#lies and lavish

[ktficworld]

Lies and Lavish

Chapter 1: introduction

Pairing: soft dark! Andy Barber x reader, soft dark! Steve Rogers x reader, soft dark! Clark Kent x reader, soft dark! Bucky x reader, soft dark! Bruce Wayne x reader

Summary: You finally pull your head out of your studies and go to your long time friend's wedding to relax. And it's going to be alright, even if the infamous five brothers tend to linger around you a little too long, even when you share a past with one of them, even if their darkness is slowly approaching you. It's going to be okay, right?

Warnings: angst, mutual pining, manhandling, violence (by reader)

A/n: phew, it's finally here. Let me know what you think and please reblog it. It give ke motivation.

The wind whistled in the air mingling with the horns and roars of the cars, more expensive than your soul.

You sighed at the gigantic iron gate before you as the straps of your backpack dug into your shoulder. You were really second guessing your visit but the thought of your friend made you shake your head. After all, it was your childhood best friend wedding, even if it was to Ransom Drysdale. How did she managed to win that throttle? You would never know. But then again, not everybody's life revolved around school and sleep.

You glanced at the two additional bags you brought. Your backpack had essentials and your books. Even though, you came to relax, you'd still squeeze in some study. Business was no easy major and your finals were four months away.

You gripped your trolley bags and meekly shuffled towards the gate and entered the Drysdale estate through a smaller door-like gate. You sighed and looked around for any worker or someone who could help you with this maze.

Honk.

You jumped, clutching your racing heart as the loud noise pulled you out of your reverie. You began turning your head to glare at the motherfucker who almost gave you a heart attack, when an oh-so familiar voice called out your name.

"Luna! Come here."

You caught a glimpse of a Rolls Royce with a familiar sticker before you turned to beam at your friend, Alaïa. She waved at you with a megawatt smile and you thanked your lucky stars for working today as you dragged the bags and yourself towards her.

"Hi Alaïa, oh god! I can't believe you are getting married. Congratulations!" You said while intertwining your hands with hers, bouncing giddily.

"Thanks sis and gimme this," She pulled the bag off from your shoulders and deposited it on the nearby trolley bag. She glanced around and beckoned someone to where you were standing. "Leo, can you put these bags in the guest room I set up. Thank you." She politely ordered and off went your bags.

"Wow, Alaïa. You're living like a queen, huh?" You said, distracted by the large man taking away your luggage.

"Well, perks of marrying a rich man."

At that your smile faltered. You gradually dragged your gaze back to her. "Listen, Alaïa, you know I don't beat around the bush so I'm just gonna ask you. Are you okay with Ransom bringing more wives in the future?"

That was the new normal now. Apparently, 50 percent divorce rate was too alarming for the governments around the world. Add the loneliness statistics and now getting a divorce was nearly impossible. However, those who had the money to keep multiple partners, were allowed. Yes, polygamy was now legal. But the financially dependent partner had no say in this arrangement and that was why you feared for Alaïa.

Alaïa grimaced. "I know you're blunt. But you don't have to put it like that and don't worry. Ransom has promised to stay with me and only me."

They meant nothing. You were promised too. "But Alaïa, people change. What if he just said that to trap you? What will you do when he brings home some bimbo twenty years younger than him?"

People do change sometimes, even overnight. Or maybe they just hide their true face so perfectly that you couldn't see past those roses and sweet nothings.

Alaïa's lips tugged upwards into a half, bitter smile. "You think I'm a gold digger, don't ya?"

You gasped at the accusation. "God, no. And even if you were a gold digger, there's nothing wrong with it in this economy. The golden days are long gone. I'm just concerned about you, Alaïa."

"Hmmm, I know you only want the best for me. And I was just teasing you. I have signed the open marriage arrangement."

You heaved a sigh of relief but couldn't help thinking that somebody had definitely shamed her with that tag. "You scared me. It's great Ransom offered you that. Maybe, he is actually really committed to you." There were men and women who would allow the courtesy of an open marriage to their financially dependent partner, in case they marry again. So, if Ransom was really risking his fragile male ego, then he really meant it in your opinion.

"Yeah, maybe we can find you a committed one or two here. Look, their eyes are already wandering over you." She said with way too much enthusiasm and pointed behind you where few men were eyeing you with interest.

You whipped your head back to your friend, now accompanied with a sharp glare. "Absolutely not! I don't plan on marrying. Ever. And especially not to those dogs lolling their tongue."

Alaïa laughed at your little outburst and hooked her arm with yours. "I'm joking. Now, come on. Let's get you to Harlan." And began leading you inside the mansion.

But you planted your feet on the ground, causing her to stagger back to you. "Why would I meet Harlan?" You asked, bewildered.

She looked at you sheepishly. "I may have bragged about your writing and business skills way too much. Because as soon as I said you were coming today, he instructed me to bring you straight to his office."

What did your friend tell him that Harlan Thrombey wanted to meet you? And not just meet you but meet you straight away? It annoyed you nonetheless. "Alaïa, but-"

"No if and buts. You are going to the office right now." She declared and dragged your whining body with her.

_

"Harlan, look who's here." Alaïa announced as she pushed open the large doors.

You stood beside her and smiled at Harlan when his eyes lit up. "Oh, Luna. Welcome dear. I have heard a lot about you." He said with a good-natured smile.

"I don't know what she has told you but I'm definitely not what you think." You said, stepping towards him.

Harlan huffed out a chuckle. "I call it nonsense. I have seen you work, I have seen your articles. You are an asset to have-"

"How are you doing, Harlan?" A dark baritone voice called from behind as the doors flung open, sending shivers down your spine.

You gazed back and your breath hitched in your throat. In walked The Five Brothers, the richest and most dangerous people in the world. If one percent of the world's population ruled the 99 percent, then they ruled the hundred percent of it. They had unimaginable power, both legally and illegally.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you had company." The eldest, Andy Barber said. You didn't catch the intrigue in his voice.

Because among them was him. He was the last one to come in, your eyes locked for a second and an emotion you couldn't decipher passed through his eyes before he completely disregarded you and returned to his nonchalant attitude.

And why would he care? You meant nothing to him. Or he wouldn't have left the way he did. It was just a second of eye contact but for you it felt like eternity as the bittersweet memories flashed before your eyes. They were tainted by the black cloud of reality but for you, they meant everything. Because even if you were a mere lay for him. You liked that bastard. Loved even, if you allowed yourself that pain.

"Luna, I didn't know he'd come. I'm sorry." Alaïa said but you were already too out of your mind to care about her words.

You were drowning. Drowning in pain, in the memories, in the abandonment after swearing to never love, seeing your parents example. Only to open your heart to that asshole and have it smashed into a billion pieces.

Your lungs were bursting and tears were prickling your eyes. You didn't want to cry over that fucker, never, not again. But your breath was already coming out in short puffs and it was getting difficult to remain discreet. You were going to cry, you couldn't help it.

"Harlan, my head is hurting like crazy. I think coming here in this scorching heat caused it. Can we talk at night?" You blurted out as you released a shuddery breath, unshed tears bluring your vision.

Harlan's eyes softened and he gave you a compassionate smile. "Of course, dear. Take care of yourself."

You nodded with a wry smile and turned to leave. Attempting to bypass the large men that had engulfed the entire study.

There was no furniture at the door, no plants but you still gasped as your feet hit something, disbalancing you as you fell. However, before you could fall, a pair of strong arms caught you. You knew who caught you, you knew that scent too well. You looked up to glare at him. He made you fall.

"Woah, babe. I know women fall head over heels for me but I didn't mean it literally." He chuckled and you screwed your eyes shut to stop yourself from slapping the fuck out of him.

"Maybe you are way too sick. Should I escort you to your room?" He said and you snapped your gazes up at him.

You wanted to squirm out of his hold. Maybe stomp on his feet. You wanted to run away but the bruising grip around your waist didn't allow you the courtesy. His signet ring digging into your skin, as if pleading to agree, to hear whatever he wanted to say or do.

"Please." You whispered, you didn't know what you were asking. To tell you the truth and finally give you closure or to not break your heart again.

You squealed as he collected you in his arms. Promptly trapping you.

"Yeah, Bruce just go and drop her. Don't mess around here, okay." Andy said with a sigh.

"Of course, brother. Why would I do that now?" Bruce said with feigned innocence, causing all of his brothers to scoff.

He turned to Alaïa and stared at her expectantly. "Oh, third floor, last room on the left side." She hastily informed.

He nodded with his charming smile and dashed out the door. But you knew he wasn't taking you to your room.

"Bruce put me down." You said with calm firmness. Finally getting a hold of your emotions.

"No." He said with an attitude as he marched up the stairs, the forcing rocking you hard in his arms as you clutched his shoulders.

"Bruce, I said let me go and don't give me that attitude."

No answer.

"BRUCE LET ME DOWN." You were suddenly pushed into a dark corridor. His entire weight pinned you down to keep you from squirming away.

His head whipped to the right side, inky hair cascading over his forehead as your slap echoed in the hollow corridor. He did not move his head, did not bat an eye, hell! He looked like he wasn't even breathing.

You snapped his face to the left as you hit him again and again. You knew it was wrong. You knew he wasn't feeling more than a pat on his cheeks as you were no match for his strength but you still did it. Once, twice, thrice. You did it till tears rolling down your cheeks blurred your vision, till your hands hurt and shook, till they were covered by larger ones.

You wanted to cry on his shoulder, like how you did when you didn't get the expected result but you refrained from it. And leaned against the wall instead.

"Want to hit me again? Go ahead." Bruce whispered, his thumbs soothing your aching palms. There was emotion in his voice now, the care that he lacked before.

"You left," You said through sobs. "You left after we lost our virginity together!"

"I did. But I never wanted to leave you. I had to." He replied, his voice cracking in the end.

"That is not a good fucking excuse, Bruce Wayne." You bit back and tried to wriggle out of his hold but you were further pressed into the fall when he caught onto your escape plan.

"I'm not making any excuses Luna. I had no choice, we had no choice! They were so close to uncovering our identity. We would have been done for."

"Who they? What they? Bruce do you seriously give this explanation to every single woman you fuck and abandon? When you take their virginity or sack a married woman? You are a pathetic excuse of a man, Bruce." You were just his practice. Someone he lost his virginity to, nothing more, nothing less. You were done. You didn't want any closure, any explanation if this was what you were getting. You wanted him out of your sight and life. Even if it meant leaving your best friend's wedding.

"I swear on my dead mother's grave I didn't want to leave, Luna!" Bruce roared and you finally halted, coming down from your hysteria. You looked at him as you both heaved.

He swore on his mother. The mother who he loved dearly. Who was kicked out on the streets with his other four brothers by their father and mistress, throwing them out of the life of luxury to beg on the streets. The one who died in front of him in a car accident when he was just eight.

Bruce told you all this when he was too drunk or too sleepy to care. So you weren't relying on gossip here.

Now you listened to him as he took a deep breath. "Do you think I like it? Moving from one place to another on a day's notice? Working minimum wage jobs even though we were far more capable? Changing identities like clothes? Do you think we liked living in fear? I had a red dot on my forehead, Luna. Heck! Maybe I still do and when I say I didn't have the time to even say goodbye, I mean it. And no, I didn't sleep with married women, didn't take anyone's virginity. All hook ups were consensual and I don't give anyone any excuse or explanation."

"Is this really the truth?" You asked, exhausted and relaxed at the same time.

"It is, Luna. I never wanted to leave you. I-missed you." He whispered and gingerly touched his forehead with yours and when you didn't jerk away, he released a shuddery breath.

"I don't forgive you." You whispered back, touching his stubbled jaw. God, his warmth, he still used that aftershave. It brought back so many memories.

"You don't have to."

"Are you asking for it?"

"Yes."

To your dismay, a hope bloomed in your heart that maybe, you would be able to forgive him with time and rekindle the unsaid. However, you quickly crushed that desire. You were worlds apart now. You were still grinding your ass to study and get a good job while he was one of the richest men in the world. You didn't belong here. He did.

You slid your head from his forehead to his chest as he buried his head into your hair. You let a few more tears fall off your eyes as a pang of headache hit you. It was great while it lasted.

"Bruce-oh! You know her?" A surprised voice startled you as Bruce tensed underneath your hold.

He sucked in a deep breath and whirled around so quickly it gave you whiplash, his tall stature shielding you completely. "And now why would I tell you, shorty? Were you stalking me?" He said with a sardonic smirk as you gaped at him.

This was not the sensible, careful and vulnerable Bruce. This was the rude, condescending and arrogant rich asshole everybody knew him as. Granted he always had a bad temper with an even worse mouth but this was not him. Maybe he changed overtime.

Bucky didn't even bat an eye over his height's judgement and said. "No, I wasn't stalking you. You were taking too long so Steve told me to check if you were behaving. Now who is she?" Bucky's mouth also turned upwards, his almost green eyes twinkling with mischief as his chocolate hair fell over his forehead. Even if Bucky was on the shorter side, it did nothing to deter his beauty.

Your thoughts were interpreted by the loud snort of Bruce. "Come on, Buck. You are becoming such a pet of our Stevie. I don't know what treats he gives you but they sure look worth it. And as for her?" Bruce turned to you, head cocked with a raised eyebrow.

You sidestepped Bruce and came face to face with Bucky. You told him your name. "People call me Luna, I'm his friend from college."

Bucky let out a breathy chuckle. "Honey, he changed colleges like clothes. You'd have to be more specific."

"Very first college, Buck. You know." Bruce said nonchalantly and your head snapped to glare at him. You were half upset when you thought his brothers didn't know about you but as Bucky's flicked over you and your cheeks heated up. You wanted them to forget about you.

You glanced at Bucky with an awkward smile as realisation dawned on him and his mouth curved in a o shape. He stuck out his hand for you with a warm smile. "Don't worry, doll face. Only I and Bruce know about you and his… friendship." You shook it.

"Bruce, I didn't know she was such a beauty. You should have told us. We would have taken her with us." You and Bucky laughed. However, Bruce only narrowed his eyes and his jaw ticked.

"I should escort her to her room." Bucky said.

"But that's my duty."

"No, Harlan wants to discuss AI so he needs you. Plus, I have a message to deliver to, doll face."

Bruce huffed and nodded reluctantly. All three of you went to the stairs before diverging. However, you still felt Bruce's eyes as you glanced over your shoulder and found him looking longingly at you. You gave him a smile before he disappeared down the stairs.

"So what is the message you have to deliver, Mr. Barnes?" You ask in a whisper.

Bucky suddenly hooked his arm in your and pulled you towards him, making your breath hitch at the closeness as his heady scent made you dizzy.

"It's Bucky Alaïa wants you to meet her in the garden at 5. She wants you to meet Ransom." He whispered back in your ear and you gulped as it sounded like a dark lullaby to your brain.

"O-okay." You stammeredq out as your room finally arrived.

"Bye, bye, doll face." Bucky rasped close to your face and you were almost disappointed that you arrived so quickly.

Now that Bucky had left, his words registered in your brain. Why the fuck did Alaïa want you to meet Ransom? Was she planning on making you a mistress? You should really stop reading those reddit stories.

-

You dressed into a black, long dress after taking a nice shower and scrubbing away all the dirt and sweat. After shower feeling was the best feeling.

You gilded down the stairs, stepping into the bustling living room. You promptly avoided all of the people and made a beeline for the door leading to the garden. But you stumbled forward, almost falling to the ground as someone had just stepped on your dress. Perfect!

You turned around and your scathing words died an untimely death on your tongue as your eyes landed on the burly man. A phone pressed between his shoulder and ear as his brows were furrowed in concentration and frustration, his pink lips jutting out as his blonde hair made his blue eyes shine even brighter.

Steve Rogers. Even if he looked a tid bit more approachable than his twin, he still wasn't someone to mess with. And if you cussed at him, well then you could say goodbye to your career.

You sighed and tentatively stepped closer to him. Gingerly, you touched his bicep.

"Hey, stay away from him!" A coarse, deep voice thundered, making you shriek away from Steve as it left you shaking with fear.

This caught Steve's attention as he looked at you and then at his right. "Clark, where are your manners? Yelling at a lady? And for no reason?"

Clark hissed but you weren't able to look at him. "Shit, brother. I wasn't yelling at her. The man behind you, he has a knife."

You furrowed your brows and turned behind to a worker holding a knife with a deer caught in headlights look.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him as he quickly stuttered out. "This is to open a package." And tossed the knife to a nearby worker who disappeared to the storage room.

Steve sighed heavily. "Clark, I can defend myself, you know that right? Why do you overreact so much? And did you not see her?" And pointed at you.

Clark replied after a beat of silence. "I genuinely didn't. I'm sorry…" He started walking towards you but you only recoiled into Steve with each step he took.

You didn't want his apology, at least not right now. You were far too shaken to think coherently.

Steve sighed and coiled an arm around your clinging form and caressed your side. "Clark, not right now. She's far too shaken up to not cry or scream at you. Try again, later."

"But, brother-"

"Leave." He said through gritted teeth.

Clark's footsteps faded away as you involuntarily hid in his chest, his earthy scent grounding you as he shushed you. "Hey, doll. It's okay, it's alright. He won't hurt you, no one would. It was just a misunderstanding, stop shaking babydoll." He cooed.

His soft deep voice relaxed you but as soon as the fear was gone, embarrassment burnt your cheeks as you stepped away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… " You rasped. Did you just rub yourself on The Steve Rogers like a needy kitten?

"Don't say that, doll. My brother caused it so I must fix it."

"Thank you and-" You yelped as you descended down the floor. His foot was still on your dress. Great!

You braced yourself for the impact but bounced in two strong arms as your hands flew to his forearms.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was standing on your dress." He said when you snapped your eyes open.

You were swimming in his blue gaze of concern and sincerity. "Yeah, that's what I was trying to say."

"What's your name, doll? Hmmm?" He asked after brought you back to your feet. Your eyes fluttered as his knuckles ran softly over your cheek.

You told him your name.

"Doll is much better, suits you well. Where were you going, anyway?" He quietly asked.

"I-um, I was going to meet Ransom."

"Oh, I was going to meet him as well. Let's go together."

"No, thank you." You politely declined.

"Come with me." He said and dragged you towards the garden.

-

You talked with Ransom till seven, he wasn't at all like the media projected him. Maybe he changed for Alaïa as he was really committed and determined to do things right. They had your blessings to put your feelings into words.

After Steve dragged you to the garden. He was courteous enough to let you talk to your friend and Ransom privately before he joined.

Then you went to finally meet Harlan and had the overdue talk. He wanted to discuss the latest trends in the writing industry and how to incorporate it in his company's branding. So, that it could appeal to younger audience.

It was a long and draining conversation and you deeply sighed, leaning against the wooden door of Harlan's office. You were finally going to the garden, which you wanted to revisit since you stepped foot in it.

"Miss?"

You gasped at the voice and started for the stairs but Clark's body blocked your path, pushing you against the door.

"I didn't want to scare you." He said, genuinely remorseful.

"You are doing that right now." You snapped and he put up his hands in surrender.

"It's not intentional, I swear."

It might not be. The brothers were tall, except Bucky but Clark was a beast. His biceps were larger than your hand and he practically dwarfed you with his sheer shadow. His eyes were also blue but they had a brown sprinkled in them. He had a little beard with a moustache that made him look even more intimidating and sexy. You had never seen a man who looked this sexy in a moustache.

"Well then be more mindful." You bit back.

He nodded and snaked his hand behind him and pulled out a rose. And not just any rose but a black rose. Where he found it you had no idea but it mesmerized you nonetheless. It was something you had only seen on television and seeing it in real life left you agape.

He offered the rose to you. "I'm sorry, princess." He whispered, the nickname heating up your cheeks.

You gingerly took the rose and let a giddy smile tug on your lips. "Okay, I forgive you. Just remember you are way bigger and stronger than most people. Use your strength wisely." He nodded with a bunny smile and you smiled back before heading to the garden.

You loudly and walked into the garden in peace. Walking in the open at night was another level of tranquillity that you didn't get very often, thanks to your dorm in the concrete jungle.

You twirled the rose in your hand, halting at nearby flowers. You bit your lips wanting to pluck some and put them in a vase. Even though they wouldn't last forever, the contrast would still look appealing.

But you didn't have the permission of any of the Drysdale.

"Couldn't sleep?" A dark baritone voice said from behind.

You flinched and turned around to be greeted by Andy Barber, wearing a simple white tee and sweats. A silver chain peeking through the collar as a smirk danced across his bearded cheeks.

"Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Barber."

"The feeling is mutual, miss. How's your headache now?" He raised a brow.

You told him your name and nickname. "And it's much better now, thanks for asking."

"Hmmm, Luna, so fitting for the person and the setting," He erased the distance between you two in two long strides and glanced at you. "I couldn't blame you. The night is beautiful."

"But the garden is even more beautiful." You said as he glanced at you.

"Indeed."

"I don't get to dwell in the greenery much." You resumed your walking.

"How so?" He followed.

"It's just study, sleep and sometimes relax for me."

"What are you studying?"

"Business, last year."

"Internship."

"Freelance." You said with a shake of your head. Andy somehow liked your presence and so did you. He was like the ocean.

"And won't you ask me about my work?" He teased as you were back behind the bushes of colourful roses.

"I know everything about that, Mr. Barber."

"It's Andy, darling," He said and only then did you notice the distance, or lack thereof between you and him. "And so confident about it, darling?"

You swallowed through your smile. "Well, everybody knows about how your work is going. So I'm pretty confident."

He chuckled. "I like it. Tell me more."

You resisted the urge to narrow your eyes as he seemed way too interested in a mere student and you have also grown tired.

"A black rose?" He voiced suddenly, lifting your hand to examine the item.

"Yes, isn't it unique?"

"That it is. Who gave you this?" He demanded softly.

You hesitated before speaking. "Mr. Kent."

"Who?" Andy asked as if you had told him the answer to the Bermuda Triangle mystery.

"Mr. Kent " You squealed as his thumb brushed the underside of your hand.

"Why?"

"Because he accidentally scared me by screaming."

He huffed out a chuckle. "Typical of Clark," He walked closer to you, ceasing the distance between you two completely. You averted your eyes as the tension grew. "It'll look better with some companions."

His hand went above your head and you gasped as he presented you red, yellow, white and light pink roses.

"Andy, you don't have the permission for that." You breathed and shook your head.

"Oh honey, I have all the permission you need." He said and handed you the roses. "Take them, they'll look good together."

You nodded. "Ah, actually I'm feeling sleepy and I'm kinda an insomniac, so it's an opportunity I can't miss. We'll resume our conversation tomorrow." You lied.

He pondered over your words, making you nervous before he smiled and nodded. "Of course, sleep is important. Especially to a beauty like you."

You offered a parting smile and walked away. You hugged yourself as a chill ran down your spine. It was not because of the cold night but the gaze that bore into you and the dark aura that clung to you, you couldn't shake it off even when you tried.

You felt something would change drastically, what and how. You didn't know.

Taglist: @goldenharrysworld , @magnificentsaladllama , @iloveavengers , @charmed-asylum , @moonstruckbirdie

[ktficworld]

Lies and lavish Clark

[magpiereplika]

squander

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

Hey I love all the musical au stuff we’ve been doing for the past couple week, but I’m not the most musical person and know very few shows; that would be my roommate as the musical expert!! 😂

I actually have two questions about the courtesan au actually.

In the latest chapter, Marion thinks about the one and only blue queen, her little sapphire, the trickiest trickster, Jester Lavorre! How old is jester in this au? Is she off with the Nien at this point or is she completely hidden even from the chateau? Like Bludd is taking care of her when she’s not visiting her mother or Marion can bring herself leave the Chateau to see her/has a separate home for her and Jester to live

These are great questions! And since this isn't going to come up in the fic, I'll give you some answers!

So in this fic, Jester is still an infant. She's only a few months old and she is completely hidden at the Chateau. The only people who know about her are Marion, Bluud, and Marion's midwife. When Marion can't be with her, Bluud is usually the one to be taking care of her. Jester lives in the Chateau and in an adjacent nursery to Marion's room.

The way I've rationalized how the pregnancy was managed was Marion telling the other workers at the Chateau that she's ill and needs to be quarantined to her rooms while to everyone on the outside the Chateau thinks she is on an extended vacation to Marquet.

[ilikeit-art]

LEEAH JOO

Korean-American painter Leeah Joo’s work is inspired by the enigmatic and hidden. In her illusionist paintings, she teases our predisposition to probe and uncover. Intriguing parcels in her Pojagi series are enveloped by a lavish, traditional Korean wrapping cloth and beckon to be unpacked. The richly detailed paintings of lacey drapery in her Parrhasius series present an open-ended narrative, inviting us to question what lies behind the curtain. Joo studied painting and art history at Indiana University in Bloomington and received her MFA in painting from the Yale School of Art, Her paintings have been exhibited widely in the U.S. and South Korea. She is the recipient of notable awards from the Pollock-Krasner Foundation, George Sugarman Foundation, Connecticut Commission on Arts and the Puffin Foundation. Currently, Leeah Joo lives and paints in Middlebury, Connecticut and teaches at Southern CT State University and Paier College.

[curryshesus]

jeon jungkook fics that own my mind, body, heart, and soul

in other words, this is a collection of my favorite jk fics on tumblr! if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, pls remember to support the authors by interacting with their post. part 2 | other bts members

➺ bitchin - by @kinktae

summary: the 80s were a time of choices. which perm was right for you? what color neon would you wear next? none of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with jeon jungkook.

�� idealizations concerning real life relations - by @venusiangguk

summary: jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return.

➺ hotter than hell - by @chateautae

summary: jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

➺ jump then fall (into you) - by @writtenwhalien

summary: bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a years long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?

➺ too late to dream - by @kookslastbutton

summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

➺ the forgotten spaces- by @oddinary4bts

summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

➺ when the end comes - by @oddinary4bts

summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook? **sequel to the forgotten spaces

➺ falling - by @starshapedkookie

summary: soulmate (noun): a person who is bound to another through the strongest level of emotional and physical connection. one is given a name on the body upon 18 years of age and any transgressions against the laws of soul-bonding will not occur without harm.

➺ love alive - by @jamaisjoons

summary: a year after you and jungkook break up, the two of you meet at your brother’s party.

➺ changes in between - by @taegularities

summary: Becoming the roommate of Jeon Jungkook is the biggest change you’ve ever gotten thrown into - but little do you know that the addition of another man will bring even further turbulence into your (love) life.

➺ falling skies - by @fortunexkookie

summary: Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely. You used to be friends, but then he had gone from endearingly frustrating dumb boy to card-carrying fuckboy so fast it had given you whiplash.

Despite the teasing and fighting, Jiyeon realized how Jungkook felt about you long before he did - it was a twin thing - and if you were her sun, and he was her moon, then she just wished she could show you how he reflected your light.

➺ sugarplum elegy - by @bymoonchild

summary: You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while. Or, Jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.

➺ an abundance of mondays - by @diortae

summary: "why the fuck would it be easy? you’re disgustingly in love with your best friend. of course it’s complicated.” he pauses to roll his eyes, as if he hasn’t just laid out the most secret parts of you here in the middle of the campus dining hall.

➺ five dates - by @kpopfanfictrash

summary: “Ten dates,” he nods, smile tugging at his lips. “Ten dates, to decide if you want this – want me – or want me to go. Ten dates to get to know me. Ten dates,” he says, oddly soft, “to fall in love with me.” Which then becomes five.

➺ here comes the bride, all dressed in pride - by @hansolmates

summary: You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend

➺ if i told you - by @gukyi

summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ ｓｗｅｅｔ ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ ♡

♡ Pairing: tattoo artist!ex boyfriend!chan x chubby!fem!tattoo artist!reader, best friend!stray kids

♡ Genre: angst/smut/fluff

♡ Summary: After a year abroad spent perfecting your craft, you decide to return to the shop that you started at to reconnect with the people you love but how will your friends react to your sudden return? And how will your ex feel when he finds out your back in town attempting to reclaim your place in his shop and maybe even his heart?

♡ Word Count: 5.8k-ish

♡ Warnings: chan's really down bad for you and the littlest bit posessive, strong language, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, male masturbation, creampie, oral sex (m&f receiving), overstimulation, a lil nipple play, orgasm control if you squint, pet names (beautiful, pretty, baby), a lil hair pulling, and that's about it.

♡ A/N: So somehow I've written myself into a series of sorts all taking place in one tattoo shop. Seungmin's here if you'd like to read it. I'll for sure be doing one for all of the boys because why not? This one's a lot more angsty than the other one but I had a nice time writing something different so, as always, I hope you enjoy it, babes.

You stand with your back to the night, casting your starry eyed gaze upon the soft white glow of the neon sign that hangs overhead. It reads Social Path Tattoos & Piercings. This place isn’t new to you, even if the nerves rattling through your system might imply otherwise.

You’re more than familiar with it. You used to spend every waking moment in this place. Even slept here a couple times when you were a bit too tipsy to drive. And coming back to it after a year overseas is surreal. You dreamed of this a thousand times before finally biting the bullet and hopping on the next plane back here. Back home. 

You made it. Through the chaos of the airport, racing through crowds to make it to the Uber you may have called a little too soon. Through an hour of bumper to bumper traffic, listening to your driver give you dating advice you definitely didn’t ask for. Through a hell of a check in process at the hotel and lugging half your life up to the 8th floor of the lavish building.

You survived all of that to make it to this moment and you can’t even bring yourself to step inside. What if you aren’t welcome? What if the men you once called “family” consider you nothing more than a stranger now? It’s only been a year but so much has happened. There were so many tears the day you left, so much sadness—so much anger. Maybe you should’ve stayed away.

“Next time you have to get one. I’m telling you, it didn’t hurt at all” a tall girl with a septum piercing tells her friend as they exit the shop. 

The shorter girl by her side stares at the fresh tattoo on her friend’s arm with equal amounts admiration and fear. “Liar. It’s needles stabbing through your skin. There’s no way that doesn’t hurt.”

Noticing the tattoos peeking out of your strappy crop top, the taller girl turns to you for some back up. “Tell her it doesn’t hurt,” she pouts. 

In all your years as a tattoo artist you’ve never once lied to a client but you aren’t on the clock right now and can’t bring yourself to kill whatever glimmer of hope this girl might have of winning her friend over. 

“It doesn’t hurt” you lie to her friend, knowing damn well that, while it isn’t torture, it’s far from painless. “It might sting a little but you’re tough. I can tell. You’ve got it.”

“Thank you” the tall girl smiles, holding the door open for you. “Headed in?” 

“Uh…” you hesitate, chewing at your inner lip. There’s so much weight to that question. A weight she can’t possibly fathom. Swallowing your pride, you give her a smile and a nod, slipping into the shop. 

“Have a good night!” the girls say kindly, going about their night and abandoning you in the doorway. 

Breathing in deep, you take a few more steps before stopping to take in the scene around you. The shop is as alive as it's ever been, the lobby buzzing with customers busy picking out jewelry or waiting their turn to be seen.

The front desk is still straight ahead, marked by a small statue of an orange cat named Cheese. It’d been Minho’s idea to get it when you all went on a drunken flea market adventure and none of you were sober enough to shoot him down. The walls are still adorned with elegant, hand painted art courtesy of Hyunjin, the best photo realistic artist in the shop. The city even. 

The checkered floors are the same, an expertly polished black and white patchwork to match the charcoal color of the walls. Even the couch you bought in from your apartment is still positioned in the corner where a bunch of college kids are currently lounging. A lot has happened on that couch. A lot more than they know. God you hope the boys have cleaned it.

Everything is just as you remember it but the energy’s something new entirely. It’s the contradiction of finding familiarity on an alien planet. 

“You need something, babe?” the bubbly girl at the counter asks, waving you over. This is new. They used to force you to work the front desk on weekends, the guys alternating weekdays based on whoever lost at rock, paper, scissors. But now there’s a new face. She seems sweet though so you make your way over to her. At least one person’s happy to see you. 

“Yes but no but yes? I guess” you ramble, indecision painted all over your face. Observing your appearance she doesn’t take you as the kind of girl to be hesitant about what she came to a place like this for but she comforts you nonetheless. 

“It’s okay” she says, reaching out a sympathetic hand to touch yours, “Everyone gets nervous sometimes. I mean, I work here and even I almost freaked when I got my bellybutton pierced but it’s okay. You know what you wanna get done?”

“Actually, I’m not here to get anything done. I used to work here a long time ago and I just thought I’d drop by and see…”

“You’re fucking joking” a voice from your past interrupts. Before you even turn to look, you know exactly who that voice belongs to. Seungmin. 

“It can’t be. I’m hallucinating” he gasps, clutching his chest. “A ghost? In our shop?”

You roll your eyes at the dramatics. You’ve missed them. “A ghost? Am I dead now? Is that what you consider me?” you sniffle, pretending to cry. 

“Oh, my god. Stop it. Come here” he says, smiling bigger than you’ve ever seen. He throws his arms around you, squeezing you into the tightest hug. In an instant it melts away your worries of not being welcome here. This is the warmest you’ve ever seen Seungmin greet someone and you feel special for being the recipient. 

“Squeeze me any tighter and I will be a ghost” you tease, pulling back the slightest bit to get some air. As you do you notice something new on his face. “When did this happen?” You marvel at the shiny silver jewelry decorating his eyebrow. 

“You hate it don’t you?”

“Ssh, I don’t hate it. I like it. It’s cute.”

Seungmin blushes, rubbing his cheeks in a failed attempt to hide it. Out of the corner of your eye you catch the girl at the counter staring daggers through Seungmin’s soul. It’s easy to see that there’s something going on here and she doesn’t like him blushing over other girls. 

“Ooh, someone’s got a girlfriend” you sing and the counter girl giggles. You can’t help but adore how sweet it is when Seungmin lights up at the sound of her laughter. But you can’t deny that it drags up bittersweet memories of when that was you and...

“Follow me. Everyone’s here tonight. I know they’ll be happy to see you” Seungmin says, ready to escape the lobby before his cheeks overheat from all the blushing. It’ll kill his reputation if the guys find out. He leads the way to the back, as if you need the guidance. You remember exactly where you’re going.

“So…” he sighs, feeling the weight of your return for the first time, “How was Japan?”

“Oh, it was wonderful. It’s beautiful over there and I learned so much from my apprenticeship. I was super nervous at first, you know? But everyone at the shop was…” You stop yourself short, fearful that your fond memories of your time there might come off as bragging. You may have had fun in Osaka but it still paled in comparison to the place you come from. 

Seungmin picks up on it, glancing back at you to give you a comforting smile, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m happy…we’re happy that you did what you needed to do. It’s nice to have you back though. You are back, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. That depends on what he says. You know how he was when I left.”

Seungmin says nothing, only nods. He knows oh too well how his best friend was when you left. And those months after spent stewing in a bitterness that only thinly masked the pain of losing you. He watched it play out until the sting had faded but only enough to pretend that things were okay when they weren’t. 

“Yongbok, what’d you do with my kit?” Changbin shouts across the room, tearing his station apart in search of his prized possession. 

A few stations away a busy Felix rises from his chair, directing his client towards one of the full body mirrors in the corner. “Why are you yelling at me? I don’t have your kit!”

“I’m not talking to you! I’m talking to him!” Changbin points a finger at a shocked I.N who’s been innocently prepping for the next person in line.

“You called my name!” Felix snaps and it dawns on Changbin that he’s been calling the wrong person. 

Changbin fights himself not to laugh at his own mistake. He puts his head down, discovering his kit tucked away under his table. “Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

I.N querks an eyebrow at him, arms folded across his chest, “Why do you always do that? You can never call me the right name.”

“Because he’s old” Hyunjin mumbles under his breath, still loud enough for the others to hear. Changbin picks up a towel to throw at him but hesitates when he notices Hyunjin’s in the middle of a tattoo. 

“It’s okay, old man,” Han teases, patting his friend on the back. Hyunjin might be busy but Han on the other hand is free enough to invade his personal space so it’s a slap on the back of the head for him. 

“Can you guys be adults for a second? We have a guest” Seungmin announces but you hardly mind. This was what you missed while you were gone. No matter how kind the artists at the other shop were to you, they could never replace your boys. Even in their most chaotic moments there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. 

Seungmin’s voice draws all of the attention in the room to you and everyone falls silent. If there’s anything else they needed to say the thoughts have evaporated in your presence. It’s quiet for long enough that you begin to worry. Thoughts creep back in that maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Seungmin may have been happy to see you but the others?

Just as you begin to doubt yourself, the room erupts in cheers and you find yourself at the center of the world’s biggest group hug. Their joy overflows as arms wrap around you, one set swapping out for another and then another swiftly enough to leave you dizzy. 

“You’re back! Why didn’t you tell us? Ugh, I missed you” Han says, pinching your cheek in an act of cute aggression he simply cannot control. 

Felix hugs you so that his cheek is flush against yours, “You’re staying, right? You have to stay.” 

This is nothing that you expected it to be. You’re flooded with enough joy to make a girl cry and you can already feel the tears welling up, you’re right on the verge of it. A year of wondering if you’d made a mistake. A year of worrying that the people you loved hated you for your decision. All of those doubts are shedded in the arms of these seven men. 

“What’s all this noise?” Chan groans, his eyes barely open as he steps out of his office, “I was trying to sleep for once.”

“Sleep? Shouldn’t you be working?” I.N says, never one to miss an opportunity to be a smartass. 

Chan lets out a yawn, stretching those muscular arms you very vividly recall drooling over and on. “You’ll pay for that, kid. But seriously, what are you guys doing out here?” 

The guys step away, gesturing towards you and his arms drop to his sides. Suddenly he’s reminiscent of a balloon at the end of a party, melancholy and deflated. You watch the light in his eyes die in real time and it makes you sick to your stomach to be looked at this way. It wasn’t always like this. In the old days he’d have you in his arms right now, showering you in kisses. But these aren’t the old days, no matter how badly you wish it were. 

He starts in your direction, one slow, agonizing step of his black boots after another. He stops a few feet away from you as if some invisible barrier is keeping him at bay. His expression is hard as stone as he studies you like you’re a creature he’s never seen before. 

“Hi” you manage in spite of the sudden lack of moisture in your mouth. You get the sense that you’re on trial for some horrible crime and Chan, the judge that he is, has no intention of offering you leniency. 

“It’s really nice to see you. You look…good.” There’s such a softness in the way that you are with him. The wisp of a smile on your lips, the gentleness in your posture. You’re soft as a marshmallow for this man and the fire of his anger’s enough to burn you to a crisp. 

“Chan, don’t be…” Changbin tries to reach his best friend but Chan snatches away, sparing you one last glance before disappearing into his office.

The door slams hard enough that the hinges creak and the wood seems to splinter. The others? They don’t hate you. In fact, they adore you with all of their hearts. But him? You’re positive he does and now you want to cry again but for a different reason altogether.

Han pats you on the back, bringing you close to him, “I’m about to work on my sketch for my next client. Will you help me?”

“I don’t know, Jisung. It might be better if I go.”

“What? No! You just got here!” Hyunjin pouts, his bottom lip quivering. “You’re really gonna walk out and leave some poor soul at the hands of his drawing skills?”

Hyunjin’s attempt at making you laugh works like a charm and a giggle escapes you. 

“Does that mean you’ll stay?” he asks, poking his lip out even more. 

“Yes, that means I’ll stay.”

“Yay!” Han cheers, grabbing onto your hand and dragging you over to his station.

He hops right into it, spilling all of the details about the tattoo and asking your opinion on it. At first you struggle to focus on helping him. As much as you want to, you can’t shake the mental picture of how Chan looked at you. He didn’t say a word but he didn’t need to. He said everything he felt without so much as parting his lips. 

Periodically you find your gaze drifting over to his office door, the pit of your stomach twisted with the anxiety over his next appearance. But the door never opens, not even a crack, and before you know it you’re fully engrossed in helping Han work on his sketch. Your styles are different but he admires you as an artist and soaks in every drop of your input like a sponge. 

As the night rolls on you find yourself at one station after another, helping the guys with what you can. You slip right back into their group dynamic with ease. It’s as if your spot was always here waiting for you to hop right back in. It’s like you never left. The minutes melt into hours and you find yourself lingering behind with them far beyond closing time. 

“We’re all going out for drinks. You’re coming right?” Felix asks as you group filters out of the shop, filling up the space on the sidewalk. 

“Yes, she’s coming. She doesn’t have a choice!” I.N answers before you have a chance to. The boys have already begun moving towards their destination and he drapes an arm around your shoulder to make sure you keep up. 

“I’m coming” you laugh, tapping him on the back of the hand, “I do need to run back to my hotel and change first though.”

Changbin looks you up and down, finding not a single thing wrong with your current fit. “Why? You look beautiful.”

As flattered as you are, there’s no way you’re going out on the town in a crop top and a pair of sweatpants. You might not be planning on switching into a ballgown but a change of wardrobe is definitely in order. 

You bat your eyelashes, grateful for the compliment, “Sweet but no. I still need to change. Just text me where you’re going.” Reaching into your pocket for your phone, you realize you must’ve left it behind. “Shit, I left my phone.”

They all pause, prepared to turn back and help you find it. “We’ll just go back and grab it” Han insists but you shut him down, not wanting to delay their plans. 

“It’s okay, really. I’ll just grab my phone and I’ll meet you there in a few.”

I.N opens his mouth to protest but you throw a hand over it before he can speak. “I’m not a baby, you guys. I got it. I’ll be quick, I swear.”

Shared glances between the seven of them play out a silent conversation that you aren’t in on. They want to look after you, especially after you being so far away for so long, but you’re stubborn and they know you won’t give in no matter what they say.

“Fine” Seungmin relents, “If you aren’t there in an hour we’re coming to get you!”

“Yeah and we’ll raid your hotel room, eat up all your snacks…” Han throws in for extra impact. 

“I’ll be there. I swear! One hour!” you promise, skipping back towards the shop. 

“An hour!” Hyunjin shouts after you, waiting until you’re safely back inside to continue on.

Inside the shop the lights are turned down, not completely off but dimly lit enough that you almost trip on your way to the back. You frantically search every station—in things, under them—but your phone’s nowhere to be found. 

“Fuck, where is it?” you shout in frustration.

Standing in the middle of the floor, you take a deep breath and contemplate where it could be. You were at Han’s station first and then you went to sit with Felix for a bit but Changbin called you to the front for something. That’s it. Maybe it’s there.

You turn to jog back up front when a sound from behind you stops you in your tracks. It’s the sound you’ve been dreading all night. The slow creaking of the door to Chan’s office. Your heart almost stops dead in your chest. You’re frozen, stuck right where you are. You can’t even bring yourself to turn around when you feel the weight of something on your shoulder.

“Looking for this?” he asks, tapping you on the shoulder with your phone. 

Hesitantly, you take it, turning to find yourself face to face with the man you used to call yours. Chan seems less angry now but his nose is red and his eyes are puffy. You can tell from the gloss dancing on the surface of them that he’s been crying. 

“Thanks. Sorry for leaving it behind, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you here?” He asks the question so bluntly that you’re stunned, unsure how to respond. 

“I don’t understand—”

“Why’d you come back? I thought you were confident in your decision. I thought that was what you needed. But now you’re standing in front of me so why?”

“Well, I…” you sigh, giving yourself a moment to process your own feelings, “I missed it. The shop and the guys and you.”

Chan’s jaw tightens, your profession placing him right back on edge. “You miss me?” he scoffs, “That’s not the truth. Try again.”

“But it is.”

“No it isn’t.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t!” he finally snaps, raising his voice at you in a way he never has before. “If you missed me then you would’ve called. You would’ve texted me. Do you know what that felt like for me? I haven’t heard your voice in a year.”

“Because you told me you didn’t wanna hear it!” you shout back, the tears you’ve been suppressing all night pouring from your eyes. It hurts to cry this hard. The tightness in your chest is unbearable. You’ve never cried this hard in front of someone before, not even him, but there’s no holding it back. “I blew up your phone all day every day for weeks begging you to talk to me. I might’ve left here but I didn’t leave you. You left me. You broke my heart and I’ve cried for you every night since. So hate me all you want but I won’t torture myself for you anymore.”

Four hours. That’s how long he spent pacing in that office spiraling down an emotional hole. He thought he knew what he’d say to you if he had the chance. All of those words left unsaid would come tumbling out. Those feelings of abandonment. That pain. He’d have the words to put to them that’d make you understand what you did to him.

Watching the tears stream down your face, none of those words matter now. He’d worked you up in his mind to be a villain, totally opposite to the girl he fell in love with. Blinded by his own bitterness he couldn’t see that you were still her. You are still her. And now he can’t ignore it. 

Tucking an arm around your waist he pulls you in, your face pressed into his chest. His fingers find your hair, stroking the soft strands. It feels like it’s been an eternity since he’s touched you. His body’s flush with the sort of warmth flowers must feel on a sunny day.

Chan leans in, his plush lips skimming your ear, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just had so much anger when you left and I didn’t know how to deal with it but I don’t hate you. I’m so sorry.”

The tremors of his voice give you goosebumps. He sounds as broken as you do and just as lost. You shake your head, pulling back from him. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come” you say, wiping the tears away. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’ll stay away this time. I promise.”

You walk off, your arms wet with tears that won’t stop falling. Your chest’s thumping and the shop seems darker than it was when you came in. Footsteps follow behind you lightly enough for you to question if it’s all in your head. If there’s something you’ve left behind then let it stay that way. You won’t turn back. Not this time.

It’s a silly thing to do but you’re doing it. 

Draped across your bed in a towel, you sip from a bottle of red wine and cycle through a heartbreak playlist that gives your lonely heart the company it desperately needs. The tears stopped a half hour ago, the last of them being shed in the shower. Your eyelids feel raw from all of the salty waterworks and your body’s exhausted.

A few feet away your phone sits on a table, lit up with text messages from the guys. After hearing what happened a few of them insisted on coming to get you but you can’t crawl your way towards the closet for the life of you. If not for their persistence you’d be content to rot in your hotel room for the rest of the night, drowning your sorrows in this bottle of overpriced wine.

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

“Nobody’s home” you groan, face down in the blanket. There’s a pause. Some shuffling on the other side of the door. Maybe it worked?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you toss the bottle aside and drag yourself over to the door. “Can’t a girl rot in peace?” you pout, swinging the door open. 

“If this is what you look like when you rot then rot all you want” Chan says, flashing you a smile so genuine you’re positive you must be dreaming. 

You stick your head out into the hallway, looking around for the other guys but there’s no one else in sight. “Chan, uh, what are you doing here?”

“Honestly? I’m afraid you’re gonna leave again before I can beg you not to.” 

With not a drop more of explanation he pushes his way into the room, kissing you like his life depends on it. His tongue glides over yours, savoring the taste of you mixed with the lingering sweetness of the wine. The kiss is so consuming you can barely get a breath in but air is vastly overrated when a kiss is laced with this much passion. There’s a year of longing inside of him and he pours it into you boundlessly. 

Tucking his hands behind your legs, he lifts you up, fingers delighting in the softness of your thighs. He missed this. The tenderness of your kiss. The plushness of your figure. The light, fruity scent of your perfume filling his lungs as he plants open mouthed kisses down your neck, suckling at your smooth skin.

His lips never break from you as he lays you across the bed, tearing your towel away like it’s nothing. His palms massage the fullness of your figure, riding every curve to cup one of your breasts. Your body tenses in response to his touch, moisture pooling between your thighs. 

Chan drags his tongue across your cleavage, his stiffening bulge pressed right against your core. “Tell me you’ll stay this time” he begs, lovesick eyes flicking up to you, “Don’t leave me again.” 

Brushing his hair out of his face, your fingers skate along that immaculate bone structure of his, bringing him up for another breathless kiss. His thumb brushes your nipple, making small circles on the tip of the bud, and you shudder. 

“I’ll stay” you moan, your thighs growing slick with your arousal. 

He pinches the bud, grinding his clothed cock against you harder this time, “Promise me.” 

Chan sounds so needy and it only worsens how badly you ache for him. You guide him back up to his feet, slipping to the edge of the bed to kiss his cock through his pants. You press your palm to it, riding the outline of the print while your other hand dips under his shirt to feel his abs contract with every touch. He tugs his shirt up over his head, giving your hands free reign of that beautiful chest.

You smile up at him, pulling down the band of his pants and his boxers at once. His cock springs free, thick, throbbing, and as deliciously veined as you remember. You stick your tongue out, licking up the arousal dripping from the tip. You smile up at him, your tongue retreating to say the words he wants to hear. “I promise.” 

You press your lips to the tip, taking it in further this time. You swirl your tongue around it, enjoying the satisfied groans that fill the room the more you take him between your fluffy cheeks. Your mouth is so warm and wet around his cock. It’s like heaven.

You relax your throat, taking him as far back as you can, before pulling back the slightest bit to wrap your fingers around the base. You rock your head back and forth, wrist rotating as you pump his shaft. You can feel every little twitch of his cock, taste the precum dripping on the back of your tongue, and it has you soaking through the blanket beneath you. 

Chan reaches down to play with your hair, utterly incapable of taking his eyes off of you. You look too pretty drooling around his cock for him to miss a minute of it. He wants to be like this forever with you. Not only this but everything. He wants to be with you. Near you. Inside of you. Anything you’ll bless him with. He just wants you right here, looking at him with all of the love and admiration you do with his cock throbbing down your throat. 

“My beautiful girl” he coos, tilting his hips in to push into you a little more. “All mine, yeah?” 

With your mouth stuffed so full of him he hardly expects you to answer. Your hum of agreement vibrating down his length is more than enough to let him know that you agree. You’re his again. You’ve wanted to be for so long and at last you are.

That knowledge is almost as intoxicating as feeling him on your tongue. Chan tangles his fingers in your hair, bringing your head back far enough that the head of his cock only ghosts your glossy lips. He plants a kiss on your forehead, staring so deeply into your eyes that you almost lose yourself. 

“Bend over for me, baby” he whispers and you nod your head, swinging around in the cutest way to assume the position.  

You crawl onto your knees for him, back arched and ass in the air. “Is this good, Channie?” 

If only you could see yourself from this angle. Your body’s beyond perfection and your pussy’s glistening like diamonds. He can’t stop himself from tasting you, a hand palming your ass as his tongue darts into your core. 

“So fucking good” he hums, his face buried between your thighs. His tongue dips up, dragging between your folds and teasing your clit. Your body trembles and he grabs your hips, lapping at your clit until his face is soaked in your juices.

“Channie, please, ah. Too much” you whine but your body tells a different story. You’re soaking wet, your walls so needy you’re clenching around air. Your hips arch and swirl, almost riding his face.

Chan’s too drunk on your pussy to listen, his free hand between his legs to stroke his cock as he devours you. His tongue pushes back into your core and your walls flutter around it, leaking like a faucet. His cock throbs in his palm, drenched in a mixture of your saliva and his arousal. He feels so out of it, so completely absorbed in you, that he’s racing towards his high faster than he’s ready for. 

Dragging his tongue out, he steadies himself, gripping your hips to bring himself right to your entrance. You wiggle your ass excitedly and he laughs, licking you from his lips. “You want it that badly, baby?”

You look back, serving a pouty face that’d bring even the toughest man to his knees. “I just wanna see how much you’ve really missed me.”

“I’ve missed you so much” he moans, sinking into you with one motion. You both nearly collapse at the dizzying pleasure of it. Your walls cling to his length as he bottoms out, filling you up perfectly. “I was going crazy without you” he confesses, pulling out and slamming into you even harder. Your body jiggles, the softness of your hips borderline sinful. 

You cry out, biting your tongue to avoid a noise complaint but the moans still spill out. Those broken, beautiful moans. Every stroke rides your sweet spot, pushing you further towards absolute ruin.

“I’ve needed you so badly” he coos, savoring the wet snapping sound of your body colliding with his. “Just like I need you right now. Fuck, I don’t know how I lived without this pussy.” 

Throwing his head back, he settles his knees at the very edge of the bed, bouncing you in his lap. He fucks into you faster, your juices splashing up and decorating his abs. Blindly you reach for a pillow, dragging it over to bury your face in because you know it’s coming. You feel it and so can he. Your legs are shaking, you can barely keep your body straight, and your walls are spasming too wildly to spare his sanity. 

You’re almost there, knocking right at the door of you high. But instead of keeping his pace, he slows down, every movement careful and purposeful. He angles himself against your sweet spot, making sure he doesn’t miss it once, and teases you to the point that your body’s almost crying to cum. “You ready to cum for me, hmm? You want it?”

“Mmhmm” you whine, eyes watering, “Let me cum, Channie, please.”

How can he deny the request of such a pretty girl? Picking up speed again, he thrusts into you, and your orgasm rips through you like an electric current. You bite down on the pillow, your brain going fuzzy as you cream all over his cock, moaning his name in broken syllables.

Chan has the glimmer of a thought to pull out but he’s too addicted to the feeling of you clenching to follow through on it. It’s too late anyway, his heart’s already skipping beats, his seed spilling out into the warmth of your core. His movements grow sloppier, both of your bodies getting weaker by the minute, but he doesn’t stop until your knees give out.

You summon the energy to roll onto your back, giving that poor little pillow a break, and Chan collapses on top of you, his head resting on your soft belly. “You know” he pants, massaging your love handles, “This music is really sad.”

You giggle, your awareness of any music playing having faded away the moment his lips found yours. “You’re right, it is kinda sad, but I was sad.”

“Was?” he asks, propping his chin up on your belly, “You’re not sad anymore, right?” 

“Hmm, no, I don’t think I am.”

“And you really meant what you said? That wasn’t just sex talk?”

You need a second to think about what it was that you said. You’re sure you said a few things when he was inside of you. All of which you meant, of course. “Oh, that I’ll stay? Yeah, I meant that. As long as that’s what you really want.”

Chan climbs on top of you, strong arms caging you in as he hovers above you. “More than anything.” 

He kisses you and you close your eyes, letting yourself fade into him. You don’t regret going off to find yourself, it was something you needed to do, but there’s no doubt in your mind that this is where your heart is. With the shop. With the boys. And, more than anything else, with Chan. 

[tossawary]

I think it would be fun to do a "character swaps with older version of themselves" fic with Moshang. A post-canon Mobei-Jun who has been happily married for a while (probably at least 50 years old) accidentally touches some plot device artifact and time travels, swapping places with his 20ish-year-old self. Older MBJ wakes up in head disciple Shang Qinghua's bed where his younger self had been napping.

Younger MBJ lands in his own palace, where he is quickly found and fawned over by Older SQH, who can't help but think this MBJ is so cute. The System quickly confirms for Shang Qinghua that this situation has been sorted into a "multiple timelines" thing, so SQH doesn't have to worry about "protecting the timeline" by doing anything like hiding the fact that he's MBJ's husband. (So, there's an alternate timeline younger version of Airplane Bro now? He's just going to... ignore having an existential crisis about it. Yeah.)

Which is great because Older MBJ would not have thought about this at all as a potential issue. Older MBJ also thinks Younger SQH (Younger Airplane Bro) is incredibly cute and has no problem informing him that they're married in the future. Younger Airplane Bro is trying to figure what the fuck is happening, but he's having trouble thinking over the sound of how MBJ only became hotter: MBJ didn't get much taller, but he did get wider, heavier, more muscular, and hairier. Holy shit. Older MBJ doesn't even have any problems passionately kissing Younger SQH just to prove that they're married. And he smiles! He's so gentle and communicative! Comparatively!

("Luo Binghe is the Demon Emperor in my time," Older MBJ says. "Ah? Who's Luo Binghe?" Younger Airplane Bro lies very badly. "Hmmm, so you did know," Older MBJ says, and then makes some comment about LBH's husband that makes Younger SQH go, "HIS WHAT NOW?!")

Younger MBJ is trying to be cool, not really confused or scared, and Older SQH spoils him rotten by showing off the home that they're made together and how well the palace works to serve and defend MBJ. Linguang-Jun can't show up here because SQH will light him on fire if he shows his face. Younger MBJ doesn't even really like his SQH yet and is also struggling with how good Older SQH looks: a little taller, broader, relaxed and easygoing, answering all of his questions and explaining important things to him, dressed like a beloved demon lord's spouse, efficiently ordering everyone around. "Call me Gege," Older Shang Qinghua said with a wink, and it went straight to Younger MBJ's defenseless heart; he is developing new kinks immediately. Help him.

In the end, after a few days at most, they manage to switch Older and Younger MBJ back without too much issue. Older SQH is a little annoyed that his husband kissed an alternate timeline version of himself, but mostly because he sure would have liked that experience when he was only a disciple! Okay, SQH may have pet Younger MBJ's head and pinched his cheeks and hugged him and brushed his hair a little and shamelessly lavished him with good examples of human affection, but it's not the same!!!

Younger MBJ and Younger SQH in the alternate timeline are left in SQH's tiny head disciple house, completely flustered, sitting next to each other and barely able to look at each other. What. The. Fuck. Eventually, Shang Qinghua manages to say, "Uh, do you want to make out?" at the same time that Mobei-Jun says, "We should get married as soon as possible. Tomorrow."

[solxamber]

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

[ktficworld]

Oh wow ! My first draft is a cluster fuck.

[jaegerbby]

➳ my soul searches

--͙[naoya zenin x female! reader]-͙-

╰┈➤ word count; 6512

╰┈➤ rundown; you might be ignorant about anything concerning naoya zenin but somehow he knows everything about you.

╰┈➤ caution; mean! naoya, DUBIOUS CONSENT, virginity loss (mentions of blood), dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, no prep, choking, use of the words slut, whore, bitch (degradation), MISOGYNISTIC ideologies mentioned, manhandling, 1 thigh smack, cum eating, cunnilingus, fellatio (head pushing & rough), belly bulge, throat bulge, size kink, mentions of fingering, hair is referred to as 'cascading' on one occasion. sex on a futon (just so it won't be confusing).

if there are any more warnings i should add please let me know. not proof read!

naoya is awful.

he is a horrible man.

everyone knows it.

whether it be due to the countless stories everyone gossips about or witnessing firsthand the vicious things he does.

you were privy to outrageous hearsay spreading but you did not care enough to understand.

as far as you know, he is a powerful man.

and in your clan, you bow down to powerful men.

you have been fed lies that you do not have much to offer.

women were responsible for wifely duties and child bearing.

it is all you learned your entire life.

you are surprised when there is news of a member of the zenin clan's impending visitation. the people within your district make countless preparations and take any precaution necessary to ensure they meet naoya's standard. the last thing they want is to face his acrimony.

there are rumours of a potential alliance and it seems exceedingly promising to be closely associated with such a powerful family.

the day of his arrival, everything looks auspicious. you are shocked at the innumerable women adorned in luxurious clothing and decked in lavish jewellery.

you certainly do not understand all the fuss about him. you swore everyone hated him.

the welcome is extravagant and curiosity gets the best of you because you find yourself tip toeing to catch sight of him.

he is definitely not what you expected. he is young, his expression is all too smug. you never had the opportunity to see him before but he is gorgeous. in every sense of the word.

he is the definition of it.

sharp narrow eyes were lined, push pink lips with a barely visible cupid's bow and a straight nose although the tip was slightly upturned. his brows were thin and straight. if anyone looked for long enough and he smiled you could see the indents of dimples. he was truly pretty.

naoya tells the head of your clan that an alliance will only be formed provided he receives something. that whatever he wishes must be granted to him for congruity in return.

somehow, someway he pinpoints you in a crowd of too many people.

you were astonished when his stony eyes found yours. you try to tell yourself, you are not the one. it must be someone else. it has to be! you are proven wrong when your mother grips your arm and drags you up to him.

she bows, her hand roughly shoving your head down while you fidget. his stare is heavy, it makes you want to hide away. your parents practically offer you to him on a silver platter.

your eyes look everywhere but at him while he requests a room. unabashedly he speaks for everyone to witness.

his fingers find your chin, tipping your head back to look over your face. he towers over you. "dress her up." his voice is raspy and deep. he speaks to your mother though he does not spare her a glance.

you are speechless, you can only imagine what it means. an uncontrollable amount of thoughts pile into your head as your mother takes you away.

virginity means everything to a young girl like you. you need to be one to get married. it is your clan's way of life so why do your parents not care? your mother dresses you in the finest silk, something they could never afford before. she knots your hair in a bun and it hurts when she pulls at the strands.

decorative pins are stuck into your hair, some nicking your scalp. she drapes a heavy chain around your neck and squeezes your hand as she forces bracelets onto your wrists.

you look just like every other woman that dolled up for naoya zenin in anticipation of his attention.

you realise your parents do not care for your dignity as they usher you into an intricately decorated room.

they crave the validation of everyone else more than they care about you. you always knew that but you never thought they would go to this extent.

"be good and listen to everything he says." your mom commands. she shoves you to your knees on the thick layers of satin.

"this is for everyone's betterment." your father adds like it would make any of this right. you have no choice in the matter.

they were giving you up for naoya to do whatever he pleased because they were greedy for admiration.

you worry what it meant for you afterwards. you worry what people would think once you left these four walls.

the door slams shut upon their exit, you nervously shift. you wonder if you could run away. the weight of the jewellery feels uncomfortable, the clothes are so thick you swear you are sweating. they seem impossible to do anything in.

it feels like an eternity when naoya enters. his broad back faces you as he closes the door. his presence is intimidating, his aura is immense.

you swallow hard.

you are only to speak when spoken to.

yet you want to ask what took him so long.

why did you chose me?

what are you going to do to me?

you cannot question him. that is not your place.

you are sitting, hands anxiously twitching where they rest on your thighs. your eyes drop to the floor as he faces you.

he draws closer, your breathing stops as he circles you. he does it slowly, intently like he wants to memorise you from every angle.

you feel like prey, you are awaiting your predator to strike. there is absolutely no escape. his gaze sears into your being.

in a way he is scary. "strip." his deep voice instructs. your body tenses, breathing more laboured. you are unmoving as he steps closer. he cups your head, it is softer than you expected. he tilts you back to look at him, you are made aware of his bulge right in front of your face.

it is when he grips your hair, disheveling your bun that you realise it is all pretence. you shriek as he forcefully lifts you to your knees. the way you reach for his hand is futile because you cannot stop him no matter how hard you try.

"don't make me speak twice, y/n." you wonder how he knew your name. you were no one. you were not anyone important to this clan or world. "now take your fucking clothes off before i do it myself."

he shoves you back, you just barely brace yourself. his nimble fingers reach for the laces on his robe as he undoes them with ease. tears prick your eyes, you shakily tug at your bracelets. your movements are frantic enough to send them scattered across the floor. you rip the necklace from your throat, it stings where it nicks your skin.

your hands endlessly tremble when you pull off the layers of heavy fabric draped on you. you are too busy removing your clothing to see that he is already bare.

once you are rid of anything that preserves your modesty, you fold your arms to hide your body. a man has never seen you like this and you never thought the first time would be under this circumstance.

naoya's eyes trail over you, he is already hard. it is borderline painful. he was hard from simply thinking about you obediently waiting for him.

you feel his presence behind you, he lowers himself to his knees. his hands reach for your shoulders first. they are large and rough, they elicit goosebumps across your skin as he trails them down to caress your arms.

he pulls you into him, the hardness of his chest meeting your back. his arms surround your body and you tense at the feeling of his heated cock brushing your skin. his dexterous fingers remove the pins from your hair, he undoes the bun to allow the strands to cascade down your back. he brushes it over your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your nape.

you are shocked by the softness of them. he trails more kisses down the upper part of your spine. it is mind muddling.

"i can tell you haven't fucked before." you jolt at the sound of his gruff voice. his warm breath meets your skin and you shiver. his forearm comes around your front to keep you flush against him.

"spread your legs, let me see your cunt." he speaks without any shame. you hesitate and his displeasure is evident because his palm connects with the flesh of your thigh so hard that you shriek. your skin stings.

you have no choice but to open your legs for him. he slips his hands between them, his wide palm cupping your cunt.

you cannot breathe. it is all so overwhelming. you notice the evident veins on his lower arm as his hand covers your sex completely. it dawns on you that you have never had this intimacy before. you have never even touched where he would be.

he clicks his tongue, his presence makes you anxious. everything he does makes you tense.

he grimaces, you are not wet. not in the slightest.

naoya removes his hand to spit into his fingers, the fluid is pressed to your clit as he strokes it. he does not like the way you bite down on your lip to muffle your sounds. he hates it.

he rolls the bundle of nerves, pinching it before he slowly trails his fingers down your slit. the tip of his finger prods your entrance, gliding along it though he does not enter.

your smaller hands grip his forearm and for some reason it makes him hug your body tighter.

you breathe shakily in anticipation of his next move. it is a foreign feeling to be caressed but you can hardly complain. it is the furthest thing from unpleasant. it annoys you how good it feels.

"i'm shoving my cock in here." he huffs. the length of his finger coaxing through your lips has you writhing.

"going to stick my dick in this little hole and make you my bitch." his words are vulgar. the obscenity of his remarks have you furrowing your brows.

"it sounds good, right? having your pussy filled to the brim. i'll even fuck my cum into you." his jaw presses into your temple and you unsurely blink. he is so big, you feel like you are tucked into him.

he pinches your clit and you choose to focus on that rather than what he is saying. it feels good, enough to make you squirm. each time he does it, your cunt leaks with liquid. his entire palm strokes up and down, smearing sticky liquid over your cunt.

"naoya." you mewl. he has you spread open on his lap as he strokes your dripping pussy. he knows one thing for certain, your pretty voice forming his name is the greatest thing he has ever heard. he loves the sounds you make because of him.

you are so wet now, you are drenched and leaking. the sticky liquid trails out of your slit endlessly. his fingers steadily collect it and your lips part when he pulls away. your eyes follow his hand as he brings the sodden liquid digits near his mouth.

it is dirty. it is gross, it must be. somehow, you find yourself entranced. his tongue slips out to lave over his drenched palm.

"so fucking messy." he grits his teeth, he tilts his head to you. his wet hand grips your jaw, "you always taste so good." he presses his mouths to yours.

you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he aggressively kisses you. despite your inexperience you try to replicate him.

his expression looks irritated as he wetly separates from you. he forces you onto your back, leaning over you. his eyes glimpse at your cunt and they trail up your body.

you are on display for his prying eyes. he gropes your breasts, kissing and licking down your sternum. you are delirious as he sucks on your skin. he kisses all the way up to your jaw before he covers your mouth with his.

he licks into your mouth until you are a breathless mess.

"i'm not prepping you. m'not." he squeezes your jaw. "the first thing i'm stuffing in your pussy is my cock and it's gonna hurt. it'll hurt a lot but you deserve it." he airily speaks, his eyes dark.

you stare in confusion, panic sets in your chest. what wrong did you do? you wonder what warranted having your virginity stripped with no compassion.

you were more than aware he did not care for you.

as far as you know, you are suppose to pride yourself in your virginity. you were to save it for your husband and no one else. the man between your legs is a stranger, the man telling you such nasty things is nothing to you.

you swallow hard as you stare at his intimidating size. the head of his cock is purplish and dripping pre cum. his shaft is thick and it seems to go on forever. you wonder how it is suppose to fit inside you.

naoya grasps his aching cock to tap the head on your clit. you try to move away, you really do but he is so strong. he is completely unmoving. he coats his tip in your slick before pressing into your hole.

despite how tight you are, despite how big and thick he is. you shove at his abdomen, his abs flexing under your palms. "naoya please." tears stream down your cheeks but he relents. he cups your thighs to bring them over his and spread you open.

his rough fingers find your perked clit, rubbing it in aggressive circles. you hate to admit it but it feels too good. your hands clamp down on your mouth to mute the moans escaping you.

you gush on him with no fanfare. this entire circumstance makes you feel like an easy slut. he presses more into you, reaching the ridge where his cock and shaft meet. your legs jolt the further his girth fills you.

your insides squeeze and clamp down trying to deny his intrusion, you make naoya crazy. "fucking stop." he hisses. you are like a vice around his pulsing cock.

he says what you should be saying. you should be telling him to stop but you do not. you should be screaming and crying, telling him to get off of you but that is the last thing in your head.

it feels good. more of him is pressed into you and your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. it is an unfamiliar feeling but the pressure in your abdomen is more pleasurable than painful. you find yourself adjusting, you are still so tight that naoya loses his mind.

he presses down on your clit an inch accompanying the motion and you shriek at the feeling. he continually rocks his hips, slowly coaxing over your bundle of nerves. your hands find purchase in the sheets, panting while you try to gather your bearings.

the stimulation has you fidgeting, it has you moaning his name endlessly. your thighs tremble on either side of him and your expression is contorted at the feeling. he looks down at your body, tongue slipping out to coat his lips and you find yourself wishing it was in your mouth, on your skin. anywhere you wanted him.

he leans down, his muscles rippling and the flesh along his abs bunching in little rolls, his biceps are almost as big as your head. you feel like he was strong enough to lift you with one finger. he seemed that way, strong and mighty in all that he did.

his hips shallowly move to thrust the portion of his length he has managed to shove into you. "you're fucking me." you stutter, your voice barely audible. you have never spoken those words, have never even conjured them up.

naoya's eyes flash, his large hand spanning over your stomach, trailing between your breasts and then gripping your throat. "m'not. but i can, i can fuck you so deep you feel it here." he squeezes the sides of your neck, eyes glancing to your leaking cunt that soaks him even though he has not gotten to the hilt.

the warmth and tightness of you makes him ache to have his entire cock deep in your pussy but you are little and you are looking at him with the sweetest eyes.

he wants to hurt you, he wants to make you cry but you are so adorable. "i can fuck you and have your belly bulging every. single. time. i shove my cock in your dripping cunt."

you have never had someone speak to you like that. you never heard those words strung together nor spoken in such a depraved tone.

you wonder how he could be this handsome. you wonder what led him here, with you.

"i'll make this pussy mine whether you want it or not but you want it, don't you? you want me to fuck you, you want me to have you shaped to my cock and mine alone" he pants. you nod your head, you swear there is cotton between your ears, there is empty space perhaps but there is surely not a working brain.

not after he painted such an image of him fucking you like you were his and turned it to mush. "say it. say it all, say you want naoya zenin to fuck you." you whine, he squeezes your throat, his grip so strong you swore he could crush it to dust.

you whine and babble and your hips move to get more of the stimulation as he shallowly fucks you. your hands find his broad shoulders, just barely gripping them and he leans down. no you could never move someone like him, he let you. he conceded because it is you.

his face is so close, he is composed and collected while you are a mess beneath him. "i want naoya zenin to fuck me" your voice is broken by a moan as he forces more of himself into you.

you whine in his face "i want him to claim me, break me. i only want him in my cunt." your voice is a warbled mess and for some reason naoya did not expect you to be so nasty. to tell him those things. claiming you is one thing but breaking you?

he would do more than break you. he would wreck every inch of you, destroy and decimate it all, there would be no way to return you to what you were.

"then loosen up, slut." you cannot mute the scream that escapes you when the thickness of his girth is pushed entirely into your walls. your legs desperately hook on his hips, so tense they feel sore.

it burns, it hurts and stings but it feels unbelievably good, it did not feel like something you could fathom in a real world only in fantasy.

why, why, why? why does it feel so good? you had no expectations of sex. absolutely none.

when the women spoke they did not entertain such topics. was this what they did behind closed doors? did such depravity remain hidden while they portrayed themselves as saints?

he is so hot, you feel him everywhere. he is nestled inside you like he belongs there, he throbs into your gummy walls.

his large palm graces your tummy, gliding to your lower abdomen. he presses down and you sigh in unison. your eyes wildly look down. "look where my cock is in you, you really are too small to take it."

he is not your husband, he should not have stuffed his cock all the way inside you that his head impresses in your stomach. what right did he have to lay claim?

it does not matter, not anymore. he has your cunt wrapped around him and your body does not protest. no, your body welcomes him with endless slick. it yearns and begs for him. it felt like you were just waiting for him to come and take you.

he pulls out until only his leaking head is enclosed by your cunt. his expression is pleased at the sight of red streaks along him. "got your blood all over my cock. y'know what that means?"

your head is too empty to hear, to function. you cannot quite make out his words but the sound of his voice makes you mewl. you are soaking him again and again.

"means you're all mine." you eyes roll as he shallowly pumps into you. you swear you cannot see beyond him.

his hands grope the perimeter of your waist. "i haven't even fucked you yet and you already look like a brain dead whore." he coos but his eyes are dark.

he is caught up in the sight of your dripping slit stretched around the girth of his cock. his strong thighs flex, you shriek when he starts pounding into you.

naoya bullies his cock into your pussy that will not stop pulsing around him. you are so tight he sees stars. your insides are gooey and warm. he wants to be wrapped in you forever.

his abs strain, his cock is coated in your juices. slick strands are covering him. the more he slams into you the nastier sounds your pussy makes.

"shouldn't be this tight or feel this good." he huffs, he uses your body like a sex doll. he holds you down and thrusts into you so hard your skin stings. every loud collision of his flesh with yours hurts.

"you're my slut, fuck, you're the only bitch i want." your entire body shakes with the weigh of his movements. your eyes water and you fist the soaked sheets.

naoya looks too good above you. the sweat on his forehead dampens his hair and his muscles shift every time he sinks back inside you.

you are delirious, he did as he said he would, he makes your stomach bulge over and over again. he turns your brain into useless chum.

your cunt sputters liquid, his movements are flurried and aggressive. your sex loudly squelches. you never thought it would feel this good.

every vein on his cock slides along your gummy insides, you feel like you are about to pass out. "a whore like you doesn't deserve to cum but i need to feel you gripping me. i need to know how tight your pussy gets when you're cumming." his fingers find your buzzing clit.

"m'not a whore."

"you're getting fucked like one."

all you can focus on is him, he rolls your clit with experience. a part of you hates that despite him being nothing to you. your vision is blurred by tears but blinking them away allows you to see him.

his body seems like a sculpture. every muscle is evident for prying eyes. beads of sweat leak down his temple and his jaw is locked. he looks unreal. you wish he was yours although you do not know him. you have no relation but he is stretching out your cunt and making it his.

your hand grips his, head thrown back as you writhe on the sheets. you breathe in exasperation as his much larger fingers intertwine with yours. he is holding your hand. he is holding it while he pummels your insides.

you are too sensitive and too overwhelmed. when you cum, your entire body trembles. your eyes squeeze tightly and you clamp down on him like a vice. you cream on his cock your entire body coated in sweat while you shake.

the sight of you throws him over the edge.

"shit, fuck, no one is as good as you. no one." he grits his teeth, eyes fluttering. his length is soaked in you, strands coating him and the harder he pounds the more frothy cream collects at his base.

"want you like this forever." his body covers you completely. his arms wrap around your waist to hold you tight to him. all his weight is pressed into you, desperately thrusting his hips as he chases his release.

despite how you whine and cry at the excessive stimulation. your nails digging into his flesh and scratching lines down his skin.

you seem to mark another area of his back every time he pounds into you.

his movements have your body jerking and his muscles flexing. your cunt feels like it is forcefully drawing the orgasm from him, his teeth grit and his eyes flicker as they threaten to roll back.

he is so powerful but right now he looks like he is losing it. his mouth roughly presses into yours, his tongue and spit in excess and his hips stutter for a moment before he slams into you so hard your cunt squelches.

his hips rock as he stays flush to you and for the first time you are getting filled up. it is even hotter than his cock, it sears along your walls, endlessly pouring and leaking as he grows soft.

"you take it so well for a virgin." he pants before his lips claim yours in a nasty kiss.

he says that like he has not already stripped that title from you.

his weight crushes you beneath him but somehow it is comforting. somehow you like it. you like that there is no space between you and him.

your arms reach around his neck, tears streaked down your cheeks while your mouth desperately returns his kiss.

he briefly parts before leaning back in. it is unfair that he has everything. he is too pretty and he seems to be good at everything.

you whine when he sits up on his knees, your hands losing their grip on his muscles. his eyes train where his cock still fills you.

you wince while he slowly pulls out, the cum still dripping out of you. you feel empty without him.

he takes in the cum leaking from your used cunt. all he can think about is doing it again and again. without tire or care. a surprisingly gentle touch swipes your hair from your face before he strokes your cheek and leans down.

his soft lips though swollen softly move along yours. he breathes a bit more laboured as his hands touch and squeeze along your body and his kisses make their way from your neck to your sternum and tits.

you are panting while he trails open mouthed kisses on your skin. his eyes do not leave yours and they are so golden you swear they glow.

your body grows tense when he drifts lower than your belly and suddenly he is kissing right above your cum filled slit and your inner thighs.

"you're so soft." you did not expect it. was that a good thing? his breath is so close to your pussy, it is weird to think he was just inside you.

you squeal, a hand covering your mouth as his tongue swipes over your cunt. "naoya, that's dirty." your voice is muffled beneath your palm, all he does is clamp his mouth on your clit and suck.

laughing into your cunt before his tongue is gliding up and down your slit endlessly.

a man of his calibre was between your legs with his mouth in such a place. it did not make sense. his heated muscle slips into your pussy, saliva coating you in excess.

your feet lift onto the tip of your toes while you moan. you moan for naoya like you were made for it, made for him.

his fingers gently caress the back of your thighs, all while he sloppily sucks up your messy cunt.

he does not want to stop, his cum is inside of you, it is in your pussy.

he came there. he came within your silky walls and he will never stop thinking about it, about you. he pulls back, licking his lips and nipping the flesh of your thigh before trailing his tongue along your slit.

his cum is still seeping out despite the amount he lapped up from your hole. there are sticky strands of liquid on his jaw and mouth as he brings his face to yours

"it's not dirty. what's filthy, is that you let me fuck you like a cock hungry slut." his large palms grasp your tits while you are speechless.

"is that what you are, my cockslut?" you find yourself nodding your head, whimpering in agreement.

you just want to be something to him.

his thumb strokes over your lips while he grips your face, you are so much smaller his entire hand seems to hold it. "you think you can suck me off? get me nice and wet in that little mouth and make me cum?"

you stare up at him with the prettiest wide eyes. you were crying for so long. you cry so much it makes him hard. "i can." you softly whisper and naoya cannot help but kiss you sweetly.

he nips your lips, laving his tongue over them before he sits next to you.

you swallow, he helps you up by a firm grip on your upper arm. your head feels light.

you are surprised when his hand cups the back of your head and shoves down. his erect cock presses against your cheek. "c'mon, don't waste time."

your hand unsurely surrounds the base, you cannot believe something like this had managed to fit inside you. naoya sighs at the softness. your tongue clumsily laps at his slit, the taste of his cum and your juices filling your mouth.

your lips enclose just before his shaft, your mouth insanely warm it makes naoya pant. "take more of it, i don't fucking care if it's your first time." he gruffly says. you are perched on your knees with his cock in your mouth.

moments before you had never seen one in your life.

you are so unsure, you lower on him but the second his tip brushes the back of your throat you gag. you lurch, the muscles constricting around him.

you pull back frantically, coughing as you clutch your throat. naoya finds your eyes more teary. "so fuckin dramatic." he tuts.

his tip presses against the seam of your lips and you have no choice but to open up.

you really do try to be good. you try your hardest to take more but it seems never ending. you gag so much desperately trying to get him seated deep in your throat. but you can't.

that tight little throat of yours can hardly get even half of him in on your own.

"you're shit at this." he laughs airily. you are drooling so much it is insanely messy, he never had it like this before.

every bit of him says to bruise the back of your throat, to fist your hair and fuck into your mouth so that every inch of him feels the silky walls of your throat.

he listens.

at first, his fingers gently caress through your hair. it lasts for a second before he is pushing your head down. your throat constricts and he shudders. he cannot tell which liquid that drips onto his skin is your spit or tears. 

he is vicious and rough. constantly bobbing your head along his cock regardless of how you choke. the sloppy noises are all he needs to get there. the feeling of your gooey throat objecting his forceful intrusion. your muscles resisting. "fuck you're such a good bitch. little baby throat s'taking it all."

his body tenses, hips stuttering to fuck into your mouth. he does not usually come this fast. he shoves you down until your lips surround his base. he swears he can see your throat bulging from his cock. your hot sticky saliva drip all over him as he shallowly ruts his hips.

naoya grits his teeth, moaning loudly before he spews cum down your throat. you jerk in confusion but he does not release you. your hands scramble. he feels you swallowing around him but it is not enough.

liquid spills past the perimeter of his cock.

he tugs you off, your mouth wetly separating with a sticky pop.

"you look pretty like this." your hair is knotted, tear streaks coat your cheeks, your lips are swollen from sucking his dick and his cum is spewed in your mouth in a sticky web. it drips down your jaw but he still kisses you.

still does it all sweetly and cups your cheeks as if he is a nice man.

you eagerly accept it. you kiss and kiss and his salty cum is messily exchanged. you are a breathless mess when he pulls away with spit still connecting you.

"so stupid." he shoves your forehead with his forefinger. you want to cry. he leaves you sitting while he lies on the sodden sheets.

it hurts to hear. you sniffle, looking at him. you let all this happen. you slept with him. this is not some lucid sex dream, it really occurred. he came in you, he touched you everywhere.

he had you in way a man never did before.

you are crying for a different reason now. when the lust that clouded your brain finally dispels you realise everything is ruined.

"do you have any idea what you've done?" tears are profusely coating your cheeks, you tug the blanket to your chest.

you are hiding your body as though he has not violated every inch of it. as if his desecration has not tainted you in the form of bruises and cum.

naoya breathes, his eyes rolling as he folds his arms under his head. "i fucked a bitch, s'all."

your face contorts in more pain. this was never supposed to be your life. you meant nothing to the man who was just inside you.

you were nothing to him. "i can't get married now."

naoya looks angry. the muscles in his arms flex, eyes flitting over to you.

in a second he sits up, the expanse of his palm covers your throat. it draws a sound of shock from you. his face is all too close and you wince at the flashes of him fucking you as they are forced into your mind.

how can you forget it? especially when he is at this proximity, when his hands were all over your body and now he simply held your neck.

his gaze flits downwards, he is angry without a doubt. it is hard to not see it when his skin is flushed red and his jaw is locked.

he rips the sheet from your body before he roughly shakes you.

your eyes flash in panic as you grip his tightening hand. "you have me and you want to marry some lowlife prick from your shitty clan?" he hisses into your face, his nose brushing yours over the nonexistent distance.

you gasp for air because he holds too tight. "you weren't a good fuck. not at all." his hand slips between your legs to cup your cum filled cunt and you blanch.

"you're just a prissy little virgin but you're pretty. i'll give it to you, you're gorgeous." without any warning his digits slide inside of you.

it is forceful and rough as he repeatedly thrusts his long fingers into the soaked walls of your pussy. you grit your teeth. it should not feel good. it should not but you cannot help the uninhibited movement of your hips.

your legs practically part for him on instinct despite how badly you want him to get away from you. that is what you want, right?

you should not want him and your eyes that are trailing all over his defined muscles should be looking to the heavens for some hope.

they should not be gleaming at his pretty features or his damp hair. "and you'll be one hell of a bitch but you gotta prove it to me before i marry you." marriage.

oh marriage, marriage, marriage.

it had been on your mind since you were a little girl. you have ached and dreamed and wished upon the stars for it to find you.

"how?" his brows tilt at your broken voice. he shoves you down until your head meets the wooden flooring and your back stings at the impact.

he is over you, his shadow casting along your figure. "let me fuck you. submit yourself to me alone. if ever you touch another man, i'll know."

his voice is deep, his expression dark. he is terrifying, you wonder how someone so pretty could look so horrific. you swallow hard.

"i'd kill him and i'd kill you." his eyes do not leave yours for a second. he brings your legs around his narrow waist, the weigh of his erection digging into the flesh of your inner thighs.

"but if you be good, i'll marry you. i'll take you away from this place."

you want so desperately to escape, you want so desperately to be anywhere but here. you want to be with him even if he is awful.

"will you marry me?" your fingers itch with the urge to draw him closer, your voice a warbled mess. your legs tighten around him, you want him close. so close.

it seems he knows because he nears until his body is flush to yours. until you are engulfed by his scent and the hardness of his figure.

"i swear it." his eyes flick to your lips, so close to him that they brush with his words. his admission has you gripping his cheeks and kissing him.

it's an inexperienced and sloppy kiss but you do as best as you can and naoya finds your mouth one of his favourite things.

tears leak from your eyes as he shoves his entire length into you and your body tenses.

for the second time that night he claims you.

---

despite wanting to be angry at him, you cannot. not when he kissed every bruise he left on your skin, not when he pressed his lips to yours like you meant something to him.

not when he tugged you into his side and you find revery in his scent.

something about naoya is so comforting you find yourself falling asleep with no issue.

or maybe it is because he used and exhausted your body.

he has you wrapped in his arms with familiarity. your face mushed to his chest and your leg thrown over his waist.

his thumb coaxes along your back, his face nuzzling your hair. you look adorable, you look too precious. even in your sleep you press into him more.

naoya wants to burn the sight into his brain.

you are his forever.

"my soul always searches for yours but you have never remembered mine. not once." he whispers into the air although you cannot hear it.

although you do not respond.

isn't he so dreamy ^^

[zooophagous]

I see a post, that asks the question "you are now married to your phone background, how fucked are you?"

I close the app and look. When was the last time I considered my phone background? I can't even remember it.

On the screen before me is a purple wildflower, a bergamot, or "bee balm" plant, photographed in North Dakota in 2019 in a family member's back yard.

I am married to a bergamot. She is tall and shapely, moreso than myself, though her choice of purple raiments matched closely my own. She is my favorite color. Maybe that's how we met? Why I decided to woo her?

My wife the bergamot is a socialite. She has more friends than I. Every morning she gossips with a cabbage white butterfly, and cruelly shares their secrets with the rusty patched bumblebees, who compete for her affections with the domesticated aapis mellifera, which trail at her purple coattails like lapdogs.

Her favorite friend, however, is the ruby throated hummingbird. More insect than avian though it does contain a vertebral column, it iridesces like green beetle wings and in my heart I feel jealousy as my bergamot bride and the hummingbird kiss.

I sit with her for a season. Under the sun and the heat and the biting flies. She is covered in dewdrops and in spiders. I spare her from caterpillars and lavish my affections on her with a cup of water.

The world turns at last to its cool side, my bergamot changes her purple coat to her dusty toned night gown. She lies down to sleep and is buried beneath a bed of fresh snow come October.

Love so fleeting, marriage so brief, could I forget my bergamot and move on? Could my love be perennial and evergreen even when my beloved is not? It is winter and my bride is dead. How fucked am I?

[nova-amor]

tags. +18 mdni, female reader. cunnilingus, overstimulation, biting, mild choking, coercing. pet name: ‘bird’. wc; 670.

“Simon—” His name slipped from your lips in the form of a whisper, the syllables drawn out in a long breath. Your heart stammered in your chest as his tongue ceased its ravenous assault, your half-lidded eyes peering down at the man who had found his home burrowed between your legs. Your thighs shook as the soft, wet muscle of his tongue licked a fat stripe up your sex, the tip dragging up the hood of your sensitive clit and exposing it to his warm breath.

Your thighs trembled from the sensation, your head lolling to the side as he flickered the pointed tip of his tongue side-to-side against your little nub. His honey-brown eyes remained on you. Amusement and desire fueled the intensity of his gaze, the twitch of a smirk tugging at the corner of his wet lips.

With a deep rumble, he gave you a moment to make your plea, the murmur of a “Hm? What is it, bird?” leaving his lips.

“Si— I don’t think,” Simon’s mouth inched away from your sopping cunt, his tongue darting out to lick at the remnants of your spent lingering on his lips. His chin dripped with saliva and creamy cum, the short prickles of his five o’clock shadow glistening under the amber glow of the nearby nightstand lamp. “I don’t think I can handle anymore— I think,” Your sentence came to a sudden halt, the sharpness of your breath stinging your lungs as you inhaled.

Simon’s sharp canines nipped at the delicate skin of your inner thigh, his thick fingers curling around the tightening muscles to keep you in place. Your hips bucked at the sensation of his tongue darting out to flick against your skin, his teeth shortly returning to sink deeper into the flesh. A whimper left your lips as he continued the cycle, your brain short-circuiting like an old processing computer.

“Stop,” Simon ordered, his tone so casual, it was as if he had gotten used to torturing you. Which he had. He had made residence between your legs an hour ago, feasting on the plump flesh of your folds and nibbling on your clit as if it were his last meal.

“What?” You questioned as he lavished attention on the sensitive skin. One of his hands trailed up the length of your body, ghosting over the terrain of your hips and stomach before settling on your breast. He sank his canines further into you, ripping a pained hiss from between your teeth while sweet slick dripped from your core.

His calloused fingers kneaded at the soft flesh, squeezing and pinching at your hardened nipple, eliciting a cry of pleasure from your drying lips. “Stop thinking.” Simon peppered a few kisses up your thigh, laying a fat peck upon your clit before drawing the bud into his mouth. He released it with a wet ‘pop’; “Stop using that pretty little brain of yours and let me enjoy my meal. I’m starving.” He relayed, speaking as if he hadn’t ripped orgasm after orgasm from you.

“Simon, please…”

“One more,” Simon cut you off before you could continue, his desire to consume you making him impatient. He gave your nipple another sharp pinch before moving up to curl his fingers around your neck, keeping your head in place to watch him as he ate you out. “Gimmie one more, and then I’ll stop. I promise.” He lied as his thumb rubbed soothing stripes up and down the side of your throat.

Your eyes grew hazy as his tongue flicked at your clit, the tip of it tracing your puffy slit. He delved deeper into your heat, relishing in its sweetened musk as the taste of your arousal flooded his mouth. You nearly cried his name in the form of a high-pitched whine as he plunged his tongue deeper into you, driving it further into you with frantic pumps.

“Just one more,” He growled the promise. “I know you can do it. You’ve always been such a good girl for me.”

[courtofcrescent]

Your kingdom has lost the war. The Royal Family is dead, including your mistress, the Old King's beloved concubine. Following her last command, you are forced to bend your knees to the new ruler. You continue to live your life as a dutiful high servant, striving to maintain normalcy as best you can, until one moonlit night, you accidentally uncover a terrifying secret... and attract dangerous attention.

Thus begins your new life as the Royal Consort, navigating the intrigue of your old-yet-new Court, all while guarding The Secret with your life.

"May Luxen always shine upon you."

Play as a male or female bearing the title of Royal Consort.

Romance the Ruler with a questionable reputation who is your now lawful partner; the Knight with a piercing gaze who follows you like a devoted shadow; the scandalous nouveau riche who happens to be the Minister of Entertainment; the striking Cousin who prefers the company of books; or a secret... something?

Join the exquisite intrigue of the Court by planning lavish parties, attending charitable events, or simply lying in your pavilion all day in hope to avoid assassination attempts—or perhaps even plot some yourself.

Acquire an expensively crafted dagger... and stab a few people in the back—or you know, a charming smile works too!

Embrace your new royal life with all its privileges and responsibilities—or find yourself trapped in misery, contemplating your choices.

Secrets. Hidden Truths. Lies. You name it.

Here's the list of romantic options who may or may not desire the demise of the Royal Consort. Questionable information. Proceed with extreme caution.

MALLORY d'ASTRUM | THE RULER (M)

Formerly the enemy commander who slew the Old King, Mallory now become the new Ruler who reigns over the Court of Crescent—your beloved kingdom's new moniker. A member of the Imperial House Astrum, you were familiar with his rumors long before the Empire invaded your kingdom. Wolf of War, they said, so that's why you are quite... baffled when you find him as tame as a pampered royal dog, for lack of better words. Did you hear the right rumors? Were all the bard's tales lies? Is this sweets-loving gentleman truly the same vicious commander once called the Beast of Battle?

"My Moonshine, would you care for a dance with your partner?"

VIVIAN d'BENITO | THE KNIGHT (F)

Every royal family member always has a loyal personal Knight, and so do you. Vivian is the very epitome of a guard on duty, according to your etiquette book. Silent yet attentive, her gaze never strays far from you. Obedient yet firm, she grants any wishes of yours as long as they do not clash with Mallory. Vivian has sworn an oath to protect you from any external threats, however can you trust your life to a knight who serves the Imperial House that destroyed the former royal family? Can you trust any oath that passes the lips of a former member of the Knights of Raven?

"I'm yours to command, Your Serene Highness."

ELLIS EDSELLY | THE MINISTER (M)

Scandal, scandal, and more scandal. Ellis's life is never dull, if the rumors are true. Raised to power by the very incident that destroyed the former royal family, he has garnered quite a reputation. Some despise him, some commend him, some licking his boots—or licking much more. Ellis accepts them all with a grin and a wink. If life is a stage, surely the Minister of Entertainment has the center seat. A commoner turned merchant turned noble, he has certainly climbed the power ladder quite high. You wonder, will he continue to ascend even further?

"Let us raise our glass to the night of merriment!"

SORIN FLAVENY | THE COUSIN (F)

You don't know why your reclusive, anti-court great uncle grants his blessing to send your second cousin to the Court. The last time you met Sorin was when both of you were still nursing, thus your impression of her mostly comes from your other cousin's words. Citrine of Flaveny, or so you've been told, her beauty shines like gems under the sunlight, captivating countless suitors. A face of great asset, yet from her very first gathering, you hear that Sorin always curls herself up in the solitude of the palace library. Why does she even bother to come to the Court?

"Cousin! Ah, I mean, Your Majes—Serene Highness! You have a very nice home. So... yellow."

???? | T̵H̸E̸ ̶E̴N̵I̶G̵M̸A̷?̷

G̶o̶.̵ ̷S̴t̵a̴y̶.̷ ̷G̷o̵!̶ ̵S̴t̷a̴y̴!̴ ̵N̶o̸!̸ ̴D̸o̶n̴'̸t̴!̶ ̸Y̷E̷S̸!̸!̴!̴

"Y̶o̷u̴.̵ ̴A̸r̸e̶.̷ ̷M̸I̷N̵E̸!!!!"

Court of Crescent is rated 18+ for mature themes, death and near death experience, blood and violence, alcohol and drugs, sexual content, morally questionable behaviours, really morally questionable behaviours, and more.

[DEMO COMING SOON]

[under construction]

[werecreature-addicted]

Need a biblically accurate angel who’s borderline insanely obsessed with their s/o, and the s/o who’s also obsessed with them, equally in an unhinged way.

The s/o not scared when Angel kills, and leaves the bodies as gifts. If anything they only love them more.

"We could be good for each other," he lies. you both know that is far from true, you are a lot of things for the other. Indulgent. devoted. blasphemous. but "good" was not on that list.

You were his god in human form, the beautiful creature Prometheus stole fire for, and the divine being that Lucifer loved above all else, even in his fall. You are beautiful, mortal, sacred, and his whole universe.

Worshiping you comes as easy as breathing, killing comes just as effortlessly too. Anything that would dare threaten you must be crushed before it could cast a shadow at your feet. That's only half of the reason he kills, to keep you safe, the other half is tribute. Sacrifices to lay down in your honor, he can think of no better way for a human life to end. not to mention the jealousy. Does he love you? certainly, does he love you? harder to say. he didn't think angels could love, but he does obsess over you and that's close enough, right?

You're no better, of course, you take the murder and the stalking in stride. you know all he wants is your praise, and you're more than happy to lavish him with it. what a good weapon he is, always at your fingertips. you're happy to keep him happy, especially when he surprises you with your enemy's head on a golden plate.

And you won't deny it. his affections are flattering, he seems to find you earth-shatteringly beautiful. You like that. it's nice being wanted, it's easy to return his feelings, and you could see yourself falling deeply in love with him if you let yourself.

"We could be good for each other," you agree, cupping his bloody face in your hands, not his blood of course. "very good" you add doubling down on the lie.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 3; final part)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Just minutes after discovering his secret identity, it’s time for you and Jason to clear the air about how the two of you actually met.

Word count: 3.4k

Your heart is racing a hundred miles a minute when you make it back to your apartment. And not just because of the five sets of stairs you have to walk up, although that's pretty bad.

You make sure that your roommate isn't home, then usher your cat out of your bedroom and open the window. You sit on the edge of your bed, nerves twisting in your stomach.

No, you can't stay still.

Also, your cat's scratching at the door, furious that he's been locked away.

You decide to wait in the living room instead.

His approach is soundless. You don’t hear him come through the window, or when he opens your bedroom door, but your cat meows happily and you turn around to see your six-foot-two lying boyfriend looming in your apartment.

“Is your roommate here?” he growls through the mask. Your cat yowls at his feet, wondering why Jason—the Red Hood—hasn’t begun to lavish him with attention yet.

“No, so you can take that off.”

You’re a little pleased with yourself for figuring out his identity so quickly. Unfortunately, you’re much less pleased with him for messing with you. You’re not mad that he didn’t tell you his vigilante identity; you’ve known each other about a month, which is nothing in the grand span of a lifetime. You’re not a pessimist, but you are realistic, and you’re not sure if your relationship is going to work out yet after a week and a half of dating. Any disgruntled ex-girlfriend could reveal his secret identity to the press—not that you’re that type of person.

No, it’s smart to be cautious with his identity.

So wearing a costume that displays one of his most unique features isn’t the brightest.

Also, now that you think about it, Jason wandered into the library the day after the Red Hood walked you home.

So you’re not exactly worried, but you are a bit cautious. You’ve seen that Netflix show You, where that perfectly charming man kills every woman he’s in a relationship with. If it came down to that, you wouldn’t be able to beat Jason in a fight.

Also, you don’t want to fight in front of the cat.

With a click and a hiss, the mask—more a muzzle—comes off, and there appears your handsome boyfriend, a little disheveled and sweaty from the five-story climb to your window after stowing his bike. He’s still beautiful, and it’s such a shame. He could have been the one, had he not stalked and lied to you.

You think.

You’re going to find out.

Jason’s eyes dart to your dominant hand, which is hidden behind your back with your trusty pepper spray ready to go at the slightest sign of aggression. “I take it I’m in trouble,” he says, light, almost joking, and bends to pick your cat up. The little bastard squirms every time you do that, but he settles right down in Jason's arms and gets to purring.

“Jason—” You start, then falter, because you don’t actually know his last name. Or his middle. “Jason,” you say again through gritted teeth, trying to make it as menacing as possible. “I think we have something to talk about, don’t you?”

“Y/N,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, I am the Red Hood. I couldn’t tell you bec—”

“I don’t give a shit that you’re the Red Hood,” you interrupt.

Jason’s mouth clicks shut. He gives you an odd look.

“Well, that you didn’t tell me,” you amend. “We’ve known each other a month. It would be pretty pathetic if you couldn’t keep the secret that long. Everyone in the city would know by now.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So what are you mad about, exactly?”

“That I was right!” You exclaim. “You were stalking me! I thought you just liked coffee and reading, but you were following me the whole time. You even offered to beat yourself up. What else about you is a lie?”

“Okay, whoa,” he says, holding his hand up, and if you weren’t mad before, you’re getting there now. He has no right for you to motion to calm down. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I guess I kind of did start this all out by following you.”

Your hands fall limply to your sides. Now that he’s admitted it, all the wind is out of your sails. You’ve never been so disappointed to be right. Secretly, you were hoping he would write it all off as a freak coincidence so thoroughly that you’d have no choice to believe it, all the way up until he strangled you. “Okay,” you say calmly. You hear your own voice, but it’s from very far away. “Are you going to hurt me now?”

“What?” He looks aghast at the very thought. “No, no, I won’t—why would I—No.” He’s so firm in the reply, so utterly certain, that your grip loosens on the pepper spray. He might be a really good liar… or he might be telling the truth. “No, Y/N, I really like you, which is why I asked you out, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t hurt you anyway because you’re my friend. And you’re a good person. The Red Hood punishes criminals; he’s not some crazy serial killer.”

“I mean, you kind of are,” you mumble. You’ve seen the statistics. He ruled through fear for several years. But, like he’d said earlier, he’s reformed himself. He still kills people, though, but you find that it doesn’t bother you as much as it should.

“I am not—” Jason stresses, looking you right in the eyes— “the kind of man that hits women.”

There’s a story there, in the way he says it, but it’s not the time to ask. You’re not sure that your fledging relationship is ready for it, either, but you’re still curious. You’re also curious about why he killed so many people when he started out. You’re curious about everything about him. You think you could listen to him talk for hours about himself and you still would only touch the surface of everything that makes up Jason.

“Okay,” you say. His eyes track your hand as you set the pepper spray down on the counter.

He repeats it like a question. You’re a little surprised, too, but— “Jason, I wouldn’t have agreed to be your girlfriend if I wasn’t sure that you’re a good person. But I need you to tell me about how we met.”

“You mean the robbery?” He looks confused. “That really was just a coincidence. I heard that something was going down and stopped by. I had no idea who you were before that night, I swear.”

“Okay. So why did you follow me to the library?”

“Oh.” Jason coughs. “Yeah. Okay, well, the first day, I actually was following you.”

You slap the counter with an open palm, triumphant. Your cat hisses at the sound. "I knew it!"

"Wait, wait, just hear me out. I was following you to make sure that you didn't die of blood loss. Or sepsis. Or gangrene. Or—"

"So you were stalking me... because you cared?"

"It's how my family shows love," he shrugs.

Your eyes widen. Because you hadn't considered it, but if he's a Bat—and he is, judging by the red shape on his chest—then his family is the Batclan. "Oh, my God. Batman is your dad."

Jason folds his arms over his chest like he's self-conscious about the symbol. "Yeah, and I've got the weird attachment style to show for it."

"Wait," you blurt out. "The brother you were supposed to meet in the coffee shop—were you supposed to meet Red Robin?"

"Um..."

You can't believe you were almost in the same place as the actual Red Robin. "Wow. Is his civilian identity as cool as his superhero one?"

"Please don't tell me you're a Red Robin fan," Jason says, his voice pained. "We might actually need to break up."

"Do you think I could meet him sometime?" you whisper.

"He's a huge loser," Jason tells you. "He's short and scrawny and actually pretty ugly beneath the mask. He looks like a troll. Also, I think he watches Andrew Tate videos and moderates Reddit forums in his free time. You really don't want to meet him."

You can't stop grinning. "There's no need to be jealous, Jason. Red Robin's way too young for me, but I think it's cool that he uses his brain to fight crime."

"What, and I don't?" he scoffs.

"Okay." You hold up a hand, determined to get the conversation back on track. "So you wanted to make sure that I wasn't actively dying. Why'd you keep coming back?"

"Well, then I thought you might be a supervillain," he said casually, like that's a normal thing to spring on someone.

You just gape at him.

"You treated a gunshot wound like it was nothing!" he defended himself shrilly. "Most civilians would be a little more concerned about an open wound in their side."

"I'm a medical student. Doctors make the worst patients."

"Yeah, well, Gotham has a pretty bad track record of doctors becoming supervillains, so excuse me for trying to curb a new one before she had the chance to turn."

You cross your arms. "What did you think would happen, Jason? I'd accidentally take a dip in Gotham River and the bacteria in there would travel from my side to my brain and make me go crazy?"

"I mean, yeah. That's pretty much exactly what happened with Harley Quinn."

Well, shit. He's got you there.

"Okay, well then why approach me at the coffee shop?"

Jason raises his eyebrow. "You were the only one there and I had a spare coffee. Am I not allowed to do nice things?"

"It was right after I told the Red Hood that I thought I was getting stalked. Did you do that on purpose?" you accuse.

"No, I swear. I didn't even know that you liked that place. Red Robin mentioned liking it.” Oh, my God, you and Red Robin like the same coffee shop. “I just… kept showing up after I saw you there the first time." He must be scratching your cat too hard, because he wiggles out of Jason's arms and runs over to his food bowl, looking at you pleadingly like he's been starving for a hundred years, even though your roommate texted you earlier saying that he'd already fed him. "I was planning on disappearing from your life and telling you as Hood that I'd, I don't know, threatened the dude or whatever, but..."

"But what?"

He shrugs. "You're pretty, Y/N. You're smart. And you were funny when I talked to you as Hood. Is it a crime for me to want to make a friend?"

"Just a friend?" You squint at him.

"Yeah. Just a friend." Jason tousles his hair again, and this time you let yourself admire the way the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms flex at the motion. "Believe it or not, I've never been in a relationship before. This wasn't what I was expecting—I never expected anything—but I'm happy. You're happy... aren't you?" He's pleading now, and it tugs on your heartstrings.

You sigh, but take a step closer to him. "Yes, I'm happy, Jason." It's definitely not the most conventional way to start a relationship, and most other people would be running for the hills by now, but this is Gotham. You moved here and stayed here because you fit in with the crazy. "I just need you to tell me one thing." Step. "One honest thing."

"Of course," he says immediately. Big green eyes pleading for you to bridge the gap between your bodies, to forgive him.

"What's your last name? I can't date someone whose last name I don't know."

For some reason, he grimaces. "Uh... my full name is Jason... Peter... Todd." His voice gets quieter with every word, until you're straining to hear his surname.

That rings familiar with something in your memory. You frown. "Jason Todd... not like Jason Todd Memorial Library?" Usually with memorials, the person they're named after is dead, but Jason's real and in front of you. Also, wasn't Jason Todd the kid that Bruce Wayne adopted several years ago?

The corners of Jason's lips turn down. "Yeah, I wasn't thrilled with your choice of study locations at first. But it is quieter than my apartment. B adopted too many fuckin' kids, and they always find my place, even when I move—"

"Does Red Robin hang out at your apartment a lot?" you ask, just to see him scowl.

"No, he's never there, and I'm going to dropkick him off a roof the next time I see him unless you stop talking about him."

"Okay," you say. You're close enough now to put a hand on his forearm, so you do. "I'll stop talking." You have to get on your tiptoes and pull the back of his head a bit, but you kiss him, and somehow it's even better than the first time.

Jason's lips are a little dry, but not chapped, soft and pillowy. He blinks when you rest back on your heels, looking dazed like someone hit him over the head with a frying pan. "Am I forgiven now?"

"Mmm..." You pretend to think it over. His hands snake around your back and pull you flush against him, stomach to stomach. "I think so," you say through a gasp, which might be embarrassing if he didn't bend to kiss you before the words had fully left your lips.

You kiss for a little while after that, shivering when his hands slip beneath your jacket. Not quite up your shirt, but getting there. He's got huge hands, and he grips your waist firmly, using his thumbs to gently rub at your hipbones as he pulls you even closer. That small contact, so gentle yet also a little greedy, heats your body from the inside like an inferno.

You're starting to bend backwards now, and the hand on the back of his neck is less there to pull him down and more there to keep you up. Are you lightheaded? You might be. You breathe in through your nose, but it doesn't help.

Jason may be inexperienced, according to his own testimony, but he doesn't kiss like it. He kisses with his whole body. He keeps leaning forward, moving his lips against yours with the single-minded intensity that took you by pleasant surprise the first time you kissed. Soft but firm, pressing against you, in a way that makes you think he'd really like to crowd you against a wall and cage you in. Not that you want to escape.

When you're bent over, you take Jason's chin in your hand and slowly push his head back. He resists at first, eyes fluttering as he chases after your lips, but you're about to fall over, so you murmur, "What's the plan here, babe?"

"No plan," he says, voice low and gravely in a way you've never heard before. Jason looks at you from beneath his long lashes. A heat flashes in his eyes. Something flutters in your stomach, bigger than butterflies. Maybe birds? Maybe robins.

And then you feel his hands on the bare skin of your back when they slip beneath the hem of your shirt. You gasp and jerk away on instinct because his hands are so warm, so calloused, but he's got a good grip on you; you're not falling anytime soon.

Then your entire world shifts as Jason yanks you upright, at the same time pulling the hem of your jacket and shirt up enough so he can see your wound.

"Oh, my God," you groan, embarrassed and a little amused. "You little pervert, were you doing all that to distract me?"

"No." Jason's voice is still gravely. He looks at your hip, then stares at your mouth like he's making a decision. He kisses you again, a firm press, and nips at your bottom lip before he leans back to squint at the scar. "Is it still bruised?"

"Yes," you sigh, covering your eyes. You're embarrassed for reasons you can't quite explain. Maybe because he's pulling your shirt up and you're not quite as firm everywhere as he is. You're pretty sure champion bodybuilders aren't as firm as he is. "It's gotten much better, though. See? No infections or anything like that."

He measures the scar against his hand: it's about two fingers wide, and one finger long. It scabbed over a while ago, and now that the scab's gone, it's just a shiny pink patch of skin.

"You could have stitched it anyway," he sighs.

"I don't care." You grab him by the chin and force him to meet your eyes. "I don't care about scars. Mine or yours. Most of the time, they're sexy. And apart from me, you're the only one seeing it." His hands clench your waist at the words, then loosen. He sends you an apologetic look. You continue, "So as long as you don't mind it, then nobody does."

"I wish it had never happened to you," he sighs.

"Well, it did. But it wasn't your fault and we can't change the past."

Jason's still mulling over your words when you start to work at his belt. He makes a choked noise and grabs your hands. Doesn't push them away, just holds them still right where they are. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I showed you mine." You grin up at him. "It's only fair that you show me yours."

He snorts. "You don't trust your own handiwork?"

"It's a follow-up appointment," you say. "To make sure everything's healing normally. Now take off your shirt, Mr. Todd. This veterinarian's apartment does, after all, moonlight as a strip club."

He undoes his belt buckle with one hand, and you have to make sure that your mouth isn't open. That was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. "You ready?" he grins, cocky in the way he only gets when he's flirting with you. "One look at me and you'll forget all about Red Robin. Forever."

"God, don't bring up your little brother while we're making out," you groan.

"Good to know that you plan on kissing me some more tonight," he says casually. Then he peels off the skintight gray shirt, and every thought wipes from your mind.

His muscles have muscles. And, somehow, despite your apartment's shitty lighting, he's glowing. His pants sit low on his hips like he's a model or something.

How has no one ever dated him before? He's actually perfect.

The longer you stare without saying anything, the more uncomfortable he looks. Finally he says, "I know I've got a lotta scars," his native Gotham accent bleeding through a little, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. He's warm and firm and soft, just like you thought he would be.

"My God," you whisper. "You're beautiful."

Jason goes beet red.

"And the one I stitched is healing up nicely," you continue, tracing your fingers lightly over the slightly raised line.

His whole body shudders. He swallows almost violently, eyes clenched tight like they're in pain. Then they fly open, and you gasp, because they're glowing green. Not metaphorically glowing. Like, actually glowing.

Jason kisses you again like he's trying to herd you. You don't know where's all right for you to touch, so you cup his face with both your hands and pour everything that he gives you right back at him. Warmth, affection, something bright that you can't name.

Then you lean back. Your lips disconnect with an audible pop.

"Hang on. Is Bruce Wayne Batman?"

Jason's chin drops down to his chest. He groans, deep, and you pretend that warmth doesn't pool in your stomach at the sound. Voice thready, he says, "You know, talking about my dad really kills the mood."

"Oh, my God, he is." You pump your fist in the air. "I'm two for two. Who's the world's greatest detective now, Batsy?"

"If I kiss you again, will you shut up about Batman?" Jason asks.

You grin. "I don't know. Maybe you'll have to find out."

He does.

And you do.

You've decided that the Red Hood is your favorite superhero, anyway.

~~

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts