#ornate gold desk

[elinkling]

Victorian Living Room - Living Room

An illustration of a large, elaborate, enclosed, carpeted living room with beige walls, no fireplace, and no television.

[shadowshisui]

I finally have this beautiful piece by @iliothermia up in my home! I'm happy to say it is the first piece of art that I've put on my walls to decorate my first home with my partner. For all who see, please check out Hyde's beautiful work! His art is breathtaking and masterful!

[professorpryde]

Formal Living Room San Francisco Idea for a medium-sized, enclosed, formal Victorian living room with beige walls and a medium-tone wood floor.

[bloodibambiidoll]

Nasty Girl ⟡˖ Older!Rafe Cameron x Perv!Reader ⟡˖

✰ Rafe is an arrogant dick, over a decade older than you and your dad’s boss, you shouldn’t want anything to do with him. So why can’t you stay away? ✰

۶♡ৎ This is a request from my angel @babygorewhore I love you sm, this one’s for you pookie ۶♡ৎ

✰ Age gap (Rafe is early 40s reader is mid 20s), Obsessive behaviors, perverted acts involving panties, gagging, choking, spit kink, daddy kink, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, pillow humping, pussy eating, cum eating, size kink 18+MNDI ✰

You can’t stand Rafe Cameron. And the fact that you’re so obsessed with him only makes you hate him more. No matter how much you hated the way he walked around like he owned the world, or the rotating door of women he brings around, you can’t shake this irresistible pull he has on you. You shouldn’t feel this way, not only is Rafe a huge dick he’s also over a decade older than you and your dad’s boss. It started off small, stealing glances at him every time you visited your dad at work, dressing in your most revealing dresses and skirts to his work events, making off handed comments and brushing past him when there was clearly room to go around. It wasn’t until you caught him in a bathroom with some lanky blonde bent over the counter while noises that resembled a crow left her body that you finally lost it.

You decided to leave the company charity event early, making sure to pass Rafe’s car and leave your tiny pink thong on his side-view mirror. He wouldn’t know they were yours, but he would know that they didn’t belong to the girl he was currently balls deep inside of because you saw her coral thong pushed to the side. After that it was like you couldn’t stop. You started leaving your panties anywhere you’d think Rafe would find them. In his office on his desk or the chair, his car became a favorite, you even managed to loop one around his drink while he wasn’t looking at the country club once. After the first few pairs you started leaving dirty photos of yourself along with them. Not showing your face, of course. Just shots of your ass and tits, always matching the underwear you planned to leave. You thought about maybe just texting or even emailing them to him but your dad gave him both of those things “in case of emergency”. So you decided to do it old school and take photos on your Polaroid. It was sexier that way, anyway.

But you haven’t done anything like what you’re about to do. You’re upstairs with the sound of loud voices all drowned together barely making it through the thick, high floors beneath you. It didn’t take you long to find Rafe’s room. A double door at the end of the long hall with gold ornate knobs was very clearly the master. You also weren’t surprised he had a keypad lock on his door, especially throwing a party like this. Your dad and his coworkers are everyday businessmen to the sivlian eye but behind closed doors they’re into some pretty deep criminal shit. Luckily you already managed to break into his laptop. It was almost too easy, he navigates technology like a grandpa even though he’s only forty. You had a passing thought about teaching him a more efficient way to organize his work laptop but you quickly shut it down. You’re supposed to hate him. Even if you him to fuck you until you can hardly breathe. He had a whole entire document of passwords and key combinations and you may have written all of them down. So you easily slipped inside after entering the numbers on the keypad.

You spent some time looking around and it was about what you expected. Sleek, expensive furniture, no decorations, the white walls bare aside from a random picture of a boat near the window. It's so clean it almost seems like no one lives here but you assume that’s probably due to the cleaners. You go through his drawers, nothing of interest really, unless you count all the clothes you could potentially steal. His bathroom is just as clean as his room and you can’t help but smirk when you notice a full skin care routine sitting on his counter. So vain. But, you can’t deny a man who is invested in his hygiene is extremely sexy. You smell his expensive colognes, his body wash, even his fucking shampoo. You inhale every single one like it’s your drug of choice. Though, you’re sure they smell a million times better on his skin, mixed with his musk.

After spending some time snooping, your focus turns back to the real reason you came in here. You walk into his large walk-in closet and flick on the light. There’s a glass jewelry case in the middle, filled with designer watches, rings, chains, and sunglasses. You approach it and try to pull open the top drawer when you’re met with resistance, you notice another combination lock. But a lightbulb goes off in your head, remembering the key code marked “jewelry case” before pulling out your phone, finding the numbers and unlocking the drawer with a click. The first drawer is, as expected, more jewelry that matches the items in the display case above. The second drawer though, that’s a different story. When you slide it open instead of expensive designer, it’s filled with lace and silk.

Every single pair of your panties you’ve left for him are in this drawer, along with the Polaroids stacked neatly. Upon closer inspection you notice that they’re covered not just in your cum, but his too. It has your pussy nearly dripping, you were already wet from the minute you saw him earlier tonight but now you can feel your slick dripping down your inner thighs, causing them to stick together under your micro dress. You have to practically drag yourself away from the sight of your underwear under lock and key, almost like they’re treasure, covered in a mixture of Rafe's cum and your own.

You look around the rest of the space and the entire span of the closet is lined with his clothes hanging on wracks. One side is clearly business attire and the other is more casual. Though there isn’t a huge difference, you’ve never seen Rafe in jeans and a t-shirt. You can’t decide if the thought is more sexy or comical. It’s hard to imagine him being well, relaxed. You grab a black button up before exiting the closet, undoing the buttons as you go. A thousand dirty fantasies run through your mind as your eyes roam over the king sized bed. But there’s one you can make a reality right now. The whole reason you came in here. You grab one of his silk pillows and wrap his shirt around it before placing it in the middle of the bed. You turn around to grab your Polaroid out of your bag and then crawl onto the mattress, mounting the pillow. You don’t bother taking your fuzzy platform heels off either, he can sleep on the grime from the bottom of your shoes along with the juices from your pussy for all you care.

You start off slow, running your hands along your body, groping your tits through the faux leather of your dress, imagining that they’re Rafe’s much larger hands. It doesn’t take you long to get worked up, your juices starting to make the cloth underneath you slick. You're so wet that when you start to jerk your hips back and forth on the pillow that you practically glide. The lace of your thong gets pulled tighter, adding extra pressure to your puffy clit. Your dress rides up your hips, revealing your ass and the plush of your thighs as your hips start to speed up. Once you start to really get into it you pull your panties to the side and yank the zipper that goes all the way down the front of your dress down your chest so your tits can spill out. You switch up the movement of your hips every few moments, rotating between using the pillow for leverage and running your hands down your body.

You start to get so lost in the throes of pleasure you almost forget where you are entirely until your white sock covered shin smacks against your pink polaroid camera. You smirk to yourself in remembrance as you pluck it from the bed and turn it on. You hold it above yourself while you press your tits together and spread your legs far enough to show your mound on top of his shirt and snap a photo. You take more than one this time, using almost the entire roll taking pictures of your body from various angles. You shove your fingers in your mouth. Take photos of your tiny thong string nestled between your ass. You even take one with his shirt held up between your teeth. That ends up being the last photo because the smell of his cologne hits your nostrils and it has you inhaling deeply while your hips start to subconsciously grind down again.

Rafe practically felt like a madman as he tried for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes to get out of this conversation with your father and their business partner. Every single time he tried to slip away he was pulled back in somehow. But that didn’t stop his eyes from traveling to the tantalizing view on his phone screen every ten seconds. He felt like a cat who caught a mouse it’s been chasing for months. All without even trying. You lead yourself into a trap he didn’t even set and it couldn’t be more fucking perfect. The fact that you had no idea that his entire house was bugged with cameras that he could see directly in the palm of his hand made his cock twitch. Rafe checked his phone the minute he got the notification that someone was unlocking his bedroom door, ready to send security up there to grab a thief. But he was oh so pleasantly surprised when he saw it was you. You weren’t like any of the other girls he’s ever seen in all his time living on this island. Your platform shoes and dark make-up were utterly enticing to him and your bratty attitude made him want to bend you over his knee until you cried. He also knew you were a naughty girl, with a dirty little secret only he knew. Rafe’s obsession for you only grew by the day and now it was at an all time high.

He decided to let it play out for a bit. He watched as you surveyed his blank walls and rummaged through his drawers. Then you made your way into the bathroom and he watched as you greedily inhaled his colognes and body washes. You went into his closet and somehow unlocked his jewelry case. He’d have to figure out how you managed to learn his key codes later. His heartbeat sped up when you reached for the second drawer but the way you looked down at the trophies you had ever so graciously gifted him with elation only made his appetite for you nearly unbearable. What really sent him over the edge though was how you were currently strandling his pillow as you bucked your hips with his shirt held to your nose.

The entire scene had him losing his mind with lust and you just kept taking it further. He watched you pull your tits out, the way you took all those slutty pictures for him and he wished more than anything in the world he could turn his phone up to full volume so he could hear the pretty little moans leaving your lips. He could tell from the avid speed of your hips and the way your eyes are rolled back that you’re close to your end and he’ll be damned if he isn’t there to see it. He finally excuses himself under the guise of having to go to the bathroom and slips up the large staircase with ease.

You're so close. The pace of your hips is so quick that the entire bed shakes underneath you as delicious euphoria is seconds away. You have the corner of Rafe’s shirt grasped tightly in your fist as you hold it up to your nose. The cloth is pulled taunt against your clit just right, drool drips down your chin onto the black material as you take in Rafe’s scent. Heat washes over you and you moan with reckless abandon, too lost in your tidal wave of an orgasm to care if anyone can hear you.

“I knew you were a dirty girl, but this is even better than anything my mind ever could’a dreamed up…” The sound of Rafe’s voice makes you practically scream and you clutch his shirt over your chest on instinct. Your entire body heats as you take in his large form leaning against the closed bedroom door. His arms are crossed and he has probably the most smug smirk you’ve ever seen in your life painted on his face as he looks over at you through hooded eyes.

“Rafe! I - aren’t you supposed to be hosting a party?” You scoff and roll your eyes, clearly trying to change the subject when you’re the one who broke into his room.

“Well… you see…” Rafe stalks over to you like a predator that caught his prey and stops at the end of the bed. He places his large hands on the mattress so he can lean down only inches from your face, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes travel down your body before connecting with your own. “This little unassuming mouse wandered into my den without even considering that I have eyes on every inch of this house.”

“How - how long have you been watching?” You clutch onto the shirt tighter, hiding your boobs and bare pussy even though he’s already seen both on multiple occasions. Something about him knowing it was you was making you suddenly nervous.

“Oh, sweetheart, I get a notification when someone opens that door… I saw everything. What do we have here?” His eyes are blue fire as they land on the Polaroids and he picks one up with delight before picking up another and another until he’s seen every single one. He sets them aside in a neat stack before abruptly gripping onto the shirt covering you and ripping it down your body with a growl. You gasp in surprise and use your arms to cover your nipples while slamming your legs shut. “Oh, no, none of that. Don’t get all shy on me now, I’ve already seen it all.” Rafe grabs the pillow and pulls it from underneath you causing you to fall backwards on the bed onto your ass. “Would you look at that…” He looks down at the pillow with hungry fascination as a low groan rumbles through his chest. You watch as he runs the pad of his finger through the creamy wetness before bringing it to his mouth and holding eye contact with you as he sucks it between his lips. His eyes immediately roll back when your taste hits his tongue. “Fuckin’ delicious. But I’m always tastin’ you secondhand.. I can’t wait to taste that sweet pussy directly from the source.”

You’re utterly stunned for a moment. You look up at him with your jaw hanging open while you do your best to cover your most intimate parts when all you want to do is throw your legs open and fully submit to him. You always told yourself if he ever caught you that you would make him work for it. But with the way he’s looking at you now? You can already feel yourself slipping and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Who - who said I was going to let you taste me? And what do you mean secondhand?” You tried to say it in a biting tone but your voice squeaks and betrays your facade immediately.

“Oh, little mouse… this little back and forth we’ve been playing has been fun and all. But now you’ve wandered right into my bed and I’m done playing games.” Rafe abruptly grabs onto your ankles, pulling you down to the edge of the bed until your feet are dangling off and you try to pull your knees together again but he grips onto them and pulls them back open. “Quit hiding from me.”

His hands grip tightly onto the meat of your thighs, the gold rings on his fingers pinching your skin in a way that has you holding back a moan. The look in Rafe’s eyes is nearly animalistic as he stares down at your puffy, wet pussy. Your little black thong pushed to the side, covered in creamy, white juices. His fingertips travel down your legs gripping hard enough to bruise with every inch. He brings his thumbs to the crevices of your thighs and presses his fingers hard on either side of your folds, pushing your pussy lips together. You can’t hold in the tiny mewl that leaves the back of your throat. He punches your slick cunt together roughly a few times before pulling you apart. Your pussy clicks for him from your wetness as he pulls you open.

“Been waiting for this moment, ya know?” Rafe runs his thumb along your slit, gathering your wetness before bringing his thumbs to rub along the sides of your lips, teasing you. “I knew it was you. I had my suspicions from the beginning. Ever since you walked in on me in the bathroom…”

“How?” Your voice is a broken whisper, any thoughts of fighting back slipping further and further from your mind. Embarrassingly enough, you feel like you could come from just this.

“Well, I was almost positive after that cute little cherry thong…” Rafe grazes over your clit for just a moment before going back to teasing you. “Earlier that day you were wearing these sexy little jeans and when you bent over I got a view of that same thong. Then, to my surprise, the very same pair ended up in my office later that day.” He presses hard on your clit, giving it a few strokes and you think his teasing has finally come to an end but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. And he goes back to teasing your pussy tantalizingly. “But then, about a week later I saw you sneaking out of my office and I decided to let you get away with it.”

“You decided?” You push yourself up on your elbows and scoff with your eyebrow raised, your irritation with him returning. Rafe just smirks before shoving his thumb knuckle deep in your pussy and curving it against your walls. It makes your eyes roll back while you wriggle underneath him.

“Yes, princess, I decided.” His other thumb presses on your clit hard but doesn’t move. “Once I was positive it was you, I wasn’t ready for it to stop. Especially once you started leaving those little pictures for me. Who knew you were such a dirty slut.” He pulls his fingers from you before landing a harsh smack on your clit causing you to yelp.

“So you knew it was me and didn’t say anything? And then proceeded to keep them in a treasure box and jerk off all over them? Pervert.” Rafe slaps your pussy again, three times in succession.

“Stop being a fuckin’ brat. If I’m a pervert, what does that make you, huh?” He slaps your pussy even harder and then brings both of his hands down on your inner thighs with a loud smack. “Leaving me your panties, takin’ dirty photos for me, I saw you inhaling my cologne like it was a line of coke. And now I caught you in my bed, coming all over my pillow. You’re a nasty. Little. Girl.” He punctuates each word with a slap to your cunt and you can’t help but moan loudly for him.

“Yeah? Well you’re a nasty old man.” Your chest heaves but you still manage to paint a cheshire smirk on your face, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you use the last of your resolve against him.

“You know what? I’m sick of your bratty fuckin’ mouth.” Rafe grips onto the thin strings of your panties and pulls them down your legs before balling them up and shoving them in your mouth. The sudden intrusion makes you gag, but it’s not unwelcome. The act of dominance and the taste of yourself on your tongue has any and all attitude in you evaporating from your body. He grabs your chin and roughly shakes your head side to side. “That’s better. You gonna be a good girl and let me taste that perfect cunt now or do I need to beat the attitude out of you?”

You moan around the lace in your mouth and drop your knees to the sides, offering yourself to him. Rafe looks at you devilishly as he lays on his stomach on the mattress and throws your legs over his shoulders. He runs his nose along your inner thigh as he takes in your sweet scent before hovering over your pussy and inhaling deeply.

“Smell so fuckin’ sweet, bet you taste even sweeter.” The flat Rafe’s runs through your folds up to your clit before circling it a few times. He nips it with his teeth and shoves his tongue as far as it can go inside of you causing you to cry out and arch your back off the mattress.

“Quit wiggling.” Rafe growls into your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His large hand splay on your hip, holding you down as he eats you like a man starved. He circles two fingers at your entrance before pressing them knuckle deep inside of you. He caresses your sweet spot while sucking your clit into his mouth and it has an explosion of pleasure washing over your body as your orgasm consumes you.

Rafe pulls off of you when you come down from your high and brings the fingers that were just inside you to his chin dripping with your juices. He smears it around before sucking his fingers clean, groaning like he just ate the best meal of his life. He leans forward and plucks the panties from your mouth before slamming his lips against yours. The kiss is dominating and he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth, swirling it around and coating your taste buds with your own cum. He leans back to admire you and he feels like his cock is going to burst. Your hair is a mess, your dark lipstick is smudged and slick, and the zipper on that tight little dress is barely hanging on. Your tits are on full display as you lay like a perverted little angel with your legs spread beneath him.

“God damn. I’ve gotta fuck that pussy, baby.” Rafe pulls the zipper of your dress the rest of the way down before leaning up on his knees and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “Take that shit off. Leave the socks and shoes though.”

He licks his lips as he continues to unbutton his shirt while his eyes practically swallow you whole. You quickly rid yourself of your dress and push yourself up onto your knees to watch him undress. You have to stop yourself from jumping him when he gets his shirt all the way off, his perfectly toned body towering over you. When he gets his pants down enough to get his cock out you can’t even hold in your gasp. He’s huge. So thick you aren’t sure you could wrap a single hand around him and so long that you aren’t sure if you could take him all down your throat.

“Fuck. I don’t know if that’s going to fit…” Your eyes are the sizes of saucers as you stare at his cock with your jaw slack. Those words make Rafe feel like he’s going to go insane and his hand flies to your hair, grasping onto it at the nape of your neck and yanking your head back.

“Oh, it’ll fit.” His tongue slides over his teeth and he takes his shaft in his hand so he can rub his precum along your lips, adding to the mess. Rafe uses his grip on your head to manhandle you onto your back before throwing your legs over his shoulders. He smirks down at you while he pumps himself in his hand. “You want it?”

“Yes, fuck. I want it so bad.” You tilt your hips towards him searching for any kind of friction but his hand presses down on your hip, stilling your movements.

“Oh, come on, baby doll. You can do better than that. How bad do you want it?” He taps the head of his cock against your clit a few times before running it through your folds. You try to angle your hips to push him further inside of you and he just tuts at you like you did something naughty before pulling his cock away entirely. “Let me hear it, beg.”

“Please, daddy, I want it so bad.” Rafe breathes out heavily through his nostrils and grips onto your throat, leaning down so his face is inches from yours.

“Oh, little mouse.. you’re just full of surprises, huh? I don’t think you know what you’ve done.” Rafe chuckles darkly and leans back up onto his knees, positioning his cock at your entrance. He presses his head into you and he’s so thick you already feel so full by the time he’s only a few inches in.

“Oh, god. I don’t - I really don’t know if it’s all going to fit.” The air is nearly taken out of your lungs when he thrusts his hips forward and you’re sure he’s all the way inside of you now but he pulls almost all the way out before slamming his cock into you to the hilt with his hips flush against yours. “Holy shit, oh my god.”

“I thought you wanted it so bad, now you’re whining that it won’t fit? I’m gonna fuckin’ make it fit and you’re gonna take it like the dirty little slut you are.” Rafe rams his hips into yours at a brutal pace as he grips onto your throat again and squeezes tightly. His free hand comes to rub circles on your clit and it makes your vision blur. “Yeah fuckin, take it. You gonna come for me? I can feel your pussy squeezing me. You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

“Yes, fuck daddy, please make me cum.” Your voice is a broken sob as your makeup smears messily down your face. “I’m so fucking full.”

“Yeah, that’s right, sweet thing. Give me your cum.” That’s all it takes to have an all consuming orgasm washing over you. Your walls convulse around Rafe’s thick length and he picks up his thrusts, chasing his own high. He uses his grip on your throat to press you down into the mattress and your legs fall down onto his hips. You lace them around him and this new angle has him hitting so deep you swear you’re going to feel him for days. The hand not on your throat hooks onto your bottom teeth, pulling your jaw open so he can spit on your tongue. You swallow without asking and then suck his fingers into your mouth greedily.

“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, ya know that? Letting your dad’s boss fuck you till you cry while he’s right down stairs. Leaving me your little fuckin’ panties. This perfect god damn pussy.” Rafe is babbling like a man possessed as he pumps into you hard and deep until his cock starts to twitch inside you. He growls as he fills you with ropes of his cum. When he pulls out you feel nearly hollow and then he shoves his fingers knuckle deep inside of you, collecting some of his cum on his fingers. You pull his hand back to your mouth and lick his fingers, moaning at your combined tastes.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you, little mouse.” Rafe stares down at you with a hunger that’s laced with obsession and you don’t even care because you’re just as obsessed as he is. “You’re mine now.”

Taglist: @nemesyaaa @strawberrydolly333 @sturnioloshacker @loserboysandlithium @gri959 @rafeinterlude @xoxohoneymoongirl @tacymbcm @bunnies-p1tst0p @starkeysprincess

Dividers by @anitalenia

[randomdragonfires]

Parallel Lines, Act I

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He fears her proximity, and she fears his distance. As war looms, they’ll have to learn to make their marriage work to find comfort in each other.

Or at least, try.

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; SMUT; Angst; Complicated Relationship Themes; Emotional Negligence; Infidelity; Major Character Death; Aemond and his issues are a warning on their own ok?

AUTHOR’S NOTE | All Valyrian lines were translated from english using a free online translator. They are likely to be grammatically wrong - but I don’t even know man. Yeah.

WORD COUNT | 9.5k - and not a single word is beta read. We die like warriors, I guess?

The moonlight spilled through the series of windows of her husband’s - not theirs, his - apartments in the Red Keep, casting a silvery glow over the austere elegance of the chambers. His wife stood by the window, her silhouette framed against the backdrop of the night sky, the soft rustle of her gown the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

She turned slowly, her gaze sweeping across the dimly lit interior, taking in the cool, stone walls that seemed to absorb the flickering torchlight. She glided through the hall where intricate tapestries depicted dragons in flight, their scales shimmering with threads of gold and silver. The grand fireplace dominated one wall, the warmth emanating throughout the space from the burning logs within. She folded her arms into her chest, as if to preserve the heat as she shivered from the cold night - her thin nightdress didn’t help. Above the mantelpiece, Vhagar's fierce eyes followed her every movement, a fierce presence in paint.

Moving through the chambers, she passed through his personal library, every page a stern reflection of his interests. Shelves of dark, polished wood lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, their faint scent of aged parchment and leather permeating the air.

He mostly smelled of smoke, fire and leather. Of books and dragons - both of which he is passionate about.

It makes sense then, that no one will ever catch a whiff of her perfume on him.

They were far from passionate, after all.

In the center, his heavy, ornately carved desk was strewn with maps and documents, a well-used quill and inkwell ready for his expert hand to wield. She leaned on the table to look at it all, and spun one of the wooden markers between her nimble fingers for a moment - as she had seen him do countless times - before leaving it back where she found it.

She stepped into the bedchamber, its stark stone walls softened by the rich, crimson fabrics of the large, canopied bed. Dragons were subtly woven into the bedspread and curtains, a constant reminder of the Targaryen lineage that she had married and given birth to.

How long has it been since she laid with him on this bed? More than a year, she surmised. They did their duty on their wedding night, and the Mother was graceful enough to make his seed quicken in her immediately. She laid with him for a few weeks after - and when the maesters made it known that she was with child, that had stopped.

A good wife knows how to keep her husband satisfied, they said. Her husband never sought her out. If the whispers of the few around her were to be believed, he frequents a whore in a Silk Street brothel.

Was she not a good wife then?

She gave him a son. He may be sickly, but he is a son nonetheless. Surely it must count?

With a weary sigh, her eyes shifted to the adjoining armory, where Aemond’s armor and weapons were meticulously displayed. This part of his room exuded an air of readiness, a silent promise of the warrior who would soon return to his space.

From the whorehouse, no doubt.

She turned back to the window, her thoughts as fluid as the shimmering waves below. The apartments were a microcosm of her husband's existence: regal yet austere, scholarly yet martial.

And no sign of marriage, leave alone happy or healthy. How could there be, when he doesn’t feel half the happiness with her that he does when left alone with his beast or books?

There was no hate between them, surely not. Her husband was agreeable, but that was that. There was never any doubt in her mind that he did not want her - or the idea of her - but had to marry her anyway. There was no passion, and she could count with two hands the number of times they have lain with each other in the past year that they have been married - even that was before she had become with child.

There was nothing, truly.

She tried with him, initially. But any illusion of interest that she thought he may grow towards her was shattered the moment she heard that the very night that she’d met him, he was seen moving out of the castle grounds and into the Street of Silk.

He didn’t even bother with making it discreet.

Their wedding was a morose affair. They were the very picture of a royal couple, but neither felt the part - more like a pair of chastised children made to listen after a screaming bout. Even when he took her, he took her from behind - and she was fully clothed. It was nowhere close to the slow exploration that some of her ladies promised. He’s a scholar, he’d be willing to learn for your pleasure, they had said. He’d not even kissed her after their wedding ceremony, not once - he simply demanded that she get on the bed, and took her like an animal while the Small Council and their families watched her eyes pool with painful tears.

What had she done to warrant such embarrassment? She didn’t know what she’d done to make him shirk her so, but it was the way it was. It just was.

When he kept calling her back, he’d taken to offering her wine when they were finished. She didn’t linger when her goblet was emptied. She simply walked out, and wished him a good night.

He never once asked her to stay.

When the news of the babe in her belly had arrived, she’d been relieved - she’d never have to lay with a man who did not want her, ever again. He didn’t seem overjoyed either, and simply hummed with a hand on her belly.

“There is blood of the dragon in you now,” he said. And then he let his thumb run over her cheek. It was the softest he’d ever been with her, and she relished those few seconds. For a moment, he looked so peaceful and content… a stranger. That’s when it occurred to her that perhaps there’s more to Aemond than what he lets anyone see.

She could have fallen in love with him, if he’d cared enough to show her. But it seemed that he’d only viewed her as a duty and a burden.

The ghost of his touch lingered, and she brought her own hand to her cheek as though the warmth still remained. What did the whores have that she did not? Or was it the same whore each time?

Jealousy is unbecoming of a princess, she reminded herself. But so is unhappiness and a constant sense of dread, surely?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open. Her husband strode into the room, immediately aware of her presence. She felt the shift in the air and watched as the shadows of his boots slow, absorbing the sight of her. He removed his cloak with a fluid motion, letting it fall onto his chair before approaching her with the deliberate grace of a predator.

“Wife.” His voice was clipped and devoid of warmth, as though addressing a servant rather than the mother of his son.

She turned to face him, the pale moonlight highlighting the tension etched across her features. "Husband," she responded, mirroring his tone, though a flicker of hurt glimmers in her eyes.

Do you think of me as I think of you? Do you think of me at all?

A heavy silence settled between them, thick with unspoken words. Her gaze scanned his face, searching for any trace of the man whom she foolishly once thought would love her. Instead, she found only the cold mask he wore, a fortress against the world and his own buried emotions.

Against her.

“Has the council kept you long?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. They both looked outside the windows, with her leaning into the railing while he stood with his hands held back, ramrod straight.

Always on guard.

“Long enough,” he replied, his eyes drifting to the dark expanse of the bay. “There are matters that require my attention.”

“And our son?” she asked, a touch of warmth infusing her words at the mention of their child. “Will you see Aerys tonight?”

For a brief moment, something softened in Aemond’s gaze, a fleeting shadow of tenderness. She must have imagined it - it was too fleeting and quick to hold any kind of weight.

She was jealous of her own son, for he elicits more from Aemond than she ever has, as little as it is.

“Perhaps. If time allows.”

She nodded, turning back to look at him; to see him.

The weight of his indifference settled over her like a shroud. The Blackwater Bay stretches out before them, vast and unchanging, mirroring the growing distance between them.

“I worry for you,” she murmured, her voice almost swallowed by the night. “War will come to us soon, will it not?” If it hadn’t come so far, she knew it would now. Vaemond Velaryon’s rolling head and King Viserys’ worsening condition only made sure of it.

He stood rigid beside her, his posture unyielding. “It is my duty,” he said, as if that alone suffices.

“I know,” she replied, sadness threading through her voice. “But you are more than your duty, Aemond. You are Aerys’ father and my…”

The emotions were high tonight, higher than they’d ever been. She didn’t know why she sought him out. There has been ample evidence to support that he would not care, and yet here she was.

She wanted safety, and the only person she could approach is the one who has never made her feel welcome or safe in any capacity.

Who else do I have here?

The tears mangle her vision and she swallowed what threatened to follow.

“I have given you a son.” She trembled, her voice threatening to give way to s stream of tears. “The shadow of war looms upon us, and you’ve set me aside and I worry…”

He lifted his head just slightly as the words sank in, but she was too dejected to care about his acknowledgement. He may be cold, and his reactions to her come far and few in between - but she could not bring herself to mull over it too at the moment.

“War is coming. I am as certain of it as I am of the sun rising on the morrow and I know you are too -” He opened his mouth to interfere, but she was quick to not give him the gap to take over her speech. “Do not insult my intelligence by suggesting otherwise.”

“I was not.”

She turned to face him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in her eyes as she wondered why the Gods had not seen fit to give her a husband who loved her. He was beautiful, a cruel irony that made her anger flare even more. Despite all the hurt he had caused, she could not help but feel drawn to him. To hide her tears, she looked to the floor, trembling as she forced out her next words.

“I know you do not love me. I know you do not want me. But I… I have given you a son. An heir to continue your legacy, and that… I like to think that it would be reason enough to ask you to not forsake me. We have not supported each other all this time, but the least you can do is assure me that you will keep us safe.”

A flicker of something unrecognizable flashed in his eye, and he turned to face her fully, leaning against the window arch. “Did you… truly think that I would leave you to die if it came down to it?”

“You haven’t given me reason to believe that you’ll want me around.” Her voice was bitter, dripping with contempt.

He was ethereal as he reached out, holding her jaw between his thumb and finger, bringing her closer to his porcelain skin and alabaster hair. Her gaze flitted about chaotically, struggling to meet his eye. Her body shivered from the cold, torn between wanting him to let her go and needing him to hold her tight.

“You are my wife. I swore to the Gods that I would honor and protect you. You and Aerys are my family, and I would be slain a hundred times over before I see either of you hurt. I may not be… I may not be the man you want, but I can assure you that I am an honorable husband who will safeguard you and our boy.”

She did not know what she expected. A declaration of hidden love? Certainly not. But somehow, his assurances fell short. “Honorable.” She tested the word on her tongue, finding it the most bitter sound she had ever uttered. Her cheek alarmed him, and she spat venom. “Honorable?” His grip on her chin tightened, and she took it as a sign to continue.

“I know you frequent the Silk Street brothels. I know you’ve been going there since the very first day we met. Unless the professions of whores have changed, it is safe to assume that you are not honorable or loyal. And if you are, it is certainly not to me.”

A whore out there enjoyed her husband’s undying devotion, while she sat in the castle hoping and praying he would recognize her, let alone love her.

His expression shifted, a storm brewing behind his eyes, but he did not release her. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, a chasm of pain pulling them apart. She met his intense gaze finally, tears brimming in her eyes, the anguish of their fractured bond laid bare for him to see.

He tasted of smoke and fire, and yet her mouth craved him anyway. He was an eternity away from her—always, always—and yet her fingers yearned to touch him.

“I do not go there for…” He took a long breath before completing his sentence, almost as if he needed his composure to simply survive.

Not there for what? Was he not fucking the whores? What else could he possibly do?

“Do you think I do not know the sacrifices you have made?” His voice was a harsh whisper, a mixture of anger and something deeper, almost pleading. “Do you think I do not feel the weight of our shared duty, the responsibility to our son? My responsibility to you?”

“But you have never shown me,” she whispered back, her voice breaking. “You have never given me a reason to believe that you care, that you see me as more than just a broodmare for an heir!"

For a moment, they stood frozen, the distance between them both physical and emotional. The moonlight casted a cold glow over their figures, highlighting the stark contrast between their proximity and their separation.

“It is not easy for me.”

“It should not be hard to love your wife. Or at the very least respect her.”

“I—”

She brought her hand up to stop him before any more of his lies spewed out and stepped away from him. She walked to the door at an amazing speed, her skirts swishing past as she tried to get out before her tears spilled out. In a late change of heart though, as her hand rested on the door latch, she turned.

“No lady should beg her husband to love her. No matter if he is a prince. It is beneath her, and I am no different. I will not beg…” If she had looked at him properly, she’d have noticed him flinch at her damning words.

“I will not beg you to love me after dismissing me all this time; I do have my pride. But I will beg you to save my life if it needs saving. That is all I ask.”

“You never had to ask.”

She took a breath and drank some leftover wine in the goblet next to her, not caring for whose it originally was. The thought would make her retch usually, but she was beyond caring.

“Your mother… she loves me surely, but I think she doesn’t like me very much. Your sister and I never managed to understand each other. Your brother… well he is a mindless lecher. I can’t quite figure out your grandfather at all. And you… you know what we’re like. I just… I worry that in this impending war within kin, I will be forgotten and left to die simply because my job is done with the birth of my son and I am too close to the storm and you don’t care and I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone to die-”

“You are my kin.” he said. It made her smile, albeit a woeful one. “You may need to remind me every once in a while.”

He didn’t respond. She simply left.

And even now, he didn’t ask her to stay.

She wished he did.

Aemond stood by the hearth, cradling their feverish son in his arms. 

Dressed in his somber blacks, he looked every bit the stern warrior, yet the gentle way he held Aerys belied that image. The babe was flushed and fretful, his tiny hands gripping Aemond’s hair and tugging insistently. Aemond hissed softly at the sharp pull, but did not dislodge the child's grip.

“Byka zaldrīzes,” he grumbles. It is strict, but not unaffectionate - she was familiar with that tone. She’d watched him use it with their son often when he thought no one was looking. [Little dragon.]

From the doorway, she watched them. They looked like a loving family - the devoted mother standing watch, her eyes filled with affection as she observed her husband and son. But appearances were deceiving, and both of them knew the truth beneath the surface.

Aerys, in his restless state, grabbed at Aemond’s eyepatch, tugging it down and exposing the scarred, empty socket. Aemond’s expression tightened as he shifted the boy from one arm to the other, quickly adjusting the patch back into place. In that brief moment, their eyes met, and she glimpsed the vulnerability he so meticulously hid. He seemed to close himself off even more, as if shielding his heart from her gaze.

It was a deep, almost dark blue. She noticed, she always noticed.

“I came to check on him before luncheon,” she said softly, breaking the silence that had settled like a heavy shroud. She always ensured that she made a solitary routine of her visits, ensuring that he’d have time alone with her son like he seemed to want. To be together - as a family - stumped her beyond belief, no matter how second nature it should be.

What was he doing here?

Aemond nodded, his voice measured as he recounted the maester's instructions. “The maester believes he will grow healthy with time. We must be diligent with the poultices and draughts.” His tone was clinical, as if discussing a strategy for battle rather than the wellbeing of their son.

She watched as he laid Aerys gently in the cot, the child’s feverish grip slackening as he drifted into a fitful sleep. She approached, brushing a strand of hair from Aerys’s forehead, her touch tender and light.

Aemond stepped back, retreating to the armchair close to the cot where a goblet of wine awaited him. He took a long sip, his gaze fixed on her as she sat at his foot, and peered in to take a look at their son. Facing away from him, she began to sing softly. Her voice, though tinged with sorrow, was soothing, and Aemond’s stern expression softened as he watched the scene unfold. For a moment, the room was filled with a fragile peace.

The Seven Gods who made us all,

are listening if we should call.

So close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

She didn’t say anything and let the silence engulf them both when she finished her song. She then turned around and sat on the floor near his feet, her back leaned against her son’s cot as she looked up to face her stoic husband. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke - his words measured but with the intent of concern. He spoke them like he was testing them out on his tongue.

“The maesters… they say you’re being given herbs as well.”

She nodded, feeling the weight of her exhaustion in every fiber of her being. The birth had been horribly hard on her body, leaving her depleted and fragile. Only now was she beginning to regain her strength. The whispers of the servants echoed in her mind—comments about how all this suffering was for a sickly child. But those whispers meant nothing to her. She would move the ends of the earth for her son, no matter what anyone thought. 

He was the blood of the dragon. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, and she would not allow her son to be any different.

“Ever since the birth, I have grown… weak,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Aerys took a toll on me when he came.”

Aemond’s eyes were detached, but she heard the slight concern and contemplation in his voice. “Were you in pain? In the days after?”

She hesitated for a moment, surprised by his sudden show of concern. “Yes,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I was. I still am.”

His questions were gentle, as if he truly cared, as if he genuinely wanted to understand what she had gone through. This unexpected tenderness from him was jarring, and it took all her strength not to withdraw. She had longed for this moment for so long, the chance to finally, truly connect with the man she had married.

And now that it was here, it felt as foreign to her as the other continents of the realm.

“I should have been there,” he said, his voice laced with regret. He didn’t look at her, head turned away as he spoke.  “I should have been by you-”

She’d heard the rumors that her good mother worked hard to ensure she’d never hear. While she labored and went through all the Seven Hells giving birth to their son, Aemond was at a whorehouse, doing Gods know what.

She shook her head, her eyes filling with unshed tears. “I don’t want to know,” she interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “I’d rather choose blissful ignorance than a painful truth. Especially when it comes to you.”

Aemond nodded slowly, regality exuding from him even in his slightest movements. “I have failed you,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. He did not apologize, and she knew that he never would. This was the most she would get from him, and for now, it had to be enough.

It didn’t mean that it shocked her any less.

Summoning her remaining strength, she stood and moved toward him. She leaned forward, resting her hands on the armrests of his chair, bringing herself closer to him. The curve of her breasts nearly brushed his chin, and she could feel his breath, warm and shallow, on her skin. His goblet of wine lay forgotten on a nearby desk, the contents slowly going tepid.

He looked up at her, surprise and something deeper flickering in his eye. His expression was a mixture of pain and longing, as if he too yearned for what she did. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he moved his hand and covered hers with his. His touch was tentative, as if he feared she might pull away. But she held firm, her fingers entwining with his. 

He was warm to the touch. She remembered that much from the first days of their marriage, but it felt better to be reminded of it this way. Almost as though he was tender towards her, like they never spent any time being purposefully apart from each other.

She felt like they were getting somewhere, a tentative bridge forming between their fractured hearts. Carried away by the newfound closeness, she hesitated only for a moment before reaching out, her hand trembling as it neared his face. Her fingers were delicate, soft against the rough texture of his skin as she traced the scar that marred his otherwise perfect visage.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing at the intimate touch. She moved slowly, her fingers gliding over the jagged lines. Her touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as if she could heal his old wounds with her tenderness.

Her eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign of discomfort or rejection. Instead, she saw vulnerability, a crack in his formidable armor that allowed her a glimpse of the man beneath the warrior’s facade. His eye, the one not covered by the patch, was wide and filled with an emotion she couldn't quite name - something between longing and fear.

With a gentle caress, her finger traced the path of the scar down to his cheekbone, lingering there for a moment before moving toward the eyepatch. She felt his breath warm against her hand, the rise and fall of his chest quickening as her fingers danced over the leather. The eyepatch was cool and rough under her touch, a stark contrast to the smoothness of his skin.

She paused, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt the tension coiling in him. Would he push her away? Would he retreat back into the cold distance that had defined their relationship for so long? But he remained still, his gaze fixed on hers, a silent permission in his eyes.

Encouraged by his silence, she allowed her fingers to explore the edges of the eyepatch, feeling the worn leather against her skin. Her thumb brushed over the strap that held it in place, her touch gentle and soothing. He shivered, a barely perceptible tremor that ran through him, and she felt a surge of something warm and hopeful rise within her.

His reaction was slow, almost imperceptible. He closed his eye briefly, as if savoring the sensation, then opened it to meet her gaze again. She could see the conflict within him, the struggle between the desire to protect himself and the yearning for this rare moment of intimacy.

She moved closer, her body almost pressing against his as she continued her exploration. The curve of her breasts brushed against his chin, and she felt the heat radiating from him, the tension in his muscles. Her fingers lingered on the eyepatch, tracing the lines where it met his skin, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat beneath her touch. His hand reached up, covering hers. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them, suspended in a fragile, tender silence.

“Will you let me see?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

His hesitance and silence said more than his words ever could. 

The moment stretched, taut and fragile, until it seemed to snap under the weight of unspoken fears. She saw the flicker of rejection in his eye, a retreat behind the barriers he had so carefully constructed. Her face fell, the light of hope dimming as she realized she had pushed too far. But she understood; perhaps he needed more time. Withdrawing her hand, she felt the ghost of his touch linger on her skin, a burning reminder of the closeness they had almost shared.

He grasped her wrist gently, as if he wanted to ask her to stay, but the words remained unspoken. She did not want to stay unless he wholeheartedly asked her to. His grip was firm, yet she felt the reluctance in it, the silent struggle to decide whether to hold on and let go.

“I should go,” she said softly, gathering her skirts. “Your mother and sister await me at luncheon, and it would be unseemly to be late.”

He watched her walk away, her steps slow and measured, each one pulling her further from the fragile connection they had started to form. Left alone with his son, Aemond felt the weight of his failure press down on him, a cold, heavy burden that settled in his chest.

Aerys slept in the cot nearby, his tiny body trembling with each breath as if the sickness that plagued him might take him at any moment. Aemond moved his chair closer to the cot, peering down at the infant with a mixture of fear and determination. The soft tufts of silver hair marked him as undoubtedly his, a tiny mirror of his own lineage.

How many nights had she spent alone, watching over him like this? Scared that if she stepped away, Aerys may be gone?

In a quiet tone that would otherwise go unheard, he whispered to his son, his voice thick with emotion. “Ao kostagon’t tepagon bē va īlva, riñnykeā.” [You can’t give up on us, child.] After a moment of composure, he continued. “Ziry braved vīlībāzma naejot tepagon ao naejot issa. Gaomagon daor henujagon zȳhon.” [She braved battle to give you to me. Do not leave her.]

Aemond's voice trembled, the words almost breaking under the weight of his desperation. He held his son closer, cradling the tiny, fragile body against his chest. He thought of his wife's strength, the pain she had endured, and winced at the realization of how badly he had treated her. His neglect, his coldness - they had all but shattered her. 

He had done enough to her. The last thing he wanted was to see her lose Aerys too.

The dim light of the chamber cast soft shadows on Aemond's face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow etched deep with worry. His eye, normally a piercing blue, now seemed almost muted, dulled by the depth of his concern. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on his son’s chest, feeling the weak but steady rise and fall of his breaths. Aerys stirred slightly, his tiny fingers curling around a strand of Aemond’s hair. The grip was weak, but determined.

“You are the blood of the dragon,” he continued, his voice a fierce whisper. “You will grow strong.”

The Dragonpit was packed, the air heavy with the murmurs of the gathered smallfolk and the flickering light of countless torches. She stood beside Aemond, her posture as straight and regal as she could manage, her heart pounding in her chest. The spectacle of Aegon's coronation was unfolding before her eyes, a momentous event that would shape the future of the Targaryen family.

Hers.

The ceremony began with the Grand Maester stepping forward, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror held reverently in his hands. The weight of history seemed to press down on the room, making every breath feel heavy, every movement deliberate. Aegon - looking more like a squabbling, crying child than a King - ascended the steps to the dais, his face a mask of acceptance.

And when her husband nodded to his new King, she bowed deep.

She watched as Aegon’s expression shifted from indifference to a flicker of recognition of the power now bestowed upon him. The crowd erupted in cheers, their loyalty and fervor palpable, yet she felt a pang of unease amidst the celebration.

Beside her, Aemond stood tall and vigilant, his eye never leaving the proceedings. She glanced at him, seeking comfort in his composed demeanor, his presence a steady anchor in the sea of chaos. The noise of the crowd swelled, and she could feel the anticipation hanging thick in the air, a tangible force that seemed to wrap around them all. 

Aegon, now crowned, raised Blackfyre high above his head, the ancient sword gleaming in the firelight. The sight was awe-inspiring, a symbol of power and legitimacy. Yet, beneath the grandeur, she sensed the underlying tensions and overheard the words that Helaena kept mumbling. 

There is a beast beneath the boards.

Her feet shifted, and she heard the hollow sound that the ground made when her shoe met the surface. A hollow sound that comes when feet meets -

The boards.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled, a low rumble that grew into a deafening roar. Gasps of shock and fear rippled through the crowd, and she instinctively reached for Aemond’s hand. Before she could react further, the floor of the Dragonpit exploded upward, sending debris and chaos flying in all directions.

Rhaenys, astride her dragon Meleys, emerged from the smoke and dust, her presence formidable and terrifying. The dragon’s scales shimmered with an otherworldly glow, its eyes blazing with fury. The people scattered, screams of panic filling the air as the beast roared, the sound reverberating through the hall and shaking her to her core.

Her heart raced, terror gripping her as she stared at the massive dragon, its wings spreading wide, casting a shadow over the entire chamber. Aemond’s hand tightened around hers, pulling her behind him protectively. She could feel his body tense, ready to shield her from any danger. Despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, a faint surge of gratitude washed through.

You never had to ask.

Meleys roared again, the sound like thunder, and the heat of its breath washed over them. She could see the flames flickering in the dragon's throat, the promise of destruction just a heartbeat away. Rhaenys, regal and unyielding, locked eyes with Alicent, a silent challenge passing between them.

Aemond stepped forward, his presence a wall of defiance and strength. “Get behind me,” he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos. She obeyed without hesitation, her body pressed close to his, drawing comfort from his unwavering resolve.

The dragon’s eyes fixed on them, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. She could hear her own heartbeat, a frantic drumbeat in her ears, and the cold sweat on her palms. Every muscle in her body was taut with fear, and she kept her eyes firmly set to the ground.

This is how I die. Do you call it a dragonrider’s death when you don’t ride a dragon?

My son. AerysAerysAerys-

Aemond.

Rhaenys stared at them all, the weight of her decision hanging in the air. Meleys shifted, the ground trembling beneath its weight, and for a moment, it seemed as though the dragon would unleash its fury. But then, as if making a choice that defied all expectations, Rhaenys turned Meleys away, the dragon's wings beating powerfully as they ascended through the shattered roof of the Dragonpit.

The relief was overwhelming, a rush of emotions that left her weak at the knees. She clung to Aemond, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she tried to process what had just happened. The hall was filled with the sounds of weeping and the murmurs of disbelief, the aftermath of the encounter leaving everyone shaken.

Aemond’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her close, his breath warm against her ear. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. She nodded, still trembling, her heart beginning to slow as the adrenaline ebbed away.

She did not notice how closely he held her when it came down to it - for the very first time. 

Aemond's fingers dug into Sylvi's hips as he thrust into her from behind, each movement fierce and relentless. Her back arched under the pressure of his hand, pushing her down onto the bed. The room was filled with the raw sounds of their coupling, echoing off the walls.

His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with her moans. His grip tightened, nails biting into her flesh as he drove into her harder, seeking release in the violent act. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, an intoxicating mix that fueled his aggression. "Gods,” He growled, his voice a low, primal rumble. He watched as her body responded to each thrust, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, the sheen of sweat on her skin glistening in the candlelight. She was a willing vessel for his frustrations, and he took her with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

Her moans turned into cries of pleasure, her fingers clutching the sheets beneath her as she braced herself against his onslaught. He felt a dark satisfaction at the way he could bend her to his will, the power he wielded in these moments of raw, unbridled lust.

The climax came in a wave of intense pleasure, his body shuddering as he spilled into her. He collapsed over her, panting, his chest pressed against her back as he tried to catch his breath. The aftermath was a stark contrast to the ferocity of their coupling – a quiet, intimate moment where their bodies remained entwined, slick with sweat and the remnants of their shared passion.

Her arms wrapped around Aemond's naked body, her touch tender and soothing after their rough encounter. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, mingling with the faint aroma of lavender from the sheets.

Aemond's breathing gradually slowed, his chest rising and falling against hers as he allowed himself to relax in her embrace. His mind, however, was anything but at ease. He thought back to the scene that had haunted him since he left his chambers earlier: his wife, cradling their son, her eyes red from crying, her body and mind still fragile from the ordeal of facing a dragon at Aegon’s coronation.

"She was crying before I left to come here," he began, his voice a low murmur against her neck. "Holding our son, so shocked by near-death.. It didn’t seem as terrifying to me, but... she was so scared. She's worried, you know. About the impending war."

The Madame’s fingers traced gentle circles on his back, encouraging him to continue. "She doesn't have dragonrider's blood," he went on, almost to himself. "I didn’t know how to comfort her. I want to help, but I don’t know how."

Her hands moved up to his shoulders, her touch grounding him. Her presence was a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind. He lowered his head to her chest, his lips finding her breast. He suckled softly, kneading the soft flesh, seeking solace in the familiar act.

Holding their son brought comfort to his wife, and for him, coming here to the Madame, was his escape. The warmth and intimacy they shared, however fleeting, was his way of coping with the weight of his responsibilities and the emotional distance between him and his wife. As he continued to be held, he couldn’t help but wonder if he and his wife would ever find this kind of comfort in each other; if he’d ever find the courage or the trust to truly tell her what he needs without worrying about losing her respect.

If he'd walked in and held her while she cried instead of leaving her to it and coming here, could he have made her feel safer?

Too many questions, not enough courage for answers. Too much pride and so little sense between them both.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as Vhagar soared through the stormy skies back to King's Landing. The cold wind bit at his face, but it was nothing compared to the icy dread gripping his heart. 

He had killed Luke. His nephew, his blood. 

The act had been unintended, a consequence of their reckless chase, but it was done. There would be no undoing it. If there hadn't been a war before, there certainly was now. The weight of his actions settled heavily upon him, more suffocating than the fiercest storm. As the familiar silhouette of the Red Keep came into view, a storm of emotions churned within him. Guilt, fear, and a desperate need for comfort twisted together, making his insides writhe. 

He dismounted Vhagar with a heavy heart, his drenched form slipping through the darkened halls of the castle like a shadow. His mind raced, an entire host of thoughts battering against the walls of his consciousness. He needed solace, a place to hide from the storm he had created. The whorehouse crossed his mind briefly, a familiar escape, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough this time. He needed... he needed...

Before he knew it, his feet had taken him to her apartments.

Her. His wife.

He stood before the door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open. His wife was readying for bed, her state of undress evident. She wore a robe over her shift, her hair loose around her shoulders. The soft light from the hearth bathed her in a gentle glow, as he took her in. She turned to him in shock, her eyes widening at the sight of him. It was clear how rare this occurrence was, how unexpected his presence was in her chambers. But she was quick to pull him in, taking in his drenched form with a worried expression.

"Husband, what has happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

He did not answer, his eyes trained on her as she moved. Her exposed skin drew his attention, and he found himself wondering. 

Was she softer? Kinder? Would she hold him in her soft arms if he so wished? Did he deserve it from her? Would she shame him?

She kept asking, but he remained silent, his mind too chaotic to form coherent words. She moved to find him something to dry off with, but he reached out, his hand wrapping around her wrist in a death grip.

"Don't go," he whispered, his voice raw and choked, barely more than a breath.

She looked up at him, her confusion gradually giving way to a quiet curiosity. He gently guided her arms around his cold and damp waist, his touch unexpectedly tender. This was not a whore; this was his wife. She deserved to be treated differently. 

At first, she froze, her body tense and uncertain, but slowly, she let herself relax – at least as much as she could manage with a husband who had sought her out for the first time in a year.

He felt her hesitation and understood the significance of her yielding. The weight of his guilt pressed harder against his heart, but he clung to this moment of closeness, desperate for the comfort he so craved.

"What has happened, husband? Why are you here?" she asked softly, parts of her words muffled into his chest.

He remained silent, waiting to see what she would do. Her repeated questions slowly stopped, a resigned understanding settling in her gaze. In the silence, he became acutely aware of her form – soft, untouched by anyone but him, made for him. The thin layers of her robe and shift did little to keep his hands from exploring her.

His fingers trembled as they traced the curve of her spine, brushing against the delicate fabric of her robe. Every slight movement, every breath, every shiver she made became magnified in his mind. Her body responded to his touch with a delicate gasp, and he felt a surge of something he couldn't quite name – a need, a longing, a desperate desire for solace in her embrace.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, every intake of breath, every flinch and gasp. He noticed a stray hair that had fallen across her face, the way the delicate hairs on her skin raised at his touch, the way her eyes widened and then softened. Each detail etched itself into his mind, a stark contrast to the murder that had driven him here.

She tightened her arms around him, her touch gentle yet firm. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent – lilacs and something uniquely her that anchored him to this moment, to her. It was a comfort stronger than any he had ever received, yet calm and grounding at the same time.

His hands roamed her back, feeling the delicate curve of her waist, the slight tremor in her muscles as she responded to his touch. He pressed his lips to her neck, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Her breath hitched, and he felt the vibration of her voice as she whispered his name, a question and a plea all at once.

"Aemond," she murmured, her voice breaking the silence. His body reacts in shivers and heat at the sound of his name upon her lips. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Had she ever said his name out loud before? He did not know. But he wanted to hear it again and again until the world as he knew it ended. Perhaps it was the guilt - over Luke, or over his neglect of his wife - he did not know. But it was all bubbling at the surface now, and he was much more open and vulnerable than he’d ever been.

He bent his head down, his eye locking onto hers. The intensity of his gaze seemed to drown out the room, focusing solely on her. He could see the concern, the worry etched in her features, and it tore at him. He couldn't tell her, not yet. Not about the blood on his hands, the life he had taken, not why he was here and what he’d wanted.

But he could let her consume him, to forget. He could lose himself in her.

He felt the warmth of her skin, the softness of her curves against him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to forget the horrors of the night. He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers, memorizing every curve, every angle. Her skin was smooth and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, damp leathers clinging to him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. Her eyes searched his, looking for answers he couldn't give. Despite her confusion, the turmoil in his mind quieted, replaced by the steady, reassuring rhythm of her heartbeat. She was his anchor, his solace, and he clung to her like a lifeline in the storm.

Wordlessly, he moved back enough to get a good look at her, his eyes tracing her form with a reverence that made her pulse quicken. He then slowly untied the front of her robe, the silk falling away with a whisper. His hands fell to her shoulders, pausing there for a moment as he sighed. As he pushed the sleeves down, his hands traced the newly revealed skin - his fingers glided from her collarbone to her shoulders, down her arms, and finally to her fingers, which he intertwined with his own. The robe slipped to the floor, leaving her in a thin shift that clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination.

His eyes remained locked on hers, the intensity of his gaze a silent plea for forgiveness, a desperate need to be anchored by her presence. He took her trembling hands and placed them on his damp leathers, his touch firm but gentle, giving her silent permission—no, a quiet command—to undress him. His breath hitched slightly as he waited for her to take the lead.

She moved slowly, her fingers deftly working the buckles and straps, peeling away the layers of his clothing until he stood before her in only his trousers. Her hands hover over his chest, her touch hesitant, almost afraid, as if she's not sure she's allowed to touch him. His skin was warm under her fingertips, his heart pounding just beneath the surface.

His hands covered hers, guiding them lower, to the waistband of his trousers. His touch was both a plea and a command, silently asking, demanding, begging her to take this final barrier away. She did, her movements slow and deliberate, until he stood bare before her, exposed in every sense of the word.

She did not dare try to take off his eyepatch, not this time.

He watched her intently, noting every flinch, every gasp, every shiver that runs through her. His fingers traced delicate patterns on her skin, exploring every inch with a tenderness that speaks of his desperation for her. He needed this moment, her touch, to forget what he'd done to Luke, to drown the guilt that threatened to consume him. Every breath he took was a reminder of his failures, every brush of her skin against his a lifeline that pulled him back from the proverbial edge.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder - not her lips, he had not kissed her on the lips since their wedding ceremony. His hands roamed her body, mapped out the places that made her gasp, the spots that made her arch into him. He was attuned to her every reaction, his focus entirely on her.

All he asked for in return - with no words - is that she make him feel safe for this one night.

With his body bare and hers still clad in her shift, he silently gestured to her bed with a tilt of his head. She moved toward it, her movements graceful yet hesitant, and then crawled to the back, letting her spine rest against the headboard. He stood there for a moment, watching her, his breath uneven and his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

He did not miss the way she looked at him. Desire flickered in her eyes, growing with each second her gaze roved over his body. Her eyes widened when they settled on his manhood, and he could see the anticipation building within her. She expected him to take her tonight, he knew. He hadn't given any indication otherwise in the last few moments, and she had no clue what he actually wanted; or why.

Would she welcome him to her bed if she knew he was a kinslayer?

The thought gnawed at him, but he chose not to tell her. She might not offer her true acceptance, but he would take her false comfort tonight – even if she thought it true.

He moved to the side of the bed with all his characteristic grace. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. When he lifted his knee to place it on the plush mattress, she shifted to make space for him. He laid down beside her, his movements deliberate and slow, as if fearing she might vanish if he was too hasty. She mirrored his actions, and soon they were facing each other, their warm breaths mingling in the stillness of the room.

Their eyes locked, and he saw her questioning gaze. Her next words, soft and tentative, knocked the breath out of his lungs.

"Are you alright?"

For a moment, he couldn't answer, the weight of the day's events pressing down on him. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and saw the worry etched in the lines of her face, the softness of her eyes, the way her lips parted slightly as she waited for his response.

"I will be," he finally said, his voice rough with emotion.

Tentatively, he placed his hand on her thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shift. He slid the material up, his fingers tracing the smooth expanse of her leg. 

"Gevie.” [Beautiful.]

His fingers continued their journey, moving to her inner thigh. Her legs shivered at his touch, and he smirked for a moment before he withdrew his hand and moved closer. Their bodies were now a hairsbreadth apart, the heat between them palpable. 

His hands moved to her breasts, feeling their fullness beneath her shift. He was acutely aware of every breath she took, every flinch and gasp that escaped her lips. Each reaction to his touch drew him further into the present moment, away from the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him. Her body was a haven, a sanctuary where he could lose himself, if only for a while.

Encouraged by her soft gasps, he continued to knead the mounds of flesh and pinch her pert nipples, his touch gentle yet insistent through the shift. Lowering his head, he nestled himself at her bosom, inhaling deeply. The scent of lilacs and milk overtook him, and he let out a contented sigh.

"You are a mother... the mother of my heir," he murmured into her chest, his voice a mix of reverence and disbelief.

She said nothing, but when her initial shock faded, she began to comb her fingers through his soft hair, humming the same song she sang to their son to sleep. The melody was soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves. He didn't know if her singing was to calm him or herself, but he found solace in the gentle rise and fall of her breasts with each breath she took.

He took in the way her body trembled slightly beneath him, the softness of her skin, the rhythmic beating of her heart against his cheek. This was not the harsh, immediate and uncertain release he sought at the whorehouse. 

This was more, more, more.

Sleep came to him easily in her arms, draped in her comfort; devoid of any nightmares, dreams, or heavy thoughts. 

If she wondered why he'd simply laid with her rather than fuck her, she did not ask.

Would she welcome him again when she finds out what he did?

The council branded him a kinslayer when he told them what he'd done. He embraced it, staring into their eyes, defiant and unyielding. He told them he did it on purpose, each word a dagger thrown with precision. Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

Aegon patted his back, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "A job well done, drawing first blood in the King's name," he said, his voice a blend of admiration and malice. His grandfather's face remained a mask, revealing nothing. Criston was disappointed, his disapproval a heavy weight in the room. And his mother... 

His mother was disgusted, her eyes filled with a sorrow he had never seen before. When he stepped out and walked through the corridors, the word had spread like wildfire. 

Kinslayer. 

The whispers followed him like a relentless shadow. Servants and maids stepped out of his way, their gazes avoiding his. The tension was palpable, a living thing that tightened the air around him. He wanted to escape them all, to flee to the skies where their judgment could not reach him. But before then, he wanted to see them.

He stood near the doorway as she had a few days prior, watching her rock their fitful, sick son to sleep. Her movements were gentle, contrasting all the shock, anger and brashness he’d seen since he stepped out of her room before she awoke. He wanted her to look at him, to see beyond the blood and the sin. He was asking too much of her, he knew that. They were strangers bound by duty, their recent shared moments brief and fraught with his own selfish needs for comfort.

His heart pounded as she finally met his gaze. He was not prepared for the slight fear in her eyes. It cut through him deeper than any sword ever could. She looked at him as if he were a creature she could not recognize. 

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed in his mind, a relentless chant that drowned out everything else. He took a step forward, his hands trembling. "I—" he began, but the words died in his throat. What could he say? How could he explain the unexplainable, justify the unforgivable? She held their son closer, her grip tightening protectively. The room was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of what he had done and what it meant for them. His mind raced, filled with a cacophony of anger, regret, and despair.

The need to escape surged within him again. He wanted to flee to the skies, to find solace in the cold, indifferent clouds. But he couldn't move, couldn't tear his gaze away from the image of her fear-stricken eyes.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

With a heavy heart and a mind in turmoil, he turned and walked back into the shadowed corridors, each step echoing the relentless chant of his new title.

Kinslayer, kinslayer, kinslayer-

The word echoed through the empty halls, a reminder of the path he had chosen and the price he would pay.

If he’d told her last night as he laid in her arms, would she have understood?

He’d never know.

NEXT

MASTERLIST

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[endless-ineffabilities]

Official Business

President Aemond Targaryen x f!reporter reader

a/n: I caved in and listened to the depraved gremlins in my mind. I hope you enjoy this official intro, you're welcome.

also, thank the gods for Rue (@peachysunrize) for creating the hottest gif of all time.

themes/warnings: language, barely-there smut, infidelity, unequal power dynamic, gross misuse of a fancy desk, getting involved with a politician (also gross)

main masterlist

Update! - upcoming series

President Aemond demands the company of his favourite reporter, whom he has been eyeing for quite some time.

You try to walk with your head held high, but your clammy hands and racing heartbeat betray your nerves.

“President Aemond wishes for you to grace his suite,” was all they said. They, being two imposing bodyguards in impeccably tailored black suits, occasionally touching their earpieces as if confirming orders.

“What does he want?” you asked, your voice coming out weak and tentative. More importantly, why you?

They only shrugged, impassive. Whether they didn’t know or didn’t care, it wouldn’t matter anyway. The President always gets what he wants.

You’d only spoken to President Aemond in your capacity as a reporter, part of the small circle allowed to amplify his words to the public. The first time was at the annual Westerosi Gala, where he arrived with First Lady Floris Baratheon on his arm. Your colleagues whispered incessantly about how the uncut footage showed his gaze barely straying from you, even with his stunning aristocratic wife beside him.

Your supervisor even had the footage edited. “You don’t need the media vultures swarming you,” he reasoned, trying to sound reassuring.

Now, after covering yet another event in Highgarden, it seems you’ve been summoned for an exclusive interview in the President’s suite. You hope that’s all it is.

After all, you can’t be another victim of President Aemond’s wandering eye. Socialites like Alys Rivers and Lara Lannister had been publicly shredded after being exposed as his mistresses.

You never understood his affairs. They seemed so juvenile, reckless even for the youngest President ever elected. Barely thirty and in the highest position imaginable. And yet, what truly baffled you was why Floris stayed.

“Ma’am, the Presidential Suite,” one of the guards states as he opens a set of ornate ivory doors for you. “The President is waiting inside.”

Your feet move automatically, sparing you from blurting something that would inevitably fall on deaf ears. But as you cross the threshold, you turn and ask, “Will you be waiting to escort me back to – ”

The doors shut behind you. Of course.

The suite is grand – no expense was spared for the President. A perfect blend of classic Valyrian architecture, all white marble and gold accents. It’s more impressive than you could have imagined, having marvelled at the Highgarden Hotel from the outside for years.

“Come,” you hear a voice command, smooth and authoritative, from the room to the left of the main parlour. 

You head in that direction, mentally steeling yourself. Just get this over with.

There he is, leaning casually against a wide desk, dressed sharply in a tailored blue suit and crimson tie. The moonlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows catches the scar across his left eye, the glint of his prosthetic eye giving him an almost sinister allure. The kind that draws people in despite themselves.

Maybe it wasn’t immaturity driving his affairs. Maybe he was just too beautiful to resist. You roll your eyes at the stupid thought, surprised with yourself.

“Something amusing?” His voice is tinged with laughter.

Gods, you just rolled your eyes in front of the President.

“N-no,” you stammer, immediately flustered. “I’m sorry, Mister President. It’s just... I thought of something funny. Not about you! I mean, I’m sure you can be funny, but - ”

“Relax, angel,” he chuckles, raising a hand to stop your rambling. The term “angel” lingers in the air, branding itself into your mind.

You quickly introduce yourself, fumbling through your full government name like a nervous schoolgirl.

“We’ve met before,” he reminds you, smirking. “Am I that forgettable?”

“No, I know we have,” you nod quickly, “just not in such a… private setting.”

The corner of his mouth quirks at your choice of words, and his gaze sweeps over you with an intensity that sends heat rushing through your body. He hums softly, and the sound settles uncomfortably low in your stomach. Gods, get it together.

“I was told you wanted to see me, Mister President?”

“Aemond,” he corrects. 

You nod, offering your nickname in return, but he only smiles, shaking his head slightly. “Thank you, but I think I’ll stick with ‘angel.’”

Weird, considering how this is your first proper conversation with him, you think, but nod regardless.

He gestures to the plush chairs in front of the desk. “Sit, please.”

You comply, smoothing your dress nervously. Thankfully, it’s modest enough – a safe choice that flows just above your knees.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice polite but edged with something else. Part of you wishes he’d just get to the point, but another part – one you’d rather not acknowledge – wants to stay, to drink in the sight of him. Aemond Targaryen, the most powerful man in Westeros, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“I’m doing well,” you reply, your smile faltering under his heavy gaze.

He hums again, eyes dipping to your lips. That same maddening hum that sets your nerves alight.

“You must be wondering why I asked for you tonight,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “I wanted us to get better acquainted. You’ve caught my attention, angel. I find you… intriguing.”

“But you don’t know me,” you counter quickly, heart racing.

“I know more than you think,” he says, eyes narrowing playfully. “You studied at the Casterly Rock Institute for Journalism. Top of your class, until your grades dropped in your final year because you were taking care of your ailing aunt. That says more about you than any degree.”

He continues, “You’re an only child. Estranged from your parents, especially your mother, after she remarried. You’ve moved city to city since, keeping your distance. Avoiding attachments, especially romantic ones.”

You freeze, his words hitting too close to home. There’s an amused lilt to his voice at the end, and you desperately want to respond with a defensive retort, but you hold your tongue. You like your job after all. He’s the President. One call and he could have you right back in the unemployment pool.

“Am I correct?” His lips curl into a knowing smirk.

You manage a small nod. Damn him.

“How do you know all this?” you ask quietly, stunned. You wonder if there are hidden cue cards somewhere in the room, informing him of the details of your relatively uneventful life. There is no way he actually made the effort to memorise all these details about you. But then again, he is the Commander-in-Chief of the country. He must have trained himself to know everything about everyone. You’re not special – just another face in his immediate vicinity. 

“I make it my business to know people,” he replies smoothly. “Especially those who interest me.”

He reaches out to take your hand, pulling you gently to stand before him as he perches on the edge of his desk. The proximity is intoxicating. “And you, angel, have caught my eye. You’re the object of my desire. Can you say the same of me?”

His words leave you breathless, the floor slipping from under you. You’re no better than the others, drawn into his orbit. “I’d be an idiot not to find you attractive, Aemond.”

He smirks. “I adore the way you say my name.”

“There’s nothing special about the way I say it.”

“There is,” he insists, his voice low and rough as his hand moves to smooth a stray hair from your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, angel.” His expletive takes you aback, so unbecoming of someone of his status. 

“I’m not a fool,” you shoot back, forcing yourself to remain steady. “I’ve heard about your... doings.”

“My doings?” He raises an eyebrow, amused.

“You’re married obviously,” you say bluntly. “And you’ve had affairs. Women like Alys Rivers, Lara Lannister…”

He doesn’t flinch. “I’ve had lovers, yes, but my marriage is... loveless. Floris and I, we’ve always been an arrangement for political convenience.”

“That doesn’t justify anything.”

He steps closer, his eyes darkening. “I’m trapped. I can’t leave her. It would destroy my reputation. But she has her own lovers too.”

“And so you feel entitled to have yours?”

He breathes deeply, gaze unwavering. “Not just anyone. I want you, angel. Only you.”

You feel yourself dangerously close to giving in, especially when his gaze drops to your lips and he shamelessly licks his own. Desperate to stay composed, you ask, “Am I just another lover to add to your collection? I may be a lowly journalist compared to you, Mister President, but I have a reputation to protect too.”

“I know this, angel,” he whispers, his voice softer now, yet drawing closer with every word. “I’ll protect you.”

“Did you protect Alys? Or Lara? Or the others?” you challenge, though your voice falters.

“They orchestrated their own downfall,” he says coolly, his expression unreadable. “They used me for power. That was out of my hands.”

Oh. His words momentarily rattle your resolve, but you shake your head, trying to pull yourself out of the spell he’s weaving over you. “No, this is wrong,” you murmur, the words weak on your tongue. But his warm breath fans your face, luring you into the same madness he claims to feel.

“Is this wrong?” he whispers, his lips grazing yours – featherlike, teasing, barely there. Then, as if something shifts within him, he kisses you again, harder this time, his mouth pressing hungrily against yours. His tongue traces the curve of your bottom lip, sending a rush of heat through your body as you teeter on the edge of reason.

You cave, for a few seconds, letting your lips dance with his own in a battle for dominance. You elicit a growl out of him, and he picks you up and swaps your bodies so that you are perched atop his desk. 

“Gods,” he purrs, against the heat of your neck. “Sweeter than I imagined. You’re a fucking angel.” His gaze is arresting as his hands slide from your ankles to the hem of your dress, lifting it higher and higher until your moist panties are exposed to the cool air. 

You collect yourself as if hit by a dizzying wave of whiplash, pushing him away with a sharp shove. “Stop – wait, Mister Pres – Aemond…”

He stumbles, lips swollen and slick, his good eye darkened, pupil blown wide. “Right, sorry…” His breath comes heavy as he averts his gaze, and you smooth your dress down, feeling the weight of the moment between you. He straightens, his posture stiffening as if suddenly remembering who he is. “I didn’t mean to push you, angel.”

“You didn’t –”

“It was wrong of me to –”

“Aemond,” you cut in softly, your hand slipping between you to squeeze his in reassurance. “It’s okay. I wanted it too.”

A genuine smile blooms on his lips, innocent and sweet, but it fades just as quickly at your next words. “But this can’t happen again. We can’t happen.”

"Why not?" His voice is low, measured, but there’s an edge to it. "Why can’t we? You say you wanted it too."

“We both know why,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. You turn to leave, but hesitate just long enough to say, “Goodbye, Mister President.”

“Angel,” he calls softly, and it’s the only word he offers.

As you step out of his suite, the door closing behind you with a quiet finality, a thought begins to take root, unsettling in its persistence – he never actually said goodbye.

And deep down, you know this isn’t over. Something stirs in your chest, an uneasy certainty - while this is the first of these kinds of encounters, it won’t be the last. 

Taglists (refer here to be added)

vhagar - @gwaynehightowerswhore @kravitzwhore @litchifaerie @g-cf2020 @noxytopy @fan-goddess @m00n5t0n3 @diannnnsss @nsr-15 @the-awkward-barbie @rockstwrsz @yellowstonebaby @urdeftonesgrrrl @eddieslut69 @callsigncrushx @starwarsdinosaur @qweq-6802 @tulips2715 @hotdismylife @joyismm @itseunaimonia @just-mj-or-not @crystal-siren @zaldrizzes @all-for-aemond @ajantanijhum @darylandbethfanforever9 @vhwyrm @purpleskiesandroses @technicallystrangereview @jjkysnk @anukulee @decaffeinatedparadisepost @iloveallmyboys @inesdiary96

Targaryen - @angel6776 @different-tale-student @binchissimo @teasweeter @raging-panda @rhaenys-nyra @gelacat0413 @simplymurdock @yariany02 @barnes70stark @stupid---person @lonan-hane @thescooponsof @donalesaa @rosey1981 @misssanzthings @urmomsgirlfriend1 @wabi-sabi1090 @girl-lost-not-found

Some notes in the margins...

Knowing me, this will inevitably turn into more than just a oneshot. Do bookmark this or my masterlist to keep updated! Or you may join the taglist using the link above ~

[onlymingyus]

Like We Just Met

pairing; yoon jeonghan x jeon wonwoo x f reader

genre; smut (minors dni)

warnings; friends to lovers, reunited friends, mild dom!jeonghan, mild mlm, flashbacks to high school, threesome, unprotected sex, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, temperature play, wonwoo is able to lift the reader, pet names/nicknames, cameos from other members -- as always if i have left anything out and its glaring let me know.

w/c; 9.8k

a/n; thank you to @onlyseokmins for proofreading for me! 

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

The lobby of the Eleva was impressive and caused you to take a deep breath. You had been inside nice hotels before but none of them seemed up to par now as you looked up at the ornate ceiling. 

You had moved to the city a few years ago after getting a job as an intern for Artistaire and just a few months ago you had been moved into the position of editor. You were on a fast track to becoming assistant editor-in-chief if you did well with what you had been tasked with starting today. 

You could hear your boss’ voice in your head as your heels clicked over the marble, making your way towards the receptionist's desk. The conversation was so fresh in your mind that your fingers were trembling around the leather strap of your bag, held tightly against your shoulder. 

“It’s the most important article of the year for Artistaire. I’m trusting you to meet with both of them and find out everything about them. I want every detail. Don’t stick to the script, Y/N.” 

The article was for Artistaire’s most influential of the year. It was not only a great honor to be picked and interviewed for the article but also to be the interviewer. It could make or break someone’s career. 

Your biggest problem was that you were given very little detail about the men you were interviewing. It could be anyone. The entire point of the interview was to go in blind with no preconceived notions about who you were going to meet. You weren’t supposed to do any research and to get everything in the article from the interview so that it reads “raw and fresh” for the audience. 

“Get the dirty truth for me. I want to know everything, from what they eat in a day to who they are fucking.” René had smiled at you when you let out a breath at her crude wording before she added. “I know how much you like the corner office with the view, darling.” 

“Do it for the corner office with the view." You mutter to yourself as you step up to the desk and give a bright smile to the pretty receptionist, who looked a bit bored with you before you even spoke. “Hello, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, from Artistaire.” 

Pursing her lips, the woman sighs, glancing at the screen in front of her, before her lips turn into a slight smirk and she meets your eyes, reaching for something out of your view. 

“Take the elevator to the 100th floor. You’ll need this, and from there you’ll be escorted to the penthouse, Miss Y/L/N. Enjoy your Eleva experience.” 

Furrowing your brows at her wording, you take the black card from her fingers, glancing over the gold engraved lettering before glancing towards where she had directed you to go. Whispering a soft thank you, you turn towards the elevator, feeling the knot in your stomach only getting tighter. Who the fuck were you interviewing?

Stepping into the elevator, you glance around the mirrored walls before looking at the buttons that run from B1 to 100. You knew Eleva was a tall building but the idea of being in the penthouse on the 100th floor was one that you had never thought you’d get to experience. You couldn’t help but bite at your lip to suppress a smile, wondering what the view of the city would look like from that high as you tapped the card against the reader and pressed 100, listening to a soft chime as the doors shut. 

As the elevator rises and the minutes pass, you lean towards the mirrored door in front of you to check your appearance. You had tried to look good, especially not knowing who it could be that you were interviewing. The only thing that you knew was that it was two influential men. That was a broad term with an even broader range of candidates. 

Politicians, actors, affluent businessmen, influencers, authors... You had spent hours trying to go over names but the list was so long with people that you felt that their actions and accomplishments could merit the interview. 

Hearing one last soft chime, you take a single step back from the elevator door and let out a breath to calm your nerves as the elevator comes to a stop on the 100th floor. With the doors opening, you meet the brown eyes of a handsome man who smiles at you, giving you a quick once over. 

“Welcome to Eleva, Miss..." 

He didn’t know your name. Furrowing your brows, you step forward and clear your throat as you offer the man your hand, letting him take it gently into his. 

“Y/L/N.”

Your voice is meeker than you intended, but it was a bit daunting to see the long hallway with a single ornate door that seemed to loom in the distance. Was this the man who you were interviewing? 

“Miss Y/L/N. I apologize; when Artistaire set this up, they didn’t give many details. It seems like that’s part of the interview process. I’m Hansol, the personal assistant of Mr. Yo–”  

The name was hanging on the tip of Hansol’s lips when he smiled and tilted his head, thinking better of it. 

“Supposed to be a surprise, isn’t it?” 

He was charming but obviously not who you were interviewing. You smile at Hansol taking back your hand as he walks beside you towards the penthouse door. 

“Yes, it’s a silly premise, honestly but it’s supposed to provide a “real” interview experience. The idea that my editor came up with was that this creates tension that the reader can feel through words.” 

Hansol smiles, glancing over at you once again and giving you a quick appraising look before reaching for the door in front of him with a sigh. 

“Seems like it works out. The articles are always interesting. May I take your keycard?” 

You look confused for a split second until you remember the black and gold card in your fingers and lift it, handing it over to the man in front of you. With another grin, Hansol taps the card against a reader on the door and pushes it open for you, letting you go inside first. 

“Mr. Y–” Laughing and once again catching himself, Hansol lifts his free hand to rub at the back of his neck before correcting his words. “My employer and the other gentleman you will be interviewing are right this way. Follow me, Miss Y/L/N. Also, if you need anything during your visit with us at Eleva, just ask for me personally, alright?” 

Offering him a nod, you follow, lowering your eyes to your bag, ready to take out your things as you enter a large living area and your breath is taken away by not only the aesthetic of the place but also the floor and the ceiling windows, offering you the view you had imagined in the elevator. 

“It’s stunning, right?” 

A familiar voice causes your brows to furrow even as you take a step towards the windows. Why did that man sound so familiar? 

Jeonghan tilts his head, looking at you from behind as you look out the window at the view. He could tell you were gorgeous even from where he was standing but he hadn’t seen your face just yet. You seemed to have been startled by his voice; that hadn’t been his intention but he did have that effect on people occasionally. 

“My apologies; I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Yoon Jeon—” 

“Jeonghan?” 

Turning towards him, your eyes widening, you stare at him as if you had just seen a ghost. Swallowing hard, Hansol takes a step back towards Jeonghan, pursing his lips before offering him the penthouse key. 

“If you need me, sir – “

“Then I’ll call you. You can go, Hansol.” 

A smile pulls at Jeonghan’s lips as he steps towards you, putting the keycard into his suit jacket pocket. Dark eyes move over your face and body before the man you have known for years is within arms reach and he laughs in disbelief. 

“No way…Kitten?” 

Your eyes were searching Jeonghan so closely to make sure he was real that you hadn’t realized that another man had moved into the room. Hearing the nickname that you had once been called in high school by your two best friends, you glance to your right, only to take a step back in shock to see Wonwoo smiling at you. 

“I– no one has called me that in a long time.” 

Grinning, Jeonghan reaches out to take your hand, as you seem to almost stumble in surprise at seeing ghosts from your past. He wasn’t worried about the glass behind you breaking but he was concerned about you getting hurt from falling down, as unstable as you seemed on your feet. 

“Well, no one but us called you that anyway. 

It had been around a decade since you had seen either of your friends in person after the three of you had made promises to stay in touch. Graduation had come and gone and the promise became harder and harder to keep as each of you went in different directions. 

You knew they were successful. Jeonghan’s family had always been successful so it was a clear path for him into business. Wonwoo, you had seen him as the face of many brands and the star of many dramas and movies. Meanwhile, your road to success had taken a bit longer and you were still climbing. Now your climb was looking like a shear cliff face as you looked at the two men in front of you with expectant looks in their eyes. 

“Holy shit, you look great, Kitten.” 

Wonwoo’s voice was quiet but warm, just as you remembered it. He had always been a comfort in your life when you were younger and you had found yourself cheering him on with each award he had received over his years of blooming into a renowned actor. 

“Wonwoo… thanks.” 

Jeonghan squeezes your fingers with a light chuckle slipping from his lips as you start to come back down to earth. It was like you were waking up from a dream and he could see the realization starting to register in your eyes. Your fingers pull back from his as you clear your throat, your eyes dropping to the floor with a quick shake of your head. You were trying to put on a confident facade. 

“I, this is a surprise. Clearly, as the interview states, none of us knew who would be interviewed.  So this would be a biased article.” 

You were so fucked. In so many ways, you were so fucked. Your fast track to the corner office with the view was going into the lap of Karina and you could see her too pretty smile now. You could picture her crossing her legs and flirting with Jeonghan and Wonwoo the entire interview; it was making your stomach turn, but you couldn’t do this now. 

“What do you mean? Are you refusing to do the interview?” 

Lifting your gaze to meet Jeonghan’s eyes, you press your lips together, shifting in place as you try to figure out how best to phrase what you need to say. 

"I'm not refusing; I just don’t think it’s how the interview is supposed to go. The entire point is to be unbiased and raw. I’m supposed to ask you questions as if I’ve just met you, but clearly." 

Smirking, Wonwoo shakes his head, moving closer to you. There was so much about you that hadn’t changed. He had beat himself up for years for losing contact with you and Jeonghan but luck changed a few years ago when he stayed at one of Jeonghan’s hotels and now here you are standing in front of him. You were always talking in circles and you needed someone to sit you down and get you to stop spinning your wheels. 

“It kinda is like we just met, well again... High school was a long time ago, Y/N.” 

– 10 years ago – 

Jeonghan grins at you as he leans against his locker, watching as you struggle to get your textbook back in its proper place. He knew he could help you but it was cute to listen to your tiny whines. You were nervous about exams and about university acceptance letters, while he was doing his best not to let it show that he was nervous about other things. 

“Why do they make them so small?” 

“So that teachers can write tardy notes, Kitten.” 

Wonwoo smirks as he steps in behind you to take your book, lifting the organizer with ease to slip the book under as you glance over your shoulder at him. Things had changed between you and your best friends over the last year of high school but none of you were ready to talk about it. 

Each of the boys had started wanting to spend more time with you. They had started standing closer to you, touching you more, and there was always something left unsaid. 

“Thanks, Woo… Jeonghan was just watching me struggle. At least I can count on one of you.” 

Laughing, Jeonghan reaches over to pinch your cheek, causing you to pout your lips and pull back from his touch and teasing. 

“Well, you show your claws when you get whiny, Kitten. It’s cute…” 

Your cheeks burning, you glance up towards the bell as it rings and becomes your saving grace. Both of the boys watch as you clear your throat, brushing your hands over the front of your outfit, before you look up at them with a nod. 

“Anyway… I will not be tardy. See you after school.” 

Watching you walk quickly away, Wonwoo leans against your locker, giving a glance towards Jeonghan, who lets out a breath as his eyes move over your frame. They were thinking the same things, but maybe it was just teenage hormones getting to them. But maybe it was something more. 

– Present – 

Letting out a breath, you step away from Jeonghan as he speaks, only for Wonwoo to move in and take your arm, leading you towards the sofa. The feeling of being back in high school, either of the men on either side of you, made it feel like the air was water. 

“Jeonghan’s right. Why are you so worried about it anyway? It’ll be a great article. I’ve read your stuff. You’re a great writer, your editor has nothing to worry about. I know I’m not worried.” 

Shrugging as a way to agree with Wonwoo, Jeonghan sits down on the other side of you, crossing his leg over his knee, his arm draped over the back of the sofa behind you. 

“You can ask me anything. I’ll answer if I don’t think I’ve ever lied to you, Kitten.” When you and Wonwoo look at him Jeonghan grins and tilts his head, adding, “I’ve skimmed around the truth.” 

Shaking your head, you look down at your bag, now resting on your lap. Maybe they were right. Maybe you could still do this; maybe this was a good thing. It could give you an edge. When you nod, your brows furrowing, Jeonghan grins at Wonwoo, lifting his brows. 

“Yeah? Not so freaked out by us anymore? Still pretty much the same people you went to school with.” 

That made you laugh, both men watching as you cleared your throat to cover it, leaning down to put your bag on the floor, taking out an iPad to take notes on before crossing your legs. Wonwoo can’t help but watch how the fabric of your skirt stretches around your thighs as Jeonghan sucks at his teeth, letting his eyes run along the buttons of your blouse before you look up to meet his eyes. 

“You aren’t the same. Isn’t that what we just said? Not in high school anymore. You are... what do you do, Jeonghan?” 

You had known Jeonghan was a chaebol but that was such an umbrella term in the business world. He could own a multitude of things and hold many titles. His lips pull up into a smile as his eyes follow your hand, pulling the pen from its holder so you can start taking down your notes. 

“My father put me in charge of all the hotels and resorts.” 

Writing his name, you start to write what he was telling you when the scale of what he had just said hits you. A soft chuckle to your right brings you back to reality as you shake your head and continue where you left off, muttering under your breath. 

“All hotels and the resorts..." 

Swallowing hard, you glance at Jeonghan to find his eyes haven't moved from you at all. It was as if he were trying to stare a hole through you or, worse, undress you with his eyes. Quickly looking away, you continue your train of thought into a question. 

“In all countries?”

“All hotels and resorts are mine. We own 15 in the United States alone. I plan to open five in Europe over the next three years. There’s a scoop for you, Kitten. Make sure you jot it down.” 

Your hand was shaking, and you could see the nerves in your handwriting as you tried to take your notes. It isn't until Jeonghan leans in a bit closer to you to look at what you are writing that you press your lips together and pause. 

“Just…Y/N, I think would be better.” 

Pursing his lips, Jeonghan meets your eyes once again before giving you a playful smile and leaning back, lifting his hand from his thigh as if he were submitting. 

“Whatever you want, Y/N. Kitten is just a hard habit to break.”��

Both watch as you flex your fingers and go back to your task, writing a few more notes before looking up to Wonwoo, who is turned more to the side to face you, his legs crossed towards you. He was breath taking, they both were but after years of seeing him on a big screen or a billboard, it was startling to see him so close once again. 

“Have a question for me?” 

Wonwoo watches you nod, your eyes dropping back to your tablet, before you take a breath and are finally able to remember how to speak. 

“Your last movie, First Snow, was a hit.” Watching Wonwoo smile, you can’t help but do the same. You knew he had been nominated for several awards and was likely being cast from the hit. “You seemed to have great onscreen chemistry with your co-star…anything blossoming from that?” 

You watch as the man in front of you laughs and shifts on the sofa to brush his hand over his mouth. With a quick shake of his head, Wonwoo’s eyes lift back to meet yours, making you feel shy once again. 

“She’s sweet, incredibly so, but no. I do hope I get to work with her in the future but as for my personal life...  Things haven’t changed much from when you knew me before.” 

That you very much doubted, your brows furrowing as you scoff, jotting down a few more words on the iPad on your lap. 

– 11 years ago – 

“Just ask her.” 

Wonwoo shook his head as he watched you smile at the tall boy with perfect teeth. He might be friends with Mingyu but that didn’t make him want to punch him any less as he and Jeonghan watched him flirt with you and worse, you flirted back. 

“She doesn’t know how you feel and that you want her to go with you to the dance if you don’t ask her.” 

Groaning, Wonwoo looked at Jeonghan, who had his arms crossed and his tongue pressed into his cheek after saying his own peace when he really had nothing he could say. 

“So does that mean you are going to do the same?” 

Shooting a look at his friend, Jeonghan rolls his eyes and turns away from the scene in front of him as Mingyu dares to let his fingers brush over yours. He wanted to do more than punch the boy. He wanted to pay him to move to a different school at this point. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the one pining like a love sick puppy.” 

“Says the dude who just looked like he was going to go in swinging just now.” 

Sighing, Jeonghan turns towards his locker, using his fist to open it rather than a normal civil way, before shrugging. 

“Whatever. She can do what she wants and so can you. One more year of this hell hole and I’m out of here and on to bigger fish.” 

You look up at the sound of Jeonghan’s fist hitting his locker, along with Mingyu's hand dropping from yours, when you mutter your best friend’s name. Everyone knew you were pretty much off limits but every once in a while someone got gutsy and tried. Mingyu had been feeling confident but he hadn’t realized how close Jeonghan and Wonwoo had been. 

“I–shit. Can we talk about the dance later, Y/N?” 

Watching you frown, barely nodding, Mingyu sighed, knowing his chances were slim to none now as you walked towards the two men who took up most of your time. 

“Jeonghan, what the hell are you doing? Did you hurt your hand?” 

Your voice pulls Wonwoo and Jeonghan from their conversation and back to reality, where you were standing right in front of them. Starting to speak, Jeonghan tries to come up with an excuse when you grab his hand, bringing it close to you to look over his knuckles to inspect the damage. 

Wonwoo just stays quiet for a moment, watching how gentle you are, blowing softly on the rough skin before placing a kiss over his knuckles and lifting your head with furrowed brows. You looked confused. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t like you knew how Jeonghan felt or how Wonwoo felt. 

“I’m okay, Kitten. I just couldn’t get the door open, so I got mad.” 

Glancing at Wonwoo, you wait for him to tell you the truth but he just sighs and nods along with what Jeonghan says, though you can tell Jeonghan is telling you a half truth. He was good at those and Wonwoo was good at following the leader. 

Reaching over to the locker, you pull up on the latch and watch it swing open easily, much to Jeonghan’s dismay. With a sigh, the boy pushes it back closed before leaning his shoulder against it, looking over yours towards Mingyu, who was pouting and watching you while talking to another tall boy named Seokmin.

“Minkyu is waiting for you.” 

Sighing, you glance over your shoulder towards him, offering the handsome boy a smile and getting one in return before you cause his to fall instantly when you turn away. 

“Mingyu, Jeonghan…  but you know that. Why are you so mean to him? He’s nice. He likes you. Wants to be as cool as you.” 

Rolling his eyes, Jeonghan lets out a scoff before wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you towards the doors that would lead towards your next class but not his. Wonwoo just shakes his head, following in tow, his hands shoved into his pockets. 

“He wishes.” 

– Present –

“He’s not lying. I’ve probably dated more than him.” 

Lifting your head back towards Jeonghan, you feel your stomach tighten at his words. You shouldn’t care if either of them were dating. You were doing your job. This was something that your readers cared about. They didn’t really care about what their jobs were or what they entailed; they wanted to know who they were sleeping with. 

“Oh? Currently? On your way to finding Mrs. Yoon?” 

Jeonghan’s lips turn up in a smirk before a full grin spreads across his face. He can’t help but see the look on your face when you ask the question. Did you really want an answer to that question? 

“No, not even close. Hasn’t been a steady girl in my life since you, Kit–mm, sorry, Y/N.” 

Swallowing hard, you push your tongue against your cheek and hum as if that is a normal answer to your question. You write down part of it but omit anything about yourself, which causes Wonwoo to chuckle as he runs his fingers along the back of the sofa. 

“Giving the readers hope?” 

Jeonghan leans forward at Wonwoo’s comment to read what you have written down. You scoff at his smirk, pulling the tablet back from them both, feeling even more like you were back in high school with them both. 

“I–sort of. It’s my job. I’m supposed to give them a raw interview with two fascinating people. I’m supposed to show them the most intimate parts of those people and if there are facts like that, omitting parts that they don’t need to know could be misunderstood –" 

You suck in your breath when you feel Jeonghan’s fingers up your arm towards your shoulder as he shakes his head. A soft sigh falls from his lips as he meets your eyes and you try to finish your thought only to lose it midsentence. 

“I get it; I do. Your readers are horny. They look at successful people and dream about what it would be like to fuck them. But no matter what you omit, there is still the elephant in the room.” 

There was no elephant in the room. The room was clear of any elephants. Shaking your head, you try to ignore his fingers as Jeonghan walks them along your shoulder blade. 

“They do like that sort of thing. It sells magazines. So I will omit it. I mean, looking at this objectively, you are both ideal. Incredibly attractive, wealthy, and single.” 

Grinning at your reaction and your attempt to ignore him, Jeonghan glances over to Wonwoo, who had been watching you both like a hawk. It was getting interesting. 

“That’s kind of you to say, Kitten.” 

Blowing out a breath, you shift from Jeonghan’s wandering fingers to shoot a look at Wonwoo when he calls you the nickname. Now they were both teasing you. You were struggling to keep this professional and they knew it. This wasn’t some game like they thought it was. This was your job on the line. 

“Not my name, Wonwoo.” 

“Is to me, but my apologies, Y/N. Keep going with your questions. What’s next on your list?” 

Focus. The word is repeating in your head like a prayer. You look back down at your iPad and lick your lips as you listen to Jeonghan laugh softly next to you. God, he was the same and yet worse in many ways. He was still unbearably confident and cocky but now he was a grown man. 

Lifting his hand to rest his thumb against his teeth, Wonwoo watches your eyes narrow at Jeonghan’s reaction. He could tell you were getting annoyed. This was better than high school because he wasn’t that kid who lacked confidence.

"It's... tell me about an important event in your life that led you to where you are today.” 

Jeonghan’s brows furrow as Wonwoo tilts his head toward the question. That was a loaded topic. Pursing his lips, you watch as Wonwoo reaches up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose before he meets your eyes once more. 

“Do you remember when you pushed me to try out for that play senior year?” 

Your smile causes Wonwoo to mirror you. Of course you remembered it. Wonwoo had been showing interest in acting and it might have been a high school play but he had been too nervous to try it out at first. You could remember going over lines with him for hours before the audition, before you and Jeonghan sat in the auditorium in awe as he took the stage and looked like he had been born to act. 

“Really? That’s what led you to this? Playing Tony in West Side Story?” 

Still smiling, Wonwoo nods, leaning to rest his head on his palm as his elbow pushes into the back cushion of the sofa. He remembered looking down at you from the stage opening night and finding confidence when his voice wavered. You were more important to him than you would ever know. 

“Yeah… Trust me, I don’t put it on my resume.” 

A short chuckle from Jeonghan draws your eyes back over to him as he leans his head back, remembering the play and how much you had wanted Wonwoo to do it. You had been good at pushing them to be great; now he was wishing they had done the same for you. 

“I can’t imagine why, Wonwoo. Couldn’t be because I still have a shitty copy of you butchering Something’s Coming from opening night.” 

Reaching behind you, Wonwoo smacks his best friend, causing the other man to laugh and for you to lean forward, a laugh of your own, slipping from your lips. You could feel your heart tightening in your chest. You had missed Jeonghan and Wonwoo more than you could even admit to yourself. 

“You said you deleted it.” 

"Yeah, well, I lied. It makes great blackmail for when we are old and decrepit.” 

Sitting back up when the men have gone back to their "corners", you just shake your head, putting your pen back on your tablet, and trying to word Wonwoo’s answer in the best way you could without inserting yourself into it. 

“What about you, Jeonghan? What led you here?” 

Sighing, Jeonghan rolls his eyes—not at you but more at the answer he came up with—before pouting his lips a bit and looking up at the tall celiing. 

“I mean, the obvious answer is my father. My family led me here directly but honestly," 

You watch Jeonghan’s face soften, your eyes moving over his sharp jaw as you chew on your lips, until he looks back at you and scoffs again but this time it’s like he has made a discovery. 

“You.” 

Looking behind you at Wonwoo, you give him a confused look before he shrugs and gestures back at you, sending you back towards Jeonghan, who just smiles fondly. 

“I’m serious. Graduation day.” 

– 10 years ago – 

You watch as Jeonghan flicks the tassel on his graduate cap from one side to the other as he leans back in his chair. Most of the other students had left with their families apart from you, Wonwoo, and Jeonghan. Wonwoo had promised his mom to come home soon but after she saw the look on Jeonghan’s face, she told him to take his time. 

“I’m sure there was a reason he wasn’t here, Hannie…” 

Rarely did you call Jeonghan anything other than his full name but today called for all the best tactics. Today should be one of the best days of your lives and your best friend was sad. He had been so proud of the honor sash around his shoulders and the speech he was giving but the moment he stepped out on the stage and started to speak, he noticed the space reserved for his father was noticeably empty. 

“Sure, Kitten. You don’t have to try so hard to make it better. You didn’t do it.” 

He was right. It hadn’t been your fault but there was something you could do to make him smile. Leaning towards Jeonghan, catch his eye before you press a soft kiss to his cheek and hold on to his arm. As much as he denied it, you knew how much he loved skinship when it came from you or Wonwoo. 

A sigh falls from Jeonghan’s lips but his lips do pull up at the sides and Wonwoo’s do the same, knowing you were succeeding in what you were trying to do. He hated to see his best friend like this. It wasn’t fair. Jeonghan had worked his ass off to be the perfect son and he deserved so much better today. 

“Stop slobbering on me.” 

You just laugh, pressing more kisses on his warm cheek. Jeonghan groans, grabbing your arm and turning his head away from you, only for you to turn it back a bit too far, letting your lips catch his briefly. Clearing your throat, you stop instantly and drop your hands, feeling heat rising in your neck and cheeks as you look away. 

"Sorry, uh, but no, anyway... We should go get dinner before we all go home. We are fucking graduates. Full ass adults who will be going to university soon.” 

Wonwoo just stares at Jeonghan as he sits in shock from feeling your lips on his, even as you try to make everyone forget it had happened. Reaching up to touch his lips, Jeonghan watches you do a cute little dance in your chair before shaking his head and furrowing his brows. 

“I gotta get home, Kitten. I’m sure my dad is at home. I need to tell him to shove something up his ass. You know, like his legacy.” 

Calming down from your accidental kiss, you shake your head and reach for Jeonghan’s arm as he tries to stand up to leave. You knew he would regret his decisions later. Wonwoo follows your lead, shaking his head and coaxing Jeonghan back into the chair, muttering for the other to calm down. 

“I know you are upset, Jeonghan. You have every right to be, but... listen to me, okay? Seriously, look at me.” 

You wait until Jeonghan sighs, rolling his eyes to look at you, his face softening as he does, knowing he can’t stay annoyed as he looks at your pretty face. 

“If you really don’t want to work for your dad and do the business stuff, then don’t but it’s all you’ve ever talked about. So don’t throw it away because of his selfishness. Use this to fuel yourself to work harder and get what you want. Be the Yoon Jeonghan I know. 

– Present – 

“I ran off spite for a few years but eventually I got my own space and now I am doing shit on my own. He gave me my own slice, like you said he would. I worked harder every day remembering what you said.” 

Jeonghan smiles while watching your lips form into a bit of a pout. He could tell you were remembering the conversation and graduation. He remembered it just as fondly, maybe for other reasons but he also remembered dinner afterwards with you and Wonwoo. He remembered sneaking off with drinks and the promises that all three had failed to keep. 

"Anyway, that and a kiss led me here.” 

Writing down Jeonghan’s answer, you stop midsentence to scoff and glance up at him, letting out a breath, only to scoff a second time in disbelief. He surely wasn’t talking about the accidental kiss on graduation day. 

“Not a real kiss.” 

Biting his lip, Jeonghan tilts his head and narrows his eyes as Wonwoo laughs and puts his hands up when you shoot him another look. 

“I’m just…  listen, Y/N… The kiss was just that—a kiss. And an 18 year old Jeonghan... He talked about it for a while. Trust me.” 

That confession from Wonwoo made you look back at Jeonghan, who was narrowing his eyes at his best friend, only to soften them when they met yours. Lifting his hands, Jeonghan sighs once, trying to speak, before sighing again and laughing. 

“I did talk about it for a bit. I mean, clearly, I remember it well. I mean, come on, Kitten, you had to know how we felt about you.” 

Shaking your head, you sit up straighter on the sofa, looking from Jeonghan to Wonwoo for clarification as if a bomb had just gone off in the room. You knew how you felt about them and that they had teased you about it but never in a million years had you thought they had felt anything for you. 

“No, no, no, I didn’t. What? What do you mean by how you felt about me? “We?” Clarify, Yoon Jeonghan.” 

Jeonghan laughs when you use his full name and your thoughts start to spin in circles. The interview is the last thing on your mind now. Taking a breath, he reaches forward, taking your iPad from your hands and leaning to put it on the coffee table so he can have your full attention. But that only causes you to flex your fingers and then play with the end of your skirt out of nerves as you wait. 

“We went to the same school for four years, Y/N. We saw you every single day and from day one, we latched on to you. At first, it was just because you were this cute frisky girl with a sassy mouth that could keep up but then it was more about the fact that you were ours.” Glancing down at your fingers as you tug at the end of your skirt, Jeonghan reaches to wrap his fingers around your wrist to make you stop as he speaks. “Did you really not see it? How we’d chase off anyone else or get pissed off if you’d give any of them a chance?” 

Wonwoo shifts beside you, his breath closer than you had remembered it being when you feel it almost against your ear as his deeper voice chimes in to add to Jeonghan’s point.

“The stupidest thing we did was not keep our promises to keep in touch during university. Letting life get in the way... You feel him smile into his words with how close his lips are to your ear. “But I guess life has a way of correcting mistakes.” 

You glance over your shoulder, brows furrowed, ready to ask him what he means when you find Wonwoo as close as you had pictured. If you hadn’t stopped yourself, you would have found yourself in a similar situation that you had on graduation day a decade earlier, as you stopped your lips just in time, taking a breath before they could brush over Wonwoo’s. 

“I don’t know. This isn't—I could lose my job.” 

It’s Jeonghan’s hand that slides over your thigh, gripping it just hard enough to make you want to spread them, which causes you to lose your resolve and causes a breathy, soft moan to slip from between your lips and into the air. Wonwoo smiles just a few centimeters from your lips as he shakes his head and furrows his brows. 

“Fuck the job, fuck the interview. If you want it that bad, you can ask the questions afterwards. If you lose the job, they didn’t deserve you, and we will take care of you or get you whatever job you want, Kitten.” 

He wanted you to say yes or take that final step. Wonwoo wasn’t going to do it but he was giving you all the right answers. Whining, you try to quickly weigh the pros and cons, a lifetime of regrets washing over you before they fade away when you close your eyes and press your lips against Wonwoo’s with purpose. 

Jeonghan furrows his brows and bites his bottom lip hard. He wasn’t upset that it was Wonwoo you had kissed first this time. It didn’t matter to him; all that mattered was that it was happening. All that mattered was that you were here and back in their lives by some random chance and he wasn’t letting you go again. 

Pressing his fingers into your soft skin, Jeonghan groans softly against your hair as your tongue glides along Wonwoo’s and you finally let him coax your legs apart. He could feel the warmth of your pussy under your skirt and he was dying to get his hands on you, even if it was just for a moment. 

"Baby, you are so fucking pretty. You always have been but now, God, you're stunning. Never letting you out of my sight again, you understand?” 

Reaching up to turn your head from Wonwoo, Jeonghan listens to your whimpers and soft complaints but he wants your answer. When you meet his eyes, Jeonghan runs his thumb along your bottom lip and smiles at your reaction—the way your mouth parts and your eyes flutter closed for a moment only to open and meet his once again. 

“I said, do you understand?” 

One hand on your chin, the other caresses your thigh up to your panties, where Jeonghan’s fingers tease you, causing your body to jerk with each pass of his fingers. Wonwoo smiles while watching you with Jeonghan, not phased by the other man pulling you away from him. Instead, he turns his attention to your neck as he works a few of the buttons on your blouse open before sliding his hand into your shirt over the top of your bra to squeeze your breast, making you arch against his chest. 

“Answer Jeonghan, Kitten.” 

They expected you to answer a question and think clearly when you were not only living out your teenage wet dreams but also the fantasies of every female that knew either of their names? Pressing your lips together, you furrow your brows and nod, regaining your resolve, before letting out a breath along with your words. 

“I understand.” 

Jeonghan grins, leaning forward to press his lips to yours, finally claiming his prize while also rewarding you for your answer. The kiss is gentle, yet you can feel the desire behind it as his teeth catch your bottom lip, nipping at it before he pulls back with a soft groan. 

“Good, girl. Wonwoo, I want her up where I can see her.” 

You weren’t sure what Jeonghan had meant but apparently Wonwoo did, as you found yourself on your feet before your legs were around the man’s waist so he could carry you where he wanted you. Smirking against your lips, Wonwoo glances behind you, following Jeonghan to the kitchen, stopping to sit you on the counter, where he stays situated between your thighs. 

Hands slide over your thighs, and fingers bunch up your skirt, urging you to lift your hips so the material can be pushed to your waist, granting you a peck on the lips from Wonwoo. You watch as the man groans, glancing down between your legs, his left hand gripping your thigh as his right thumb traces the growing wet spot on the center of your panties. 

“So wet already. Did you ever think about doing this? You can tell me, Kitten. I won’t tell anyone else.” 

The teasing tone in his deep voice makes your breath quicken as Wonwoo steps back and you watch him pull his dress shirt from his pants. His slender fingers move over the buttons with quick precision so he can pull them from his body and toss them to the floor, leaving him shirtless in front of you. 

“I–” 

The words get caught in your throat as you stare at Wonwoo, your eyes moving over his toned abdomen and chest. You had seen him shirtless in school and then in ads and movies but you had never imagined you would see him like this. 

“Words, baby, use them.” 

Jeonghan smirks, running his fingers over your hair as he stands beside you, watching you panic over Wonwoo. He was still fully dressed, though one glance at his dress pants told you he was just as aroused as you and Wonwoo. 

“I did, many times, but I always felt bad.” 

You hear Jeonghan coo, then feel his lips press against your jaw as you lean your head to the side, watching Wonwoo lean over to kiss your thighs. His fingers scratch along your thighs up to your hips before they finally press under the elastic of your pants and start to shimmy them down your legs to your feet. 

“You didn’t have to feel bad. I was doing the same thing and I know Wonwoo was too. We will just make up for lost time, right?” 

Jeonghan whispers the last of his words against your ear and you can only moan out a yes to not only the feeling of his hot breath against the shell of your ear, but also Wonwoo’s tongue running along your slit in one fluid motion. 

Leaning your head back, you gasp out Wonwoo’s name, reaching your hand down to thread your fingers through his wavy hair as Jeonghan smirks against your ear at your reaction. Glancing between your legs to watch, he furrows his brows, feeling his cock throb in his pants, not only to the visual of Wonwoo eating you out but also to the sounds coming out of your mouth and the wet sound of Wonwoo’s mouth on your pussy. 

“Fuck… He’s right; you are wet. Can I feel too?” 

Slipping his fingers between your folds and Wonwoo’s mouth, Jeonghan is surprised that your thighs jerk to his touch. That wasn't your reaction to Wonwoo. Lifting his head, Wonwoo holds your legs and takes a breath as Jeonghan’s fingers circle your clit, only for you to moan and slide your hips back from his touch shyly. 

“Your fingers are so cold." 

Jeonghan smiles, tilting his head and pulling his fingers back to rub them together, feeling your slick between them. He knew his hands were cold but he hadn’t expected you to have such a reaction to them. Glancing down at Wonwoo, Jeonghan just winks, turning from you both towards the cabinet to take down a glass and moving to the fridge to get ice and water as Wonwoo’s lips press to your thighs, making you split your attention between the two. 

“What are you doing, Jeonghan?” 

“Having fun, Kitten. What are you doing?” 

Your eyes follow Jeonghan as he sits the glass down beside you before dipping two of his fingers into the ice water. His eyes meet yours as a darker smirk takes over his pretty lips and you whine, feeling Wonwoo’s mouth back on your pussy, his fingers digging into your hips and pulling you back towards his tongue. 

“I–shit. What if I can’t handle it?” 

Jeonghan bites at his lip, the smile ever present, as he finally takes his fingers from the cold water. 

“Just tell me and I’ll move them, but I’ll make it worth it. I promise… Wonwoo, lean back.” 

Hearing his name, Wonwoo groans a bit frustrated, already feeling drunk off your pussy. He wanted to make you cum on his tongue and with how you had started to moan, he felt like you were getting close. Still, he wasn’t going to argue with Jeonghan so he licks his lips and leans back a few inches to watch Jeonghan touch his ice cold fingers to your clit and your reaction as you try to close your thighs around his head and the fingers. 

“Oh my god!” 

The cold sends a shock through your body that you weren’t fully expecting and when Jeonghan traps your clit between two fingers, squeezing it ever so slightly, you feel like the counter is going to break under your fingers. 

“Jeon—Jeonghan!” 

As quickly as you say his name, Jeonghan moves his fingers and uses his free hand to push Wonwoo’s head back to your waiting pussy. You feel hot breath and a warm tongue running over your now chilled folds. Smiling against your skin at the feeling, Wonwoo can’t help the excitement he feels at working together with Jeonghan. He enjoys making you feel good, especially as you grind against his mouth. 

“See? You liked it, didn’t you?” 

All you can do is nod as you feel your orgasm on the precipice. Jeonghan watches your face and listens to your breath starting to hitch when he tugs at Wonwoo’s hair, pulling him back, and listens to your curses as your orgasm is pulled from you. 

Ice cold fingers slide between your folds and towards your dripping entrance, where Jeonghan works two into you, curling them upwards. Quickly, you forget how upset you are at him as you see stars and your nails dig into his forearm, cum seeping around his fingers as your orgasm takes control of your senses. 

Wonwoo just watches, entranced by what is happening as your thighs start to shake and Jeonghan’s fingers thrust into you. He watches as you roll your hips towards the man’s palm and Jeonghan groans your name like a soft, sweet prayer. 

“Here… I know you want it.” 

Nodding, Wonwoo leans forward, licking the cum from Jeonghan’s fingers before grabbing your hips again and running his tongue along your folds, cleaning you of every last trace of your cum. Your mind spins with what you have just experienced and watched as you find yourself leaning back on the counter, your chest rising and falling quickly. 

It is Jeonghan who pulls Wonwoo from between your thighs as you whimper from overstimulation, tears running from the corners of your eyes. It isn’t even that he’s concerned that you aren’t enjoying it; it is more that he doesn’t want his friend to miss the image. 

Wonwoo just groans, running his palm over his wet mouth and chin before leaning down over you and the counter to capture your lips. His thumb is running along your temple to push away the tears as he mutters against your lips about never leaving you and never losing you again. 

“Mm, see, he shares the sentiment, Kitten. We have to get you to bed or I’m gonna fuck you on the counter.” 

You weren’t against it but it seemed both of the men were. You quickly found yourself moving through rooms and on a large bed, then stripped of your clothing. Jeonghan was the one between your thighs now; his clothes were also discarded with yours somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom. He let his eyes move over your body in wonder as his hands followed the same path as if he were trying to imprint it on his brain. 

“So perfect… and ours?” 

In truth, your relationship status hadn’t been discussed before any of this started and also Jeonghan hadn’t cared. Now, with you lying on his bed, looking like every dream he had ever had of you, as Wonwoo slid in beside you to press his lips to the top of your breasts, he was starting to wonder if you really would be there at the end of the day. 

“Yours.” 

A single word left Jeonghan breathless. He hadn’t seen any rings on any important fingers but he hadn’t been in your life in a long time. He didn’t know what your life was without him but now, as far as he was concerned, there wouldn’t be a time without you. 

"Fuck, I need you. Can I?” 

You lift your hips as Jeonghan’s hands slide along your inner thighs and along your legs to your hips. You knew what he was asking and there was nothing you wanted more. Nodding, you whine into a moan as Wonwoo sucks at your skin, your fingers once again threading into his hair and tugging at his scalp. 

Lining himself up with you, Jeonghan shakes his head, realizing what was really happening and how lucky he was as he slowly pushes his tip in. With his eyes on your face, Jeonghan watches your lips fall open at the stretch, his fingers digging into your skin as he angles his hips, feeling your soft, warm walls enclose around his cock. 

“Feel good, Kitten?” 

Wonwoo smiles against your skin as he speaks between kisses, working them up your breasts towards your neck. Wonwoo nods along with you, feeling Jeonghan’s hips meet yours as he bottoms out. The stretch is delicious and your brain is a mixture of spinning and empty. While your brain wants to freak out over what's happening, the only thing you can do is just feel and enjoy the drag of Jeonghan’s cock as he starts to thrust into you at an even pace. 

His head falling forward as he pulls your hips up more, bracing your weight with his hands, Jeonghan quickens his pace, feeling your pussy throbbing around his length. You already felt better than he had ever imagined and he had dreamed about it many times before. He had tried to substitute the dream girl in his head before and none of them were living up to this now. There was only you and he could already feel himself tightening up from his stomach to his thighs. 

“God, baby… cum on my cock. Give me that. At least once.” 

Jeonghan had said you were theirs but just in case this was a one time thing, he needed to feel you cum around him at least once in his life. Sliding his right hand between your legs, he uses his thumb to massage your clit in tight circles while watching you throw your head back and your fingers scratch at the bedding. Jeonghan just groans your name as he feels your walls tighten around him and then the warm, slick feeling of your cum makes each of his thrusts all that more delicious. 

A moment later, you feel your ass lowered back to the bed and Jeonghan pulls from you before his warm cum paints your thighs. The sound of his soft grunts and groans dances off the walls like music as your eyes move over his body to his hand. You watch as his fists over his cock hard and fast for a moment longer before he lets out a long, soft breath. Smiling, Jeonghan feels your leg running along the side of his when he opens his eyes to find you and Wonwoo looking at him. 

“I made a mess. I can start the shower…” 

You can only laugh as Jeonghan rolls from the bed, leaving you in Wonwoo’s arms, his lips gently pressing to the side of your neck. Wonwoo’s brows furrow and a groan slips from between his lips as your fingers wrap around his heavy cock, lazily stroking him as the sounds of water drift in from the attached bathroom. 

“I’m too wound up, Y/N… I won’t last long. Shit…” 

Pressing your thumb against his slit, you take your hand away, leaving Wonwoo breathless as you sit up and take his hand, pulling him from the bed. A look of confusion in the man’s eyes, along with a slight pout on his lips from seemingly being denied, is replaced by a smile when you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you as Jeonghan lifts a brow to the scene in front of him. 

With your hand back around Wonwoo’s shaft, you feel him gasp into your mouth as you pull away from him once again and smile at Jeonghan as he opens the shower door for you, letting you and Wonwoo in first before following. 

“You are being mean to Wonwoo, Kitten...  after he cleaned you up so nicely with his mouth?”

“I’ll make it better, promise.” 

Jeonghan starts to speak but is rendered speechless when you move to your knees in the shower in front of Wonwoo, who silently curses, lifting his hand to run it through his hair. With the water running along his back, Wonwoo leans his head back into the stream of water with a long, deep groan when you wrap your lips around his head and take him into your warm mouth. 

He had wanted to fuck you but this would work too. Unlike Jeonghan, he was almost certain this wasn’t a one time thing. He was going to make sure of it, especially now as your pretty hand stroked his cock under your mouth as you moaned around him. He had told you he was wound up and he hadn’t been lying. 

“Shit… shit! Too good… babe. Gonna cum. Slow down.” 

You had no intention of slowing down. You wanted Wonwoo to cum. Just as much as he wanted to taste you, you wanted to taste him. So when he told you to slow down, instead you moved your hand and took him as deep in your mouth as you could, letting his tip nearly graze your throat. The action pushes Wonwoo over the edge, his hands gripping for whatever is closest, one being your hair and the other being Jeonghan’s arm, as he cums hard into your mouth. 

Closing your eyes, you moan around Wonwoo as you pull back to just his tip, letting the last of his cum drip into your mouth before you sit back on your feet and swallow most of it, just a bit seeping from the corner of your lips. Jeonghan stares at Wonwoo for a moment longer before looking down at you and groaning, feeling blood start to work its way back to his cock when he seems cum dripping down to your chin. 

Tugging his hand free from Wonwoo’s grasp, Jeonghan takes a deep breath, reaching down to swipe his thumb over your chin, collecting the cum, before pushing it back into your mouth and letting you suck it clean. Willing himself to not get hard becomes even harder as he curses under his breath and smiles at you in disbelief. You were even more perfect than he had dreamed. 

“Both of us made a mess of you, Kitten. Only fair we clean you up, huh?” 

Your cheeks warm as you come down from the high of everything that had happened. You look at both of the men as Wonwoo helps you back to your feet. His hand runs over your back, spreading body wash, as Jeonghan does the same to your front, paying extra attention to your thighs where his cum still lingered. 

“This is crazy…” 

Jeonghan’s brow shoots up at your soft words like a puppy hearing a new word. You were starting to panic. The shock was setting in. Shaking his head, the man steps closer, running his hands over your arms before leaning in to gently press a kiss on your lips. 

“It’s not. It makes sense. We’ve always made sense. We were just too young and dumb to realize this. We just had to meet again in a different life to see it.” 

Pouting on Jeonghan’s lips, you feel Wonwoo’s body close to yours; neither man is willing to let you run away from them, knowing you too well despite all the years of separation. You wanted to believe this could work. You wanted it to work. Sighing, you lean your head back against Wonwoo’s shoulder, letting Jeonghan look at you with a soft smile on his lips as you speak. 

“I’m so getting fired.” 

Laughing at your words, Jeonghan shrugs, running his hands along your wet arms as Wonwoo smiles, leaning to kiss your cheek and hugging you tighter to him. Lifting his hand, Jeonghan pinches your cheek like he had so many times in high school to tease you, feeling your warm cheek under his touch.  

“I might be biased but I think we are worth it.” 

© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed

[assriels]

lose control | chapter i

pairing: azriel x day court!reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: minimal porn WITH plot (i promise there’s a purpose lmao), friends with benefits & conflicted emotions, a lot of az and reader’s thoughts, slow burn, pining, angst if u squint

summary: azriel sneaks into your study and your all too familiar dance continues. though, this time feels different, and his century long effort to tamp his feelings down begins to unravel.

a/n: this first chapter is a lot longer than i intended lol but strap in bbs its just getting started (takes place from before to after war with hybern)

prologue

When Azriel saw the familiar roofs of the Day Court palace, one flickering faelight lamp illuminating the sheer white curtains leading into your study, he sighed. He didn’t know why he was here for the second night in a row. The mission Rhys sent him on was supposed to be a quick one, and it would have been had he not drawn it out for longer than he had to. 

It was his second night in the Day Court, and though he had finally sent word back to Rhys about the details of his task well done and that he’d be home as soon as possible, he still found himself here. Still gliding through the familiar air of your residence, wings instinctively – traitorously – bringing him to the balcony of your study rather than to his home court. 

He landed smoothly on the railing of your balcony. Your wards were open to him, just like the night before and every other night for the last century. 

Azriel sighed again as he peeked through your doors in the cover of shadow – trying, and failing, not to feel like a creep – watching as you hunched over your desk, endless sheafs of paperwork littering your desk in a way that always had him questioning how you managed to be so organized and efficient. An ornately carved mahogany and gold kiseru pipe balanced precariously on a porcelain stand, tendrils of white smoke curling in mimicry of the shadows at his feet. 

It was a bad habit you had, smoking. One he knew you had tried to kick on many occasions, only for it to come rearing its ugly head at times where you  and stress were one and the same. Whatever you had just been working on must have been especially irritating. Azriel had a feeling he knew what it was; his own work tipping him off to the rumblings of a Prythian-wide conflict, soon unavoidable. 

He stealthily made his way into your study, noticing immediately the way your shoulders were fraught with a tension that you tried to chase away with a roll of your neck. He was momentarily shocked at the sudden urge he felt tingling in his fingertips to massage away the ache, but he ignored it, tucked it in the back of his mind like he always did with the rest of the sudden urges he had to cross the unspoken line you both drew between lovers and friends. 

If you noticed his presence, you didn’t show it, opting instead to roll your shoulders back in a display of obvious discomfort, a sigh escaping your lips for the third time since Azriel had arrived.

“You misspelled ‘Prythian’,” he said, amusement peppering his words as he peered over your shoulder at some missive you unsuccessfully attempted to write. 

Again, if you were surprised at his sudden appearance, you didn’t let on.

“I thought spies were supposed to be sneaky,” you quipped back, turning your head to look at him with a look of annoyance that was so obviously exaggerated. “I wasn’t aware that being an expert in grammar and usage was in your job description.”

When he felt his lips curve upwards in a smile he couldn’t ever seem to fight in your presence, he ignored – yet again – the affection he felt bubbling beneath the cage of his ribs. 

“Long night?” he asked, plopping himself down into the seat on the other side of your desk. He didn’t miss the fact that you had at some point replaced the chair with one big enough to accommodate his wings. 

Your facade fell quickly and you slumped against your own chair, your exhaustion overcoming every muscle fiber in your body, fingers twitching to reach for the pipe on your desk, “You could say that. You?”

This was a conversation that he had had with you countless times, a preamble of niceties to the wonderfully sinful intensity that would ensue as the hours passed. But Azriel found himself enjoying the mundane, near domestic conversations with you more and more lately, almost as much as he enjoyed everything that would come after.

He hummed an affirmative to your question before a comfortable silence filled the space between you. After a few moments, you rose from your seat, spine cracking while you stretched away the tension coiled in your limbs. Azriel greedily allowed himself to drink you in, hazel eyes skating the plain white t-shirt you wore, now wrinkled by the way you had no doubt been hunched over your desk all day. He tracked the way the hem of your shirt lifted above the waistband of your knit pants as you stretched, granting him a peek at the smooth skin he had plans to run his hands all over later. 

“Will you help me put these away?” you inquired with a yawn, gesturing to the books scattered around your workspace. The tension bled from your shoulders as a breeze ruffled your hair, relaxing your taught muscles. Gone was the tense, all-business Warmaster of Day, replaced by the somewhat petulant, but easygoing Y/N. 

He stood from his seat and stacked a pile of books under his arm as he followed you to your bookshelves. Azriel knew where every title went, slotting them back into place with the ease of someone who had memorized every inch of your study. 

It was your turn to ogle at him, watching lecherously as the muscles in his arm rippled while he shelved a book back into its rightful place high on your bookcase. He had discarded the jacket of his leathers somewhere on the back of a chair, giving you a full view of the way his tight black undershirt left nothing to the imagination. His physique seemed to be sculpted by the gods themselves, wide shoulders tapering down to strong hips. His wings were relaxed, though he was always mindful of your things, careful to keep his wings in check so he could avoid knocking anything over in your decidedly not-Illyrian sized space. 

“Are you going to make me put them all back myself? Or are you done staring?” The leather strap securing one of his siphons to his bicep stretched as he shelved another book; you briefly wondered how that thing didn’t snap right off every time he flexed. Which he was clearly doing on purpose now as he teased you.

You scoffed, “I wasn’t staring.” A lie. “I was making sure you were putting everything back where it should be.” Another lie. You knew better than anyone that Azriel had personally spent extra time committing your bookshelves to memory, always sneakily stealing one to read while you worked. 

He mumbled something under his breath – “Whatever you say” – as he huffed a laugh and continued his task. You both worked in a comfortable silence that only existed between two people who knew each other the way you and Azriel knew each other. It was nice, you’d admit, just being able to exist in the same space. 

Once upon a time, this would have never happened between you; your interactions had once only consisted of explicit rendezvous that would have anyone blushing to remember. But as your…relationship with the shadowsinger progressed, more time was spent enjoying each others’ company and you fell into a neat, wonderfully blissful routine with him. You didn’t see him often by any means, encounters always spaced by a few weeks or more if one of you was busy, but you couldn’t deny that it was nice having him around, especially now that it seemed like his visits to you were becoming more frequent as of late. 

Though a pervasive contentment permeated the silence between you, the air was still fraught with delicious anticipation. No words were exchanged, but every stroke of his fingertips low on your waist, and every not-so-accidental brush of your hand against his spiked the tingling, electric tension in the room. It made your heart beat quicken, and every time you felt Azriel steal a not-so-subtle glance in your direction you swore your heart would stop entirely. Anticipation was a slow, cunning killer. 

“I’ve been meaning to read this,” he said, breaking the silence, beautifully scarred fingers tracing the spine before he slotted it out of place. Azriel flipped idly through the pages, eyes quickly scanning its contents. 

You leaned over, shoulder kissing his, to peer at the title he unshelved, “Oh? Take it then, it’s yours. I’ve read it too many times.”

Azriel’s brow creased as he considered your proposal, “But then what excuse would I have to come back?” It was hard to miss the teasing lilt in his voice, dripping with suggestion and promise. 

You rolled your eyes, by now too used to the innocent flirting that had bled into your friendship. 

“As if you ever needed an excuse,” you mumbled coyly. “Consider it a loan then. Once you finish reading it, then you’ll have to come back to return it.”

“Better read fast then, huh?” 

You could practically feel the wicked suggestion oozing from his voice, dripping like honey as he pressed his chest to your back to reshelf the last book right in front of you. You leaned back against him, savoring the feeling of his breath on your neck as his lips barely grazed the curve of your jaw.

He felt the vibration in your chest when you hummed, his hand dragging from the bookshelf to hold your waist, fingers playing a coy little game as they fiddled with the hem of your shirt. 

“You know that’s not where that goes,” you sighed, attempting to tamp down the urge to give in to him immediately. This dance – this game – was always the best part of your nights with him, pushing and prodding in just the right places until one of you finally caved. 

“No?” He asked, fingers splaying wide on your lower belly, pulling you back flush against him. “Where does it go then?”

The deep timber of his voice sent a shiver up your spine, but you were determined to make him wait a little bit longer, even if the feeling of how hard he already was in his pants was growing increasingly more difficult to ignore. As one of your hands laid atop his to intertwine your fingers, your other one stretched up to point at an empty space on a shelf two heads above you, “Right there.”

You had meant to sound more definitive and not nearly as breathless, but Azriel wasn’t even really paying attention, too busy nipping at that spot just below your ear that he knew drove you insane. Right there, indeed. 

A small noise of appreciation fell from your lips before you could stop it. Azriel’s free hand skated up your side, tracing the curves and divots of your waist, following the line of your outstretched arm before his fingers encircled your wrist, pinning it to the bookshelf, right underneath the empty slot where his misplaced book was supposed to be. 

All your resolve crumbled in that moment, your senses overwhelmed by his scent, his body, by the way he disentangled your fingers so he could track his touch further beneath your shirt. You keened when he toyed with your nipple over the fabric of your bra, pushing your hips harder against his until he groaned. He spun you around to face him then, arm still pinned above your head. 

The look in his eyes – pupils blown wide and dark – was pure, unadulterated desire that had your legs squeezing together. He looked ready to devour you, what with the way his plush lips parted in awe, heavy lidded eyes mapping the contours of your face. It always amazed you how quickly you could rile him up like this. 

But gods, he loved it and he didn’t care that you were looking at him so smugly. He got drunk off the way you moved, the way you smelled, the way you let your idle hand smooth up his chest so you could cup his jaw. How could he not revel in your attention when it set his entire body aflame? 

Your lips were a hair’s breadth from touching, breaths mingling as both of you waited for the other to make the first move. 

But when you tilted your chin up chasing his mouth with yours without letting them touch, he was a goner, muffling the sound of his name on your lips with his own. You tasted like coffee and honey, and something so undeniably you that made Azriel groan; so familiar and so, so good. He could spend the entire evening like this, letting your hands roam where they pleased while he kissed you endlessly. 

Yet, when you tugged at the fabric of his shirt, he let his greedy mind wander to the fantasies he had conjured on the nights he wasn’t with you, fucking into his hand as he thought of all the ways he’d want to take you next. Though he liked the idea of taking you against your bookshelf with both of your hands pinned above your head, he craved your touch far too much. Maybe next time, he told himself as he released his grip on your wrist. But this time…

His arms hooked smoothly beneath your legs and he lifted you effortlessly off the floor. Instinctively, your legs locked around his waist as he kissed you, all teeth and expert tongue smoothing over the places he knew made you dizzy.

“Azriel.” His name whispered against his own lips was a plea that made him want to drop to his knees. Your voice made his blood rush, made his brain foggy with heady desire, made his fingers tremble. 

Azriel knew that everytime you two did this – played this risky game – you toed the line between lovers and friends, pushed the boundary just a little further to satiate your need for each other. A maelstrom of emotions wreaked havoc on his composure; every kiss, every touch had his heart beating with feelings that transcended the lust that often clouded his vision when he was with you. 

It terrified him. It exhilarated him.

Azriel was well aware that the feelings that had begun to blossom in his chest were not ones that followed the guidelines of your arrangement, even if he couldn’t quite pinpoint what those feelings were just yet. But he knew this was supposed to be casual, no strings attached, and nothing about the feelings that were roiling around in his heart was casual. 

He couldn’t help the way he always felt like he was searching for you, thinking of you, wanting you. You were the north of his compass, the sun to his earth, and he could do nothing to loosen the vice you had on him. He could say that it was because the sex was incredible – it was – but he knew that wasn’t the only reason he sought you – and only you – out time and time again, after all these years. 

It hurt his head to think too deeply about what these burgeoning feelings were, especially with the way your teeth were taking his earlobe between them as your arms wound tantalizingly around his neck, whispering obscenities in his ear about how good you wanted to make him feel. He shuddered with wanton hunger, hands grasping desperately at your waist. 

He felt his chest tighten with an emotion he thought he had locked up long ago as your fingers played with his hair, a sweet, gentle gesture that was in stark contrast to the way he urged your hips to grind against his. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, whispered against your lips as he kissed you. 

Despite his sentiment, Azriel continued to kiss you like his life depended on it, like you would be the last breath he took before plunging deep into open waters. You gratefully matched his fervor before pushing on his chest. He pulled away from you, chest heaving against yours with long shuddering breaths of restraint. 

Confusion tumbled around in your mind as you searched his face for any sign of reluctance. When you didn’t find any, you were tempted to pull him back into you, but comfort was paramount and you didn’t push him – never pushed him. Not once in the hundred years you two have been navigating this treacherous dance of being friends(?) with the benefit of pleasure did either of you take more than what was given.

You were panting, “We can stop, if you don’t—“

He cut you off with another press of his lips to yours as if he couldn’t resist any longer, his hand tender against your jaw, “That’s not what I meant.” His voice was soft and steeped in too much affection; it made your heart stutter traitorously in your chest. 

You didn’t have time to ask him what he meant, though; he was already blazing a trail of open mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, inquisitive hands palming at every inch of you he could.

Even if you had the wherewithal to ask, he wouldn’t have answered. Azriel wasn’t sure even he understood what he had said, only that there was a feeling in his gut that he was on the precipice of change, that there was something in the air that told him he wouldn’t be able to go back to the way things were. Despite having made this decision over and over and over again in the last hundred years he’s been alive, something about this time felt different. Again, it terrified and exhilarated him. 

But he didn’t want to think about it anymore, not when all he wanted to think about was you, pliant under his touch and crooning for more. All reason be damned.

Your fingers wound themselves in his hair, pulling not-so-gently this time, “Azriel.”

Gods, the way you said his name would send him to an early grave, and he’d die happy if it was the last thing he heard. He pulled your shirt off and unclasped your bra in record time, mouthing at your breast as his expert tongue tweaked your nipple while his hand traveled down your body and beneath the waistband of your pants.

He grinned against your skin when he felt how wet you were beneath your tiny little underthings, so slick and ready. Ready for him. Him. 

The thought pulled a growl out of him from deep within his chest. Possession roiled in his gut like a monster uncaged. He would’ve taken you right there, against the stack of books lining your shelves, but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t end well. He’d make a mess — of you and your bookshelves — and you’d whine in protest afterwards and lament that you’d have to reorganize everything all over again.

So instead, he steadied you against him and flew from your study’s balcony to your room’s; it was faster than navigating the too long hallways of the palace to get to your bed. Your shriek of his name, a mixture of delight and shock, tickled his ears with the wind that whipped briefly across his face.

When he tossed you somewhat unceremoniously onto your bed, a smirk curled his lips at the miffed expression creasing your brows.

“We have corridors you know,” you fussed, still reaching for him as he climbed over you. He chuckled a bit at your petulant grumbling before his lips attached to the column of your neck. His voice was a low rumble as he nipped at your skin, placating you, “That way was faster.” 

The urgency in his actions made you giddy, though you would never admit it. Azriel always wanted for you in ways that reminded you of your young adulthood. Like two desperate young lovers stealing away into the hidden depths of the night to explore each other under the cover of a secret tryst. 

Even after nearly a hundred years, the thrill of him never subsided. 

The rest of the night was a blur as you lost count of how many times you were gasping his name between orgasms. He took you slow despite the way he had moved with such desperation before. He moved with you like he had nowhere else to be – like there was nowhere else he wanted to be – letting his hands and mouth wander and worship your body as he coaxed wanton moan after moan from your lips. He gave you everything you needed, but still you asked for more, always wanting more, more, more of him as your fingers danced gently around the base of his wings to elicit the sounds of his pleasure that made you tremble. 

And Mother be damned if he didn’t feel the same way. 

Azriel could never get used to the feel of you around him, beneath him. It was like he forgot who he was, pleasure driving him to the brink of insanity as you came around his fingers, his tongue, his cock. He thrived off the way your bodies moved in perfect, beautiful synchrony. And every time you pulled him in for more, he lost himself in you once again. You were heaven on earth, coaxing praise after praise from his lips in the throes of a passion he was addicted to. 

In those moments, nothing else mattered. Not the burgeoning anxiety sprung from an amalgam of unidentifiable feelings. Not the worry that someday this arrangement between you could end. None of it mattered. Nothing but you and him in the space you arduously carved out for yourselves. 

In the afterglow, your body molded to him with practiced ease and Azriel pointedly ignored – yet again – the way his heart fluttered beneath his ribs when he felt the perfection of you slotting yourself against his side, head resting comfortably on his chest. One of his hands found its way in your hair, gently massaging your scalp as the other stroked up and down the thigh that you had thrown haphazardly across his hips. 

You were breathing hard, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. It was in these fleeting, post-coital moments where you both were entangled in that strange limbo between strangers and lovers. A purgatory that existed for only you and him.

The ever-watchful spy, he took a moment to observe you teetering on the edge of sleep. It was a sight he had long since committed to memory but never tired of: delicate eyelashes fluttering with the struggle to stay awake, cheeks rosy from exertion, lips plush and parted. He knew this relationship between you was such a mess, but Azriel found himself caring less and less about the logistics of it all, especially in moments like these where he had the privilege of bearing witness to your most vulnerable moments.  

If this was casual, then so be it. 

His hand slid up your leg once more to cup your ass before squeezing hard enough to make you open your eyes. You leveled a glare at him, but it was less threatening than you had hoped it would be, fatigue settling in your bones.

“Do you need anything?” Azriel asked softly into your hair, hand returning to its previous soothing ministrations. 

You hummed, eyes slipping shut as you settled in closer to him, feeling his heart steady and strong beneath your ear. You shook your head, “I’m okay.”

You patted his chest in thanks before allowing yourself to yield to your growing tiredness, breath evening out. Azriel watched for another moment as you fell sleep, cheeks dusted with heat and hair sticking to the skin of his neck.

He didn’t kiss your head or whisper sweet good nights into your ears like a real lover would, but he did settle further into your mattress, head turning to bury his nose into the crown of your hair, allowing himself the sweet reprieve of falling asleep wrapped in your warmth. 

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It was early, early morning when you woke, Azriel’s arm heavy on your waist as he slumbered on his stomach. His wings were relaxed and fanned out across the bed, blanketing you beneath. His lips were slightly parted and you swore you could hear little snores escaping his throat that he would vehemently deny. You smiled, endeared at the sight. 

The wild, terrifying, and ruthless Shadowsinger of the Night Court snored like a baby. 

In the moments before day fully broke over the horizon, you allowed yourself to take him in, memorizing the contours of his face, a habit you had formed in the last century of becoming acquainted with the spymaster. You were always amazed at how much more peaceful he looked without the semi-permanent crease between his brows. 

Azriel truly was beautiful, a thought you kept close to your heart, but one you knew everyone possessed. When he wasn’t being so insufferably stubborn and cryptic, he looked so content. Creeping sunrays warmed his back as he lay ignorant of your wandering gaze. A foreign ache settled in your chest as you watched him. His words from last night came crashing into you: “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

The night before, he had reassured you time and time again that he wanted you, so you didn’t quite understand what he had meant. You hated to think that he was becoming bored, that this was the last time you’d have him like this. The possibility that you wouldn’t get his late nights and early mornings anymore hurt, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with that knowledge. 

You had never really thought about your feelings for Azriel; you had always written off your encounters as part of your flimsy agreement to be casual, despite the increasing affection that had wormed its way into your heart. A seed of uncertainty began to sprout within you. Was this casual? The late night conversations and flippant flirtation confused you, as did the pang of discomfort you felt when you imagined a life without Azriel in it. 

You sighed to yourself. It was entirely too early to be decoding something he had said in the heat of the moment. Even when his mind wasn’t clouded with lust and desire, he was difficult to understand, so you ignored the heavy feeling in your chest and instead refocused your attention on the sleeping Illyrian in your bed. 

His wing was heavy around you, but it wasn’t an unwelcome presence. Briefly (and somewhat enviously) you admired the strength he no doubt had to have possessed to wield such large extremities so gracefully. But before you could get too carried away in your imaginings of his strength (and other things he could do with it) you tweaked his nose in an effort to wake him. He scrunched it in protest, but allowed his eyes to flutter open, gaze and consciousness adjusting to piece together his surroundings. 

When he realized he was in your bed, he relaxed again before pulling you in by the waist, “Morning.”

His voice was thick with sleep as his eyes fought to stay open. There was an undercurrent of domesticity that both of you pointedly decided to ignore as you scooted in closer to him, “Morning. Did you sleep well?”

He hummed an affirmative, letting his eyes slip closed once more. He was silent for so long that you thought he might’ve fallen asleep again, but then he sighed in contentment, “What time is it? Have you been awake for long?”

“It’s early,” you responded, allowing yourself to brush some of his hair away from his forehead, smiling at the way he melted at your touch. “I woke up only a few minutes ago.”

You both stayed like that for a while, nose to nose as you listened to him breathe and fight the exhaustion that you knew plagued his waking hours. Azriel shifted before he sat up, stretching his wings and groaning as his back cracked pleasurably.

“Do you have to go?” You inquired, not willing to ask him outright to stay, but also hoping that he would anyway. 

Azriel glanced at the clock on your wall and hummed in contemplation. In all honesty, Rhys was most likely expecting him to come back last night, and he really probably should go. But, he told himself, if that was the case he was already late and staying another few hours wouldn’t make a difference. 

“Not for a bit.”

He reveled in the wicked smirk that curved your lips as you shifted to straddle him, “My favorite answer.”

chapter ii (wip!)

taglist: @hauntedstudentobservationus @div94 @sidthedollface2

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Cockwarming Ranpo 😵

temptation // edogawa ranpo

tw ⇢ mutual pining, food kink(?), teasing, fingering, making out, office sex, cockwarming, public sex, exhibitionism, punishment sex, squirting, dirty talking, unprotected sex

wc ⇢ 5.2k

a/n: when i say public sex i mean public sex

Ranpo Edogawa, the brilliant and eccentric detective of the Armed Detective Agency, was renowned not only for his unparalleled deductive skills but also for his insatiable sweet tooth. His desk was a veritable treasure trove of confections, always stocked with an assortment of colorful candies, decadent chocolates, and exotic sweets from around the world. Each treat was carefully chosen to satisfy his discerning palate, and Ranpo took great pride in his collection.

On this particular day, Ranpo returned to the office after cracking a particularly challenging case. The thrill of the solve still buzzed in his veins, and he couldn't wait to celebrate with his newest acquisition - a box of rare and exquisite truffles from a world-famous chocolatier. He had pulled a few strings and called in some favors to get his hands on these delicacies, and he had been saving them for a special occasion.

As he approached his desk, Ranpo's anticipation grew with each step. He could almost taste the rich, velvety ganache, the smooth dark chocolate shell, and the subtle notes of exotic spices that he knew would dance across his tongue. His fingers twitched with eagerness as he reached for the small, gilded box that housed his precious truffles.

But as Ranpo's gaze fell upon his desk, his excited smile faltered. The box was nowhere to be seen. He frowned, his brow furrowing as he scanned the cluttered surface, hoping that perhaps he had simply misplaced it among the scattered papers and empty candy wrappers. But no matter how hard he looked, the box remained elusive.

A sinking feeling began to settle in Ranpo's stomach as he considered the possibilities. He distinctly remembered placing the box on his desk before stepping out to discuss a case with the Agency's president, Yukichi Fukuzawa. It had only been a brief meeting, no more than fifteen minutes, but apparently, that had been enough time for someone to make off with his prized possession.

Little did Ranpo know that, just moments before, you had been passing by his desk on your way to the file room. A glint of gold had caught your eye, and curiosity got the better of you. You paused, your gaze drawn to the small, ornate box that sat among the clutter of candy wrappers and case files.

Unable to resist the temptation, you reached out and picked up the box, marveling at the intricate design etched into the gold. Your fingers traced the delicate lines, and you could almost feel the promise of something special hidden within.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, you carefully lifted the lid, your eyes widening as they fell upon the most exquisite truffles you had ever seen. The rich, dark chocolate glistened in the light, and the aroma that wafted up from the box was nothing short of heavenly.

Without thinking, you plucked one of the truffles from the box and brought it to your lips. The moment the chocolate touched your tongue, your eyes fluttered closed in pure bliss. The truffle seemed to melt in your mouth, the velvety ganache coating your taste buds with a symphony of flavors - rich, dark cocoa, a hint of smoky vanilla, and a subtle note of something exotic that you couldn't quite place.

Engrossed in the heavenly flavors dancing on your tongue, you were oblivious to the sound of approaching footsteps. It wasn't until the realization hit you that you snapped out of your reverie, your eyes widening in alarm as they darted to the half-eaten box of truffles. Panic rising in your chest, you hastily snatched up the incriminating evidence and placed it on your desk, frantically trying to conceal it behind a towering stack of papers. With your heart pounding in your ears, you attempted to compose yourself, hoping against hope that your indulgence would go unnoticed.

Ranpo's mind began to race, his brilliant deductive skills kicking into high gear as he considered the potential culprits. The Armed Detective Agency was a small, tight-knit group, and he couldn't imagine any of his colleagues stooping so low as to steal his sweets. But then again, he had made no secret of his excitement over these particular truffles. Perhaps the temptation had been too much for someone to resist.

As he stood there, lost in thought, a flicker of movement caught Ranpo's eye. He turned just in time to see you, his fellow detective and secret crush, hurrying past his desk, your arms laden with files. There was a peculiar expression on your face, a mix of guilt and nervousness that immediately piqued Ranpo's interest.

His eyes narrowed as he studied you, taking in the slight flush of your cheeks and the way you avoided his gaze. It was then that he noticed the smudge of chocolate at the corner of your mouth, a telltale sign of your transgression.

Ranpo felt a surge of emotions - surprise, betrayal, and a strange, unexpected thrill. He had always admired your intelligence and your kind heart, but he had never imagined you capable of such a daring act. The thought of you, his sweet and innocent colleague, succumbing to the temptation of his forbidden truffles sent a shiver down his spine.

He knew he should be angry, or at the very least, annoyed. But as he watched you disappear into the file room, your shoulders hunched and your steps hurried, Ranpo couldn't help but feel a spark of something else entirely. It was a feeling he had been trying to ignore for months now, a warmth that spread through his chest whenever you were near.

Ranpo had always prided himself on his ability to remain detached, to keep his emotions in check and his heart guarded. But there was something about you that made him want to break all his rules. And now, with this unexpected turn of events, he couldn't help but wonder if fate had handed him the perfect opportunity.

A slow, mischievous smile spread across Ranpo's face as he settled into his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. He had a plan, a deliciously wicked plan that would not only allow him to exact his revenge but also to explore the tantalizing possibility of something more with you.

He leaned back, his eyes glinting with anticipation as he waited for you to return. The game was on, and Ranpo was determined to savor every moment of it. After all, he knew better than anyone that the sweetest victories were often the ones that required a little bit of risk.

As the minutes ticked by, Ranpo's mind raced with possibilities. He couldn't deny the thrill that ran through him at the thought of confronting you, of seeing the shock and guilt in your eyes as he revealed your crime. But even more than that, he was intrigued by the idea of what might come next.

Ranpo had always been a master of reading people, of seeing beneath the surface and unraveling the secrets that others tried to hide. And in that moment, as he replayed the scene of your hurried escape over and over in his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to your actions than mere temptation.

He thought back to all the times he had caught you watching him, your gaze lingering just a little too long when you thought he wasn't looking. He remembered the way you always seemed to find an excuse to be near him, to brush against him in passing or to lean in close when you spoke. At the time, he had dismissed it as simple admiration, or perhaps even a bit of hero worship. But now, in light of your bold move, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something deeper at play.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway pulled Ranpo from his musings, and he sat up straighter in his chair, his heart beating just a little bit faster. He knew it was you, could sense your presence like a physical force as you drew closer to his desk.

When you finally rounded the corner, your arms now empty of files, Ranpo was ready. He fixed you with a piercing stare, his lips curled in a knowing smirk as he watched the color drain from your face. You froze in place, your eyes wide and your mouth slack as you realized that you had been caught.

"Well, well, well," Ranpo drawled, his voice low and smooth as honey. "If it isn't my favorite little truffle thief."

You swallowed hard, your fingers twisting together in a nervous gesture as you tried to find your words. "Ranpo, I... I can explain," you stammered, your cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red.

But Ranpo held up a hand, silencing your protests with a single, elegant gesture. "Oh, I'm sure you can," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "But I'm not interested in excuses. I'm interested in retribution."

He stood up slowly, unfolding his lean frame from the chair with a grace that was almost feline. You watched him warily, your heart pounding in your chest as he stalked closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

When he was close enough to touch, Ranpo reached out and traced the smudge of chocolate at the corner of your mouth with his thumb. You shivered at the contact, your breath catching in your throat as he brought his thumb to his own lips and licked it clean.

"Mmm," he hummed, his eyes fluttering closed in a moment of bliss. "Just as delicious as I imagined. But then again, everything tastes better when it's stolen, doesn't it?"

Your mouth went dry at the implication in his words, and you felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment. "Ranpo," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to-"

But once again, Ranpo silenced you with a look. "Oh, I know exactly what you meant to do," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned in closer. "And now, my dear, you're going to make it up to me."

Your eyes widened at the promise in his words, and you felt a thrill of excitement that mingled with the guilt in your stomach. You had always admired Ranpo, had always been drawn to his brilliant mind and his mischievous charm. But you had never dared to hope that he might feel the same way about you.

Now, as he stood before you, his eyes dark with a heat that made your knees weak, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps your impulsive act of thievery had been a blessing in disguise.

"Do you have any idea how rare and expensive those truffles are?" he asked, his voice still low but with an undercurrent of something that made your heart skip a beat. "I had to call in a lot of favors to get my hands on them."

You bit your lip, your gaze dropping to the floor as shame washed over you. "I'm so sorry, Ranpo," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I didn't know. I'll...I'll buy you more, I promise. Whatever it takes to make this right."

Ranpo was silent for a long moment, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost thoughtful. "No, I don't think that will be necessary," he said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I have a better idea."

You looked up, surprised and a little wary. "What...what do you mean?" you asked, your heart pounding in your chest as Ranpo took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I think," he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face, gently tucking it behind your ear , "that you owe me a favor. A very special favor, to make up for the truffles you've stolen."

Your breath caught in your throat at the touch of his fingers on your skin, and the suggestive edge to his words. "What kind of favor?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ranpo's smile widened, and there was a glint of something wicked in his eyes. "Oh, I have a few ideas," he said, his hand dropping to your waist and pulling you closer. "But first, I think we should finish what you started."

And with that, he leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to taste the lingering sweetness of the truffle. You melted into the kiss, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours.

When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your cheeks flushed and your eyes hazy with desire. "Delicious," Ranpo murmured, licking his lips with a satisfied smile. "But I think I need a little more to fully appreciate the flavor."

He plucked the box of truffles from your desk and set it on his own, then took your hand and led you over to his chair. With a gentle but insistent pressure, he guided you down onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close.

"Now," he said, his breath hot against your ear as he nuzzled your neck. "Let's see if we can find a way to make this punishment a little more...enjoyable, shall we?"

Your heart raced at the promise in his words, and you couldn't help but arch into his touch as his hands began to roam over your body. The warmth of his skin seeped through your clothes, and you could feel the firm muscle of his thighs beneath you, supporting your weight with ease.

Ranpo reached for the box of truffles, plucking one from its nest of gold foil and bringing it to your lips. "Open up, sweetheart," he murmured, his eyes dark with desire as he watched you part your lips obediently.

He placed the truffle on your tongue, and you couldn't help but let out a little moan of pleasure as the rich, dark chocolate began to melt in your mouth. But before you could fully savor the taste, Ranpo's lips were on yours, his tongue delving into your mouth to steal the truffle back.

You gasped into the kiss, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he explored your mouth, chasing the flavor of the chocolate. When he finally pulled away, there was a smear of chocolate on his lips, and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Mmm," he hummed, licking his lips with a satisfied smile. "Even better than I imagined. But I think we can do better than that, don't you?"

He reached for another truffle, holding it between his teeth as he leaned in close. Understanding his intention, you parted your lips, allowing him to pass the truffle to you in a sensual, chocolate-flavored kiss.

Back and forth you went, sharing the truffles between you, the kisses growing more heated and desperate with each passing moment. Ranpo's hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your clothes to touch and tease, stoking the fire that burned within you.

By the time the last truffle was gone, you were both panting, your lips swollen and your bodies thrumming with need. Ranpo's eyes were dark with desire, his gaze raking over you with a hunger that made you shiver.

"I think," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "that it's time for the real punishment to begin."

The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and you could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath his clothes. Ranpo's arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as he nuzzled your neck, his breath tickling your skin and sending shivers down your spine.

"Now, here's what's going to happen," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "You're going to finish all of my paperwork for me, as punishment for eating my precious truffle."

Your eyes widened, a protest forming on your lips at the thought of taking on such a daunting task. But before you could voice your objections, Ranpo silenced you with a quick kiss, his lips firm and insistent against yours.

"And while you're working," he continued, his voice low and teasing as he pulled away, "I'm going to indulge in some of my other sweets. I think I've earned it, don't you?"

With that, Ranpo reached for a nearby jar of colorful candies, popping one into his mouth with a satisfied hum. You watched, transfixed, as he savored the sweet, his tongue darting out to lick his lips in a way that made your mouth go dry.

Shaking yourself from your daze, you turned to face the stack of papers on Ranpo's desk. The task seemed even more daunting now that you were perched on his lap, his body a constant distraction that threatened to derail your focus. With a sigh of resignation, you picked up a pen and began to work, trying to ignore the way Ranpo's arms tightened around your waist, holding you close.

As you worked, Ranpo continued to indulge in his sweets, occasionally offering you a taste. His fingers would brush against your lips as he fed you a candy or a piece of chocolate, the intimacy of the gesture making your heart race. The sugary treats melted on your tongue, mingling with the taste of Ranpo's earlier kiss and creating a heady combination that made your head spin.

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself getting lost in the work, your pen scratching against the paper as you filled out form after form. Ranpo's hands began to wander, his fingers tracing teasing patterns on your skin through the fabric of your clothes. The very prominent bulge twitching beneath you making it harder and harder to concentrate on the task at hand.

The longer you worked, the more Ranpo's touches grew bolder, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your stomach. He nuzzled your neck, his lips ghosting over your sensitive flesh and making you shiver. You bit your lip, determined to focus on the task at hand, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the growing ache between your legs.

As if sensing your growing frustration, Ranpo's hand began to drift lower, his fingers tracing the waistband of your panties before slipping beneath the fabric. You gasped as his fingers brushed against your slick heat, and he chuckled, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

"Mmm, seems like someone's enjoying their punishment a little too much," he murmured, his fingers teasing your entrance and making you squirm.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to trap his hand, but Ranpo merely laughed, his fingers sliding deeper inside you. "Oh, no," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "That's not how this works, sweetheart. You're going to take everything I give you, and then some."

You groaned as he began to thrust his fingers in and out of you, the delicious friction making your head spin. "Ranpo," you breathed, your hips rocking against his hand as you sought more.

But Ranpo was relentless, his pace never faltering as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. His thumb found your clit, stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves with just enough pressure to drive you wild. Your breaths came in short gasps, and you arched against him, your spine creating a mesmerizing curve as you reached forward to grab onto the desk.

Just as you were about to tumble over the edge, Ranpo suddenly withdrew his fingers, leaving you trembling and aching with need. You whimpered, the loss of his touch almost unbearable, and you heard him chuckle again.

Then you heard the sound metal, Ranpo shifting you in his lap as he worked on his belt buckle. With a swift tug, his trousers were undone and the unmistakable feeling of his bare cock, hot and hard against the curve of your ass.

"Do you want more?" Ranpo's voice was thick with lust, his lips pressed against your ear. "All you have to do is ask."

You swallowed, the thought of begging for his cock making you burn with shame and arousal.

But the throbbing between your legs was too strong, and you found yourself giving in.

"Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I need you, Ranpo."

You felt his grin against your skin as his hand slid between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your soaked entrance. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low purr. "Now, why don't you warm my cock for me while you work. That's the real punishment, after all."

With a deft motion, he lifted your hips and sank you down onto his thick shaft. You let out a strangled moan as his cock stretched you open, filling you so completely that it took your breath away.

Ranpo settled back in his chair, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close. You were impaled on his cock, the fullness of him pressing against your inner walls and making your toes curl.

"There," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Now, you can get back to work."

Your hand shook as you picked up the pen, trying desperately to ignore the feeling of Ranpo's cock pulsing inside you. The ache between your legs was almost unbearable, and every movement made you more and more aware of the heat of his body, the scent of his skin, and the way his arms wrapped around you.

But still, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, your pen flying across the pages as you filled out form after form. Ranpo kept perfectly still, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin and his lips brushing against your neck.

Just as you were nearing the end of the stack of papers, the sound of footsteps and voices in the hallway outside the office made you freeze. Your heart leapt into your throat as you realized that the rest of the team was returning from their lunch break, and here you were, perched on Ranpo's lap like a stolen treat, with his cock, balls deep inside your cunt.

Ranpo, however, seemed unfazed by the impending arrival of your colleagues. If anything, the wicked gleam in his eyes only intensified, as if he relished the thought of being caught in such a compromising position. His hands continued their teasing exploration of your body, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your skirt to trace the sensitive skin of your thighs.

The door to the office swung open, and you felt the heat of embarrassment flood your cheeks as Yosano, Kunikida, and the others filed in. Their eyes widened as they took in the sight of you on Ranpo's lap, your skirt hiked up and your face flushed with a mix of desire and mortification.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Yosano drawled, a smirk playing on her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Looks like someone's been a naughty girl."

Kunikida, ever the professional, averted his gaze, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he cleared his throat. "Ranpo-san, this is hardly appropriate behavior for the office," he said, his voice stern despite his obvious discomfort.

Ranpo, however, seemed unfazed by the disapproval in Kunikida's tone. He merely tightened his arms around your waist, pulling you closer against him as he grinned up at his colleagues. "What can I say? She ate my truffle, and now she's paying the price."

The others exchanged glances, a mix of amusement and exasperation on their faces. They had long since grown accustomed to Ranpo's eccentricities, but this was a new level of boldness, even for him.

You squirmed in Ranpo's lap, your face burning with embarrassment as you tried to disentangle yourself from his embrace. But Ranpo held fast, his fingers digging into your hips as he kept you firmly in place.

"Now, now, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "You still have work to do. Be glad they can’t see how much your pussy is drooling all over my cock."

With that, he reached for another candy, popping it into his mouth with a satisfied hum. The others shook their heads, a mix of amusement and resignation on their faces as they settled into their own desks, pointedly avoiding looking in your direction.

You could feel their gazes on you, though, the weight of their curiosity and judgment making your skin prickle with self-consciousness. But Ranpo seemed oblivious to it all, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your thigh as if he were completely unconcerned with the eyes on the two of you.

You bit your lip, a fresh wave of heat flooding your cheeks as you picked up the pen once more. Your hand trembled, the ink flowing across the page in an unsteady scrawl.

But still, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand, determined to complete the paperwork and put an end to this torture. As the minutes ticked by, you could feel Ranpo's cock twitching inside you, his obvious arousal sending a thrill of excitement through you.

Just as you were nearing the end of the stack of papers, Ranpo's fingers found their way back between your thighs, teasing your sensitive clit and making you gasp.

"Keep working, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "We wouldn't want the others to think you're slacking off, would we?"

The others glanced up at the sound of your gasp, a mix of embarrassment and desire on their faces as they took in the sight of you, perched on Ranpo's lap and trembling with need. But no one dared to speak, and the only sounds in the office were the scratch of pens on paper and the low hum of the air conditioning.

As Ranpo's fingers continued their teasing exploration of your slick folds, your vision blurred, the words on the page swimming before your eyes. Your breathing grew ragged, and your hips began to rock involuntarily, desperate for more.

Ranpo's grip on your waist tightened, and he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Can't focus?" he asked, his voice low and taunting. "Maybe I should stop. After all, I wouldn't want to interfere with your punishment."

You felt a pang of disappointment at his words, but you knew better than to argue.

"Please," you whispered, your voice a desperate plea. "I need to finish this."

Ranpo smiled, his fingers never ceasing their teasing rhythm. "Then you'd better hurry up," he murmured. "Because if you don't finish soon, l'm going to take you right here, in front of everyone. And then they'll all know how much you enjoy being my naughty little thief."

His words sent a thrill of excitement through you, mingling with the shame and arousal that already burned in your veins. The thought of your colleagues watching as Ranpo fucked you was both mortifying and intoxicating, and the image of it made you even wetter.

Ranpo sensed your reaction, his lips curling into a wicked smile as he slid two fingers on either side of your swollen clit, pinching slowly and deliberately. "I bet they'd like that, wouldn't they?" he murmured, his voice a low purr. "To see how pretty you look when you come, how shamelessly you beg for more."

"Ranpo," you gasped, his words sending a surge of pleasure through you. You were so close, the tension coiled inside you ready to snap. "Please, I-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Ranpo's thumb pressed down hard on your clit, sending you spiraling over the edge. You cried out softly, slumping against the desk as your juices flowed out freely, dripping down the leather chair.

The others stared in disbelief, their faces flushed with embarrassment and arousal as they watched Ranpo slowly pull his fingers from your slick folds, an obscene amount of your juices now creating a puddle on the floor. He brought his hand to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfied smile.

"Mmm," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. "Just as delicious as I imagined. But there's one last thing we need to do."

Your heart raced in anticipation, your skin tingling as Ranpo's arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

"What's that?" you breathed, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body.

Ranpo grinned, his fingers trailing down your stomach to find the spot where his cock was still buried inside you. "I think it's time we showed the others just how much you love being my little truffle thief."

Without warning, he thrust up into you, his cock hitting your sweet spot and making you cry out. Your hands flew to the desk, gripping the edge as he pounded into you, his hips setting a punishing rhythm.

"Ranpo," you whimpered, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice strained with his own desire. "Show them how good it feels." Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you surrendered to the pleasure, your hips moving in time with his. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his arousal building with each stroke.

The sound of skin slapping skin echoed through the office, the scent of sex mingling with the familiar aroma of ink and paper. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you let yourself get lost in the sensation, the pressure building in your core until it finally snapped.

You came hard, your muscles clenching around Ranpo's cock and drawing a groan from his lips. Your juices flowed freely, soaking the chair beneath you as you trembled in his arms.

"That's it," Ranpo growled, his fingers digging into your skin as he rode out your orgasm. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come for me."

You shuddered, his words sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you.

The others watched in rapt attention, their own arousal obvious in their flushed cheeks and darkened eyes.

Ranpo's thrusts became erratic, and he buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. With a muffled groan, he came, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his seed.

The room was silent, save for the sound of your heavy breathing and the pounding of your heart in your ears. Your limbs felt boneless, and your head was spinning, the intensity of your release leaving you dazed and sated.

As Ranpo's cock began to soften, you felt a rush of shame and embarrassment, realizing that the others had witnessed everything. But as you glanced around the room, you were surprised to see a mix of admiration and lust on their faces, their eyes locked on the place where your bodies were still connected.

Ranpo pulled away slowly, his arms releasing their tight hold around your waist. He tucked himself back into his trousers, the fabric damp with your juices.

"There," he said, his voice a low, satisfied purr. "Now we're even."

Your eyes widened, your cheeks flushing as you realized that the pile of unfinished paperwork was still sitting on the desk in front of you.

Ranpo's smile widened, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "I'll finish the rest. But only because you're such a good girl."

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎyou think there's a ghost in the mansion⋆౨ৎ fem reader x coriolanus snow

The full moon was a haunting spotlight in the sky that Coriolanus would have beamed from the very grounds of the mansion if he was able, just so you could have something so pretty outside your window every night. Tonight it was so round that he hardly needed the light in his study. Every candle could be snuffed, every light clicked off, and he would still be able to see every word in front of him clear as day.

It had been a terribly long day- reports piled on his desk like looming mountains promising nothing but work in the near future. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair tiredly. Today had been so full, bursting at the seams, that he hadn’t even been able to have dinner with you, opting to take bites of meat and potatoes in between written sentences. It was an action he wasn’t happy with, having not seen you for the length of the day, except when he’d bent to kiss your hair when he left for work in the morning. It seemed a full day had passed without him seeing you in daylight.

Coriolanus pushed back his chair, the scuff of the legs against the floor beating into his tired mind. Somewhere inside he knew he wouldn’t produce work worth a penny in this state, but stubbornly he persisted. It was coming up on a year since he was elected President, and the pressure was squeezing at him like an invisible hand.

Truly he was glad for his position, given the sheer amount of work he’d put into getting here. But there were some things he missed. Namely, the amount of time he used to be able to spend with his wife. You were the one treasure no money could buy, surpassing even the most expensive in value. In you he loved, and that outweighed anything coated in gold.

Raising both hands to his eyes, Coriolanus rubbed at them, bowing his head. Maybe after he read the next file he’d retire for the night. Would it even be worth it to make the journey back to the bedroom where you were surely sleeping peacefully at this point? Perhaps he’d make a bed of the sofa in his study and resume his work in a few hours.

There was a sharp noise, and his head jolted up just in time to catch the ornate door to his study open and shut, a blur in a little pink nightdress rushing over and crashing into him, nearly sending his chair toppling backwards. Coriolanus caught you in his arms, holding the back of your head and using the other hand to rub your back.

Any notion of work was promptly abandoned. His wife was in distress and you needed him. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” His fingers rubbed gentle circles into your back, against the silk of your soft nightdress.

“I keep hearing noises,” you murmured shakily into his neck, where your face was buried. “Coryo…I think…mm…”

“What is it?” Coriolanus frowned, adjusting you to sit on his lap, bottom situated on one thigh, legs sheathed between his. “Tell me, darling.”

“It’s silly,” you pouted, folding your arms and peering up at him adorably.

“Tell me,” he insisted. Coriolanus kept an arm wrapped around your body, using the other hand to rub your thigh soothingly. “I won’t laugh.”

Shifting on his thigh, you lowered your face to his shoulder, letting your hair fall as if a curtain over your neck. “I think this house is haunted.”

Coriolanus couldn’t help the way his eyebrows raised. Your face fell immediately like a landslide, and he could feel you drawing away. “I knew you’d think it was silly-“

“No, no,” he quickly affirmed, squeezing your waist and stroking your side. To your credit, you were half right. He did think it was a little silly, but he also knew his wife. You were smart, sharp, and you wouldn’t have come to him like this if you weren’t completely sure. So he attempted to understand. “What did you hear? Or see?”

You softened a little. “There were footsteps. Heavy ones. And I thought I saw something in the bedroom…” a tiny shudder travelled through you, and he held you to him tighter. “It was scary, Coryo.”

“Sweetheart…” Coriolanus held you right to him, letting you bury your face in his shoulder. His hand settled at the back of your head as the wheels in his head spun.

What he wouldn’t tell you was that the previous owner had passed away in this very house. That servants had whispered about spirits walking the halls. And he certainly wouldn’t tell you that he himself had heard things once or twice, even thought he’d spotted the faint outline of a whispery pale shadow in the darkened room where the man had died.

Instead, he bent, sliding one arm under your knees and lifting you up as he stood, kissing your forehead when you gasped in surprise. There wouldn’t be any sleeping on the sofa for him tonight. It had been foolish to even consider.

Coriolanus carried you all the way to your bedroom, placing you gently down as one would a flower on a grave. He straightened, beginning to strip his own clothes away until he was comfortable enough to slide beneath the sheets with you, pulling them up around your shoulders. His arms became your cradle, and he petted a hand lightly down your hair until your eyes grew heavy.

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Coriolanus murmured, “I’m here. Nothing will bother my wife while I’ve got you.”

tagging @kellielovesmovies because <3

[luciferlightbringer]

Love In a Hopeless Place

Chapter 2

Here we are with chapter 2! Lucifer and reader meet, enjoy! xoxo, Dany :)

Chapter 1|Chapter 2|Chapter 3|Updated through Chapter 12 Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader

Word Count:5.2k (I'm so sorry, lol) CW: Trauma, panic, flashbacks, Smut(ish/mostly lead up), angst, comfort, sub/dom dynamics, prostitution, anxiety, depression

Lucifer was in his study working on another one of his many rubber duck creations when his phone started to buzz on the desk with a text message. He jumped a little with a small 'Ah!' at the vibration, and the duck flew out of his hands and into one of the many piles of ducks that filled the room.

"Shit, welp... not finding that one anytime soon", he said running his fingers through his hair while looking out at the sea of ducks, before turning his attention to his phone.

The preview of the text from his driver on the front screen read, "On our way back with our guest." Lucifer stared at the text, and his stomach immediately tightened with... excitement? Anxiety? Was he going to throw up- no he was fine... Right? Yes. No? Fuck. Why did this feel so scary?

Lucifer did not know what he we feeling, he just knew he only had a few minutes before his guest for the evening would arrive... and he had no idea what he was doing. Lucifer started pacing and pulling a little at his own hair, starting to stress and talk to himself.

"Should I have been preparing something? Maybe I should clean! No... wait I have people for that... M-maybe I should pick up some of the ducks? Why would I need to pick up the ducks? Maybe she would want to see the ducks? Lucifer, why would a prostitute want to see your stupid rubber ducks?!" Lucifer said as he paced back and forth on want little open floor space their was in the room, before he stopped, took a breath, and smoothed back his hair and tried to breathe.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm cool. I'm fine." he said as he rolled his shoulders and straightened his bowtie as he walks out of his study and back down the hall to his room. "I'm the King of Hell, and I'm the customer. Who cares? I'm sure girls all over Hell would be dying for the chance to take care of and service me. She is the lucky one here that I even get to grace her presence!" He stopped in front of the mirror in his room, popping on his hat and grabbing his cane before posing in the mirror and flashing a toothy grin at himself.

Lucifer looks over his own reflection in the mirror, and the longer he stared, the more his smile faded and his shoulders slumped. He wrapped his arms around himself in a half self-hug, "So then... why do I feel like... such a loser?"

______________________________________________________________

The car soon pulls up to a big beautiful manor and parks, the driver gets out and comes to open your door, offering you a hand to help you out.

"Thank you," you say with a sweet and flirty smile as you grab the man's hand and step out of the car. You try hard to hold your confident expression and stifle your surprise as you get out and see your new surroundings, looking around admiring the beauty. Your normal cantor you use with most clients suddenly feels like it might be inappropriate here, so you hold your tongue.

Internally, though, your thought process runs wild, 'Whoa, wait, what the fuck? I've worked for some high rollers before, but this... this feels like its on an entirely different level.... Who the fuck is this guy?'

The driver breaks your slight panic as he gestures for you to follow him. You are escorted up the front steps and into the front entry way past the giant ornate front doors. In the front room off to one side were a few red chairs and a couch with gold trim, all centered around a white marble coffee table. The driver gestures towards the seating, "Please, have a seat while I inform your host that you have arrived."

You curtsy in respond because you were starting to feel like that was the right response for this type of place, and watch as the man turned and started to walk down the hallway. You go to sit on one end of the red couch, damn it was a nice couch, and you start to look at the room around you. You're inner voice continuing with the general track of 'What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? How is this place even bigger and nicer on the inside?!' playing in your head.

Who could this be? This guy is crazy well off, seems to like red, white, and gold, it was everywhere in the decorations. Also he... had good taste in decorations. It looked way nicer here than anywhere else you had ever seen in hell. Not just because of the amount of money in the place, but also because of how the design felt. It almost felt like a slightly edgier version of what you would expect buildings to look like in heaven. Lots of little details and motifs in the crowning on the walls and art around the manor. Lots of stuff like apples, snakes, little things that looked like angel wings-

Your thought process freezes as the puzzles start to fall together into an answer.

Wait.

Apples?

Snakes?!

ANGEL WINGS?!

You start to shake a little and fidget with your dress a little. You may have not been in hell long, but there were some things you pick up on quickly, even in new places. 'There is noooo way. That's impossible. Right? Where were other people who are known for that symbology... right... Who else in hell...? Maybe it's someone you just don't know? Uhhhh.... Oh! Wasn't he married? Well... that doesn't mean anything half of the time, you've fucked married guys. More importantly, if this is who I think it is... what would the LITERAL KING OF HELL, need a call girl for? No, there is no way it could be him, that would be stupid...'

Then, you hear a cane start to tap down the hallway, and time feels like it slows down. You turn to look in the direction of the sound, and down the long manor hallway, you can make out the unmistakable features of Lucifer, the fallen angel, the King of Hell himself, followed by his driver. You feel your skin grow hot and your heart rate pick up as you swallow hard, watching him approach.

He was... much softer looking than you expected. Many of the angelic features were still present, pale near-white skin, golden blonde hair, soft facial features, and they mixed in well with his more demonic features, red and gold eyes, sharp grin, and dark ashy claws that held his signature apple cane. You'd seen his face on magazines and maybe once on tv, but now upon seeing him in the flesh, you realize that pure imagines didn't seen do him any justice.

You realize you have less than a few seconds to calm yourself and get ready to make a first impression. You take a deep breath, let it out, straighten yourself in your seat and think, 'He's just another client, that's all I need to focus on. My goal is to fulfill his wishes'.

As he gets a few feet closer you stand, and curtsy with a confident smile on your face. "Your majesty, what an unexpected surprise this is. Oh, I apologize, I mean... Lance."

Lucifer responds with a hearty chuckle before putting up a hand, "No need for formalities or code names here. Just Lucifer is fine. You must be (y/n)?" he says as he starts to examine the woman in front of him up and down.

You straighten up from your curtsy and place a hand on a slightly popped hip as you look at Lucifer, "I am, and I am honored to be serving you tonight."

The driver comes up and asks for your coat. You slip it off as elegantly as you can, fully aware that your show for Lucifer had already begun, and handed it to the driver. He tells you where he will be when you and the master have concluded your visit for the evening, puts up your coat in a nearby closet, and walks into another room close to the main door, and closes the door behind him.

Lucifer watched the sultry way you slipped off your jacket, and the alluring dress that was revealed from beneath it. Simple, black, sleeveless, a v shaped neck line that showed the perfect amount of cleavage, hugged your body in all the right places, and also allowed for a long slit that showed off plenty of the soft skin of your leg. The woman before him was beautiful, but in a way he didn't expect. Not in a "porn star, big boobs, stereotypical bimbo" kind of way, but in a soft... normal kind of way. It made him feel a little calmer in a way. A couple new emotions started to join the mixture that swirled in his stomach, curiosity, amusement... lust... Nothing had even happened yet, and Lucifer could already start to feel heat start to rise around his collar.

You and Lucifer where now completely alone in the main area of the manor.

You turn back to see Lucifer eyeing you. You smile.

"You like what you see, Lucifer?" you purr as you take a few steps towards him.

Lucifer shifts a little as he stands as his cheeks tint pink, feeling almost guilty for being caught staring, before remembering he was allowed to, "Oh uh... y-yes. Yes, I do." He says, returning to his curated confident grin.

You giggle, stepping closer and offering your right hand to him, which he takes with his right hand, "I am yours for the night to use as you see fit" you say with a sly flirty smile.

'Fuck, I hope this is coming off ok', you think to yourself.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,' Lucifer thinks, trying to will his cheeks into not turning a darker shade of pink, 'Oh she is VERY good, and I am very out of practice.'

Lucifer returns the sly smile, "Oh I intend to." he says looking you up and down again as he kisses your hand.

'Fuck, he is good', you think at the same time.

Lucifer continues to hold your hand as he turns in closer to your right side, looping your hand under his left arm so that you and now holding it, and he looks at you with a "Shall we then?" before he starts to escort you further into the manor.

As you start to walk through the manor with Lucifer, this is when you really notice how he was a bit shorter than you expected, especially with the heels you were wearing. Nothing wrong with that, just not something you expected. He was a cutie, and you were excited that you were going to be able to help make him feel good that night. Honored even.

Lucifer felt transfixed by every inch of sensory that came from being in contact with you, the way your hand held onto the sleeve of his jacket, the way you would shift against him as you walked, the smell of your perfume, it was borderline intoxicating. His brain was running a million miles a minute between your touch, smell, what he would say next, what would happen when you both got to his room, how he wanted to keep himself from turning into the room and immediately pouncing on you. He felt like he might lose his mind.

All you could see of Lucifer was a sly grin and a confident walk towards his room.

The two of you entered Lucifer's large bedroom and you let go of his arm so that he could go to close the door behind you. He put down his cane, and started to undo the clasps of his suit jacket. You walked up behind Lucifer as he finished the clasps, slid your hands over his shoulders, hooking your fingers under the collar.

"May I?" you cooed softly in his ear.

He gulped and nodded as you glided it off his shoulders and down his arms, trying as best you can you make sure your fingers made contact with his arms as much as possible.

Lucifer had to fight a soft moan from escaping his throat at your touch. You deviously smiled to yourself behind Lucifer at the sound of his stifled moan as you took the jacket and carefully hung the jacket off the side of his mirror. You turned back around to see Lucifer taking off his hat and setting it down on a nearby surface, trying hard tame the hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, a visible bulge starting to form in his pants.

Seeing the King of Hell's eyes hunger for you gave you a devious idea to try. 'I wonder what role he likes to play?' you think to yourself.

You chuckle, and start to walk a circle around Lucifer, eyeing him back as if he was your prey, which makes Lucifer swallow hard again and make him lose a little of his edge, less of a dominant energy and leaning more submissive as he watched you circle him.

'Interesting', you think.

"Tell me. Do you prefer to lead, or follow?" you ask with a coy smile.

Lucifer thought for a moment, what did he usually do with Lili- errr... in the past? He liked not having to think. Not having to lead would be really fucking nice actually.

"Follow", Lucifer said in a soft tone. This didn't surprise you, most powerful men wanted a break from it in the bedroom, from your experience. Getting to order Lucifer around was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and it got you excited just thinking about it.

You gave Lucifer a wicked smile before slinking up to him, softly grabbing his chin, getting your face very close to his before whispering, "Boots off. On the bed. Now."

Lucifer's heart beat started to pound in his ears as he took a moment as he processed the words, a shiver of pleasure jolting through his body, before quickly moving to throw off his boots and crawl onto his bed. He knew nothing in the moment beyond following your command. Lucifer got into place and then looked over at you, waiting for your next order for him.

'Fuck that was hot' he thought as he felt the heat spread across his chest.

You look towards Lucifer, turning you body to face him in his new position on the bed. You smirk and start to slowly slink towards him, making sure to roll your hips with every step to emphasize your curves, staring at him with your own hunger eyes.

Lucifer sat, transfixed by the way your hips swayed from side to side, the way your eyes felt like they were burning into his soul, his cheeks burning read. No thoughts existed in his head at that moment besides the thought of your curves coming towards him and the way that his cock throbbed for you in his pants.

You sat yourself on the end of his bed and kicked up your right leg over the other to unbuckle the clasp on one of your heels, making sure to position yourself so that Lucifer could see more of your leg through the slit in your dress and so that you cleavage showed more prominently from the V-neckline. You look up at him through your eyelashes to see him tremble a little, his breathing starting to labor. Oh lord, you could see just how much he needed this, and that excited you even more.

You finished unclipping your heel and you let it drop to the floor with a light clatter. You straightened up and looked over your shoulder at Lucifer, "Does my good boy want to help me with my other shoe?"

Lucifer gave a little whimper and bit his lip a little as he gave you an enthusiastic nod. He was so cute and desperate, if his tail was out it would probably be wagging.

You move a little closer and kicked your left leg up onto his lap and propped yourself up to watch his work, giving him a quick cheeky look of 'Well? Get to it!'

Lucifer took a few moments to look at the red heel that was connected to the gorgeous leg that now sat in his lap. Lucifer took a breath, and then with trembling hands worked to try undoing the clasp of the shoe. It took a little longer than it took you, but he eventually got the clasp undone and let the shoe slide off the bed to the ground. Lucifer took the opportunity to slowly slide one of his hands up your leg, up to the hem of your dress, and back down in admiration. Holy hell, her skin was so soft and beautiful.

You closed your eyes and hummed softly as you soaked in the sensation of his touch on your skin, "What a good boy you are, Lucifer." You cooed, removing your leg away from his reach. He looked sad for a moment, but it would not be for long. You hooked a leg over his body and got up onto the bed, now straddling his thighs.

A surprised breathy moan escaped Lucifer's lips as you moved onto his lap and he started to dig his claws into his sheets on either side of his body.

You chuckle again before you look down at him from your new position. You had never felt more power than you did right at that moment, and it was beautiful. Seeing the King of Hell under you, desperate for your next command or touch... now that was dangerous.

As Lucifer laid under you, defenseless and breathing heavily, he released his claws from the sheets and lightly picked up the edge of the skirt of your dress on either side of you and held them softly in his hands.

"M-may I?" he asked with pleading eyes, lifting the skirt up a little to show his intensions to remove your dress.

You cross your arms and put a finger up to your cheek in an action pretending to think about, making Lucifer wait.

"P-please?" he said after several seconds, sense of urgency in his voice.

You dropped the act and smirked down at him with a pleased smile and nodded. Lucifer excitedly, but carefully worked to pull the dress off of you and tossed it onto the ground to join your shoes. Lucifer now looked at you and you saw his eyes turn from soft desperation back into a deep animalistic hunger as they raked lustfully down the new view of your body.

You sat proud of yourself as you sat straddled across Lucifer's thighs wearing a deep sapphire blue lacy bra and a matching blue thong that, frankly, served no purpose other than to be something to be ripped off of you.

Lucifer softly ran his claws up your thighs, up your hips, across your abdomen, over your breasts, up your collar bone, other your shoulders, down your arms, and down you your hands, taking in every inch of your body that he could see in that moment. You tip your head back and allow long moan to escape you as his hands glide across your body, soft but electric and hot.

You tip your head back down to look at Lucifer, his hands in yours. You release his hands and start to slide you hands up his chest to his bowtie.

"Alright, baby, your turn," you coo, starting to undo his bowtie. Lucifer began to shake and breath heavily under your touch. You toss the bowtie to the ground, slowly undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, exposing his soft pale neck. You nuzzle your face into his neck and plant your first soft kiss on his neck.

Lucifer responds to the contact with a deep and long moan, he almost couldn't take any more of this torturous, slow teasing. And yet he also felt like he couldn't get enough of it. He felt energetic and alive for the first time in what felt like forever, it was pure bliss. He never wanted it to stop.

You giggle again at his response, and continue to unbutton the remaining buttons down his shirt. You lean down to look into Lucifer's eyes and say "Now Lucifer, I want you to tell me something."

He looks up at you with shiny, lust filled eyes, "Yes?"

"Tell me... what is it that you truly desire?" you say with a smirk, as you continue work on his buttons.

Lucifer thinks for a few seconds, thinking about all of the sexy, blissful ideas he wants to tell you and then... for some reason... he turns his head to the side of his bed... her side of the bed... all of the sound goes quiet, the room starts to go blurry, everything starts to shake, and then...

It all goes dark.

____________________________________________________________

He no longer feels like he is in his bedroom, its just him... and Lilith... looking at him with her bright smile, before the smile fades, and she turns to walk away into the darkness. Then it's Charlie... happily giggling on his lap, small, clapping at his stories, before Lilith picks her up off his lap and walks out of the room with her. It's his old workshop in heaven full of his wonderful dreams and creations, now a dark red room full of endless piles of ducks. It's giving the apple to Eve, then standing in an arena of the Heavenly Council, and then the deep long fall into hell, watching his hands pale hands turn to claws, watching the white feathers of his transform to turn a deep crimson, his halo shatter into space and long red horns grow in its place on his head before he crashes to the surface of a newly created Hell.

What does he desire? What does he TRULY DESIRE?! He wants back everything he has ever lost! He wants to know why everyone has cast him away and abandon him. He wants to know why everyone had to think his dreams were so fucking dangerous. He wants to remember what it was like to not hate himself so much!

Lucifer pulled at his hair and screamed into the void of his mind as he fell to his knees and cried.

______________________________________________________________

From your perspective, you ask your question, Lucifer's eyes go from full of life and lust to empty, his head tips to the side, and they start to fill with panic as he start to hyperventilate.

You drop your current persona and start to assess the situation. You quickly move off of Lucifer and go to his side instead.

"Lucifer?" No response. "Lucifer? Talk to me, what do you need?"

Something in your voice makes Lucifer snap back from his dissociative nightmare land, but he continues to hyperventilate.

'Fuck! Think! Didn't you learn something about this on earth? '

You think for a minute, shaking your hands as you look around the room, at him, trying to think. You softly take his hand and start gently rubbing the back of it with your thumb. Lucifer snaps to look at you, so quickly, it almost startles you.

"Hey," you say with the calmest and warmest smile you can muster, "I'm here, you are ok. You are safe here with me." Lucifer continues to look at you with panic in his eyes, but with recognition there too.

"I'm a friend, you are at your house, in your bed... in... hell. Uhh... you are in the Pride ring... Nothing is going to hurt you here, you are safe," you continue to say as you continue to rub the back of his had. If you had said half of that sentence back on Earth, it would have probably made things worse, but here... hopefully it would be more grounding.

Slowly, Lucifer breathing slows its pace and he looks around the room more. You look around the room and see a cup on a nearby table.

After waiting a few more minute, you ask, "Do you want any water?" Lucifer thinks for a briefly about your question, and nods his head.

You squeeze his hand and say "I will be right back." You set down his hand, go to grab the cup, and run to the bathroom to fill it with water. You come back to Lucifer's side and give him the cup, Lucifer slowly starts to drink some water as his breathing continues to slow down to a normal rate.

After a few more minutes, he shakes his head.

"Hey," he says in a defeated tone.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" you say in a gentle voice, giving him your full and concerned attention.

He sighs, "Not great..." He was so scared, sad, angry, disappointed, full of guilt, shame.

You tip your head down in shame, "I... I'm so sorry." Lucifer looks over at you with a confused look. "I was reckless and I hurt you. Can you ever forgive me, your Highness?" Now it was you that was starting to shake a little.

Lucifer sighs, the guilt coming to the front the most out of all his current emotions. How could he explain to you just how wrong you were? But he could understand why you would think that. In his current state, he could only partly process how differently you now tended to him, how you looked at him. Almost like, you cared? That you were worried about him?

He gently put a hand on your head "Please, Lucifer is still fine, and this was not your fault, it.... it's complicated. I... thought I was ready for something like this, I was hoping I was. A small baby-step to moving forward, but no..." Lucifer tightened his left hand. "I'm not"

You looked up and his tightened hand, and for to first time noticed the gold band on his ring finger. This was not the anger and sadness of a happily married man, or even an unhappily married man, this was something... much more complicated.

You sat with Lucifer in mournful silence for what felt little forever, but it was probably not more than a few minutes.

Eventually, Lucifer sighed and broke the silence, "You should go..."

You looked up at Lucifer, whose head still hung in shame, his hand gripped tightly.

"Are you sure?" you ask softly.

Lucifer shrugged, "I'm not going to be much fun now, I don't think I'm cut out for this. Not yet anyway. Its me not you, trust me. You were amazing... it was fun while it lasted" He looked up at you with a weak smile, "You should try to enjoy the rest of your night while you can. No use letting and old sod like ruin your night."

You look down at your dress and shoes still on the floor, you sigh, pick up your dress and put it back on. You pick up your shoes and start to head to the door. You put your hand on the doorknob, prepared to open it, wish the King goodbye, and walk away... but you don't. You stand there for a second.. thinking.

Lucifer noticed you pause, and looks up at you. You turn back to meet his gaze, his face decorated in a look of half confusion, half sadness.

"May I offer one last thought?" you ask with calm confidence.

Lucifer tips his head in curiosity, "What is it?"

You take a couple step back towards him, "I wonder... I think... you had the right idea with searching for intimacy, connection, but maybe we started in the wrong direction."

Lucifer cocks an eyebrow, giving you a puzzled look, "I'm... not sure I follow."

You search again for the right words, "I mean like... uhhh... well... ok, when was the last time you just got a hug, not like a quick one, like one that made you feel cared about?"

Lucifer's body stiffened, then looked down and curled his legs close to his body, "It... its been... a long time."

You smile, and take another step towards Lucifer, and you open up your arms to him with a soft smile.

Lucifer looked up at you and perked up for a minute. Was she serious? Why did she continue to try? Why didn't she leave him to his own misery? She didn't need to care about his feelings right now... and yet... she did.

Lucifer slowly started to slide out of his bed, shirt still most of the way unbuttoned, hair all a mess, and started to walk over to you. When there was only a few feet left between the two of you, Lucifer paused, and then practically ran the rest of the way into your arms and wrapped himself around your waist, as you return the embrace.

You stand there, hugging him for a minute, 2 minutes, 5 minutes, 10 minutes, and after the first few minutes, you feel Lucifer start to shake in your arms as he started to cry. Lucifer tightened his embrace around you the harder he cried, burying his face in your shoulder. At one point he tries to wail out an apology, but you just shush him and let him continue to cry as you rubbed his back.

After about a half hour of him crying in your embrace, you ask him if he wants to continue standing there or if he wants to sit down. In response, Lucifer releases his arms from you waist and reaches up to wrap his arms around you neck instead. You adjust and decide to just go for it and pick him up, carrying him over to his bed. You sit in his bed with him hugging you around your neck as you hold him in your lap.

Lucifer could not stop the tears that flowed from his face, he didn't remember the last time he had cried this much, cried this hard. And for some reason, in your arms, he didn't care. The tears felt good. Liberating.

You don't know how much time passes, but slowly his crying starts to get quieter and quieter, turning to sniffles, until you realize that the King of Hell had just fallen asleep in your arms.

You carefully move to get up at set him down in his bed without waking him up, and you tuck him into his bed. Before you leave the room, you quickly find a piece of paper and pen, and write out a quick note. You leave the note on his side table before grabbing your shoes, turning off the light, and giving him one last look before closing the door.

You make your way back down the long manor hallway, back to where the driver said he would be, and you let him know your visit was over. You grab your coat, put on your shoes, took one last look at the beautiful inside of the manor, and walked out to the car with the driver.

Who knows if you would be back here again, but it sure was interesting while it lasted.

______________________________________________________________

Chapter 3 is in the works! Let me know if you want added to a tag list <3

[busy-baker]

Sending the Astarion x reader thing where reader gets him a mirror backed with something other than silver so he can finally see himself!!

It would be so fluffy and sweet, finally being able to style his hair properly and admire himself 😔😔

(I wanna give him a lil kiss kiss on his entire face <33)

Oh this will be fun! @roguishcat is also doing this prompt so it will be interesting to see our differences! ☺️

GN!reader x Astarion

Your hand swiped a torn cloth on the reflective surface in front of you. You dug into every crevice of the ornately carved wood surrounding it. You refused to leave even a speck of dust behind.

For nearly a year, you had perused through the market, searching for someone to handcraft what you had in mind. It couldn’t be too small but not too gargantuan so it would fit in the bedroom. It needed to be grand and eye catching but still fit in with the decor of your home. Nothing too gaudy but be the only one of its kind.

Your search ended with a satisfied smile and considerably less gold in your pocket, but it was all worth it. Six months and many dodged questions later, your gift survived transportation and now rested against your bedroom wall, waiting for your love to return.

For centuries, Astarion had suffered without the ability to see himself. With silver backed mirrors and his vampiric curse, his appearance was lost to him. There had been portraits commissioned and hours spent telling him how beautiful he was, but none of that held a candle to possibly seeing his true form looking back at him and copying his movements.

The times had shifted though. The modern age had begun anew and with that came aluminum. Cheaper, plentiful, and as far as you knew, wasn’t on the list of vampiric weaknesses. An aluminum backed mirror was a chance you were willing to take. Anything for Astarion to glimpse at himself once again.

Over the years, he had stopped glancing when passing by in clothing shops or peering behind you as you fiddled with your own hair during the morning. It was a lost cause. You could only hope this time it wouldn’t be.

Hours ticked by as you anxiously waited. You paced across your wooden floors, read several chapters of a novel, and shifted the mirror to different areas more times than you could count. Your fingers twisted together as your nervousness increased. It was agonizing to wait for so long.

Just as you were about to give up and toss a cover over the gift, the front door creaked open. You quickly and quietly went to the chair at your desk, sitting and appearing busy with a pencil and paper.

“Darling?” Astarion called to you.

“I-I’m in the bedroom, my love!” You cursed yourself for stuttering. You sucked in a breath to calm your racing heart.

His footsteps approached, the soles of his shoes tapping rhythmically across the floor.

You looked up as he leaned in the doorway. His jacket was tossed over his shoulder and tie was loosened, a few buttons undone to reveal his chest.

He sauntered in and went to you, a gentle kiss placed on your forehead as you turned to face him. He was blocking the view of the mirror. You tried to subtly shift to see behind him but there was no way of doing so without him noticing.

“How was your evening, my sweet?”

“Oh, uneventful,” you lied. “How were your clients today?”

“Picky, as usual.” He shifted away and your eyes darted to the mirror.

A gasp left your lips. It was only a piece but you caught sight of a few silver curls as he walked by. It worked. It had well and truly worked.

Tears began to brim and spill down your cheeks. You sniffled and swiped at your face with your palms. Astarion’s head turned to you from where he sat on the bed, removing his shoes. His eyebrows furrowed and he stood, going to you and crouching by your legs. His pallid hands came up and grasped yours.

“What’s brought this on? Has something happened today?” He asked, thumbs caressing your knuckles.

You shook your head, letting the emotion flow through you. You slid from the chair and dropped to your knees in front of him, pulling him into an embrace. Your head leaned on his shoulder, watching in the mirror as your tear stained cheek rested on the fabric of his shirt.

He was fully there, arms wrapped around you. His hands clutched at your back and eyes closed as he soothed you.

“Darling, please tell me what’s wrong?”

You pulled back and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Your hands came up to his face and you leaned your forehead to his. Crimson eyes met yours and more tears fell as you thought about him seeing his own eyes for the first time.

“Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all,” you told him. “In fact, everything in this moment is perfectly right.”

“What do you-”

His words stopped as the hands that held his face gently turned his head and he saw the mirror, reflecting him back in all his glory.

He stared for several minutes, quietly observing and then he looked back to you.

“Do you…I mean, would you mind if I…”

“Go ahead, my love. It’s all yours.”

You watched as he pushed up from the floor and hesitantly stepped towards the mirror. His hands reached out. They traced along the frame at first, following the intricate details of peacocks and vines. Then, they grazed over the surface, as if he could reach in and touch himself. He left faint fingerprints where you had spent so much time meticulously cleaning, but it didn’t matter. He could smear his hands over it as much as he liked. It was his.

His hands touched everywhere. His felt the softness of his curls, the fine lines of his face, the broadness of his shoulders. He opened his mouth, tilting left and right while he poked at his fangs. His fingers pulled down his eyelids. He was lost in the pools of red that followed his every move.

You sat in silence. You knew it would take him some time. You wanted him to observe every detail of himself that you had the luxury of many, many years of memorizing.

After almost an hour, he turned to you. You waited for him to speak, but instead he rushed to you. You were pulled up and his lips crushed to yours. His fingers wound in your hair and you grabbed onto his forearms for support.

You were both breathless when he pulled away. His smile was wide and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“How? Is that why you’ve been so secretive?” He asked, a silver brow raising.

“It’s made with aluminum instead of silver,” you said and then playfully poked his chest. “And yes! I know how nosy you can be! It wasn’t easy holding that in for so long!”

He kissed you again. A finger came up to tap your nose. “You clever little thing.”

You beamed with pride at him. A sense of relief washed over you, knowing that he now had something that he once thought would be lost forever.

“Do you believe your beautiful now?”

Astarion waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I already know I am, but it doesn’t hurt to have solid proof.”

“Well, what would you like to do now since you’re finished fawning over yourself?”

He yanked you closer to him, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. His mouth dipped close to your ear, a smirk gracing his lips.

“What do you say we move the mirror to the front of the bed and spend the rest of the night fawning over each other?”

You giggled at his request. It seemed like he wouldn’t be the only one enjoying his reflection for the night.

[strawberrystepmom]

neuvillette x fortune teller f!reader. semi established rapport/friendship, mutual pining, flirtation, references to astrology. / wc 2.1k, divider thanks to @enchanthings

The heavy door separating Neuvillette from the rest of Palais Mermonia opens up with a drag across the floor, grasping the attention of the man himself while he works at his desk. The sun is hardly visible through the window behind him, still making an arrival into this world and taking her time just as you have.

“Please forgive my tardiness.” You curtsy with as polite a smile as anyone could accomplish while stepping through the crack. “You know how particular Mona can be when discussing, well, anything at all.”

The judge laughs to himself, aware of the mage’s tendency to mumble and subsequently hold others captive to her ramblings. Shuffling papers between his hands, he settles on tapping the bottom edges of the documents against his desk to organize the stack. Placing it down, he casts a measured if not nearly warm smile in your direction and nods toward the set table that has been awaiting your arrival.

“It’s quite alright. Although if I may, I’d like to encourage you to remind her that your time is as valuable as hers in the future.”

Entering his office, you shut the door quietly behind you and nod in agreement with his sentiment. You’ve always been terrible at asserting yourself, especially if you get the sense that someone needs to be heard.

It’s always strange to be in a place so grand. When compared to your office back at the newspaper, scattered with books and half scribbled messages that your connection to the stars has given you to spread to others, this place becomes a museum. Despite the differences in standing and work environment both, you never feel out of place amongst the hanging portraits and the stacked gold spined books across the shelves.

The Iudex also rises, making his way around the ornate desk where he does most of his work and arriving at the small table set for two to pull out your chair and then his. Nodding appreciatively, you sit down and immediately begin preparing your tea. You set the pitcher of cream next to your saucer, tidying everything while he looks on fondly.

“I’ve already added two sugar cubes to your cup so proceed with caution,” he mentions offhandedly, watching you reach for the small bowl in the middle of the table containing a perfectly aligned pile of them.

The pair of you have been engaged in this dance for long enough that he has become very familiar with your tea and how it’s taken; two sugar cubes, the tiniest splash of cream, four shallow stirs and your spoon will always gently clang against the lip of the cup on the final one.

Pouring tea over the sugar, you tilt your head to watch it pour. Neuvillette watches you intently, refusing to move even an inch as he settles into his seat.

“Mona is more than aware of the one appointment I maintain yet insists upon making my mornings complex for reasons I have yet to discover,” you sigh theatrically, lower lip jutting out slightly. Neuvillette steals a glance at your mouth but averts his gaze quickly, reaching for the chalice sat in front of his place at the table to sip his water.

This buys him blissful time to consider his next move. Perhaps he’s too careful in his approach to you, insisting upon his life being unfit for romance to avoid confronting the truth about why his chest flutters when you peek your head around his door. He swears he smells your perfume if he shuts his eyes and sniffs deeply enough, your essence permeating every inch of his office and consciousness until he can hardly think.

These feelings are hardly something he can run from or face head on. He’s caught in a trap made of his own desire for your company but at the same time finds himself haunted by the very real notion that his feelings may not even be shared.

“Then it’s paramount that we begin enjoying the time we have together while we can, no?”

This is the sentiment he settles upon as he works through his internal struggle, giving you a practiced smile and placing his chalice down.

Noticing the slight change in his demeanor, you lift your cup and sip demurely, smiling against the lip as the promised sweetness covers your tongue.

How could one not smile at such a kindness? A man who is not indebted to you yet enjoys you enough to understand your desires is a rarity. You’d be foolish not to flutter your lashes at him ever so slightly while leaning forward and placing the cup back down on the table below, handle turned toward you.

“It’s wonderful that you are ready to begin because the stars have spoken and given me some excellent news for you, Iudex.”

The pearls adorning the collar of your gown create a lush sound as you move, one that Neuvillette has long come to associate with your presence. It’s similar to the comfort of rainfall but accentuated by your laughter which he has not heard enough of yet today.

How can a laugh chase away his loneliness yet send him spiraling into its depths at the same time? A puzzling situation to find himself in, to be sure.

In an effort to compose himself, he raises his brows and crosses his legs with one knee bent over the other.

“Is that so?” Thoughtfully humming, he drums his fingers against his impeccably well dressed thigh.

You sneak a glance at his thigh and the way his impeccably tailored pants stretch across it while leaning in to hook your finger around the handle of the teacup in front of you, sipping and nodding to play off your own lecherousness lest you be caught.

It’s not uncommon that you attempt to shroud your readings in mystery though he’s never quite sure if it’s in an effort to thrill or further confuse him. He has never been one to indulge in games unless it is for the enjoyment of another but there is a compulsion in him to play along with yours.

The effusive smile you’ll graciously bless him with when you leave as thanks for being allowed this indulgence will make it worth his while anyway.

“May I guess what they’ve said first?”

A slight lilt of amusement in his voice draws your attention back toward his handsome face, head tilted to the side playfully.

It’s impossible to deny such a kind and charming man a thing. You nod affirmatively with a giggle, leaning forward in your chair but taking pains not to place your elbows on the table, instead keeping them resting on your thighs with your hands linked together.

“Be my guest.”

Your light as a feather response draws an elegant laugh from the man. He has left you no choice but to hide your pleasure at being the one to make him laugh by drawing your shoulders inward, going against your body’s natural response to shimmy them in excitement.

The mere thought of being someone Neuvillette enjoys enough to smile with thrills you. You could do nothing but make him smile for a lifetime. You’d feel permanently satisfied draped across the chaise in his office with a story or a quip or a joke to uplift him. Anything to hear the laughter that stirs a storm inside of you.

Realizing you’re losing yourself in romantic notion rather than reality, you focus back on the task at hand. Being fortune told by the judge while you’re the judge of his telling, a strange bit of role reversal. Maybe he isn’t so stuffy after all. You’ll let your mind wander to that possibility later while you’re alone.

He clears his throat, shifting his face to admire you from the corner of his eye. You feel his gaze upon you and fix your posture, shoulders no longer drawn inward but rolled back, head held high and neck extended.

“I bel –” Eyes traveling down to your now very exposed neck and throat, he stumbles on his words. This leads him to stop himself and reach for his water.

Taking a quick sip and shooting you an apologetic glance, you hold up your hand to dismiss him and nod to encourage him to continue. Swallowing, he follows your example and straightens out his posture.

“I apologize for that.” You shake your head and smile at him, holding your hand up again. “As I was saying. I believe that the stars have foretold that I’m going to have a wonderful day and that great fortune will befall me, correct?”

Smiling, you shake your head and bite back another giggle. He’s so loose with his tongue when you’re around, your sense of humor clearly rubbing off on him at least the slightest bit. It gives you false hope that these meetings are actually as you’ve seen them which is a shared joy rather than strictly business.

“Not entirely inaccurate though if you begin telling your own fortunes I believe I may be out of a job.”

This is, of course, untrue. Your employment with The Steambird is as ironclad as your reputation for being as trustworthy as you are lovely. The man nods thoughtfully, his face shifting enough that you notice it and you decide to give in.

“Would you like to know what they truly told me about you?”

“Be my guest.”

He echoes your prior sentiment with a gracious smile on his face. Now looking at you head on, he nods in defiance of his concern about what is to come from your sweet lips.

How could something so desirable ever foretell calamity?

“The stars tell me that love is coming your way, monsieur.”

He must have spoken too soon. Calamity it is.

“Is that so?”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, leaning back into his chair in an effort to hide his distress.

It’s not that the notion of love itself is distressing, it’s unavoidable in every aspect of his life even in the justice that he doles out. It’s simply that it feels daunting to consider having to juggle the responsibilities of caring for another person, something he will never take lightly, with the existing extraordinary life that he has.

Considering what it would be like to love another thrills Neuvillette, against his better judgment. A less unapproachable part of him longs to hold and be held; to wake and sleep next to the same person every night. These meetings with you are the closest he’s ever come to a practical relationship.

The moment the true picture of how he views your gatherings enters his head, he visibly stiffens.

What if the love coming for him isn’t…you?

“Are you alright?”

He nods in response to your question, the slightly uncertain look on his face quickly replaced with his usual smile.

“Of course, mademoiselle. I have simply been caught off guard by the stars and their plans for me.”

Reaching for his water, he grips the stem of the chalice tightly in an attempt to ground and comfort his racing mind.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” you begin but you’re stopped when he raises his hand and extends it.

You follow his lead, offering your hand to him gingerly. He presses his fingers against the tips of yours and his thumb to your palm, closing the distance between the two of you slightly. This may not be the wisest choice but he’s following the flutter in his chest that only grows with each passing moment he spends gazing down at you, large eyes looking back up at him.

“You could only offend me if you stopped sharing your readings completely.”

The sentiment makes you smile, looking away to hide it. Warm cheeks that you feel from the inside out tell you everything you need to know about how it makes you feel to receive his reassurance and praise.

You’re in too deep.

“Excuse me, Iudex?”

The two of you turn toward the door when you hear a voice, that of an assistant coming to alert Neuvillette that it’s time for his next appointment. He carefully - tenderly - squeezes your hand while placing it down with a different kind of smile from his default across his face. You collect your hand back and place it in your lap, settling it beneath its twin so that you can rub the spot he just touched with your own thumb to memorize how it felt.

“Forgive me but I must go.” He rises and bows before you, making his way to the door slowly but not before stopping to look over his shoulder once.

“And do tell me if the stars speak any more on these developments.”

He meets your returned look, satisfied with the dazed expression on your face. You nod dumbly, struggling to find the words to form an actual response, watching him leave. The door shuts behind him, leaving you alone to gather yourself.

The stars may like to know about these developments themselves.

[luctus-flos]

⠀⠀ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ꒰ ⠀luctus flos ⠀˖︵ ⠀150+ follower event ⠀ ♱ ₊‧

⠀ ⠀. ༉‧₊˚. ends . . . october 20th ୭ 𓂋 ˚.  submissions to be entered under the tag: ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀'#luctus f105' ໒꒱

Simulated Universe: You enter a room and find a person sitting at their desk, glancing over various copies of what seems to be the same paper. There is the distinct smell of wax melting, and you can see variously shaped stamps, seemingly customized per each person corresponding to the letter. Simulated Universe: The person pauses and lifts their head up when you enter, and offers a warm smile. "Good day," they greet, "I apologize for the rather messy interior. I would have properly cleaned had I expected someone today... though, these letters must be distributed soon. I do hope you understand." Simulated Universe: You choose to ask what the letters are for. The person glances at one of the letters, than back at you. "Ah... it's an event I am hosting," The person picks up an envelope, and offers it out to you. "The event is to celebrate the amount of patrons I have received in my short time of opening this shop. A list of challenges, all holding different rewards... I as well shall extend an invitation to you to join." Simulated Universe: The envelope is packaged with care, and the stamp shows a flower in the middle. The wax itself is green, but the flower's outline has been decorated with an ornate gold. At the kind invitation, your hand reaches out.

chapter⠀I ⠀⠀✧⠀about the event

‧₊˚౨ৎ you have been cordially invited to join the 150 follower event of luctus flos. this event shall span for 5 weeks, and shall contain titled prompts per each week, in which editors of all backgrounds are invited to use these titles as inspirations for their creations. all types of edits are allowed, ranging from layouts to moodboards, and all are welcome to partake in the event, so long as they do not involve any relation to subjects on luctus flos' do not interact list, listed in their rentry for more information. the event, of course, will contain prizes for those at the end of the path, varying from placements, which shall be decided based on points. I kindly wish to see you at the event.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ꒰ ⠀with warmest regards and love, ⠀ ♱ ₊‧

chapter⠀II ⠀⠀✧⠀rules for the event

‧₊˚౨ৎ I do hope you understand, patron, that all things in life have their rules. this event will be of no exception; the rules, however, are quite simple; so do not fret.

i.┊if you meet the criteria of the 'do not interact' section listed in my rentry, I will be forced to retract my invite to you. thank you, and have a good day if such a rule applies to you. this rule as well applies to the media used in the event; if the media comes from harmful intent, you shall be disqualified without second thought.

ii.┊all edits are allowed in this event; do not feel as if you cannot participate simply because of what you edit; I shall accept all entries equally. as well as that, flags will be accepted as part of the event's allowed entries.

iii.┊every graphic submitted as an entry to this event should be of new creation; remember, patron, you have the week to create something new and beautiful, so do not fret or rush, as late submissions shall be accepted for up to a week after the week's prompt has passed.

iv.┊though the graphics will be measured based on points, do not fret; these points are not handed out purely on personal decision. these points are distributed based on met requirements, which shall be explained below.

chapter⠀III ⠀⠀✧⠀the points system

‧₊˚౨ৎ participants will be ranked by points earned per each edit; with each prompt offering challenges to go along with the prompt, harder challenges offering more points. each entry into the event shall default to +10 points, and more points can be added for each challenge completed. do not fret; submissions without added challenges will be equally as valued as those with. the amount of points per challenge shall vary, and will be listed next to the prompt of the week, and will be entirely optional, though will offer a way to earn more points, which will of course, push you up the leaderboard towards greater prizes, which I shall list below.

⋆.˚  first place shall receive ⠀˖︵ ⠀⠀a personalized layout for any preferred site + a png divider of choice, along with a fully customized logo  ༘ .˚ ⋆.˚  second place shall receive ⠀˖︵ ⠀⠀a personalized layout for any preferred site + a png divider of choice  ༘ .˚ ⋆.˚  third place shall receive ⠀˖︵ ⠀⠀a personalized layout for any preferred site  ༘ .˚

‧₊˚౨ৎ I do hope the prizes are of high enough quality for you, patron... and ah, I should specify- these prizes shall be personalized, and will not be posted for public use unless published only as a display image, and not as free to use graphics, in which I shall ask you for permission first to post the contents. I do hope you understand. and it seems now, with everything out of the way, I may speak of the prompts. they shall be posted weekly.

chapter⠀IV ⠀⠀✧⠀the prompts

‧₊˚౨ৎ each prompt shall correspond to a different week, and each will have an announcement post, which shall announce the beginning of the week, as well as the prompt's ideas. below, however, is a masterlist of all the prompts to come.

⋆𓊇ྀི ❛❛ week 1 . . . " a spring without you . " ❜❜ ₊⊹ entry + 10 points 𓆪ˊˎ˗

ৎ ˚⋅ optional challenges . . .  ˖⋆࿐໋ ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic while also including the color green .ᐟ + 3 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic without the usage of typical shapes [ex; stars, circles, etc.] .ᐟ + 5 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic with who you believe is a commonly mischaracterized character .ᐟ + 7 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⋆𓊇ྀི ❛❛ week 2 . . . " under blaring stage lights . " ₊⊹ entry + 10 points ❜❜ 𓆪ˊˎ˗

ৎ ˚⋅ optional challenges . . . ˖⋆࿐໋ ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic while also including the color brown .ᐟ + 3 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic without using the color red .ᐟ + 5 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic with an actor character of some sort .ᐟ + 7 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⋆𓊇ྀི ❛❛ week 3 . . . " a taste of nostalgic soda . " ₊⊹ entry + 10 points ❜❜ 𓆪ˊˎ˗

ৎ ˚⋅ optional challenges . . . ˖⋆࿐໋ ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic while also including the color pink .ᐟ + 3 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic without using any type of lace in the edit .ᐟ + 5 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic with two characters who are no longer friends .ᐟ + 7 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⋆𓊇ྀི ❛❛ week 4 . . . " the sea of our shared dreams . " ₊⊹ entry + 10 points ❜❜ 𓆪ˊˎ˗

ৎ ˚⋅ optional challenges . . . ˖⋆࿐໋ ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic while also including two colors of choice .ᐟ + 3 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic without using any assortment of flowers .ᐟ + 5 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic using two characters who could be described as 'soulmates' .ᐟ + 7 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⋆𓊇ྀི ❛❛ week 5 . . . " the clock, eventually, strikes 12 . " ₊⊹ entry + 10 points ❜❜ 𓆪ˊˎ˗

ৎ ˚⋅ optional challenges . . . ˖⋆࿐໋ ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic while also including the color purple .ᐟ + 3 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic without using any type of tied bows .ᐟ + 5 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ˖ ° ʚ create this graphic using a character who has large ambitions and dreams .ᐟ + 7 points ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

chapter⠀V ⠀⠀✧⠀promotions

‧₊˚౨ৎ now that the rules have been laid out... I do hope you do not mind some tags to properly share this event around to people interested. if you are included in this tag list and wish to be removed, do feel free to inform me of such. may you have a good day, and to those joining my event, I do wish you the best of luck.

@frilliette @s-sanite @vvincian @sealody @ipcventurine @necroangelz @llocket @egoismn @apersonbutmad @ubelaces @saeriji @alanangel @moskalsbluntrotation @softlovr @fyodorhouse @unknown-till @n-arcette @rookmeo @greatgeneral @drblacula @kyubao @nomkiwi @inyuoka @lovesick-level-up @ethereabun @ic-n @fashlace @valenhrt @scr-be @yukiexpress @creepysp4ghetti @matchascent @versatilityyy @c-lumbina @pinkidol @dollrelicz

[section-chief-prentiss]

'tis the damn season

Summary: You bring a fake date to make your ex-girlfriend, Emily, jealous at your high school reunion. But you’re taken by surprise to learn that she did exactly the same thing. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader, JJ/Will LaMontagne 

Word Count: 2669

Ao3

You stood in front of your bed, where half a dozen dresses lay, scrutinizing your options. You weren’t sure how long you stood like that, half-naked, hands on your hips, but a knock at the door pulled you out of your indecision.

You’d tried on each dress countless times, and none of them felt right. But they were the only options you had.

You wanted to look amazing—no, better than amazing, stunning—when you reunited with your ex-girlfriend, Emily, at your class reunion tonight. You started dating not long after Emily transferred to your high school during your junior year, and your relationship lasted almost all the way through college. When neither of you was sure what your future laid for you, it seemed easier to figure it out apart.

And you hadn’t spoken since.

You hadn’t wanted to come to your reunion at all, but your friend, Wren, was in charge of organizing it, and you asked her to let you know if Emily RSVP’d. Shortly after she did, you did the same.

You threw on the black, lacy dress—black was always safe, you figured—before grabbing your heels and rushing to let in your date for the evening. 

You opened your door to find Will LaMontagne, his dark hair styled and light eyes sparkling. He was dressed in a bright blue button-down and slacks, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Come on in,” you said, stepping aside. “You look great.”

“So do you,” he drawled in his thick, New Orleans accent. “Your sister said this color blue would… bring out your eyes?”

The earnest confusion in his voice earned a genuine laugh from you. Will’s brother and your sister had gotten married last year, and ever since they got engaged, they kept pushing you and Will together, hoping that you’d fall in love.

While neither of you felt that way about each other, you had found a best friend in Will. A confidante.

So when you needed a fake date for your ten-year high school reunion, he offered freely.

“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” you said, for what was probably the hundredth time. “High school reunions are a drag under the best of circumstances.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he joked. “Plus, I do get something out of it. We get to tell our siblings we gave it a real shot. Maybe after this, they’ll leave us alone.”

The other deception of the night, aside from Will pretending to be your boyfriend to make your ex jealous, was telling your siblings this was a date. At the end of the night, you’d tell them you were better off as friends and hope they finally left you both alone.

“I brought a tie,” Will said, taking a patterned blue tie out of his pocket. “Is this a tie event?”

You stuck your tongue out in a disgusted face, which earned a laugh from Will. “I didn’t think so, but I didn’t go to my high school reunion, so I wanted to be sure.”

“Don’t change a thing,” you said, reaching for your purse. You were equal parts itching to get out the door and hoping you didn’t arrive too early. 

“Should we go?” Will asked, sensing your nerves.

You smiled gratefully. “Please.” 

***

A silver lining to the evening was that the reunion wouldn’t take place at your actual high school. Instead, Wren and the rest of the planning committee rented out the ballroom at The Plaza downtown, a hotel you’d always been curious to see the inside of. 

The lobby itself had your jaw on the floor. An ornate crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Below it, on the floor, was a sparkling fountain. Gold pillars plunged from the floor to the ceiling, and the perfectly placed white and gold couches and chairs felt too pretty to sit on. Against the far wall were the check-in desks, with perfectly maintained attendants standing behind them. 

“This place is too fancy for me,” you murmured.

Will chuckled. “Fake it ‘til you make it.”

A sign posted near an adjoining hallway pointed toward a room you couldn’t see, with Roosevelt High School Reunion written across it.

“Must be this way,” Will said.

“Your detective skills tell you that?” You joked.

Ignoring the jab, Will led you down the hall and toward the ballroom, music already floating out to meet you. You smiled, recognizing it as one of Wren’s favorites, and wondered how much of her influence you’d hear in the music tonight.

You were pleasantly surprised to find the ballroom relatively crowded when you entered. Decorations with your school’s colors—royal blue and silver—draped from the ceiling, colored the tablecloths, and reflected in the centerpieces, but it wasn’t over-the-top. You had to admit it—you were impressed. 

“You made it!” A familiar voice trilled.

You turned to find Wren, dressed in a vibrant pink dress, scampering toward you, arms out to embrace you. You opened your arms just in time to receive her and held her tight.

“Wren, this place looks incredible,” you gushed.

When she pulled away, she was blushing. “Well, thanks, doll. You guys look great.”

“Oh! Wren Taylor, Will LaMontagne Jr. Will LaMontagne Jr., Wren Taylor.”

“Date?” Wren whispered.

You laughed. “No, just a good friend. Unless you see Emily, then… date.”

Wren rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“When you told me she RSVP’d with a plus one, I couldn’t exactly show up here alone, could I?”

“Yes, you could, actually,” she said. Her eyes widened, focusing on something behind you. “Speaking of…”

You stiffened—sensing her presence before you saw her. Even after being separated for six years, you still recognized the buzzing in the air you felt when she was around.

You braced yourself as you turned toward the entrance to the ballroom, and her beauty took your breath away.

Emily’s dark hair was curled, and she’d grown her bangs out. She wore a white dress and black heels, and your heart skipped a beat.

She was stunning. And you were feeling very plain in comparison. 

But then you spotted her hand in someone else’s and froze. Because next to her was a beautiful woman with blonde hair pulled back in a high, curled ponytail and a light blue skirt and white blouse. 

They matched, you realized, the sensation a punch to your gut.

Seeing Emily with her partner reminded you of your mission, and you reached for Will’s hand instinctively, who was waiting to take yours. 

“It’s now or never,” you muttered, sounding braver than you felt. Will’s advice from earlier rung in your head—fake it ‘til you make it. 

You made your way toward the other couple, meeting them halfway, using each step to force a smile across your face before you reunited.

“Y/N!” Emily said, not letting go of her partner’s hand. “You look great.”

“So do you,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t shaking. “This is Detective Will LaMontagne Jr., my date.” 

He reached his free hand forward to shake both of the other women’s. “Pleasure,” he said.

“This is my date, Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau,” Emily countered. Were you imagining it, or was she putting emphasis on supervisory? 

“JJ,” the woman said, offering her own hand. You shook it, fighting to not squeeze it too hard.

It didn’t escape you how Will’s gaze lingered on JJ a second longer than you expected. 

“You know, that color brings out your eyes,” Will drawled, gesturing to her vibrant skirt. 

You bit back a smile from spreading across your face and embarrassing him. 

“Thanks,” JJ flushed. 

“Special Agent?” You asked, calling Emily’s attention away from Will’s attempt at flirting before he blew your cover completely. “So, you chose the FBI after all?”

“Not at first,” Emily hedged. “It’s a long story.”

“Right,” you said. And not one you were entitled to anymore.

Wren, ever your savior, marched over to talk with Emily, and you used that moment to excuse yourself with Will. 

He led you onto the dance floor as a slow song came on, and you were grateful for the distraction. You took one of his hands and placed the other on his shoulder, letting him lead you.

“Should we come up with a safe word in case you want to leave early?” Will asked.

You smiled. “That’s okay, but thanks, Will.”

One song bled into another until you lost track of how long you’d been dancing. You kept your focus on Will because you knew if you watched Emily and JJ for too long, your heart would shatter completely, washing away your carefully crafted facade.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” you said, dryness scratching your throat. “Want anything?”

He shook his head. “I’m okay, thanks.”

You made your way toward the bar—an open bar, which was half of the reason you agreed to come at all—just as the last person in line got their drink and walked away.

“Old fashioned, please,” you said.

The bartender nodded, and you fished a few dollars out of your purse for the tip jar. 

“Make that two,” said a familiar voice.

Your back stiffened, and you glanced over to find Emily standing next to you. 

“Having a good time?” Emily asked, throwing in a few dollars of her own to the tip jar.

You pursed your lips and nodded. “Yeah, Wren did a great job.” You glanced around, surprised to find her partner nowhere in sight.

“No JJ?” 

“She had to take a call,” Emily shrugged. “The job follows us sometimes.”

“Here you go,” the bartender said, holding out both drinks.

You thanked him and wandered away to make room for other patrons. To your surprise, Emily followed. 

“Do you like it? The FBI?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“It’s rewarding,” Emily said. “Difficult, but rewarding.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say to that, and took a sip of your drink.

“How’s your photography business going?” Emily asked, and you startled, nearly choking on your cocktail.

“How’d you know I have a photography business?” 

Emily flushed. “I’ve kept up with your career over the years. Is that such a surprise?”

Yes, you thought. You’d considered doing the same countless times over the years, but you knew if you tracked her down in any capacity, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from reaching out. It was easier, less painful, to wonder instead. 

“I guess not,” you whispered.

“So? How’s it going?”

You sighed, setting your drink down on a nearby table. “What are you doing, Em?”

She frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Are we just acting like nothing happened? Like we didn’t have a fight the day before graduation? Like you didn’t ditch the ceremony the next day and never talk to me again? I just need to know what page we’re on here if we’re going to pretend.”

Emily set her drink down near yours. “Y/N…”

“I thought seeing you again would make me feel better,” you said. “But I’m not sure it was such a good idea anymore.”

Emily started to speak, but you turned on a heel and beelined for the hallway. Tears were brimming in your eyes, and you’d rather run than have her see you fall apart.

The hallway outside the ballroom was still too public, so you didn’t stop until you were safely around the corner. You took a deep breath, collecting yourself, and wiping away the hints of tears in your eyes before they could fall. You wouldn’t lose it. Not here, at least. That could wait until you got home later.

A hand on your shoulder nearly made you jump out of your skin.

“Jesus, Will, announce yourself…” you chastised. But when you turned, it wasn’t Will.

It was Emily.

“Are you everywhere?” you snapped. “Go back to your date; I’m sure she’s wondering where you went.”

“I could say the same about your date.”

You rolled your eyes. “Is that what this is about? Fine, Will’s not my date. He’s my friend; I brought him to make you jealous. Happy?”

“Actually, yes,” she said, stepping toward you.

You frowned. “Wait… what?”

Emily took a deep breath. “I was immature in high school. That doesn’t excuse what I did, but I think it explains a few things.” 

“So?”

“So,” Emily continued, “Our futures were pulling us in two different directions. And I didn’t want to go in two different directions. Y/N, I would’ve followed you anywhere, my own ambitions be damned, and I knew if I showed up to graduation, I’d do just that. If I apologized for the fight we’d had, I would’ve wanted to spend the rest of our lives making it up to you. And one of us would’ve made sacrifices for the other, and we would’ve ended up hating each other in the end. So it was easier to just… run.” 

You laughed bitterly. “That wasn’t your decision to make, Em. We should’ve talked about that together.”

“Can you tell me I’m wrong? That one of us wouldn’t have given up our dream career for the other?”

You opened your mouth to argue but clamped it closed when you realized you couldn’t. Because she was probably right.

“Exactly. So watching from afar as you accomplished everything you dreamed of… I considered that a consolation prize. If I looked at the pictures long enough, it was like I was there with you.”

You blew out a long breath. “Em, you can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re with JJ now, and it’s not fair to be with her and say these things to me.”

Emily took another step closer; she was only a breath away now. You took a step back, but you were against the wall now, and Emily closed the gap between you immediately.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not with JJ,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss your neck.

Your knees wobbled, and it took every ounce of willpower not to reach out for the woman who still owned your heart.

“What?” Your head was spinning, and you weren’t sure you could trust your hearing. 

“I lied,” she said, planting kisses from your neck up to your face. “To make you jealous. She’s just a friend.”

You grabbed Emily’s shoulders and turned so it was her against the wall. “You’re not in a relationship?”

Emily smiled. “Not since we broke up. You’re the only one I want. If you’ll have me.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you grinned, crashing your lips against hers. Every nerve in your body felt like a live wire; Emily’s touch was electric. 

She buried her hands in your hair, and you shivered. How were you ever apart from this woman? The thought seemed unbearable now.

“You know,” Emily said, pulling away just long enough to speak. “I have a room. Upstairs.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, kissing her again. “Don’t tempt me, Emily Prentiss.”

“We should tell our dates we’re leaving so they don’t worry,” Emily whispered. “And then I’m going to spend every minute of tonight making up for the last six years.”

“Fine, but let’s hurry,” you agreed.

Hand in hand, you practically ran back into the ballroom, praying that Will and JJ wouldn’t be hard to find. 

Blissfully, you got your wish—you both staggered to a halt when you found your dates on the dance floor together, arms wrapped around each other, kissing like they were the only two people in the room.

“Huh,” you said. “I have to say, I didn’t see that coming.”

“She said I owed her for dragging her to a high school reunion that wasn’t her own,” Emily mused, lacing her hand through yours. “I think I’ll consider that debt repaid.” 

You giggled. “Can we go now?” 

“I’ll follow you anywhere you want.”

You brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Let’s start with tonight. Everything else can wait ‘til tomorrow.”

Emily nodded. “Tomorrow.” 

Tag List: @yena-reyna, @propertyofemilyprentiss, @chaekhan, @obsessedwjill, @mrs-prentiss Join my tag list! 

[leth-writes]

Request heeded (yandere homelander x reader)

SUMMARY: You, Ashley’s omega assistant, have gotten a mating request.

(PART 1)

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

NOTE: So this work is very heavily inspired by Kept Omega by The FireCrest over on AO3, please head over and give it a read!

MASTERLIST 

Requests are open!

Being Ashley’s assistant was one of the most stressful things to ever happen to you. The beta was always moving, always angry, always yelling, and yet you were expected to remain cool and collected by her side. She was frustrating, and she drove you insane, but she was the most normal person you’d ever met at Vought, where you’d worked for almost a year.

Today, she was stressing about the newly revealed arrivals’ social media. It was her job, and by extension yours, to ensure everyone had impeccable public reputations. It was hard, thankless work, and yet it was necessary to keep yourself safe from being fired. You’d been tasked with researching Sage’s, Firecracker’s, and the Deep’s current reputations; neutral, bad, and terrible, respectively. Of course, when you presented your findings to Ashley, she’d screamed in frustration and ripped out her hair, before grabbing the files and storming out. You’d run out after her, doing your best to keep pace, though it was hard keeping up with the fast-moving beta.

The ride up to the 99th floor was the most awkward you’d ever had, even worse than after Starlight had quit. Ashley was silently fuming next to you; you were lucky she was a beta, or you were sure she’d flood the elevator with her acidic, sour scent. As it was, you could only see and hear her anger, not smell it. Your own scent, luckily, was held back by your scent patches. While everyone knew you were an omega, you wore scent patches to minimize risk. You wouldn’t take any chances, not with the Deep in the building.

Finally, the elevator opened, and Ashley stormed out. You followed, scurrying after her and keeping your head down. You were glad you’d chosen to wear a turtleneck that day, keeping your neck obscured and preventing the chill from creeping down your spine. You’d never been to the top floor before; it was freezing, like they’d left a window perpetually open. The halls were ornate, filled with posters and memorabilia immortalizing the various members, past and present, of the seven. Starlight was not present; you’d miss the alpha, she was kind, and her beta, Hughie, had a heart of gold. They felt like the only other sane people in the whole company, and yet you were stuck, unable to contact them if you wanted to keep your head and your job.

Ashley rounded the corner and pushed the doors to the conference room open, taking a brief moment to smooth down her shirt and calm her expression, before she entered. You followed after her, though you were sure you were not as composed as she surely looked.

The members of the Seven were already present, all sat except for Homelander, who stood with his back to you, facing out towards the windows. Ashley strode over to the makeshift desk in the corner, placing your report down; you moved to stand slightly behind her, lowering your head in respect. You could feel the tension ratcheting up in the room.

“We need to talk.” She began, voice confident and sure. You could feel Homelander turn around, cutting through the thick tension in the room and striding over to the horseshoe-shaped table. You could hear the featherlight brush of his gloves against the lacquered surface.

“Then talk.” Sage said, her arms crossed. Something about Sage freaked you out; maybe it was the way she always seemed three steps ahead? It was horrifying, like she knew you better than you knew yourself. You looked up, unwilling to keep yourself vulnerable in a room full of the most dangerous people in the world; Starlight had impressed upon you the need to never seem too anxious, for fear of them discovering your friendship, even if you hadn’t seen the blond in months. Besides, Sage was dangerous; she was the first and only beta to ever join the ranks of the Seven, which she’d only achieved through subtle machinations and manipulation. Normally, the shareholders would’ve never allowed a beta, they only wanted alphas in case of ‘danger’, but Sage had been so thoroughly convincing, so slick and clean, they’d had no choice. It hadn’t helped that she’d apparently blackmailed one of the shareholders with the knowledge that she knew of the secret omega daughter he’d kept safely at home, prevented from being able to achieve her dreams of an education at GodU. It seemed even the shareholders didn’t trust their omegas around the supes, knowing their record.

“Woah, woah, what’s she even doing here? I don’t gotta listen to her again, do I?” The Deep complained, leaning back so far his chair squeaked in protest. Sage sighed, shaking her head, before she looked at the alpha. “She’s in charge of rehabilitating your image, so yes, you do.” She shook her head again, exasperated, and looked out the window. You could sense the irritation rolling off of her in waves; you had to suppress a chirp of empathy, which you knew would only expose you and place you in a vulnerable position. The less they were reminded of your status, the safer you were.

Your eyes flicked over to the Deep, who was staring at Sage in chagrin. His scent, mint and moss, so sharp it almost made your eyes water, permeated the room. Sage huffed, unaffected; she was nose-blind, though she seemed to make up for it through hard work and her natural talent at deduction. You had to hold back the impulse to cover your nose and wave away the smell.

“Well, Ashley?” Homelander said, voice deep and calm. He had his hands clasped behind his back, now. Was the hero training so deep that he struck the poses without even noticing? You couldn’t imagine how much work had gone into learning to keep that facade up, constantly. Sometimes, you wondered if it was even a facade, or if that was his true self peeking through a shield of anger.

“Y-yes, sir…” She straightened at the address, brushing her hair back and making sure the papers were perfectly stacked.

“W-well, Sage’s reputation is… fine. It’s neutral; most people don’t know what to think of her, especially as she doesn’t have much of a history in the public eye. Her status as a beta may cause controversy if it gets out; we should get her false scent patches, just in case.”

Sage nodded; she’d probably expected as such. She didn’t even bother looking at Ashley. Typical for a supe, ignoring those they viewed as below them. It was clear Ashley had limited use to Sage, though she was more useful than you. You don’t think Sage had so much as looked at you, even as you’d handed her reports prior, in your entire time working at Vought. To be fair, though, she hadn’t been at Vought for long.

Homelander, seeing Sage’s tacit approval, motioned for Ashley to continue on.

“Firecracker… Firecracker has a dedicated fanbase, but her reputation among the general public could be better…” Ashley hedged, looking uncomfortable. 

Sage sighed, though she continued to look out the window.

Firecracker looked displeased. “Well, with my new show, I’m sure I can manage to drum up some more support.” She crossed one leg over the other and flicked her curly red hair back.

Sage nodded. Ashley nodded. You guessed that was that. Ashley skipped through your proposals for Firecracker. You were slightly ruffled that your hard work had gone down the drain on that front, but at least you wouldn’t have to work with her too much, as she operated with her own team, assigned by Vought. You held back a scoff.

“Finally, the Deep…” Ashley trailed off. Homelander simply waved for her to continue. 

“The Deep… Everything with Starlight has social media divided; you have some hardcore fans who believe you’re innocent, especially after everything Alistair… On the other hand, Starlight’s fans despise you…”

“And what’re you gonna do about it?!” The Deep said, arms crossed as he leaned back. His scent leaked out, moss intensifying until you had to cover your nose; you turned to hide the gesture, unwilling to catch his eye, just in case. You had him convinced you were a beta.

Ashley glanced down at your list of suggestions nervously.

“Well, I think… I think we should continue playing up the trauma from the cult, drum up some more sympathy. Maybe we can play off the Starlight accusations as a pattern of deep-seated hatred for the supes, especially after Homelander’s recent win.”

You huffed quietly; Ashley had taken credit for your ideas, again!

Homelander’s eyes shot up to you, then widened. 

You felt ice crawl down your back. Shit. Shit! He wasn’t supposed to hear that, you’d forgotten for a moment that he had super hearing!

He looked into your eyes for a moment, face completely blank, before he turned to look back at Ashley.

The Deep nodded, not having noticed the brief interruption. No one but Homelander had, of course.

“Ah, that’s perfect! That fucking bitch, she ruined my fucking life, it’s only fair she be the one to fix it!” He crowed, looking happy. The scent of mint intensified. It was almost too strong, and it burned at your nose and your eyes.

Ashley’s eyes flicked to Sage, then to Homelander. Sage still hadn’t turned around, though she’d nodded once to show her support. Homelander was deep in contemplation. You couldn’t smell him; you were sure he was wearing scent patches, though all you could smell was leather. You’d never been able to smell him; maybe that added to the sense of unease you felt around him? Most of the alphas in the building refused to wear scent patches, sure that they would never encounter an omega and thus never need it, as betas were less sensitive and alphas wouldn’t react to other alphas, bar extreme emotions.

“Okay… Okay. That’ll work. You’re dismissed, Ashley.” Homelander said, though his blue eyes were locked on you. They were unnervingly blue, cruel; you’d never liked being around Homelander, though you’d been lucky to never have to interact directly.

Ashley swept out of the room. You took a moment to gather your report, Homelander’s eyes locked on your form, and hurried out after her, ducking out just as the doors swung shut.

She was waiting for you in the hall, tapping her foot.

“Well?” She said, hand out for the report. You plopped it into her grasp, and she whipped around, hair splaying out behind her, before marching away. You scurried after her.

You hated being around Homelander and the rest of the Seven. They were creepy; while you didn’t know too much about Homelander, Ashley made sure to try to keep you out of the viscera and the mess due to your status, you had heard the rumours. They said he was scentless, alien, inhuman; god-like. You weren’t sure you believed them, he was still human, after all, but you knew something was off about him. You just couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

The two of you descended back down to Ashley’s office. The bustle of the normal employee-focused floors was comforting, the lack of supes present reassuring. The people down here could be mean, outright nasty if you were being honest about Firecracker’s crew, but they couldn’t hurt you in the same way the supes could. Most of the supes didn’t deign to set foot on the lower floors, viewing themselves as too far above the common ilk to grace you with their presence. Long gone were the comfortable lunches with Starlight and Hughie; now, you ate your lunch in the employee break-room. You were surrounded by people, and yet all alone. 

It was exhausting, trying to keep up the facade, deflect suspicions; most people had already forgotten your status, the only fact that kept you still employed. You knew, however, Ashley had chosen you for your discerning nose. You were able to pick up on the subtle changes that she often missed, she did have the dulled nose of a beta, after all, enabling you to assist her in the nonverbal communication she otherwise wouldn’t be privy to.

You were doing better than her other assistant, who’d been lasered in the head after ‘betraying’ Homelander by contacting the Starlight house, and who’d only been with her for a month before the ‘incident’. All you had to do was stay out of his way, and maybe you’d survive until he inevitably lost his shit and fired Ashley. You planned on retiring early, after all.

Now depressed at your current train of thought, you pulled out your phone, sending an email to Annie’s old account. It bounced back; you had been blocked. You sighed.