.

“dude, what is the matter with you?” mark pulled him out of his trance, hitting him lightly on the arm. his best friend followed his gaze and smirked when he figured out what he was so worked up about. “isn’t that y/n? didn’t you use to date her?”

“we did not date.” jaehyun moved his sight to glare at the younger boy instead. “i could care less about her.”

“couldn’t.” mark corrected him with a cheeky smile, “but you already knew that, so i’m guessing you do care a tiny bit.”

you and jaehyun met at university when you were freshmen. you accidentally walked into the wrong room at your first college party when a certain someone was changing out his clothes and flashed you with his penis on your first week. you screamed and ran as fast as you could. moments later, mystery penis guy found you amidst the crowd and apologized profoundly, which left you confused because you were so sure you should be the one apologizing. nonetheless, you both decided to put it behind you and start fresh.

“jaehyun.” mystery penis guy introduced himself to you while handing you a red cup that was most likely filled with booze.

“y/n.” you accepted his cup, inspecting it. “you’re not trying to drug me because i saw your dick, right?”

jaehyun laughed, and you smiled as he shook his head. that was the beginning of a new friendship.

until during your sophomore year, you were drunk crying over your ex, and you had jaehyun over because you needed a friend. he was awkwardly trying to pat your back while trying to keep a distance between the two of you. don’t get him wrong, he found you attractive as fuck, and he would fuck you the moment you let him. but he was somehow scared to ruin the year-long friendship between the two of you, so he never acted on what his dick and heart told him to.

this night was different, though; you were vulnerable and needed to feel better about yourself. “he said i couldn’t suck dick properly!” you whined, which made jaehyun freeze. “who breaks up with someone over that!”

jaehyun had to fight every bone in his body not to jump on you and kiss the living hell out of you. he felt apologetic that you were crying over a dumbass, but he couldn’t help but find you cute. your cheeks flushed, makeup messy with tears. you looked perfect. “i think that’s what they call an ick.” he tried lightening up the mood, but this just made you glare at him.

“i’ll bite your dick off.” you punched his arm, which did little to no damage.

“ouch, is that what you did while you were sucking his?” he rubbed his arm, but had the biggest smile on his face.

“you’re not helping!” you covered your face with your hands.

jaehyun didn’t know what possessed him then; he spoke without thinking about his words. “i could teach you a thing or two about giving…” he immediately regretted what he was offering. he coughed before ending his sentence, looking everywhere around the room but at you. he let his dick do the talking as if you were stupid enough to agree–

“teach me.”

needless to say, you knew how to suck dick (even a few pointers on how to kiss and fuck) that night.

jaehyun tried to pull his eyes away from you as you whispered something in the guy’s ear before disappearing into the crowd and heading upstairs. now he was frustrated. you ended your year-long arrangement just merely two weeks ago, and you have already found someone new? you just moved on and had enough. god, he sounded so pathetic; he got it bad.

you lay in bed that night, chewing on your lip as you scrolled through your phone. you just left the party an hour ago after sleeping with another man. you felt weird. like what you did was wrong, but you couldn’t exactly point out why.

as if the universe decided to play tricks on you, your phone vibrated in your hand. the contact “PLS DONT ANSWER” on full display. you glanced at the time to see it was 2 am. you ran your fingers through your hair and sighed. closing your eyes, your finger swiped to answer the call.

“you answered?” his voice echoing through the phone, surprised you picked up the phone.

“don’t make me regret it.”

“i saw you today.”

“… okay?” you knew he saw you. in fact, you made sure he saw you with jungwoo, aka the guy you fucked an hour ago.

“with another guy.” mission success. you were being petty, but you were doing it for a reason (so you convinced yourself).

the very reason you broke off your arrangement with jaehyun was because you saw him with another girl’s tongue down his throat in a not-very-discrete section in the library two weeks ago. you could tell he enjoyed it by the way his hands were firmly gripping her ass. the sight made you sick to your stomach.

your agreement was strictly for physical reasons — you fucked, nothing more and nothing less. you were good friends who were having fantastic sex.

you don't know why the thought of him sleeping with other girls upset you. you both agreed to keep it physical. no strings attached, especially since you're both juniors and have to focus on finishing your degrees. yet why did it bother you he was out kissing girls?

“congrats, you can see.” you cringed at your attempt to seem like a cool girl.

“cut the bullshit, y/n.” jaehyun rolled his eyes even though you couldn’t see him. “you broke up with me, then you slept with somebody else just two weeks after?”

“i wasn’t aware we had a relationship that even allowed us to break up.” you opened your eyes. realizing how long you last talked to jaehyun, you hated to admit that you missed the sound of his voice.

“called it off, ghosted—whatever you call it! you know what i mean.”

“i did not ghost you.” practically mumbling against the phone.

“a text saying “let's stop this” is not an explanation, y/n. plus, that's besides that point!”

“i really don't want to talk about this right now, jaehyun.”

“fine. meet me tomorrow at the café you like at 2 pm.” and with that, he hung up on you.

jaehyun sat in an easy-to-spot area at the café you loved. how did he know? because you used to have little study dates in this very coffee shop (if you could even call it a date). his heart was beating out of his chest. he didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast while he anticipated your presence. maybe he drank too much caffeine? he shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. he wanted to believe that was the reason why he could not sit still.

the tiny bell at the front door rang, indicating a new customer. the sound made jaehyun whip his head up. there you were. a brown coat hugging your body, your hair in one of those clamps that held it up neatly. you were in the most basic clothes, yet you looked so beautiful. jaehyun smiled at the sight of you until he saw a dozen roses you had in your hands, the smile was replaced with a slight frown.

“hi, jae.” you breathed out, taking a seat on the empty spot in front of him. placing your belongings on the table, which included the bouquet that jaehyun was glaring at.

“aww, y/n, you didn’t have to.” jaehyun took the bouquet from the table to inspect it, trying to catch a glimpse of a card with the sender's name on it.

“shut up.” you mumbled, snatching it from him. cheeks heating up, you avoided his gaze.

“i’m assuming it's from lover boy last night?” jaehyun huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. he looked absolutely silly right now.

“it’s none of your business.” you fought back. leaning against your seat, “why’d you want to see me anyway?”

“i didn’t.” he lied through his teeth, but you didn’t know that. “i just think i deserve some kind of explanation as to why our,” he paused to think how he would label your relationship, “friendship ended.”

“you’re so annoying.” glaring at him, you contemplated why you even showed up in the first place.

“you love me.” he grinned at you, flashing his damned dimples, to which you let out a snort. “was he better than me?”

“very much.” you smiled as he lost his grin. “bigger too.”

“we’re telling lies now?” jaehyun raised his eyebrow. “you said your shit ex had a big dick, too, so i don't really trust your judgment.” you chewed your lip in annoyance, wanting to slap his irritatingly beautiful face.

“asshole.”

it had been a week since your last interaction with jaehyun. your little café meet-up didn’t lead to anything as you still refused to tell him why you no longer wanted to see him. you would be lying if you said you had not thought of him at all. you missed him.

in the midst of doing your university work, your phone buzzed, a text message popping up on the screen.

PLS DONT ANSWER: are u awake

you stared at the message, with no intention of replying.

PLS DONT ANSWER: busy fucking french fry boy?

PLS DONT ANSWER: what position he got u in

you rolled your eyes at his last message. truth be told, jungwoo gave you the flowers as an apology. he apologized for sleeping with you that day, telling you how he was drunk and not over his ex, and he hoped that you would not take it the wrong way. you felt incredibly stupid and annoyed at how even in your attempt to forget jaehyun, you still failed.

the phone rang a few seconds later, but this time, you didn’t pick up. not knowing what to say to him. missing the call, he didn’t send anything after, making your heart sink.

you knew what you signed up for when you agreed to keep things physical between the two of you. although there were moments when it would seem like you two were a couple, you knew he would never like you like that. he was jeong fucking jaehyun for fucks sake. he could have any girl he looked at if he wanted to. you hear how women talk about him in the bathrooms, most of them very lewd. everyone wanted a taste of him. you couldn't blame them, even after having a taste of him, you still craved and came back for more.

a knock on your apartment door pulled you out of your trance. curious, you stood up to open it. there at your door was one very soaked jaehyun with a flower–that looked like it was picked out of a bush–in hand. his white shirt sticking to his chest, giving you a very slight peek of his toned body which gave you flashbacks to the nights you would spend together.

“jaehyun,” raising a brow, “why are you soaking wet?” you were sure there was not any weather forecast about rain tonight.

“it was raining and–” jaehyun let out, catching his breath, “wanted to see you.” pushing what looked like a rose in your direction. “here.”

eyeing the rose, you carefully scanned his face as you took it from his hand. you stepped aside to let him in your apartment. he stepped inside, careful of spreading rainwater all over your place. “stay here, i’ll get you something dry.” turning away from him, you walked towards your bedroom with your thoughts all over the place. why was he here? what was this rose about? and why did he look so fucking hot?

with a clean sweatshirt (that you were pretty sure was his) in hand, you walked back into the living room where you were greeted by jaehyun’s bare back faced to you as he looked at the pictures you had hung around. you bit your lip at the sight. feeling sparks shoot throughout your body.

you cleared your throat, which made jaehyun spin around to face you, shooting you a smile. you extended your arm to hand him the sweater, but he grabbed your arm instead and pulled your body against his. he was hugging you. you froze in place as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, feeling him inhale against your skin.

“missed you.” feeling him mumble against your skin, “it was killing me knowing there’s someone out there buying you roses.”

“jaehyun, are you drunk?” placing your hands against his bare chest to push him away and look him in the eyes.

he shook his head, “i’m not. i’m serious, y/n.” he took a step closer to you, “why do you not want me anymore?” his breath fanning on you, lips dangerously close to yours, making you feel hazy.

“you know that’s not true.” your voice was so tiny he barely heard what you said. his hands landed on your waist, rubbing on it softly.

“tell me what i did wrong, please.” his voice soft.

“jaehyun..” you warned, feeling him close the gap between the two of you, to which you shut your eyes as you waited for the soft feeling of his lips. but it never came, so you opened your eyes to see him staring at you with a teasing smile on his lips. you glared at him, scoffing. you pushed him away, chucking the sweater at him before retreating and heading to your bedroom.

you heard him call out for you. feeling your cheeks burn from embarrassment. you were about to slam the door behind you, but his strength prevented you from doing so.

“go home, jaehyun.” you sternly said, wanting to bury yourself under the covers. you walked towards the bed, sitting on the edge.

“if you wanted a kiss that bad, you could have just asked.” jaehyun welcomed himself into your room. standing a few feet away from you, this time with the sweater you gave him on your body. he has been in your room plenty of times, so he has grown very familiar with where you keep everything.

“maybe i’ll ask jungwoo instead.” lie. but he doesn’t know that. crossing your arms against your chest. not missing the way his eyes fell on your exposed chest. you were wearing a tiny tank top and lounge shorts since you were just planning on studying all night.

“not fucking funny.” he walked over to you, stopping in between your legs before cupping your face with his hand. “maybe i should remind you who you belong to.” his words making you dizzy.

“i don’t belong to anyone.” you reminded him which made his eyes turn dark; he licked his lips, scanning your face. a sadistic grin forming on his face. he could tell you were trying to convince yourself of what you said, too.

“i thought you were supposed to be smart, princess.” he said, leaning down and planting his lips on yours. the kiss was hungry with the intention of reminding you of what you have been missing. you reciprocated his passion, arms flying to wrap around his neck. his tongue glided over your bottom lip before pushing it into your mouth, exploring your mouth, making you moan lightly. his other hand sneaked down to your clothed core and cupped it, which made you gasp and pull away from the kiss. “look at you, already so wet, and i haven’t even done anything.”

“yeah, and if you don’t do anything about it soon, you know who i’ll call.” teasing him, but he wasn’t having any of it. he grabbed you by your thighs, which you instinctively wrapped around his waist. he laid you down on the bed, your head against your pillows. in a swift motion, your shirt and shorts were pulled away from your body and discarded somewhere in the room.

“I can’t believe you let that asshole touch what’s mine.” jaehyun groaned once he took in the mouthwatering sight in front of him. his intense gaze made you lose all your tough facade, wanting nothing more than to be engulfed by him. he climbed in between your legs, leaning down to kiss you once again, but this time, it was more passion than hunger, savoring your taste.

“i’m not yours.” you whispered against his lips, and you could tell he had enough of your teasing.

“i’ll make you want to be mine.” kissing your jaw, leading down to your neck (making sure to suck on the spot he knew you loved), your chest before engulfing your nipple with his mouth. you whimpered as he sucked on the sensitive bud, his other hand circling the other nub with his thumb and index finger. his tongue exploring every inch of your tits, making you squirm under his touch. your hand flew up to his hair, lightly tugging on it, feeling the slickness from the rain. he pulled away from your chest after flicking his tongue against your nipple one last time. he sat up, grabbing the hem of his sweater and pulling it off him.

you bit your lip at the sight of his toned chest that you absolutely loved. you loved that he took care of himself in every way, especially his body. catching your gaze, he smirked. he, too, loved his own body.

jaehyun pressed a quick kiss on your lips before he went down on your body. your pussy in his face, he wrapped his arms around your thighs, pressing soft wet kisses against your skin. “god, you smell fucking amazing.”

“jaehyun.” you cried out as he licked your wet folds. your hips thrusting, trying to get more, but his arms held you down. pressing a tiny kiss on your clit, his tongue darted out, licking your entrance, lapping around the area. moans spilling from your lips as he fucked you with his tongue. his hand sneaking around to rub your clit, which made you curse his name. “oh my god!” arching your back at the sudden sensation.

“mine.” jaehyun grunted against your pussy, retracting his arm from your thigh, circling around to glide his fingers up and down your folds. “my pussy.” he said before inserting two fingers into your hole, making you gasp. his fingers easily slide in and out of you due to your wetness. the entire room fills up with the sounds of your pussy squelching as he continued to finger you, curling his fingers ever so often, which drove you insane. he attached his lips to your clit, sucking on the sensitive nerve as he continued the motions with his fingers.

“fuck, jaehyun, i can’t–” you barely got the words out as he inserted a third finger, making you gasp, and grip the sheets beneath you. your legs attempted to close but his grip on it prevented you from doing so. you felt the familiar coil gather in your stomach.

“say it, say you’re mine, then i’ll let you cum.” his breath fanning against you, fastening his pace as he fucks you with his fingers.

“mhm, fuck! i’m yours, jae.” your hips bucked upwards as you felt your orgasm coming. “please, let me cum.”

“see, was that so hard?” jaehyun rubbed your clit with his thumb, pushing you over the edge. you screamed out his name, body trembling as you came hard on his fingers. the sight of you arching your back went directly to his dick, hardening against his pants. he pulled his fingers out easily, covered in your cum. he sat up, bringing his fingers to his mouth. “so sweet, so pretty.” licking his creamy fingers clean.

chest heaving as you tried to recover from your high. you met jaehyun’s gaze, seeing him already staring at you. your eyes darted down, seeing his cock begging to be free from his jeans. arm extending, you palmed him through his jeans, hips bucking to meet your touch. “take it off.”

“eager to finally get good dick?” jaehyun smirked, undoing the buttons of his pants.

“get out.”

“taking my pants off right now.” he slid out of his jeans and boxers, cock springing out and bouncing off his stomach. your mouth watering at the sight. your hand reached out to grab his shaft, pumping it before gliding your fingers over the slit, spreading the precum that was leaking out. “fuck, baby.” he moaned, rutting his hips to meet your hand. “you look so good holding my cock.”

“i’d look even better when you finally fuck me with it.” frustration crept up your voice which made him chuckle. he grabbed hold of your hand, holding your wrists above your head while his other hand guided his cock towards your entrance.

“no one will fuck you as good as i do.” ramming his cock into you without warning. the sudden contact made you yelp, wanting to grab hold of him, but his grip on your wrist prevented your movement. “what a dirty little slut. remember, this fucking pussy is mine.” his thrusts were intense, his words laced with venom as he relentlessly fucked your cunt. you could barely let out your words as your breath kept getting knocked out of you.

“o-oh god, jae.” jaehyun was absolutely losing it at the sight of you crumbling beneath him. the pretty noises that were coming out of your mouth were like music to him. sweat trickled down your body as he increased his pace. he let go of your wrists, and your hands flew to grip his shoulders. he grabbed your thighs, pushing them close to your chest. his cock perfectly hitting your sweet spot with every thrust.

“you feel so fucking good.” his hands reached out to pinch your nipples, making you curse out his name. “you take my cock so fucking well.” you rolled your hips out to meet his pace, leggings shaking from him as he hit all the right spots. your reactions were fueling him even more; he pulled his cock out entirely before slamming it back into your pussy. he gripped your waist as your back arched from the intense sensation, moans getting louder. “you like that, huh? remember who owns you, pretty girl. not that fucking jungwoo, me.”

tears sprang to your eyes from the immense pleasure. not being able to speak coherently, you nodded at his words. nails digging into his shoulder blades as you felt your second orgasm forming in your abdomen. he leaned down, burying his head in your neck, placing kisses on your skin as he continued to rock his hips into you. “i’m so close.” you managed to moan out, legs wrapping around his waist, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

“shit,” jaehyun pulled away from your neck, watching as your tits bounce from his trust, his hand snaked up your clit, rubbing it which built up the pressure in your stomach even more. “cum for me, baby.” his thrusts getting sloppy as he felt his own orgasm creep up.

“oh my god!” you cried out as your insides exploded from pleasure, your walls clenching around his cock as you came.

the feeling of your pussy tightening around his cock brought his orgasm out. his warm cum leaking inside you. “so fucking beautiful.” he groaned, pulling his cock out. your mixed cum spilling out of you. he collapsed beside you.

breaths heavy, you closed your eyelids, wanting to doze off for the night, feeling jaehyun’s arms wrap around you. peeking at him, but his eyes were already trained on you.

“hi.” you whispered.

“be mine.” he mumbled, pulling your body close to him.

“what?” looking at him in disbelief.

“be mine, y/n, be my girlfriend.” he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. you knew jaehyun was not one to do relationships. this was one of the reasons why you agreed to keep it physical in the first place. hearing the word girlfriend from his mouth was indeed a new experience, especially since he was saying it to you.

“is my pussy that good?” you giggled.

“yes.” he placed a kiss on your forehead, “and i want to be yours. only yours, and i want you to only be mine.”

“will you stop making out with other girls in the library if i say yes?”

“in the libra–? is that why you left!” he looked at you in shock, “i’m so sorry, i didn’t know you saw that. i promise you she meant nothing to me. i don’t even know her name.”

“wow, that makes me feel so better.” sarcasm rolling off your tongue.

“what about you and that blond bitch! who does he think he is giving you flowers. i fucking hate him.” he sulked, making you snort and laugh. “not funny. i cried, true story.”

so you explained to him what the reason behind the flowers was. his cocky ass got even more cocky when you admitted that it was your attempt to forget him. but you had the last laugh when you found out that even his friends could see that he was miserable without you. you eventually did give him an answer to his previous question, you indeed wanted to be his.

#jeong jaehyun #nct 127 #nct #jung jaehyun #jaehyun imagines #nct imagines #jaehyun smut #nct smut #jaehyun x reader #nct x reader #kim jungwoo #mark lee

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insanechayne · 2 years ago

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~ ~ ~

#damn I’m in a mood tonight #can’t stop thinking about a very cute/sweet interaction I had with the guy I been talking to for a while #sadly we like 4-5 hours away from each other so seeing each other is difficult #but I’m gonna be in his area in May to join my mom on a little trip for some conference she’s going to #and we figure if it’s the only thing that’ll work out that we’ll just wait to have our first date then #dude really said he’d take a day off work just so he could spend the whole day with me that first time we meet #I was like my guy I can’t believe you like me enough to take off work for me???#and he was like ‘just accept it’#bruh how the fuck???!!!#how can you like me so much no one else has ever liked me that much before #and we have such similar energy and so much in common and every day he says something else that makes me think he’s perfect for me tbh #this motherfucker got me floating around on butterflies all the time #can’t get this out of my head it’s fuckin crazy to me #personal

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solxamber · 17 days ago

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

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

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, dear God. You’ve been isekai’d.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You steel yourself. “Yes, Floyd?”

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

God help you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This calls for drastic action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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

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suiana · 3 months ago

Text

(yandere! vampire x afab! reader) (cw: period blood💀, suggestive) (reader is gn but has a uterus)

he is the young lord of a prestigious vampire family family.

honour, money, respect.

he could be everything and anything. his status allows him to do so. and the fact that he's a vampire only makes him so much more powerful.

a young and educated bachelor of a prestigious vampire family.

elegant, smart, educated.

he'd never make a rash decision, always thinking things through before doing anything. careful calculations, masterful deceptions...

that's why he doesn't understand it when his friend tells him that period blood is tasty.

"dude, you've got to try it sometime. like, it's got this tangy taste and-"

"silence! how disgusting are you?"

his face is completely twisted, eyes narrowing as he glares at his friend of 150 years. what on earth is he talking about? tasty? tangy?

his best friend wasn't like this before. he used to be more composed. he'd never say something that vulgar.

ugh, it must be because his friend got that human girlfriend a while back. ever since they started dating... he doesn't even want to think about it. that human must have brainwashed him or something. like period blood? seriously?

...

he can't say much though. he's the same with you too. if you asked him to do something nasty with your blood... i mean, you're his mate! he'll do anything if you asked for it!

"ugh... my cramps are so painful..."

your vampire boyfriend immediately spins his ehad towards you, an alert expression as he teleports to your side to immediately rub at your belly.

"do you need anything, my love?"

"just for my cramps to stop hurting so much."

your boyfriend hates seeing you like this. all in pain, crouching over yourself. curse whoever made periods! how dare they hurt his wonderful lover? he swears that he'll-

"...babe, you're doing the thing again."

oh.

the vampire lord shys away, immediately hiding his fangs as he clears his throat.

"sorry beloved. you know how I get whenever you're in pain. you don't deserve to suffer, you know? I just get so passionate sometimes."

he sighs, shaking his head as he curls up beside you and snuggles up with you. ah, this is perfect- wait a second.

'dude, i don't know whether your mate will allow you to but whenever they get their cramps getting them to orgasm relieves the pain.'

why the hell did he suddenly remember his best friend's words right now?!

ah...

the vampire turns his head towards yours, a pretty pink hue on his cheeks asnhe snuggles you even more. it catches your attention and.. you can't help but raise an eyebrow. what the hell was your boyfriend up to now? did he kill someone in your name again?

"what?"

"you... have cramps right?"

did he hit his head or something?

"yeah? i literally just said it."

your grunt, feeling slightly more snappy than usual because your hormones were fucking everything up. everything was so uncomfortable, and the pain meds weren't helping either. sometimes you wish you could just tear out your uterus and never have to suffer periods ever again.

wait, wait, wait what?

you were pulled out from your thoughts when your boyfriend suddenly stopped hugging you, instead moving his face lower... and lower- hold on, is he in the mood right now?!

"w-wait! what are you doing? i'm on my period dummy!"

"yeah? i know?"

you feel your cheeks heating up as your boyfriend stares at you from in between your legs. what the hell? is he crazy? you know how much of a clean freak he is! he'd never do something so... filthy!

"get out from my legs then?! what if my blood gets-"

"i... heard from my friend that it would help your cramps go away."

he pauses, face blushing as he stares at your pants before glancing back up at your face.

"and you know how much I hate seeing you in pain baby. I don't care if it gets messy."

you could only stare at him in a mixture of embarrassment and horror as he begins to momentarily outfreak you with his behaviour. he's never... done anything like this before. and you know how much he hates getting dirty and so-called 'un-fresh blood'.

he's gone on a rant about how different fresh blood and not fresh blood tastes like before. you vividly remember his disgusted voice and his horrific face as he recounted what his best friend and hiss mate did.

and yet... he's doing the same thing now?!

"hey... you don't have to do it-! I thought you-"

"yeah, but it's fine. I'm doing it for you anyways."

you didn't know what to say to that so you merely sighed and let him do what he wanted to do. you never managed to stop him when he was set on something anyway.

...

so your vampire boyfriend ended up liking it more than he should.

um.

yeah good luck :3

#yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere concept #yandere vampire #yandere vampire x reader #suiana brainrotting #suiana rambling

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shitsndgiggs · 3 months ago

Note

Hiiiiii, could you maybe do something with like Jobe, where like he and reader are cuddling and shit, and then Jude is just like that embarrassing older brother who decides he needs his little brother, and Jobe is just like 'bro, are you fr rn, YOU'RE INTERRUPTING'

If so thank youuu<3 have a nice day/night

OLDER BROTHER ANTICS - JOBE BELLINGHAM

Just Jude interrupting your moment with Jobe

Jobe Bellingham x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

I'm cozied up on the couch with Jobe, basking in the warmth of his embrace. His kisses are gentle, his hands are tender, and everything feels perfect as I lean into him, completely absorbed in our little world.

Just as Jobe’s lips find mine again, a loud, exaggerated cough breaks through our peaceful moment.

I pull back, blinking in surprise as Jude, Jobe’s older brother, stands in the doorway with a smirk that’s clearly up to no good. “Ahem! Care to remember that there’s a whole world out here besides your, um, ‘romantic interlude’?”

Jobe’s eyes narrow in annoyance as he pulls away slightly. “Seriously, Jude? Can you not see that we’re busy here?”

Jude saunters into the room, clearly reveling in his role as the annoying older brother. “Busy? Oh, you mean you’re just, what, setting new records for public displays of affection? I thought I’d come in and remind you that you’re not the only people in the house.”

Jobe’s frustration is palpable. “Dude, can you just—”

But Jude isn’t done. He continues, clearly enjoying himself. “—You know, it’s not like I have anything better to do than listen to you two moan and groan all evening. Have you considered that maybe some of us have lives outside of this sappy little bubble?”

I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Jobe’s irritation is visible, but his brother’s antics are oddly endearing.

Jobe shakes his head, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “Okay, Jude, enough. I love you as my brother and all, but right now, I’m really not in the mood for your commentary.”

Jude, still grinning, seems unfazed. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to your... uh, quality time.” He heads toward the door but keeps talking over his shoulder. “Just remember, there’s more to life than just this. Maybe go outside or something, get some fresh air!”

As Jude finally exits, still chuckling to himself, Jobe turns to me with a mix of relief and determination.

He grabs my hands, his eyes sparkling with a mix of frustration and mischief. “You know what? Let’s just get out of here. I think we could both use a break from my brother’s endless commentary.”

Before I can respond, Jobe is already leading me toward the door, his grip warm and reassuring. “How about a drive? We can leave all the interruptions behind and just... be somewhere else for a bit.”

I nod, smiling up at him. “That sounds perfect.”

#football imagine #football x reader #jobe bellingham #jobe bellingham x reader

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ham1lton · 1 month ago

Text

AFTER LAST NIGHT (I THINK I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU).

episode two of ham1lton’s kinktober fest.

— pairings: george russell x reader.

— summary: your vampire roommate is perfect in every way. he's clean, respectful, pays his portion of rent on time, and.... has a crush on you?

— cw: bath sex/handjob, mention of licking tears, biting!!! this is a vamp sex fic. this is acc very tame lmao.

────── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ──────

AITA for thinking my vampire roommate has a crush on me because he’s acting weird?

posted by user728338

so this sounds ridiculous, which is why i posted this on my throwaway acc, but please bear with me. i (23F) have a roommate (26M) who’s… well, a vampire. yes, a literal vampire. before you ask, it’s really not as dramatic as it sounds. he’s actually perfect in pretty much every way—he’s super clean, respectful, quiet, never has people over, pays his rent on time, and never leaves a mess. honestly, having a vampire as a roommate has been way easier than i thought it would be.

but lately, he’s been acting kinda… weird. at first, i thought maybe it was just vampire stuff? like maybe he’s going through some undead mood swings or whatever. but now, i’m starting to think it’s something else. he’s started being extra nice to me, like… too nice. offering to do things for me, complimenting me more than usual, staring at me for just a little longer than what’s socially acceptable.

he also gets super awkward whenever i bring up my dating life. like, i casually mentioned going on a date, and he kinda froze up and changed the subject immediately. it’s really unlike him. i feel like he’s avoiding me sometimes, too. he’ll leave the room quickly if i get too close, and he’s gotten all stiff when we’re watching a movie together like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

i don’t know—am i being paranoid, or does it sound like he might have a crush on me? i feel like this whole ‘vampire crush on a human’ thing is just… cliché (like okayyyy tvd), but he’s been so different lately. i want to bring it up, but i also really don’t want to make things awkward if i’m wrong. he’s been a great roommate, and i don’t want to mess that up.

AITA for thinking my vampire roommate might have feelings for me?

view all comments.

randolando: dude don’t worry about it. vampires get weird about crushes. i used to know this hot vamp chick and i totally knew she had a crush on me when she brought me back to her cave and tried to stop my heart. weird but romantic. knowing him, he’s just trying to figure out a way to ask you out without making it awkward. we know how crushes are a pain in the neck. you get it? 🤣

chachaslide: this is sweet. i love seeing true love. i hope you like him back but no pressure. it sounds like he really likes you and isn’t sure how to handle it. if you like him too just be gentle and maybe talk to him about the situation? he could just be scared to ruin what you both have. if you don’t like him, that’s fine! just reassure him that you’re cool being roommates. communication is key!! hope it goes well.

maxattack: KILL HIM NOW. i don't care how 'nice' or ‘perfect' he seemingly is. he’s a vampire, and you're a walking snack. don’t let the politeness fool you. the second you let your guard down, you're done. get out now, stake through the heart, burn the body, and never look back. you don't want to be his next midnight snack. i know from experience.

alexxxxx123: omg. i think i know who you’re talking about. tall, pale, british and his name begins with g? if it’s him, it’s totally harmless.

— user728338: pm me.

────── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ──────

after a long day at work, you step into the london flat quietly, the soft click of the door barely making a sound. as you take off your shoes, you hear george’s voice coming from the living room. it’s low, but unmistakable—calm, precise, and, of course, very posh. curiosity gets the better of you, and you hover just outside the door, listening.

“yes, alex, i know. it’s rather… frustrating, to say the least,” george says, his tone clipped but controlled. “i mean, she’s right here, every day, and yet i can’t seem to gather the courage to—well, you know… express myself.”

there’s a pause, and you feel your heart skip a beat. he’s talking about you. you press yourself closer to the wall, careful not to make a sound, your pulse racing as you listen in.

“oh, of course, i’ve thought about it,” george continues, his voice lowering slightly, almost conspiratorial. “but what if she doesn’t feel the same? what if i ruin everything? she’s… well, she’s stunning, isn’t she? and don’t get me started on how she looks when she—”

he stops himself, clears his throat, and you hear him shift uncomfortably. oh. you feel your cheeks heat up, realising just how close you’ve come to hearing something you probably shouldn’t.

“no, no, it’s nothing improper,” george quickly adds, as if reassuring alex on the other end of the line—and maybe himself too. “you know i’m not that sort of man. it’s just that… i find myself distracted. the way she smiles, the way she moves about the flat, even the smallest things. it’s maddening. i can’t keep my thoughts straight, let alone have a proper conversation with her. it’s utterly ridiculous.”

you bite your lip, your mind racing. george, the prim and proper vampire, with his immaculate manners and his pristine way of speaking… has a crush on you? it almost seems too surreal and you come to the sudden realisation that you were right.

“yes, well,” george continues, a hint of exasperation in his voice, “i don’t think it’s quite appropriate to be so forward with her. she’s human, alex. it’s not as simple as just… declaring one’s affections and hoping for the best. besides, there’s… certain temptations that come with my, shall we say, condition.”

another pause, and you can almost hear the shock in george’s voice as he says, “no, not that sort of temptation. for heaven’s sake, alex, you’re incorrigible.”

you stifle a giggle, feeling a strange mixture of amusement and flattery. george’s usually calm, composed demeanour was cracking, all because of you. and yet, even as he’s talking about his attraction, he’s still so… proper.

“it’s just… difficult, alex,” george continues, his voice softening, as if he’s letting his guard down. “i’ve never been one to get flustered, you know that. but with her, it’s different. every time i try to be casual, i end up stumbling over my words like a schoolboy. i haven’t been one of those since my eton days in 1678.”

he sighs, and you hear the creak of the chair as he shifts. “i’ve considered telling her, of course, but what if she doesn’t feel the same? or worse, what if i… lose control? it’s not like i can just—”

just then, george turns his head, catching sight of you in the reflection of the mirror by the door. his eyes widen, and he freezes, his face going pale as a statue. which means, he’s even paler than usual.

“alex, i have to go,” he says quickly, cutting the call without another word.

you stand there, awkwardly rooted to the spot, trying to process what just happened. george stares at you for a long, agonising second, his usually calm, collected features twisted in a mix of embarrassment and something close to panic. he opens his mouth to say something, then promptly closes it again. without another word, he vanishes from the room, moving so fast that you barely catch the sound of the door shutting behind him.

────── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ──────

the flat feels strangely empty after that. days pass, and george doesn’t return. there’s no note, no message, nothing to explain his absence, and a strange loneliness settles over the place. as much as you tried to shake off the awkwardness of overhearing him, you couldn’t stop thinking about his voice, his words, and how he’d sounded so flustered and so human in that moment.

then, one evening, after a long day, you decide to run yourself a bath. the water is warm, the bubbles thick, and you sink into it, trying to relax, but your thoughts keep drifting back to george. you wonder where he is, if he’s okay, and if he’ll ever come back. mostly because out of genuine care but also, you could never pay the rent alone. it’s london.

just as you’re about to close your eyes, there’s a soft knock on the bathroom door. you sit up, startled.

“it’s me,” george’s voice comes through the door, quiet, hesitant. “i… well, i need to apologise.”

you blink, glancing down at yourself submerged in the bath, and then at the door. “george?” you call out, feeling a mix of surprise and curiosity. “where have you been?”

there’s a pause before he responds, his voice tight with embarrassment. “away. i… needed some time to gather my thoughts. but i can’t stay away any longer. i behaved incredibly poorly, and i’m sorry. i didn’t mean for you to overhear that conversation.”

“you’ve been avoiding me for days,” you say softly, the warmth of the bath soothing but not enough to ease the tension in the air. “it’s fine, george. really.”

“no,” he insists, his voice a little firmer now. “it’s not fine. i’ve been disrespectful, and that’s not who i am. it’s not reflective of how i want to act. i should have… handled it better.” there’s a long pause, and you can hear the discomfort in his tone when he adds, “i’ll… wait outside until you’re decent. i’d never want to intrude on your privacy.”

you bite back a smile. even now, he’s still so proper, refusing to even acknowledge that you’re in the bath.

“george, it’s okay,” you say, a little amused. “you can come in. just… don’t look.”

there’s another pause, and you hear him take a deep breath. then, slowly, the door creaks open, and george steps in, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. he looks so shy, and he looks entirely out of place standing in the middle of your ensuite bathroom, but he keeps his gaze respectfully averted.

“i… i didn’t mean for things to get so awkward,” he begins, his voice tight with formality. “i’ve made things uncomfortable for you, and for that, i’m deeply sorry.”

you can’t help but smile at his rigid posture, the way he stands there, still too embarrassed to even glance in your direction. “george, you didn’t do anything wrong. i… actually thought it was kind of… sweet. the way you talked about me.”

his head jerks slightly, and he clears his throat, clearly flustered. “yes, well… it wasn’t my finest moment, but… i meant every word.”

you feel your heart flutter at his admission, and despite the strange situation, you can’t help but find his gentlemanly awkwardness endearing.

“thank you for apologising,” you say softly. “and for being so… proper. i appreciate it.”

he finally glances up, just for a second, his eyes still carefully avoiding looking at you directly. “i may be many things,” he says quietly, “but a gentleman is one i’ll never fail to be. i… hope we can put this behind us.”

with a soft smile, you turn your head to the side, studying george’s posture, his stiff formality, his refusal to look at you even now. “but what if i don’t want to?” you ask, your voice quiet, teasing, but with an edge of something more—something curious.

his entire body tenses at your words, as if they’ve struck him harder than he expected. he clears his throat, his gaze still fixed on the floor, though you notice his hands twitch slightly at his sides. “i… i beg your pardon?” he stammers, the usual composure in his voice faltering.

you sit up a little in the bath, the water shifting around you as you keep your eyes on him. “what if i don’t want to put it behind us?” you repeat, more gently this time, testing the waters just as he had with his confession. “what if… i’ve been thinking about it too?”

george is silent for a long moment, his breath hitching just slightly as your words sink in. finally, he raises his head, his eyes locking onto yours, though he keeps them carefully above your shoulders. there’s a flicker of something—hope, maybe, or disbelief—dancing in his eyes. he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he struggles to find the right words.

“you… you’ve thought about it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

you nod, watching his reaction closely. “george, you’ve been nothing but a gentleman, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice… the way you look at me. the way you talk about me.” you pause, biting your lip slightly, the playful edge in your voice softening. “and… maybe I like it.”

“i… i never intended to make you uncomfortable,” he murmurs, his voice laced with sincerity. “but if… if you’ve truly thought about this, then… i can’t deny that i have, too. for longer than i care to admit.”

he glances away, his jaw tightening as though he’s fighting some internal battle, trying to balance his feelings with his unshakable need to maintain decorum. “but you must understand,” he continues, his voice tight, “this isn’t… simple. my nature complicates things. i’ve fought to keep these feelings in check because… i don’t want to put you at risk.”

you tilt your head, your eyes softening as you look at him, seeing the tension in his posture, the restraint he holds so tightly. “george, you’ve never made me feel anything but safe,” you murmur, your voice gentle. “even now.”

he stands by the door, rigid, torn between his desire and his code of conduct. his fingers flex at his sides as though he’s holding onto some invisible line that’s slowly fraying. “but what if… what if i can’t always control myself?” he whispers, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “what if i fail?”

you meet his gaze steadily. “george, you have control. we’ve been living together a long time. if you didn’t, this would’ve gone differently a long time ago.”

he blinks, clearly taken aback by your confidence in him. you shift slightly in the bath, the warm water rippling around you as you lean forward. “come here,” you say, your tone soft but firm.

“i can’t,” he breathes, shaking his head slightly, his eyes flickering with hesitation. “you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“maybe i do,” you reply, your voice unwavering. “you said you’ve thought about this—about us. so have i. and the only thing standing between us right now is your fear that you’ll hurt me. but george… you won’t.”

he clenches his jaw, his eyes filled with conflict. you can see the way he’s holding himself back, the way he’s torn between what he wants and what he thinks is right. “you don’t understand the… the temptation,” he says, his voice strained. “being close to you… it’s not just about control.”

“i trust you,” you say firmly, holding his gaze. “and i’m asking you to trust yourself.”

he takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he battles with himself. finally, after what feels like an eternity, he takes a tentative step forward. then another. he’s still hesitant, but you can see the way his resolve is crumbling under the weight of his desire.

“come here,” you say again, more softly this time, reaching out a hand toward him. “george, i want you here. with me.”

he stops at the edge of the bath, his eyes dark and intense as they meet yours. “this… this isn’t appropriate,” he says, but his voice has lost its usual firmness. there’s a vulnerability there now, an uncertainty that you’ve never seen in him before.

“good news that appropriate isn’t what i’m asking for,” you say with a small smile, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. “i’m asking for you.”

he swallows hard, his eyes flickering down to the water and back up to you, and for a moment, you think he might walk away again, retreat into that shell of formality he hides behind. but then, slowly, cautiously, he bends down, kneeling by the side of the bath. his hand hovers over yours for a moment, as if he’s still deciding whether or not to let himself go.

“just trust me,” you whisper, your eyes locking onto his, silently urging him to take that final step.

his fingers curl around yours, cool to the touch, and you feel the tension in his grip, the restraint he’s still holding onto. “you’re sure?” he murmurs, his voice low and almost reverent.

“i’ve never been more sure,” you reply, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. his skin cold under yours. “now, get in.”

he hesitates for only a moment longer before, with a deep breath, he slips off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt, still moving carefully, like he’s afraid of crossing a line he can’t uncross. lastly, he pulls his trousers down before he steps into the bath, the water lapping at his underwear, soaking them through, but he doesn’t seem to care. his gaze is fixed on you the entire time, intense and unwavering.

he sits down slowly, the warmth of the bath contrasting with his cool skin, his legs brushing against yours under the water. “i don’t want to… overstep,” he says softly, his voice low and serious, though his hand remains firmly in yours.

“you won’t.” you smile, as you crawl over to him. “if anything, i might do.”

“you could never.” he murmurs, looking into your eyes. “anything you would like to do to me would be my pleasure.”

“anything?”

“anything.”

he exhales slowly, his gaze lingering on your face as if trying to memorise every detail. "i've spent so long keeping my distance," he says quietly, his voice thick with restraint. "telling myself that this... that you... were out of reach."

you shift closer, the water rippling between you as your knees brush against his. "i'm not out of reach, george," you whisper, your fingers trailing along his arm. "i'm right here."

you crawl over to him as you kiss him. he immediately melts under your touch, his cold skin going pliant under your fingertips. you go even further, opening your mouth with his tongue and swallowing the little gasp that comes out. he grips your forearms as you take up more space in his lap, his eyes shut as you greedily touch him everywhere you can.

you can feel him harden under your touch, as you reach down to wrap a hand around him. he bucks up into your touch as he kisses you harder. you tighten your hold as he fucks up into you, the water splashing around you both as he cradles your face with his hands.

for a moment, all you can hear is the motion of the water and his quiet groans against your mouth.

as he moans in your mouth again, you smile and swipe your thumb over his head. his stomach clenches, and his thighs tense as he releases. he looks up at you with apologetic teary eyes, the teardrops spilling over. he looks a mess. his sharp canines protruding from his mouth, pushing his lips into a pout. you kiss him. the role reversal hadn’t been lost on you. you had managed to reduce your ‘predator’ into tears over a handjob. take that user maxattack!

you then smile, not unkindly, and lick up the salty trail that his teardrops had mapped on his face. you kiss his cheek.

“you okay?” he nods in response to your question. you hesitate before asking a question. “do you mind if try something? i’ve always been curious about it.”

“of course.”

you lean forward and bite over his jugular. he seemingly doesn’t react. you bite down harder, when you look at him, he just looks back at you with his eyes wide. the pressure of your teeth didn’t seem to affect him, but hey, it was something to tick off your bucket list.

“having fun?” he smiles.

“a lot.” you grin. “i’d have even more if you let me have my way with you in an actual bed.”

you’ve never seen him move so quickly as he did when getting out of the bath.

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UPDATE: AITA for thinking my vampire roommate had a crush on me?

posted by user728338

hey everyone, i wasn’t expecting the original post to get so much attention, but after reading through all your comments (some of them were wild, lol), i figured i’d give you an update!

so… turns out, you guys were right. he did have a crush on me, and i wasn’t imagining things. i ended up overhearing him on the phone with his friend (as you all predicted), and he was basically confessing his feelings for me! it was awkward at first—he got super embarrassed and disappeared for a few days. i thought that was going to be the end of it, but then he came back to apologise, all prim and proper as usual, even though i was literally in the bath when he did it.

and well… one thing led to another. we had a very honest conversation about everything, about how we’ve both been feeling, and let’s just say it escalated from there.

yes, we hooked up. and it was… intense (vampires, am i right?). i won’t go into too much detail, but it was amazing and also kind of sweet? he is still his usual gentlemanly self, but he’s also loosened up a bit around me now, which is nice. the best part? we’re officially dating now!!

it’s still early days, but things have been going really well. he is is surprisingly thoughtful, and he’s made it clear that he takes this—us—very seriously. i’m honestly really happy with him, and the whole vampire thing? not as big of a deal as i thought it would be.

so yeah, it all worked out in the end! thanks for the advice, everyone. and to those who told me to get therapy or run because he was going to eat me—he definitely didn’t. ;)

tl;dr: my vampire roommate had a crush on me, we hooked up, and now we’re dating!

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maxattack: THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA. IT'S NOT TOO LATE. STAKE HIM. I REPEAT— STAKE. HIM. you say he didn't eat you this time, but that's how it starts. they lure you in with sweetness, get you comfortable, and then BAM, next thing you know, you're in a coffin six feet under. i’ve seen it happen. i’ll say it one more time — STAKE. THROUGH. THE. HEART. I'M WARNING YOU!!!!!

chachaslide: this is SO CUTE! i’m so glad you two talked it out and things worked out in the best way possible. it sounds like you’ve got a great thing going! i hope everything continues to be amazing between you two. just keep up that communication, and you’ll be fine! wishing you both all the best <3

randolando: knew it!!! i told you, vampires just get weird with crushes. i’m glad it worked out for you two! also, the fact that he didn’t try to stop your heart means you’re doing better than me with that vamp chick lmao. anyway, keep having fun, but maybe steer clear of any caves. congrats!

alexxxxx123: OMG IT IS HIM! i knew it! g is a total sweetheart, and honestly, you’ve snagged a good one. i’m really happy for you both. i had a feeling he liked you when you first mentioned the awkwardness. he’s just a bit shy when it comes to feelings. don’t worry, he’ll get a lot more comfortable as you go along! congrats again! <3

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