#soft gold chandelier

[dailytaylormhill]

Kansas City Home Bar

[the-goldenratio]

🎞️ Gabriella Brooks

[n3vermlnd]

[jimxnslight]

Fool's Gold || Part I

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. violence, blood, etc), additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

<< masterlist || next part >>

“I heard that she’s a complete airhead.”

Jungkook’s expensive shoes smacked against the pristine white and gold marble floors as he continued to walk through the lavish hallway, hands disappearing behind his pockets while his steps were slow and confident. Most would think he was choosing to ignore the comment, but his closest friend knew better than to rush a man as calculating as Jungkook. 

Instead, Taehyung strolled alongside him, taking in the glittering chandeliers looming over their heads and the intricate designs carved into the white walls that were much too traditional for his taste. Jungkook and Taehyung were nowhere near out of place in the sea of extravagance with their custom suits and shiny black dress shoes. Taehyung, the more simple of the two, had his brown hair parted and pushed back to reveal a blemish free forehead while his grey and black suit complimented the grey specks in his brown irises. 

On the other hand, Jungkook’s black on black outfit adorned two expensive cufflinks and a gold brooch attached to his lapel. Taehyung’s gaze dropped to his black hair, which he noticed had grown in the past month. 

When Taehyung realised that Jungkook wasn’t going to speak, he decided to fill the silence. 

“Like apparently she’s huge on wearing pink and frilly stuff -which I guess is just a girl thing- but still, this is a mafia not a tea party.”

He paused, waiting for his comrade to offer his thoughts, but was met with silence once again. 

“I’ve also heard she’s dumber than a pile of rocks. Barely passed high school and then dropped out of university not even a month in. Her major wasn’t even that hard. Commerce, was it?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed as Jungkook continued to lengthen the silence. 

“And as you already must know, she was also married about a year ago but then was widowed after her husband was killed by a rival gang on the same day. Even though their marriage didn’t even last a full 24 hours, she had been so traumatised by the whole thing that apparently she didn’t even speak for an entire month after the ordeal. Can you imagine how much of a princess she must be for a simple death to shake her that much? She must be a real- come on man, how long are you going to make me go on?”

Jungkook turned his head to offer him a sly grin, “I was wondering when you would reach your limit.”

Taehyung gave him a halfhearted punch to the arm, “you’re such a jerk. Answer my question man. I’m dying to know what she’s actually like.”

He followed Jungkook as he turned into another hallway, curious as to what he thought of her, but his answer had him staring at Jungkook incredulously. 

“I don’t know.”

Taehyung faltered in his step, gaping at the back of the man who continued through the hallway nonchalantly. When the weight of his answer finally processed completely in Taehyung’s mind, he ran forward so that he could walk alongside his friend once again. 

“I think you misunderstood my question,” Taehyung tried again slowly, “I want to know about Lee Y/N, you know, your soon to be wife? The one you’re about to marry right now?”

“What is there to know?” Jungkook commented, mind occupied with a topic of much more importance, “a marriage with her will allow for the unification of two powerful mafia families and will also allow for an heir to be born. Is that not the whole point of marriages for individuals like us?”

“Well yeah, but there’s no harm in getting to know her at least a little bit. Did you even hear about the ‘dumb as rocks’ part when I was rambling?”

“That will only make her easier to control,” he deadpanned.

“Fine, whatever. Is she at least pretty?”

Taehyung’s eyes widened even more when Jungkook didn’t respond, “please tell me you’ve met her at least once. Oh my god, have you even looked at a picture of her?” 

Jungkook's silence was all Taehyung needed to know that the answer was, in fact, no,” I knew I shouldn’t have gone out of the country! My parents kept telling me everything would be fine and they’d take care of the whole thing but you haven’t even met her once? I should’ve made my return flight earlier, then I could’ve-”

Taehyung’s voice faltered as he noticed Jungkook’s distant expression, causing his brows to furrow. He wasn’t listening to a word he was saying, which wasn’t something entirely out of the ordinary, but it usually wasn’t this bad. He sighed as he shifted his gaze to the expensive hall before him. 

“Is this about the Parks?” He asked, noticing his friend’s focus return.

“It’s the Parks and the Mins,” Jungkook admitted, “ever since their alliance, they’ve been getting bold. They made a move on our West docks last week and would have been successful in seizing them if it weren’t for the blackmail I managed to procure at the last minute. But that won’t hold them off for long.”

Taehyung’s head tilted to the side, “you’ve always enjoyed a challenge. Why’s this bothering you so much?”

Jungkook turned into another hallway to finally come face to face with a large pair of grandiose double doors that towered over them. The two men came to a stop, aware that their conversation was now on a timer. 

“I just… have an uneasy feeling,” he said, unable to reveal anymore to Taehyung. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his best friend what he had really witnessed when he visited the docks yesterday.

Taehyung, clueless to Jungkook’s inner turmoil, slapped him on the back, lightening the mood with a grin, “come on man, this is your wedding. You’ll figure everything out later, for now just relax. You deserve it.”

Before he could protest, Taehyung shoved the double doors open to reveal an enormous and crowded wedding hall. The white and gold marble floor stretched across the entire room, while multiple diamonds came together to form a giant chandelier that hung over the hundreds of tables that had been decorated with shiny silverware and pristine white roses. The people were just as decorated as the furniture, with their elegant gowns and glamorous jewellery. 

At the sound of the doors opening, the once chattering crowd silenced, opting to sneak glances at Jungkook and his friend instead. Hushed whispers echoed around the hall as Jungkook straightened his back and held his head high before making his way to the centre of the room. Behind him, Taehyung took his place, his outgoing and extroverted personality tucked away to look just as regal and intimidating as the groom. The crowd began gathering on either side of the aisle, clearly excited for the bride who had been scheduled to appear any second now. 

Most men’s hearts would be racing during a time like this, Jungkook thought distantly, eyes focused on the aisle as well. Marriage to others was supposed to symbolise unwavering love and devotion. But not for him. For him marriage was simply a contract, a means to an end that he hoped would lessen the burden of a number of challenges. In a world like this, there was no such thing as love. 

Only power. 

The sound of the double doors opening pulled him from his thoughts, with two professionally dressed workers fixing them on either side so that they remained open this time. Jungkook watched a pair of women in what seemed like light pink bridesmaid dresses trail behind two girls who couldn’t have been more than five throwing white and light pink flower petals in the air. Behind the entourage was a figure drenched in white. 

You walked slowly into the room, your glimmering white dress trailing behind you as a thick white veil draped over your face and the front of your dress. Jungkook could only make out your hands clutching a small bouquet of white roses while your arm looped around your father’s, who was slowly guiding you down the aisle. Despite the aid, he couldn’t help but notice an uneasiness to your steps and a slight shake in your hands. 

The crowd’s gaze stayed fixed on your figure, drinking in the Jeon Jungkook’s soon to be wife. There were some gasps of astonishment at the beauty of your dress and figure, while there were some gasps of jealousy towards the woman who was taking Jungkook off the market. You didn’t seem to pay them any attention as your head stayed fixed in front of you, focusing on not falling as you continued through the aisle. 

To Jungkook, it felt like years had passed before you finally reached the small steps leading to the stage he was standing on, your bridesmaids taking their places on the opposite side of where Taehyung was standing. Your father unlooped his arm from yours and stepped back to sit on one of the seats that had been reserved for him, leaving you to hesitantly step onto the stage yourself. Your heel wobbled as you brought your foot forward and Jungkook knew exactly what would happen before it did. 

He watched your heel slip sideways, causing you to careen to your right under the heaviness of your dress. But before you could crash into the large pots of white roses, Jungkook shot forward so that his hand could grab your waist, hoisting you up to prevent you from falling. The crowd swooned at the gesture, murmuring about its romantic nature, though all Jungkook could wonder was how you’ve been surviving in a mafia family for so long. Taehyung had only said you were dumb, not a complete klutz too. 

He could feel the warmth of your delicate hand on his shoulder as he guided you up the steps, only letting go of you once the two of you were facing the patiently waiting priest. Once he had motioned for everyone to sit, he began his sermon in an obnoxiously boring voice. Jungkook had no particular interest in paying attention to a speech he had listened to multiple times growing up. Instead, he took the chance to survey you briefly. With your veil still hiding your face, he could only take in your perfect figure and pristine skin. 

Eventually, the priest asked you to remove your veil, to which you complied slowly. Taehyung came forward, offering to take the bouquet in your hands while your bridesmaids helped you hesitantly lift the soft white cloth over your head. 

A wave of hushed whispers spread throughout the crowd at the sight of your face, one that caught Jungkook off guard. Your eyes had been lined with a light liner, while your lips and cheeks had been made to look dainty. Your hair fell from the top of your head to your shoulders, styled in a way that framed your features and neck. Jungkook noticed a small silver necklace in the shape of a heart resting against your exposed collarbone. 

Your makeup made you look so innocent and… young. Jungkook almost wanted to pull Taehyung’s parents aside and confirm that you really were twenty three and not some nineteen year old. It was a bit of a turn off, he realised, slightly bothered by the fact. As a twenty six year old, he obviously wasn’t into teenagers, so he didn’t know what having a wife that looked like one was going to do for him. 

Then again, he wasn’t marrying you for some kind of gratification. He was marrying you because he needed to form a strong alliance between your father’s gang and his so that he could be, or at the very least appear, stronger than the Mins and Parks. You were nothing more than a path to more power and, aside from upholding his responsibilities as a husband, he would treat you as such.

As the priest continued to drone on, Jungkook continued to analyse your form. He watched your eyes stay focused on the priest before they strayed, hesitantly landing on Jungkook for a split second. When you noticed his gaze already on you, a small squeak sounded from your lips before you quickly shifted your focus forward. With the bouquet of flowers now hanging from Taehyung’s hand, your own fingers were clasped awkwardly in front of you. 

You were apparently everything Taehyung had painted you as earlier, Jungkook thought. Your makeup and mannerisms had an air of exaggerated innocence, while your body language was shy and sheepish. He had no problem imagining you as a weak girl that was so traumatised by the death of your first husband that you couldn’t utter a single word the following month. 

The priest turned to the seated crowd, beckoning anyone that had an issue with the marriage to step forward and speak their mind. Just as Jungkook expected, no one dared make a stand, preferring to cherish the connection between their head and neck instead. Following the silence, you and Jungkook were made to stand facing each other.

Your gaze was fixed on his collar, seemingly too shy to meet Jungkook’s eyes. It only confirmed his suspicions regarding your confidence, or lack thereof. 

Yet, despite your evidently timid nature and lack of intelligence, Jungkook couldn’t help but experience an uncanny feeling lingering at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was his untrusting nature, or maybe he had just been forced to over analyse you during the long and boring sermon. But he could have sworn that there was something about you. Just… something about the way you had trouble meeting his gaze yet seemed to have no problem in scanning Taehyung up and down. For a fraction of a moment, the look in your eyes was almost calculated, as if you had been assessing him. But just as fast as Jungkook thought he saw it, the look disappeared, replaced by a timid and shy gaze once again. It left him questioning whether he had even seen it in the first place, or whether he was letting paranoia see things that weren’t there. 

Finally, the priest turned to the two of you and made you both say your vows outloud. They were the standard vows, Jungkook and you putting no effort in creating a confession that you both knew was ingenuine. Instead, the two of you repeated after him, answering “I do” when the time was right. Jungkook was glad that, despite your seemingly ditzy nature, you hadn’t requested any giant romantic gestures. According to your father, you had even had no problem with Jungkook requesting that there be no kiss at the altar. It made his life a lot easier and truthfully made this entire situation a lot less awkward.

To Jungkook’s relief, the priest finally addressed the crowd once more, ending the sermon on a final note filled with hope and prosperity. He spoke about how the marriage would strengthen the two mafias, mitigating worries relating to attacks from enemies that may wish to harm them. Jungkook had already expected this part of the speech, as he had been the one to tell the priest to say those exact words. 

At the end of the sermon, Jungkook and you were made to walk down the aisle back to where he knew his expensive car was waiting. He turned to you, looping his arm around yours so that you wouldn’t fall again, and guided you down the steps slowly. He noticed that your every step was still wobbly and he could feel your hand shaking as you placed it on his bicep to steady yourself further. But this time, with the veil now draped behind you, he could see the distress in your face as well. Your eyes were wide as you took in the crowd surrounding you, looking as naive as Taehyung had made you out to be. 

Jungkook tried to remind himself of Taehyung’s words. About how you had barely been able to pass high school and then completely dropped out of university a month in. About how your style consisted of pink and frilly clothes that didn’t have much place in the mafia. About how, at this moment, you seemed almost scared of the crowd and attention. 

A girl like that was shy and naive and ditzy. Aside from being slightly irritating, that meant you couldn’t be much of a threat to him or anyone else. If anything your incompetence would be a threat to your own self. Jungkook had nothing to worry about when it came to you. 

So he tried not to be unsettled. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the fact that, despite your apparently innocent and weak nature, your fingers were gripping into his bicep so hard he would no doubt wake up with a bruise tomorrow morning. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the way your shy gaze, which stayed fixed on the floor, would sometimes stray upwards to almost study the crowd around you before quickly darting back to the ground. 

He tried not to be unsettled when you looked up at him to give him a bashful smile, one that the logical part of him agreed looked sweet and innocent enough.

Yet, why did another part of him wonder whether there had been something else lurking behind those seemingly innocent eyes?

-

-

-

The only thing that Jungkook had learned about you from the car ride was that your voice was as light and soft as your appearance. 

The ride in his black car decorated with gleaming small white roses and ribbons had been mostly silent, the two of you making no effort to start a conversation. Jungkook had never been one for small talk, more than content to let Taehyung talk for hours instead. The reason for your lack of conversation, though, was unknown to him. 

It was only when he was speeding through the highway that you had spoken to request that he slow down a bit. Your voice had been soft and timid, as if you were scared that Jungkook would lash out at you for the simple request. Or maybe that was just the way you spoke. Considering your personality, Jungkook wouldn’t find that too hard to believe.

Now the two of you walked through the entrance of his home, your eyes taking in the grandeur of it all. Despite its vastness, Jungkook felt that this was where he felt the most comfortable: between the white and fawn walls, the elaborately designed bannisters, and the creme marble floors. His home had remained the only constant in his life and, because of that, he cherished it immensely. 

There were only a few people that Jungkook had allowed inside, all of whom were people that he trusted with his life. This was the first time, he realised, that someone outside of those few was stepping foot onto the marble floor and laying their eyes on the spiralling staircase. It was an odd feeling, allowing you to enter into what he felt was the only place that truly allowed his mind and body to relax. 

He observed your reaction curiously, taking in your wide eyes. They bounced from one thing to the next, each structure seeming to fascinate you more and more. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were assessing the space, but the logical part of him kept trying to reassure himself that you couldn’t possibly be considered any kind of threat. 

The sound of the door opening behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He turned around to find Taehyung walking through the doorway, a particular look on his face. Jungkook recognised it right away, causing him to turn to you for a moment while calling over one of the maids. 

“Get her to the bedroom,” Jungkook commanded the maid as Taehyung stepped beside him, “and help her take off her makeup and dress into something comfortable.”

The maid nodded before she began to guide you up the flight of stairs, pointing out a few directions here and there to get you comfortable with the new environment. Jungkook watched you look back at him and Taehyung for a split second, an unreadable look in your eyes, before you faced forward once again and allowed yourself to be dragged away wordlessly. 

Once you had disappeared up the stairs, Jungkook turned to Taehyung with a raised eyebrow.

“Well?” He prodded. 

Taehyung glanced at the top of the stairs to make sure you really were gone, “I should be asking you that. What do you think of her?”

Jungkook mulled over his question for a moment, “she seems to be everything you said she is. Although, are you sure-”

“She is one hundred percent twenty three years old. I triple checked that one,” Taehyung said immediately, hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

Jungkook let his hands nestle into his pockets, wondering if he should bring up his other concerns as well. Uptil now, you haven’t actually done or said anything worth garnering suspicion. Jungkook just seemed to be picking up on small things here and there, but he wasn’t sure if those things were just him being paranoid or genuinely things that he should be cautious over. This whole marriage thing was proving to be a lot more confusing than he had initially thought. 

“What is it?” Taehyung asked, noticing his friend’s silence. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, but, after earning a questioning look from Taehyung, he relented slightly. 

“How well of a background check did your parents do on her?” Jungkook asked cautiously. He didn’t want Taehyung to know too much of how he was feeling at the moment, in case this was just his mind being overactive, but something in Taehyung’s expression seemed to indicate that he knew a lot more than what Jungkook was letting on. 

“They did a very thorough one, of course,” Taehyung said, eyeing Jungkook knowingly, “you know my parents. If there’s one thing that they’re the best at, it’s uncovering people’s secrets.”

Then he added with a smile, “couldn’t get away with much while growing up because of it.”

Jungkook let his gaze wander around the room, “I just…”

“You’re just suspicious of her,” Taehyung finished, causing Jungkook to look his way, “of course you’re suspicious Jungkook, you’re letting a girl that you’ve never even met before into your house for the first time. It’s a natural reaction, especially considering how untrusting we’ve been conditioned to be since we were young.”

Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the back reassuringly, “I was the exact same way when I married Chaewon. Hell, in our first year of being married I even accused her of being a traitor when she was planning a surprise party for my birthday. When she finally told me… man, it took me a whole year to make it up to her. On another note, from a married man to a newly married man, don’t accuse your wife of anything unless you’re a hundred and ten percent sure of it. Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, causing Taehyung to laugh.

“Besides, have you seen Y/N? She’s so shy and naive, her own reflection in the mirror must frighten her. I doubt you have anything to worry about, especially after my parents’ background check. Just enjoy yourself, man, it’s your wedding night,” Taehyung said with a knowing smirk. 

Obviously ignoring the suggestive comment, Jungkook nodded, finding logic in Taehyung’s other words. Jungkook had never been married, all of this was new to him. But if Taehyung, who had been married for almost a decade, said feelings like this were normal, then maybe he really was just being overly paranoid about the situation. You’d had a thorough background check done, which revealed nothing, and your personality was quite clear to Jungkook after he’d observed you at the wedding. 

It was time Jungkook started trying to enjoy this marriage as much as he could. He was going to be stuck with you indefinitely, and constantly being suspicious of you was only going to wear him out, especially since you now had access to the only place he allowed himself to be free of the constantly vigilant and calculating mind that came with being the leader of the Jeons. 

Jungkook turned to Taehyung, about to thank him for the insight, but the sound of the door opening once again caused the two to shift their gaze to behind them. The sight of the man walking through the doorway immediately had Jungkook wrinkling his nose in distaste while Taehyung’s expression had become a distant neutral. The man didn’t seem to mind the reactions if he noticed them, casually strolling deeper into the house until he was standing before the two. 

“Jungkook, Taehyung,” Daehyun nodded, the respectful gesture somehow seeming more disrespectful if anything. He had clearly just come back from the wedding, still wearing his black suit and light brown hair styled back, “you just got married, yet I see only Taehyung and no bride. Shall I assume the two of you are running away together?”

The tasteless joke was followed by a deep laugh, one that belonged to neither Jungkook nor Taehyung. Instead they just stared at him with an unamused scowl.

“Relax, it’s only a joke,” he shook his head, gaze wandering the place casually, “I doubt your wife and kid would like the thought of that anyway.”

Taehyung’s jaw ticked at Daehyun’s words. Even if he hadn’t directly threatened or disrespected them in any way, just the mention of his family from his mouth was enough for Taehyung’s gaze to turn icy.

“Careful Daehyun, you’re standing before two mafia leaders,” Taehyung said, voice low and intimidating, “I would be less casual in our presence if I were you.”

To Taehyung and Jungkook’s dismay, Daehyun simply chuckled, “ah yes, but Jungkook and I are cousins. He’ll cut me some slack, won’t he?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, even after Daehyun gave his arm a lighthearted punch. Daehyun was the cousin that Jungkook could never be rid of, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was slimy and tactless and everything Jungkook hated rolled into one unbearable being. Having to give him access to his home, his only place of peace, had been one of the hardest things to do. But at the time, Jungkook had had to make sacrifices and this had been one of them. 

Daehyun, undeterred by his cousin’s lack of response, leaned his arm on Jungkook’s shoulder casually, “congratulations by the way. When I saw your wife’s face- god did she look young! You’re so lucky man, I hope my future wife turns out like that.”

Jungkook grimaced as he suddenly felt the desire to wipe off any remnants of Daehyun’s touch from his suit. Daehyun had attended the same university as Taehyung and Jungkook, yet he had evidently obtained none of the class that they had. Everyday he wondered how the two of them could possibly be related. For the sake of Jungkook’s mental wellbeing, sometimes he liked to imagine Daehyun had actually been adopted and his parents had simply decided not to share that piece of information. 

“I should get going,” Jungkook said stiffly, brushing his cousin’s arm off his shoulder. He fixed his suit as Daehyung smirked at him, likely thinking of Jungkook’s comment as more suggestive than he had actually meant. 

Jungkook faced Taehyung to give him a curt nod before he turned and began walking up the stairs, not bothering to use the fawn iron bannisters on either side of him. He could hear Taehyung taking his leave through the front door, dragging a complaining Daehyun behind him to Jungkook’s satisfaction. The sound of the front door shutting had never sounded so delightful. 

A silence ensued as Jungkook walked through the hallway upstairs, continuing until he paused in front of his bedroom’s door. He couldn’t hear any noises coming from inside the room, so, with a light knock against the white and fawn wood, his hand wrapped around the handle to turn it and finally push the door open. 

The windows displayed an almost set sun, coating the atmosphere in a blanket of dimness. Everything about his bedroom had been changed. His once dark brown and white bed had been switched out for a cream and fawn coloured one, with a bouquet of vibrant red roses sitting atop the fancy and plush duvet, while his black leather couches had been replaced by light cloth ones. The ceiling and walls had been painted white, complimenting the new white and fawn patterned marble floor. His old dresser had also disappeared, a cream coloured dresser twice its size sitting in its place instead. 

Aside from the drastic changes that had been made to his bedroom, no doubt to signify the change that came with marriage, the first thing Jungkook noticed was the maid who was drawing the curtains closed. The room would have fallen into complete darkness if it weren’t for the lamps sitting atop the bedside tables which were emanating a warm light around the space. 

The second thing he noticed was you, who was sitting timidly on the edge of the bed and facing him. Your fingers were playing awkwardly in front of you while your gaze had been fixed on the floor, but at the sound of the door opening, your head raised to look at Jungkook. The sight of your face once again caught him off guard, the lack of makeup revealing a different side of you. 

You no longer looked young. Without the innocent look that had been created with the blushes and the eyeliners and the lip glosses, Jungkook could see the mature shape of your eyes and the defined look of your features. You looked your age now, a lot more maturity prominent in your appearance. 

You were pretty. Jungkook could admit that much now that you didn’t resemble a teenager. He wondered why you had done your makeup like that in the first place. He’d been to many weddings before and none of the brides had been made to look so young. Then again, Taehyung had already told him that, on top of looking innocent and naive, you seemed to dress the part as well. 

“Is something wrong?” Your soft voice asked, eyes blinking innocently up at him. 

Jungkook shook his head, motioning for the maid to leave the room. She gave you both a low bow before scurrying out the doorway, making sure to close the door behind her. 

“No,” he finally answered. For the first time in a long time he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He wasn’t sure if you were expecting anything to happen tonight, or if you even wanted anything to happen for now. 

His gaze lowered as he mulled over his next actions. You had changed out of your wedding dress into a light pink, mesh lace nightgown that came all the way down to your knees with a silk bow stitched into the centre of your chest, as if your clothes were meant to compensate for the lack of makeup dolling up your features. He almost wanted to raise an eyebrow at you, but you seemed much too fragile to be ridiculed. 

Alternatively, he decided to take an experimental step in your direction, surveying your reaction closely. He watched your fingers close tighter around the duvet on which you sat, your gaze hesitantly darting everywhere but him. That was answer enough for him to know how far you were ready to take it tonight. So instead, he passed the bed, opting instead to drop onto the couch on the far end of the room. While he was facing you, you had to turn your head to keep him in your sights. 

“What would you like to do now?” He asked you, resting an arm over the back of the couch while he crossed an ankle over his knee. 

Your gaze dropped to your lap, watching your fingers fidget against each other nervously. It was almost as if having to answer a question like that had you stressed, which again made Jungkook wonder how you had survived growing up in a mafia family. How could you have been this weak?

“I-I don’t know,” you squeaked, not able to meet his gaze. 

Jungkook sighed, turning his head to the side to survey the room. Technically, the two of you could just call it a night and go to sleep. You were clearly too shy to even speak a word to him, and Jungkook had never been one to beg others for things. Only time would tell how well the two of you would get to know each other. 

But then Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the coffee table in front of him, noticing some sort of gift basket placed in its centre. It was obviously a wedding gift, filled with chocolates, scented candles, roses… and some wine and champagne. Jungkook has always been more of a whiskey guy, but right now he’d take just about anything. 

“Why don’t we have a drink?” He suggested, uncrossing his leg so that he could lean forward and grab the top of the expensive-looking bottle of red wine. He prayed you weren’t one of those people that didn’t drink, your innocent personality couldn’t possibly extend all the way to drinking as well. 

You paused for a moment, taking in the bottle in Jungkook’s hand, before slowly nodding your head, to Jungkook’s relief. 

He beckoned you over with his free hand, “come here.”

You hesitated before slowly pushing yourself off the bed and took small steps towards him. Jungkook waited patiently until you were standing right in front of the couch, hands clasped shyly in front of you while your gaze stayed glued to the floor. He held up the bottle of wine and champagne in front of you, hoping you weren’t so dumb that you wouldn’t understand the question in his actions. Thankfully you studied the two bottles before a shaky hand raised and tapped against the bottle of champagne. 

He pushed the bottle in your direction, forcing you to take it in your own hands, before standing up from the couch. The unexpected action seemed to scare you, causing you to immediately take a timid step backwards while you hugged the bottle to your chest. Jungkook had to suppress a tired, and maybe even slightly annoyed sigh, as he manoeuvred past you. He was trying to be patient, but this was becoming ridiculous. 

“You get that open while I wash up,” he said to you, pointing at the bottle still pressed to your chest, “okay?”

You nodded slowly, allowing him to turn away from you and walk into the joint bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him he let out the sigh he had suppressed earlier. You really were… something. He couldn’t believe he had been suspicious of you earlier when you could barely even function properly, much less be any sort of threat. It was irritating, Jungkook felt, to have someone so incompetent for a wife. He wondered if he would have to break you out of that shell. You were the wife of a mafia leader now after all, you had to keep up at least some air of confidence in the presence of others so that you didn’t make him look weak. 

Jungkook walked over to the sink and turned it on, splashing some cold water on his face before he began brushing his teeth. You were far from his ideal type, and he doubted this marriage would ever stem into whatever Taehyung and Chaewon had going on. Hell, he was wondering how the two of you could ever even produce an heir. You’d probably spontaneously combust if he even tried to touch you. And besides, he didn’t really want to touch you if he was being honest. You reminded him too much of a weak and helpless child, which was obviously a huge turn off. He may have been a mafia leader, but he wasn’t a complete monster. 

Jungkook placed his toothbrush into the holder after spitting into the sink, drying himself off with one of the towels hanging near him. He was about to start changing into more comfortable clothes, only getting as far as unbuttoning the first few buttons of his black collar shirt, before a crashing sound rang from the bedroom. In less than a second he had pushed out of the bathroom, immediately scanning the bedroom before him as his hand automatically sought out the gun at his side. 

It took him a moment to realise the lack of intruders in the room, and then another to take in your completely unharmed form. You were standing with your hands covering your mouth, looking down at the ground. Jungkook followed your gaze to find the champagne bottle rolling along the marble floor, still entirely intact. You had clearly dropped the thing accidentally, causing Jungkook to place his gun back in his waistband.

“I’m s-so sorry,” you squeaked, bending down quickly to pick up the bottle. Suppressing a huff, Jungkook walked over to you to take it from your hands. 

“Here, let me do it,” he said, taking two of the crystal champagne flutes from the gift basket and placing them on the glass coffee table as he sat himself down on the couch, distantly annoyed at the fact that you couldn’t even pour a glass of champagne by yourself. Was this seriously what he was going to have to deal with from now on?

He tipped the bottle, filling both glasses to the brim with the bubbling liquid as you hesitantly sat yourself down on the couch to his left. His gaze fell on you as he was about to offer you one of the flutes, but paused when he noticed the look on your face. For the first time since he met you, you looked almost… excited. Usually your eyes would be downturned and focused on the floor, but this time they were fixed on the crystal glasses before you as if you were eager to taste the expensive liquid. Jungkook made a note of it, tucking it into the back of his mind for later. 

“Take one,” he said as he motioned towards one of the glasses, but to his surprise you hesitantly shook your head. Your expression had turned timid once again, any hint of excitement from earlier entirely gone. He narrowed his eyes at you as he wondered if he had just imagined it. It had barely been there anyway. 

“I don’t drink,” you said in your signature soft tone, not able to meet his gaze. Of course you don’t, Jungkook thought irritatedly, god forbid the princess touch a glass of champagne. He knew the thought was immature, but there was no way he was the most immature person in the room at the moment. 

He pushed himself off the couch, very much aware that his patience was starting to wear thin, “well then I guess we should call it a night.”

But before he could step towards the bed, your hand shot out, clutching the edge of his sleeve with your fingers. He immediately looked down at your still seated form, a question in his eyes. You had to look away for a moment, seemingly collecting your nerves, before you met his gaze once again. 

“Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t,” you said, “I don’t want you not to enjoy yourself because of me. Please stay.”

Jungkook noticed the evident guilt in your eyes as your fingers continued to stay enclosed around the edge of his sleeve. When he didn’t move, you hesitantly leaned forward to gently pick up one of the glasses and then slowly presented it to him. His gaze shifted to the glass in your hand, pausing for only a moment, before he took it from you. He let himself sink back onto the couch as he studied you. 

You continued to sit in your spot on the sofa, posture still timid. Your gaze bounced from one part of the floor to the next, while your expression remained shy. But there was something else lurking behind the expression. If Jungkook focused well enough, he could have sworn the edges of your lips were turned slightly upwards. It was so faint that it might have not even been there, but the more he focused, the more prominent it became to him. 

A naive part of him might have thought it was from being successful in getting him to stay and have the drink, but the more logical part of him had already latched onto an idea, one that refused to be swept to the side any longer. 

His gaze lowered to your collarbone, a glint from the heart-shaped necklace resting over your soft skin catching his attention. Unlike earlier, he noticed that the metal heart was actually a locket, and that its two sides were slightly open. It couldn’t have been ajar by more than a millimetre, but Jungkook still noted it down in his mind.

His gaze then ascended to your face, still a perfect picture of innocence. Your eyes were widened to resemble a curious doe, while your lips were pulled into a timid line. The hands resting in your lap fumbled with each other shyly, really completing the look. 

Finally, his gaze dropped to the drink in his hand. He brought it closer to his face, as if he were about to take a sip, before eyeing the expensive liquid. His gaze fixed on the miniscule bubbles that continued travelled from the bottom of the flute to its surface, causing it to sizzle.

Jungkook slowly leaned forward, keeping his eye on his drink as he brought it away from his lips and instead calmly set it down on the coffee table before him. He then easily pushed himself off of the couch, which caused your brows to jump. There was an apparent question in your expression, one you decided to voice out loud. 

“Is something wrong with the drink?” You asked, voice still soft as your doe eyes looked up at him through your lashes. 

Ignoring the question, Jungkook placed a hand on the edge of the coffee table and slowly pushed it forward so that it was farther away from your seated form. The action caused you to blink. 

“Is everything okay?” You tried again slowly.

But Jungkook then faced you, assessing you for a moment, before he took a few steps in your direction. You had to crane your neck upwards to continue meeting his gaze, his tall form towering over your seated one. This time your brows pulled together, eyes still doe-like, as you continued to question his actions. 

“Jungko-”

Jungkook didn’t let you finish. The second you opened your mouth his large hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your neck, slamming your head into the seat of the couch. You squeaked at the sudden violence, immediately clawing at the fingers now enclosed around your throat. But your efforts were nothing in comparison to Jungkook’s iron hold. 

“J-Jungkook, you’re h-hurting me!” You let out a choked cry, continuing to put up a weak fight against Jungkook. Tears had already started to coat your eyes and run down your cheeks, but Jungkook ignored them completely. He watched you struggle, fascinated by the way you thrashed around like an animal yet every jab at him was weak and ineffective. There was no sign of the strength he had noticed when you had grabbed onto his bicep earlier, so hard that he was sure it would leave a bruise. It was enough to make him grin.

Jungkook lowered his face so that his lips neared your ear, his body still hovering over your smaller form. 

“If you wanted to kill me princess, you’ll have to do a better job than that,” he said, voice low. Your eyes widened even further as you continued to struggle against him, making pitiful noises that didn’t move him in the slightest. 

“K-Kill?! What are y-you talking about?!” You continued to choke out as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your hands had moved to his chest, desperately trying to push him away, yet failing miserably in the process. Jungkook tilted his head at your weak plea, eager to hear what other ways you’d beg him to let you go.

 “P-please-” You began, but then cut yourself off abruptly when your tear-filled gaze met his. You must have seen something in his eyes, because he felt your body slacken, no longer desperate to fight him despite his hold on your neck cutting off your lung’s supply of air. 

Instead you studied him, really studied him. He could see the same calculated look you had used on Taehyung earlier during the wedding. It was as if you were assessing Jungkook, picking out his strengths and weaknesses to figure out how you could use them to your advantage. He watched you weigh options in your head patiently before you finally tilted your head to the side calmly and shot him a look. In response, Jungkook decided to loosen his grip on your throat. He watched you catch your breath for a moment before you spoke. 

“Well, you’re already smarter than the first one,” you commented, but your voice was entirely different. It was no longer soft and timid, rather it was a lot more deep and confident. He watched your expression change in the same manner. Your once wide and innocent looking eyes narrowed into a more matured look, while your lips straightened into more of a dangerously amused grin than a naive pout. 

Then he processed your words. The ‘first one’ had to be your first husband, who Taehyung had explained had been killed on his wedding day. Taehyung had mentioned that a rival gang had been the one to murder him, but the actual one responsible for his death was clear to Jungkook now. 

“Do you make it a hobby to poison your husbands’ drinks on their wedding nights?” He asked, hand still wrapped around your throat. He had situated himself between your legs, his own leg pushing one of yours against the back of the couch while his free hand pushed the other down against the seat of the couch. The position ensured you wouldn’t be able to kick him, while his body hovering over your own seemed to take care of the rest of you. You were smart enough not to try anything anyway, knowing Jungkook’s strength was incomparable to yours.

You shrugged, panting at the limited oxygen entering your lungs, “golf just wasn’t cutting it for me anymore.”

“Golf? How can a weak and helpless girl like you play such a sport?” Jungkook couldn’t help but quip, bordering on mocking you. It only made you grin, clearly no hint of offence in your expression. 

He studied your nonchalant demeanour curiously. You had tried to kill him, and he should send your head back to your father’s doorstep for it. And yet, you couldn’t have looked any less composed with his hand around your neck. Either you were a complete idiot, which seemed much less likely now that he was starting to see your real character, or you believed you had the upper hand in this situation. 

“You’re quite calm for someone I should have killed,” he noted, meaning for it to be a threat. But once again you didn’t seem deterred. In fact, the comment seemed to amuse you even more. 

“Just because you should have me killed doesn’t mean you’ll actually have me killed.”

Jungkook’s brow raised, finding an opportunity to prod you further, “and why won’t I have you killed? Your father sent you here to kill me under the pretence of an alliance. I should start a war for this.”

You nodded, “but you see, my father did send me here to form an alliance. The whole killing you idea was all mine.”

Jungkook scoffed at the lame attempt at a lie, “you expect me to believe that?”

But you scoffed as well, meeting his gaze just as vehemently. It was an odd sight considering you had spent the entire day trying to make yourself small and avoiding his gaze. Yet here you were now, eyes ablaze like a thrashing fire. Not a spontaneously violent fire either, no Jungkook could very easily handle that. You were more like an electrical fire. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he had to be cautious around you, and that trusting any word that came out of your mouth was dangerous. 

“Prove it then,” he challenged, tightening his hold on your neck for a moment to remind you of your vulnerability. 

“I don’t need to prove anything,” you said, a hand coming up to wrap around his wrist, “just go ahead and mention to my father that I’m not a complete airhead that’s afraid of her own shadow. He’ll laugh in your face and call you a moron.”

The revelation that your father was just as clueless about your true self as everyone else only confirmed his initial thoughts. It also proved he couldn’t have trusted you to carry out an assassination attempt, meaning your father really did genuinely want an alliance with the Jeons. That was perfect, because Jungkook had certain plans that relied on this partnership. It was a relief that they hadn’t gone to waste.

“If it wasn’t your father’s idea, then why did you poison my drink?” He asked with a raised brow. 

Silence filled the room following his question, one that allowed you both to hear the sounds of the wall clock. He got the feeling that you were contemplating something once again, planning out your next move.

Then you squirmed underneath him, seemingly getting comfortable, but Jungkook knew better than to believe whatever you appeared as. The second your hand went for the gun wedged in his waistband, he grabbed your wrist, pining it against the couch, while the hand that had been around your throat pulled out the matte black weapon. He slowly brought it to your temple with an amused grin.

“If you wanted it so badly, you could have just asked,” he taunted, bringing the gun down so that its barrel lifted your chin, “now, I asked a question princess.”

You huffed, your amusement finally falling to give him a half-hearted glare.

“I want a divorce.”

Jungkook couldn’t help the laugh that sounded from his lips at your straightforwardness. You just tried to kill him, it didn’t take a genius to work out that you weren’t a fan of this marriage and wanted out of it. 

It was an arranged marriage after all, and even though all arranged marriages didn’t equal a forced marriage, technically he couldn’t be certain that this marriage was of your own choice or not. For all he knew, you had some secret lover waiting for you back home, your marriage with Jungkook coming between the star crossed romance. The thought made his jaw tick. He was far from in love with you, but Jungkook tended to be territorial about what was his. And you were his wife at the moment. 

You, on the other hand, seemed surprised by his reaction, as if it was the last thing you expected him to do.

“I mean you obviously want one now too, right?” You asked with your brows furrowed.

Jungkook didn’t respond, and that only seemed to make you more agitated.

“I’m not the wife that you want. You clearly can’t stand me when I have my ditzy front pulled up and you can’t trust me when I don’t.”

Although the points that you were making were true, there was one important factor you were missing, and that was the alliance between the Jeons and the Lees. Jungkook needed this alliance to, at the very least make himself seem like, he was more powerful than the Parks and the Mins. And with their recent moves -with what he saw at the docks just last night- he needed this alliance now more than ever. So while he normally would have had you executed and then sent your head to your father’s doorstep for your little assassination attempt, this time he was going to have to sweep his pride to the side.

Jungkook placed his free hand next to your head as he pushed himself up, choosing instead to stay standing in front of the sofa. His intense gaze dropped to your still form while his gun hung from his fingers firmly. 

“No,” he finally said, causing your brows to jump. 

You quickly pushed yourself off the couch to stand just as he was, but Jungkook didn’t move. With the sofa right behind you, barring you from taking a few steps back, that left you and him standing dangerously close to each other. The bow from your nightgown pressed against his partly unbuttoned black collar shirt, while its edge grazed his dress pants. Jungkook could feel the heat of your breath raise goosebumps from his exposed collarbone. 

“Why not? I’m not the wife that you want.”

He smiled at the bite in your words, finding your frustration amusing, “you’ve got it all wrong. I simply wanted a wife to make the Lees allies, nothing more.”

Like a fire set alight, your eyes flashed in anger, “I won’t change. I’ll still be your idiot wife that will make you look weak.”

It was true that most wives of mafia leaders were strong and confident beings, symbols of their husbands’ power, and that having a wife like you may be a slightly risky choice. But Jungkook was sure his carefully established reputation could take the hit. Besides, although you might make him look weak, your marriage with him would make him far from actually weak. 

“You think divorcing you won’t make me look weak?” Jungkook decided to say, unsure of if he was saying it to play with you more or to make sure you don’t believe your threats are inconveniencing him, “you’ve fooled everyone with your ditzy facade. A divorce will make them think I wasn’t able to tame a naive girl. You think people will accept me as a leader then?”

You didn’t react to the point, giving him the feeling that you might have already known that might pose an issue for him. Perhaps you thought his reputation could take the hit? When Jungkook really thought about it, it probably could have. He’d worked hard to be both feared and respected for years, a divorce like this, while questionable in the eyes of the people under him, could have been pushed under the rug given time. But the alliance was too important to him. 

And that was something he needed to make sure you knew. 

“That means you will continue to be my wife,” he settled, lowering his gaze so that it met yours with unwavering finality, “so you’ll continue to act like it.”

Jungkook felt his voice naturally lower, a hint of a threat evident in his tone, “listen to me well, Y/N. I don’t care if you act like the dumbest woman on Earth or the most sultry. Regardless, what you will act like is my wife. When we’re outside of this bedroom, we will laugh together, we will hug each other, and we will do whatever other damn thing married couples do so that no one doubts this relationship.”

“And if I don’t?” You bit, the speed of your reply making his jaw tick. 

“If you don’t, you can stay locked in this bedroom until you learn how to behave. Understood?”

Your rage couldn’t have been more prominent, with a fierce glare burning right through him and a pair of fisted hands at your sides. Yet Jungkook ignored it all, instead meeting your gaze coolly as he waited for your confirmation. 

It took a long moment to come, so long that Jungkook thought it wasn’t going to come at all. But eventually he noticed you nod your head. It was barely a movement, your head tipping down slightly before resuming its earlier place, but it was enough for him despite your unwavering glare. 

He finally took a few steps back, thrusting the barrel of his gun once again into the waistband of his pants. Your angry form, on the other hand, didn’t move, opting instead to stand perfectly still despite your calves pressing into the sofa behind you. Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, brushing the strands that had fallen onto his forehead away from his face.

“Good, then we’re done here.”

He finally turned away from you, eyeing the door on his left intently. But before he could move towards it, your words made him pause.

“I just tried to kill you,” you commented before he turned to question its randomness. He found you sitting on the sofa once again, an eerily thoughtful look lurking behind your rage-filled eyes, “how will you know I won’t do it again?”

Jungkook tilted his head in response. 

“You can try all you want, princess,” he said, liking the feeling of that nickname on his tongue more and more. It was almost addicting, “but you won’t succeed.”

Then his lips curled into a sly smirk, “after all, what kind of husband would I be if I barred my wife from her hobbies?”

He was able to just barely catch the roll of your eyes before he turned and pushed through the door he had been eyeing earlier, his hands automatically locking it behind him as he casually surveyed his office. The room had been spared from the new gleaming white and fawn furniture which had taken over his bedroom. Instead, it was filled with familiar dark brown.

Refined dark oak wood shelves and cabinets lined the walls except for the wall behind his large desk, which was made up entirely of a bookshelf filled to the brim with various hardcovers. For the sake of matching with the rest of the house, the marble floor had been done a light fawn colour, while another wall was made up of bulletproof glass, its centre having the ability to slide open to reveal a decent sized balcony. 

Jungkook shrugged off his blazer as he made his way to his desk, laying the piece of cloth over the back of his black leather chair, before he opened the glass cabinet behind it. He didn’t need to think much as his fingers expertly curled around an expensive bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass. Before he knew it, he found himself standing outside on his balcony overlooking his estate, one hand holding the crystal glass filled halfway with light brown liquid while the other clutched the iron railing. 

His gaze bounced around his estate for a peaceful moment as he took a sip from his glass, taking in the expanse of the luscious green field bordering the neatly done driveway despite the darkness of the night. In its centre was an intricately designed white fountain spewing water in four different directions, but all of which emptied systematically into the white basin at its base. The estate itself stretched for metres, the gates enclosing the space barely visible from where he was standing. Jungkook’s thoughts bounced around his head just as quickly as his gaze. 

What a day it had been. At first, you’d been a complete idiot, one that had irritated him to no extent with your doe eyes and evident shyness. 

But then you had turned out to be an entirely different species, far from the innocent and ditzy girl he’d labelled you as. You were cunning and feisty and seemingly very much ready for a divorce. 

Jungkook felt the corners of his lips pull upwards into a grin as he took another sip of his whisky.

You were quite the enigma.

But he was going to enjoy the challenge.  

A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!

[ichorai]

button ; coriolanus snow. (m)

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

words ; 3.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.

It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.

He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.

It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner. 

To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.

Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”

Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his. 

“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.

“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss. 

“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room. 

Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.

Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.

Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.

By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.

Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye. 

He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.

He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes. 

The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there. 

You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”

There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.

He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his. 

When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?

“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”

“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”

A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”

“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.

The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.

Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.

It was only a matter of time until you asked.

His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.

“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”

You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?

Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”

His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.

Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.

A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging. 

“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”

And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.

Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.

“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”

The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him. 

You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.

And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face. 

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”

She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.

“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!” 

There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…

Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.

“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—

Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.

“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”

Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”

“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”

A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus. 

“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”

The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”

Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.

His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.

“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”

“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”

He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”

When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.

“You know, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours. 

“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”

He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs. 

“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”

He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. 

What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. 

Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.

“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.

“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”

His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.

“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you. 

You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another. 

You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.

He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs. 

Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”

“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.

[humanpurposes]

August

Part 2: Tell Me What You Want

You and Aemond are getting closer. Things aren't so hostile but there's a new kind of tension between you and it's starting to get unbearable.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader // Modern AU

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected p in v sex, sexual tension, competitive siblings

Words: 8k

A/n: thank u for waiting everyone, I had a rough few weeks of character building 😙 This is a three part series so one part to go

Nights like these come straight from a song, a music video from your favourite band, a moment in a book that stays with you for weeks, months. Crackles and pops come from the fire, smoke and embers rise into an inky sky dotted with stars. In a few months you’ll be looking back on the memory, wishing you could have bottled this feeling, or let it drag its feet so it would never have to end.

The wine has gone to your head. You’re blissfully fuzzy, your mouth slightly numb, a sickly sweet taste lingering on your tongue. Helaena and Aegon are in hysterics over something Daeron has said, a joke from years ago that the siblings had all forgotten until now. Even Aemond cracks a rare smile. You’re sat beside him tonight, leaning against his arm. His hand sneaks its way onto your thigh underneath a blanket, tracing patterns on your bare skin, dangerously close to the hem of your shorts.

The light from the fire looms over his face and you watch him like you did on the beach below Dragonstone. His smile is less refined than the rest of him. You’re not sure what makes you think this. Maybe it’s because he tries to hide it and shrink into himself. Maybe it’s because his mouth is a little crooked and you’re not used to seeing his teeth. 

He turns his head to look down at you. Your heart is frantic in your chest; his nose is so close to yours. You could tilt your head a little further and capture your lips with his, but you won’t, not in front of Helaena and the others.

His eye glances across the fire at his siblings. “Ah,” he mutters under his breath, understanding your hesitation.

You allow your head to settle against his shoulder, adjusting your body, letting yourself mould into the shape of him. “This is nice,” you say with a sigh, just loud enough that only he will hear.

“Hmm,” Aemond says, the sound of his voice and the steady beat of his pulse humming through your chest and limbs. You wonder what he’s thinking about, what’s happening behind that beautiful eye.

Settled against Aemond, a different sort of tipsy ensnares you. Your eyelids are heavy, your body feels at ease. You start to worry if you don’t get to bed soon you won’t make it at all.

Aemond nudges you softly. “You’re falling asleep there, darling.”

Darling.

“I think I should go upstairs,” you mumble.

“Come on,” he says, whisking away the blanket so the mild air jabs at your skin. His body is gone, his warmth is gone, but he’s standing above the bench, holding out his hand for you to take.

When you stand you stumble a little. Aemond’s hand clasps around your wrist to steady you. Your eyes meet his and you giggle to stifle your nerves.

“Lightweight” Aegon calls.

“Piss off,” you return with a grin as Aemond walks you towards the patio doors.

Somehow your arm finds its way to become intertwined with Aemond’s. He leads the way through the gold accents, tall windows and mirrors of the west gallery, but with the light gone it takes on a gloomier, eerier air, darkness reflected into darkness, broken by the chandeliers overhead. You gaze up at the soft light and sparkling crystals. In the morning you’ll probably have an awful hangover, but for now everything around you takes on a fascinating sort of beauty. You hardly realise you’re losing your balance and falling into Aemond. 

He holds your hand as he guides you up the stairs, along the route towards the east wing. When you come to the corridor where your room is, Aemond’s arm snakes around your waist. His fingertips linger softly against your skin, above your shorts where your top has ridden up a little. You don’t mind– gods, he could do anything to you and you wouldn’t mind. 

With this thought, you look at him. Your legs move slowly but synchronised, one slow step after another. You lift a finger and trace it along the length of his nose, down to the little cleft at the tip.

He huffs a laugh. “What?”

“I like your nose,” you say.

“Thank you.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“I like you being honest.”

You both come to a halt when you reach the end of the corridor and the door to your bedroom. Aemond’s hand slips from your waist but he lingers, watching you, his eye roaming over your face. You don’t quite reach for the door handle yet.

“You didn’t have to walk me,” you say. It’s not dreadfully far to get from the garden to the moat room, and besides, you know your way around Dragonstone now.

“I didn’t have to.” Aemond takes a step into you, placing a wide palm at your side and guiding your back against the wall. He sighs slightly as he exhales and excitement floods in your gut. “Maybe I just wanted to get you alone.”

What can you possibly say to that? The lowness of his voice has rendered your mind useless. But you’ve been wondering if that’s what he thinks when he looks at you. It’s hard to tell with Aemond. His pupil is blown wide, wine, darkness, wanting. His lips are parted and each breath he takes is a gentle stroke of air on your skin.

“You could have just said,” you utter.

His hand tightens at your waist. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

His lips are curled at the corners and it’s just too inviting. He inches closer into you and like a jolt of electricity has sparked in your bloodstream, you surge into him. You melt into one another so effortlessly, lips and tongues, his hands on your sides pulling you into him, your arms around his neck and your fingertips teasing his hair.

It’s been inevitable, hasn’t it? All his smug glances, the way he catches your eye in a crowded room or across the garden. It’s pure energy, hot and visceral, every part of you overwhelmed and yet craving more.

He pauses for a breath and kisses you again, then pauses again. He makes a humming sound in his throat and squeezes your body in some kind of finality before he steps away.

You don’t understand it. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, of course you haven’t,” he says quickly. He takes a breath and runs his hand through his hair, his gorgeous, gorgeous hand. “I just… it wouldn’t be fair on you right now.”

You frown. You know you’ve pushed past your usual limit of drinking, and Aemond seems at ease, not in a state where he should be questioning his decisions. But then that probably makes him the sensible one and you haven’t realised how far gone you are.

“No, you’re right,” you say, unable to look away from his eye.

Aemond swallows thickly. “I want to, I really want to.”

“Me too,” you say, heart starting to sink, or is that just the wine?

“Gods, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you’re reaching for the collar of his t-shirt, pressing your fingertips into the fabric and the hard points of his collarbone underneath, “we can be grown ups about this.”

He curls his hand around your wrist. “We get on, don’t we?”

You shrug, hoping he’ll think you’re not that bothered. “I think so.”

“And I think we could have some fun together.”

“Fun?” 

“When we’re both in the right mind.” He lifts your hand away from his chest and brings it to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss against your knuckles. His eye stays fixed on your face, bright blue and hypnotising. You watch his lips, savouring the feeling of them against your skin. You could pull him into you, beg him to kiss you until you can’t breathe…

“Because you’re cute,” he says with a soft click of his tongue.

“Cute,” you repeat.

He leans in to peck your lips. It’s quick, nice, cute.

“Sleep well,” he says and turns away, wandering idly along the corridor. 

“You too,” you say after him, finding your voice feeble and quiet. Before he disappears from your sight you throw open the door to your bedroom and hide yourself away inside.

Back against the closed door, you breathe and clasp your fingers over your mouth to hide your smile from the empty room.

The next day you skip breakfast, needing a lie-in, some painkillers and a large glass of water, provided by Helaena knocking on your door long after you’re usually awake. 

“I didn’t think you were that bad last night,” she says, opening one of the windows.

“I’m not usually a wine drinker, maybe that’s what killed me off,” you grumble, wincing at the light she lets in. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe you just need the sleep, maybe it’s the image you’ve been replaying of Aemond’s body pressing into yours and his vague promise floating around in your head. “I think we could have some fun together…”

You snap yourself out of that pretty quickly considering his sister is perched on the edge of your bed.

���And Aemond walked you up, that was nice of him.”

Apparently there’s no escaping it. “Yeah, it was.”

“So… he was all over you in the garden last night.” When you drag yourself to sit up Helaena is looking eagerly at you.

You blurt out without even thinking, “nothing happened.” You need to get it off your chest, but saying it out loud you don’t feel especially relieved, more embarrassed.

“No of course not,” Helaena says with a mischievous grin. “But you’ve been rather friendly with each other since your little misunderstanding.”

Enough for his siblings to notice at the very least. “It’s not weird, is it?”

“Is what weird?”

You tilt your head with a pleading look. 

“Oh babe,” she says. “No, not weird at all. If anything it’s a little obvious, Aegon’s been waiting for the penny to drop for weeks.”

You cover your head with your hands and groan. For you, attraction, liking someone, has always come with a sense of humiliation. Your friends don’t get your type, and while Aemond is a little unconventional for you he fits the bill well enough, tall, smart, not too boisterous. He also just happens to be pretentious but subtle and perhaps even sweet… the more you think about him the deeper you’re digging yourself into this hole. 

Healena is clearly in hysterics but is trying not to laugh too much to spare you. “It’s cute actually, Aemond’s been a bit… well it’s nice to see him being excited about something for once.”

Once you’ve regained a bit of composure and gotten over the fluttering feeling in your chest, you say, “he kissed me last night.”

“Liar! What happened to ‘nothing happened’?”

“I thought maybe he was a bit drunk.”

“Are you joking? He looks at you like a lost puppy.”

“Please don’t tell me that.”

“No look, here’s what you do. You and him are living under the same roof for another, what, two weeks? What have you got to lose? Live a little, flirt with him, and don’t overthink it.”

If only ‘don’t overthink it’ was a sentence that could actually compute in your brain. 

You’re lying in a lounger by the pool in one of your bikinis, having moved on from Crime and Punishment to Frankenstien. Your body is lathered with suncream, the scent of artificial coconut clinging to your skin. The sun makes you sweat, but you’re enjoying the position you’re in.

Then you take a breath and you smell the cigarette smoke.

You don’t move your head too obviously, your sunglasses hiding where your eyes are looking, but you see Aemond at the edge of the patio, as close as he can get to you without stepping onto the grass. He’s dressed in a black t-shirt and shorts, sunglasses perched on his nose as he watches you. Even from a distance his gaze burns into your skin, you can feel it writhing there.

You wish you could be closer, so you could hear his inhales and exhales, see the flexes of his hands as he lifts the cigarette to his lips, the pout as he blows smoke into the air. It’s intoxicating. It’s infuriating.

He disappears into the house before you’ve reached the end of your chapter. You tut to yourself, furious you hadn’t read the lines fast enough so you could accidentally run into him on your way inside. You swing your legs round and slip on your pair of sandals. “Don’t overthink it,” you whisper to yourself. So what if he looks but never comes over? So what if he left whatever this is between you as a wine-fuelled kiss outside your bedroom? When all he had to do was open the door, lay you down on the bed. You would have said yes, sober or not. Would he?

Don’t overthink it. Whatever happens happens.

You leave your towel and book by the pool, but you need a drink to fight off the dry feeling in your mouth. Or maybe you’re just restless. Maybe you need something else to do than sit around and wait.

You go into the kitchen, thankful to see there isn’t anyone around. No Criston sitting at his laptop, no Alicent leaning on his shoulder. There’s noise coming from the staff kitchen, tonight’s dinner prep, which won’t be served for a good few hours. 

In the fridge you find an array of drinks, all sorts of iced teas and flavours of lemonade all in glass bottles. You pick the first thing you see, something pink and labelled as raspberry flavoured. As you’re digging through a drawer trying to find a bottle opener, you hear a few soft footsteps against the tiled floor. There’s a faint scent of cigarettes and aftershave.

“Want some help?” Aemond says.

Conveniently, you close your fingers around the bottle opener. “No, actually, I’m all good,” you say, turning around to flick off the metal cap. 

His eye follows your hand as you place the cap and the opener down on the counter, as you bring the bottle to your lips and take a small sip so that the drink doesn’t fizz.

He’s a friendly distance from you, not close to touching you, but every muscle in your body tenses. You’re so aware of everything he does, the subtle change in his gaze, how his eye darkens as he tilts his head down to look at you, how he holds his mouth, how his nose twitches ever so slightly when he breathes.

And you’re painfully aware of how indecently dressed you are, how good you thought you looked when you last checked your reflection, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of your neck. Can he see it? Does the heat drive him to restlessness too?

“This is nice,” he says, looking over the bikini, a shade of blue that compliments your complexion perfectly. You see his hand twitch at his side. 

Is he thinking about touching you? Is he desperate to pull you in like he did the other night?

“Do you think so?” you say, leaning back on one hand against the counter, waiting for his eye to come back to yours. “You’ve never complimented any of my outfits before, Aemond.” 

His eye seems to light up when you say his name. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them.”

You take another casual sip from the bottle, watching how his throat bobs when he swallows. 

He takes another step forward. He’s testing the waters, you realise, seeing how close he can come before you squirm. You take your weight off your hand on the counter, closing the distance by just another fraction.

“Did you think about me last night?” he mutters. You’re close enough that you can hear him, even when he speaks under his breath. 

“After you left me standing outside my bedroom door?”

He raises a brow.

“Maybe I did.”

“I thought about you,” he says.

“But you didn’t do anything about it.”

With one more step he’s pressed against you, the counter digging into your lower back. Aemond puts his hand at your waist, his thumb resting on your front, not firmly, but noticeable. Your breath hitches.

Aemond smiles to himself. “I said we should both be in the right mind, and you agreed, didn’t you?” His hand trails, moving down to the waist of your bikini bottom. He slips two fingers under the fabric, sliding them up, along the conjuncture of your thigh and your hip. 

You dig your teeth into your lower lip for a moment, determined to keep your composure, desperate to deny him the satisfaction even though it’s already written all over his face. He can see you’re breathless, that your heart is racing in your chest.

The pull to him is like gravity, something that binds the world together, crushing and impossible to deny. 

He leans over your, his lips hovering by your ear, circling an arm around your middle. You can smell the beads of sweat on his neck, the scent of his shampoo, something naturally him that you think will linger in your mind for a while. “So why don’t we stop tip-toeing around each other and enjoy the rest of the summer?”

Why shouldn’t you? Really, why? It’s been so long since you felt a draw like this, since you felt wanted. He’s grovelled enough surely and something about his mask of perfection slipping to reveal something primal and reckless, excites you. Proud Aemond Targaryen, digging his hands into your flesh, grazing his lips over your ear, your jaw–

Your eyes flicker to the door. Daeron’s standing in the doorway in his tennis gear, face pink and sweat dripping from his silver hair.

Aemond notices you’ve frozen. He slowly pulls away and glances over his shoulder. His posture instantly shifts. 

“Alright, kids?” Daeron says, shoulders swaying as he walks into the kitchen.

Aemond’s standing in front of you, nudging you with his hand to keep your body concealed behind his. From over his shoulder you watch Daeron take a bottle of iced tea from the fridge. He opens the cap on the side of the counter.

“Don’t stop on my account. I’m not even here.” Daeron chugs from the glass bottle, making a smacking sound with his lips and taking a breath with a smug “ah!” when he pulls it away from his mouth.

Aemond turns to face you. “Thinks he’s so fucking funny.”

Daeron shoots you a wink. With the moment firmly crushed under his younger brother’s Asics tennis shoes and Adidas socks, you slip from Aemond’s grip.

“I’m gonna get my book,” you say.

Aemond angles his brows like he’s begging you to stay, but he lets you go out to the garden without much more of a fight.

His lingering stares and double takes are becoming more brazen now.

You sit with your parents that night at dinner. Your father tells you about the golf club on the neighbouring island of Driftmark, which Corlys Velaryon is insisting the men should all go to visit sometime this week. It’s not far, a quick journey on one of the yachts. Your mother had gone into the town today with Alicent and shows you the photos she took of some adorable clay figures of animals and seashells in a local craft shop.

This doesn’t seem to deter Aemond at all. He’s where he usually is, at the head of the table, looking over at you every so often while Helaena speaks at length to him. You catch snippets of this one-sided conversation, sea birds and prey, wingspans and something about dinosaurs?

The distance between you is starting to feel unbearable.

After dinner Aegon leads you and the others to the library where he rummages through a floor to ceiling shelf of DVDs.

You and Aemond find yourselves sat together on the same sofa, with space for an extra person between you. Helaena is elated when she finds Dreamfyre the cat curled up on one of the arm chairs, scooping her up into her arms and hugging her close to her chest like a teddy.

Daeron takes the other arm chair, his arms full of snacks. He throws a packet of salted popcorn at Aemond and it hits him on the blind side of his face. “Fuck, sorry.”

Aemond turns his head to you and gives you a pointed look. 

You tilt your head. Ignore him, you think, then realise the absolute insanity of thinking that Aemond can hear what you’re saying in your head. You huff through your nose, a smile on your face, and shuffle closer to Aemond so you can claim the popcorn. The fact that you’re sidled up to him and his arm has found its way around you to get more comfortable is a happy coincidence. 

“A-ha!” Aegon presents his finding like it’s an ancient heirloom; a copy of American Psycho. 

Helaena groans. 

“It’s a masterpiece,” Aegon insists.

“Yeah, I so want to spend my evening watching some self absorbed investment banker brutally murder women.”

“Even if he’s played by Christian Bale?”

Helaena does a double take of the DVD cover. “Put that shit on right now.”

As Patrick Bateman goes through his psychotically perfect skincare routine, does crunches to the sounds of screaming women and lodges an axe in Jared Leto’s face to ‘Hip To Be Square’, you and Aemond melt into one another. It hits you how settled you feel lying against Aemond’s chest, your ear against his ribcage so you can feel his heartbeat, your head rising and falling with his breathing. His fingers start to trace over your arm, up and down, lulling your mind until you’ve forgotten to be nervous about being so close to him, so self conscious that you might be in the wrong position, how your cheek might look slightly squashed against him.

It’s not very ‘Letterboxd enthusiast’ of you to be thinking less about the film, instead wondering if Aemond will walk you to your room tonight, if he’ll kiss you again, if he’ll ask to come into your room and shed the simple layers of your t-shirt and jeans.

You press your lips together. You haven’t touched any wine tonight, and neither has he. 

Once the credits have started rolling you sit up, noticing how stiff your body is having been in the same position for the entire length of the film. You stretch your arms out and catch Aemond looking at you, trying to hide a smile.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron are arguing about the next film.

“Scream.”

“Aegon, please, no more horror.”

“But Matthew Lillard!”

“What?” You say, meeting Aemond’s eye.

He makes that cryptic humming sound again. “Feel like going to bed?” He says quietly.

Your stomach drops, but you want to play this cool. Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it. “Whose?”

Aemond half smiles. “Mine.”

You make your excuses. Aemond makes his. As soon as he shuts the door to the library the boys start howling like dogs.

Your heart is racing. Every part of you is screaming at you, begging for more contact, to have that beautiful eye on you again.

“Sorry about my family,” Aemond says, running his hand through his hair. You’re trying to pinpoint the notes of his aftershave, sweet and dark, like black coffee and honey. “As you can see they’re all very good at minding their own business–”

Your hands are on the sides of his jaw, against the gentle sharpness of his silver stubble, pulling his lips into yours. 

Aemond immediately offers you his hunger. It takes you off-guard for a moment, how he grabs at your waist, pushing his body against yours so he can devour you how he wants to. His mouth moves down to your neck and you sigh without meaning to.

“Moaning for me already?” he teases, dragging his teeth over your skin.

“You fucking wish,” you say but your voice sounds utterly pathetic at the feeling of his hands on you, your hips, the backs of your thighs, cupping between your legs. “Aemond…”

“Sorry, I’m getting carried away,” he says, kissing up along your cheek and your temple. He pulls away from you, pupil blown wide in the darkened corridor, roaming your not quite flattering David Bowie t-shirt. He reaches for your hand and presses a peck against your knuckles.

You let him lead you towards the east wing, to the corridor where you’d usually part ways if you were going to your own bedrooms. Once you’ve gone past the door that would lead you back to the moat room, you start to feel lightheaded, disorientated. Somehow it feels nice.

Your heart beats more furiously with every door you pass. You don’t know which one will lead to his room, but there’s one at the very end, which he seems to be eyeing.

“Aemond?” You’ve stopped walking.

He grips your hand tighter. “Yes?”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Oh. No, that’s fine.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t– don’t say sorry. Fuck, I should be the one apologising, I didn’t– I thought you wanted to?”

Seven hells, I’ve made it awkward. He hasn’t misread you, you’ve played into everything he’s given you, but something’s still holding you back. His grip on your hand is getting loose, his gaze is dropping. The moment is slipping and you can’t let it happen.

“Wait,” you say, reaching for him. Your fingers close around his forearm, slim but strong. “I don’t know, I’m not great at asking for what I want.”

His eye comes to yours, determined, more intense than you think you’ve seen before. “That’s alright. You can tell me, what do you want to do?”

You take a moment to consider, your eyes tracing the curve of his lips, the shape of his nose. You hold your breath so you can listen to his. You want this. You want this. You want him. “I want to kiss you more.”

He takes your hands in his, circling his thumb over the delicate skin of the inside of your wrists. “Yeah?”

“And, I want to be near you.”

He lifts your right hand and replaces his thumb with his lips. A surge of wanting shudders through your limbs. “And?”

You close your eyes and whisper. “And I want you to make me come.”

He smiles against your skin. “How do you want me to do that?”

“With your mouth,” you say. You feel his fingertips at the pulsepoint of your left wrist. You love watching his hands, you can picture them perfectly in your head. “And your fingers.”

“There’s a good girl,” he says.

Aemond steps away from you, opening the door and inviting you inside. You weren’t sure what you were expecting from his room but this seems about right, dark wood panelled walls like the rest of the rooms in the house. The curtains are wide open, overlooking the front of the house and you’re high up enough that you can see the sea, or you would in the daylight. He has bookshelves, mostly full of fantasy novels, children’s books. He explains most of these are from his summers spent here as a kid, plus a few text books, Comparative Politics, The History of Philosophy…

“The impressive collection of classics is at my place in King’s Landing.”

“I’m sure it is impressive,” you say. You wonder if you’ll ever get to see it.

He has a vanity, a hairbrush, a few bottles of aftershave, face serums and deodorant all placed neatly underneath a mirror. He has posters on the walls, all in black frames and hung in an orderly fashion, of sci-fi shows and movies and bands that were popular ten years ago. There’s another stack of shelves by the wardrobe with trophies, plaques, medals, photographs of Alicent with four silver-haired children, a certain little boy with a tennis racket in his hands, another with a fencing mask under his arm.

“I haven’t changed the room much,” he mutters.

“It’s adorable,” you say.

His arms circle around your middle, pulling you in close so he can kiss your neck again. “You’re moaning again,” he says when you let out a heavy breath.

“No I’m not, I’m just breathing.”

“Liar,” he teases. One of his hands slides along your body to your rear and he squeezes you through your jeans. 

When you catch a glimpse of a silver chain under his collar you’re suddenly insatiable. Your hands are clawing at his t-shirt and he wastes no time in pulling it off, coming back to kiss you like he cannot bear to be parted from you, and kissing him feels as perfect as it did that night when you both tasted like wine. 

You don’t care where your clothes fall, which pile of fabric is his, which is yours. He lays you down on the bed with a gentle but commanding grip on your neck. He kisses you over and over again, grinding a growing hardness between your legs against the fabric of your panties. He smothers you, his bare body sinking against yours, your lips grazing against his skin, your legs parting to make room for him, desperate for the friction. 

He works his way down, trailing his tongue along your throat, kissing your bare chest, teasing your nipples with his lips, tongue and teeth. Maybe you are moaning. The thrill of it echoes through your body and serves to stir the wanting in your belly, the tightness that’s going to drive you insane.

He keeps kissing down, pausing when he comes to your panties. He looks up at you, lips parted, your fingers starting to slip into his hair. “Look at you,” he says. “You’re so hot when you’re needy.”

He’s barely touching you and you can’t take the teasing.

He doesn’t keep you like this forever. He kisses around it, the soft skin of your inner thighs before he finally, finally pulls your underwear down your legs. He starts slowly, gently, each swipe of his tongue tortuous and divine. 

And usually your mind would wander. You’d try so hard to focus on the pleasure, think of some depraved scenario so you could actually come. Aemond commands your attention and you can’t bring yourself to look at anything other than the sight of his mouth working against your cunt, the obscene sounds he makes, the roughness of his voice when he stops to remark how wet you are, how good you’re doing for him.

Your grip of his hair tightens. You don’t worry if it will hurt him, not with the way he whines when you do, how his body jerks as he tries to grind his hips into the mattress. 

It’s too much and it’s perfect. It builds and builds until it bursts and the pleasure tears through your body. Aemond holds your legs apart to see you through it, until you’re shaking and begging him to stop.

When he lifts his head he’s as breathless as you are, his brow dewy with sweat. “How was that?”

“Good,” you say, then decide that isn’t quite enough. “Really fucking good.”

Aemond smirks. His eye stays on your face as the tip of his middle finger rests at your entrance. As soon as he slips inside, your body is weightless. You could almost laugh to yourself, all those times you’ve looked at his hands and now you know you were right. He feels good, thicker, longer than your own digits, reaching deeper than you ever could.

He makes a game out of this, seeing how he can make you react, praising every movement of your hips, every noise you make, how many times he can get you to come.

When it’s done and you can’t take any more, he lies beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. You let your hand settle on his stomach, on the patch of hairs that trails down to the waist of his boxers. 

“You don’t have to…” he says, as you start to feel over his skin with your fingertips.

“Do you mind if I return the favour?” you ask, sitting up and leaning on your palm, looking down at him.

Aemond stares at your face. “Of course, as long as you want to.”

“I do,” you say,  enjoying the way his expression lightens.

You position yourself along his body and rid him of the boxers. His cock is an impressive size, a little intimidating, but you’re already craving the feeling of him in your mouth, hard and needy, especially after he’s watched you come undone so many times. 

You trail your tongue along his length, teasing over the tip and savouring the taste of him. You work him with your mouth and your hand where you can’t take him. You love the sounds he makes, his sighs and moans.

“Good girl,” he coos, “can that pretty mouth take more?”

You want to, you want him to feel good. You look up to him, trying to take more every time your mouth moves down.

Aemond watches you in wonder. He gathers your hair in one hand. “Tap my leg if it gets too much.”

You hum in agreement.

He pushes your head down. “Relax,” he utters, “fuck, just relax, you’re doing so good.”

You hardly understand how it makes you want more, the weight of him, the discomfort in your jaw, but you like it. You feel your stomach starting to tighten again.

Aemond pulls your head up and you catch your breath, quickly working your hand over his cock. He’s squirming now, pleading for release. You move your mouth to his balls and he doesn’t last long after that.

He pulls you by your hair again, prodding the tip at your lips. “Swallow it,” he growls as he slips into your mouth once more. You feel the warmth over your tongue and he comes, wincing slightly at the taste, letting it dribble from the corner of your mouth. 

You must look like a fucking mess, his cum dripping from your mouth, your hair ruffled from his grip, trying to catch your breath as his cock softens.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he utters. 

You fall asleep in his bed, your head against his chest and his arms around you. As you drift off you try not to think about the summer’s impending end, that the days are already getting shorter.

Don’t overthink it.

You think you could allow yourself to enjoy this, the light feeling in your body, the relief of being held by someone else, the sound of Aemond’s fluttering breath soothing you to a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Helaena suggested that you join her and the boys for tennis, you thought it meant you might actually get a chance to play. You and Aemond could have played a doubles match. He could have given you some pointers on your technique, and if you won he could have looked at you with that smug look of his. Or you could have gone head to head. He would have won, inevitably, but he’d be looking at you with a competitive intensity which could easily be switched into a different kind of eagerness.

You’ve not got a terrible view. Aemond’s face is dark with determination, every part of him drenched with sweat and his hands gripping the racket like it’ll purposefully try to jump out of his grasp. He grunts every time he hits the ball, and he does it with a terrifying amount of power. 

“Match point!” Aegon’s made himself comfortable in a plastic chair at the side of the court, sipping bottles of beer from a cooler box he made Daeron carry over.

At first you were worried you might have to watch Aemond lose this. Daeron started off strong. He’s young, slim, quick, but he’s running out of stamina. This is where the match turned in Aemond’s favour. He hasn’t tired out so easily. 

Daeron serves. Aemond sends the ball flying back. Daeron has to run for it but he just manages to hit it into Aemond’s court. And while Daeron’s far over on the left, Aemond hits it to the right. There’s no chance that Daeron will get it and he knows it, not even running for it. But Aemond’s hit it hard, if it’s out of the court then Daeron has another chance to win.

You all freeze. Aegon leans forward, eyes on the line and…

“In!”

“Fuck!” Daeron cries.

You and Helaena break into cheers. Aegon wipes his brow as if he’s the exhausted athlete and helps himself to another beer.

Aemond looks at you, trying not to smile. He offers his hand to Daeron but he’s having none of it.

He comes straight to you, lifting you into a spin like you’re in a rom-com.

“Why do I feel like you’ve just won Wimbledon?” you say as he sets you down.

“Please, this is more competitive than Wimbledon,” Helaena says, evidenced by the fact that Daeron has grabbed his racket and is already walking back towards the house.

“It’s a valuable lesson to learn how to lose gracefully,” Aemond insists. 

On the walk through the gardens, Aemond keeps his arm around you, even when you protest that he’s literally wet with sweat. Not that you mind, you’re in a t-shirt and some sports shorts you’ve borrowed from Helaena. It’s all very sweet, very intimate all of a sudden, after you’ve spent the last few weeks acting like you dislike each other.

It’s early evening and the sun is inching closer to the horizon. The crashing of waves surrounds Dragonstone, no matter where you stand, the tennis court, the gardens, the front drive. Helaena and Aegon announce they’re going to have a few more drinks on the patio. And Aemond leads you upstairs to his room.

The moment the door is shut his lips are on yours, hands lightly touching your jaw. Is he afraid he’ll douse you with sweat, that his hands will feel too rough on your skin, that he’ll break you somehow?

There’s a nagging feeling in your heart and in the back of your head, the overwhelming urge to be close to him, to feel him. You stumble over yourselves and you drag him towards the bed by the collar of his tank top.

He’s on top of you, palms on either side of your head, his hair falling over your forehead, keeping you flat on the mattress with his body. “Don’t get me all worked up, darling, I need to shower–”

You interrupt him with quick, needy kisses. You can’t get enough of him, the softness of his mouth, his heat, the taste of him on your tongue.

He has to drag himself away, grinning, stroking his jaw with the backs of his fingers. “You’re tempting,” he muses.

“Not tempting enough,” you say with a playful pout.

“Give me two minutes.”

“I’ll be counting.”

He huffs a laugh. “That’s a good girl.”

Your brain short circuits. In that moment you’d wait for hours if he asked you to. 

He strips off in front of you, his trainers, his top, the shorts and the pair of boxers. You sit on the edge of the bed, hypnotised as you watch his muscles and tendons flex under his skin, all his sharp edges, the contented look on his face.

He leans over you once more, kissing you lightly on your head before he disappears into his ensuite. You listen to the rush of water, the sound of his footsteps when you can catch them. You imagine him there, water running over his body, hands working some shower gel into a lather and rubbing it into his skin. 

You take shallow, steady breaths, telling yourself you’re not trying to commit the smell of his sheets to memory. But you feel comfortable here, in his bed, in his room, in this small fraction of his world. There’s only so much you know of him, the books he likes, how quiet and commanding he can be, how his mouth feels and how his brow scrunches when you make him feel good. You’re sitting amongst fragments of him now, the sports trophies, the old photos, the text books, trying to piece it all together into the man you fell asleep with last night.

What’s his place like in King’s Landing? You bet it’s in some expensive neighbourhood, Visenya’s Hill or one of those squares by Regent’s Park. You picture marble surfaces, vintage furniture, rows and rows of books, dark wood floors, deep shades of blue and green, tall windows, maybe a bed for Vhagar.

There’s so much you want to know about him, so many questions you could ask.

The shower stops. You try to act as casually as you can and like you haven’t been restless on his bed waiting for him to come back to you.

When the door opens a cloud of steam wafts into the bedroom. Aemond has dried himself off mostly, ruffling the towel in his hair. You can taste the sweetness of the water on your tongue, and breathe in the scent of his shampoo. His eye is on you as he tosses the towel aside and approaches the bed.

He kisses you tenderly, slowly tugging away your t-shirt, then the shorts. Once you’re naked his demeanour shifts. His hands are firm on your thighs, spreading your legs apart, holding you down as he drags your panties to one side and devours you. 

You can’t stop moving but it doesn’t matter, Aemond keeps you right where he wants you, circling and pressing with his tongue where you need him. Has he remembered from last night? Has he thought about this since?

When you come undone Aemond hums lowly in his chest, pleased, satisfied, to a point. He grinds his hardened length against your bare cunt, effortless with the aftermath of your orgasm. Each push of his head against your clit sends a shockwave through your spine. He’s teasing you, you can see it on his face.

You let out a quiet noise from your throat.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Aemond says sweetly.

You try to angle your hips and rock against him, but he knows what your game is and keeps his tortuous movements steady.

“That’s not good enough, tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you mutter, looking away from his face.

He’s having none of that. There’s a weight on your neck, his hand, forcing your gaze back to him. “Say that again.”

He’s slowed down, any hint of pleasure is fading quickly. You can’t let it happen, you need more. “I want you to fuck me,” you say again.

Aemond leans into you, forehead against yours, breath hot against your open mouth. “Beg me for it.”

“Please,” you whisper, lips grazing over his, “please fuck me, Aemond.”

The tip of his cock slips down to your entrance. He whispers in your ear, “is no condom okay?”

You nod. “I’m on the pill.”

Without any more preamble he slowly starts to rock his hips again, inching inside. You gasp at the stretch, clinging onto his shoulders as he works himself into you. You let your forehead rest against his chin, focusing on him, the little grunts he makes as he fills you.

“So fucking tight,” he whispers. Maybe he’s just as desperate and needy as you are.

His thrusts are shallow at first, but he presses in deeper. He keeps it slow, thorough, propping himself up on his hands, letting his pelvis grind into your clit. Your legs curl around his hips to keep him close, to keep yourself open for him. 

He’s reaching so deep, then he ups his pace, fucking into you quick and hard, and you can do nothing but cling to him and take it. 

You feel yourself clench around him, letting out a strangled sort of cry.

“That’s it,” Aemond rasps in your ear, “that feels good doesn’t it?”

You utter a mindless “yeah,”

“Are you going to come for me?”

“I…” you think so, something’s tightening inside you. You can’t speak or help the moans that slip from your mouth.

“I wanna feel you come around my cock,” Aemond says, “please, sweetheart, please,”

The pleasure snaps and your whole body lurches, back arching, your nails digging into Aemond’s skin. He fucks you through it, panting and sighing until he stills. With a few more gentle thrusts you feel a warmth blooming inside of you. He pulls out slowly, leaning back on his haunches to admire his work.

There’s a quiet moment, when you’re both catching your breath. Your eyes meet and you smile at him. He’s sweating again.

You go back to your room to shower and dress for dinner. Helaena knocks on your door before you head down together, a pleasant ache between your legs that feels like a shameful secret.

“Aemond seemed happy about the tennis,” she says.

“Mm hmm,” you offer.

“So did you…”

“Seven hells, he’s your brother,” you whisper, feeling blood flush in your cheeks.

“Well obviously I don’t want details about him, but as your friend I want you to be happy and have good sex.”

You wish you could shrink into your shoulders. “Yes, it was good.”

She squeals with laughter and tickles under your chin like you’re a child. “I’m so proud of both of you,” she says.

You and Helaena sit together around the table, this time you’re next to Aemond. Daeron is opposite you, Aegon to his right, opposite Helaena. 

Alicent is keen to hear about the result of the tennis match. 

“It was a tough call,” Aegon says like a sports commentator, “going in, expectations were high for Mr Targaryen, and equally Mr Targaryen is a promising young player, as we all know well–”

Otto chuckles from the other side of the table. The rest of the table starts to become engrossed in Aegon’s retelling of events, even Viserys.

“But ultimately the younger player was worn down, and it was in fact Mr Targaryen who prevailed!”

“But, who actually won?” Alicent asks, completely lost until she sees the scowl on Daeron’s face.

“Who knew Aemond still had it in him?” Aegon says, raising a piece of steak on a fork to him like a toast, “after all those office hours, I thought you were officially a boring bastard.”

“You know Aemond,” Daeron says, “he’s full of surprises.”

You frown with a flicker of confusion. Aemond’s glaring at his younger brother. Aegon raises his brow, taking a deep drink from his wine.

“A man of many talents,” Helaena adds lightheartedly.

“Take this development for example,” Daeron says, nodding to you.

“Daeron,” his mother warns.

Anger rushes through you like a fist around your heart. “What’s so interesting about it?” you ask.

Daeron shrugs. “It’s just that Aemond’s usually into older women–”

There’s a scraping sound as Aemond rises from his chair. He doesn’t shout, or glare, or slam his fist on the table. He simply leaves.

Daeron’s smirking. Everyone else is looking at you, Aegon, Alicent, your own parents.

“You’re a fucking arse,” Helaena hisses across.

You’ve had dreams before, when something’s chasing you and you can’t run, like your legs are made of ice and you can’t convince them to move, to keep out of the reach of danger. That’s exactly how you feel now, like you’re living in a nightmare, pulse pounding in your chest, no way to escape.

You don’t wait to consider what Daeron might have meant. You get up from your chair and follow Aemond from the dining hall.

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates <3

[thecoochiefairy]

𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖞

━��� 𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑒 .ᐟ toji.

warnings 𑄽𑄺 11.5K word count. toji zenin, married toji, wedding, honeymoon, deflowering, main character is a virgin/celibate, third person omniscient pov, black woman, vaginal penetration, sweet sex, rough + maybe a lil angry sex, lot of sweet talking, hair pulling, squirting, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, aggressive toji, lil bit of sweet toji, minors aren’t welcome!

song to play while listening; 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑒𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 ; 𝑟𝑖ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ idk why i’ve been craving the thought of marriage lately, or maybe just a wedding in general. i just love people in love. enjoy :) 💐

EVERYTHING WAS MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN SHE EVER IMAGINED. Blooming red roses cascaded all around, gold trim wrapping around the flowers. Platters of gold chandeliers filled the brim of the backdrop, soft emerald leaves whisking beneath the baby breath’s. The delicate ivory plants represented sincerity, purity, love.

She stood across from the man she was deadly in love with. His large palm squeezed firmly around her small one, eyes falling to the tattooed rosary that crawled around his fingers, dark crucifix slanting over the veins flexing with each movement he made.

It was every woman’s vision, being able to perfectly create their dream wedding. Her heart was completely filled with love. Her entire family stood in the crowd of people, dark wardrobe to match the wants of her catholic-wedding. Just like a man completely head over heels, she had it her way, no matter what cost.

Toji stared over the woman he was about to marry. Her soft almond shaped eyes that slanted when she smiled, brown irises he could drown in anytime he looked into them. Her dark hair was in a low bun, pulled back to showcase a strident face. Edges curled and styled along her forehead to perfection as it was halfway covered by her large veil. The alabaster lace cascaded all the way out into the bottom step of the stage, showcasing the virgin-mary within the custom design.

Her tawny-brown skin complimented the gold encrusted nose ring, plump bratz-doll lips shining. Her honey freckles spruced all along her nose, traveling out to her cheeks and face, even with makeup. Low eyes were covered by fluffy lash extensions. He loved her with or without her makeup, never seeing another woman more beautiful than her. She was erotically pure to him, completely condescending thoughts, he knew. But that’s exactly how he envisioned her. The corset of her dress clung to her frame, a low dip within the front of the dress that swirls between the heart of her chest, sinking down at the right side of her hip. The construction at the top modestly covered her breast, hugging all around her waist, striking out to the sinful poke of her hips and ass that drips white pearls and gold Swarovski crystals.

She fell out of her trance again, locking her eyes back with the scarily dark steel grey of his pupils. Yet nothing scared her about him—at least, now. When she had first met this man, he was the complete opposite of who stood in front of her. A womanizer, a gambler, all of the worse things a person could think of—an asshole. But Selaphiel was a force to be reckoned with. Her feisty nature and unwavering determination—especially her ‘not for the fuck-shit’ attitude—had inspired Toji to change for the better. He was now a loyal and dedicated fiancée, a far cry from his womanizing and gambling days.

Toji grinned, his grip on her hand tightening. He had never been so happy in his life, not until he met Selaphiel. Her eyes shimmered like the stars, and she had a beauty that could only take one’s breath away. The way her fingers interlocked with his own, the way her lips curled into a smile when she saw him… he knew he was completely enraptured with her. She played no games with him, letting him know from the jump that she had a faithful promise to god, keeping her body for the man she planned to marry. She just didn’t expect that man to be him.

Selaphiel, a name of one of the seven archangels, had grown up in a religious home. It didn’t make her entirely a Bible thumper, having her explorative escapades in college— her parents pulling their hair out at the thought. But as she was now twenty-eight, working towards her doctorate in orthodontics, she wanted nothing more but someone to call her own. Toji was her home if she didn’t have anyone else.

She’d met him while doing her studies in medical school, learning that he was also going for his doctorates to be a Pathologist—studying fluids, tissues, or organs taken from the body after death. He was completely successful within his career, but his personal life was different. She had essentially tied all of his loose ends—she couldn’t disagree that he hadn’t done the same.

But as the pastor strung his voice out to the crowd, Selaphiel’s hand slightly went limp within Toji’s palm, realizing there was something she was afraid of when it came to him. It sounded stupid. Hell, maybe even childish. With her celibacy, it was hard at times to keep from breaking her promise, Toji not only a man, but an experienced one within the bedroom. She could see in that shit-eating grin that he knew could have her at the palm of his hand. She melted by even just a soft kiss on the neck, fingers slamming upon her ass when she walked past him, to the erotic words that fell from his lips.

Yet, Toji respected and valued Selaphiel’s decision to remain celibate until marriage, recognizing it as a personal choice. He had no desire to pressure or rush her into anything. Their relationship focused on building a strong emotional connection, based on trust and respect. But Toji being the man he was, his deep appetite for her had grown stridently in his stomach, animalistic and ready to catch his prey.

“You may kiss your bride,” the pastor then says.

Sela squeals softly as Toji pulls her forward, nearly raising her off of the ground as he pulls her into a deep kiss, tonguing her down irregardless of who watched. Her face goes red as everyone around cheers.

His groomsmen let out a deep howl, her bridesmaids clapping and gleefully smiling, seeing as Selaphiel laughs happily, trying to hold back the sob of joy she wants to let out. She almost breaks as she raises her thumb to Toji’s face, briefly wiping the tear that nearly falls. She knows he’d rather die than show his emotion, her heart swelling as she felt his emotions radiating off of him.

The reception had finally arrived, everyone seated in their assigned chairs, being assisted by the waiters and waitresses that serve the five course meal they have to offer. The first and second course varied from baby kale salad with cherry tomatoes drizzled with honey and avocado dressing, or garden salad with raspberry vinaigrette. The entrées contained Filet Mignon or stuffed chicken breast with pesto cream, desert being vanilla and dark chocolate cake with almond buttercream.

Everyone enjoyed their meals, watching in the middle of the empty floor as the couple stood there for their first dance. Selaphiel’s arms wrapped around his neck, Toji’s palms laid along her hips as she leaned her face against his chest to hear his heartbeat, the both of them sinking into each other as they swayed softly as japanese denim plays. She was glad that everyone was enjoying themselves, but she felt herself slowly just wanting to be alone with him.

She mutters to him, “My social battery is running out.”

Toji’s deep chuckle rumbled against her cheek upon hearing Sela’s comment. He knew how much she valued her alone time. He lowered his head slightly so that he could speak softly in her ear “I understand, baby," he replied affectionately, “How about we step out for some fresh air? You deserve some time to recharge. Get away from our hectic ass families.”

The thought of now being alone with him scared her. She knew at times that he almost lost himself, wanting to have his way with her devilishly. She felt with them officially being married, that urge was now pushed to a thousand.

She shakes her head briefly as she says, “It’s okay. This feels nice. This dress is also tight as hell,” she sighs out.

Toji noticed the slight change in Selaphiel’s demeanor and the hint of fear in her eyes. He knew everything about her. He held her closer, his grip firm yet gentle as they continued to sway to the music.

"You look fuckin’ stunning," Toji rasped, his lips brushing against her ear. "This dress was made to turn heads, damn near makes me wanna break a motherfuckers neck for you. I'll find a way to get you out of this dress as soon as possible if you’re uncomfortable in it.”

She ignores the way her heart drops to her ass at the mention of him, ‘getting her out of the dress.’ She nods her head, raising her eyes up to meet him as she sweetly asks “You love me?” knowing it was a dumb question.

Toji tilted his head, his gaze meeting Selaphiel. A small chuckle escaped his lips before he gently cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing the soft skin.

"Love is too small of a word for what I feel for you," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity. "You are the air that fills my lungs, the very essence of my existence. There are not enough words in the world to describe my love for you."

“Corny ass.”

“You liked that shit, didn’t you? That was good,” he smirks, bringing his palms down to her ass, groaning lightly as he squeezes the flesh. Selaphiel giggles as he raises her up to where her heels sit atop of his shoes, playfully spinning her around.

They both separated from one another as Toji sat at the table with his groomsmen, it being a long time since they were all together in one room. Some of them already had families, built businesses or worked their way through school. It felt nice to be around his friends considering his actual family wasn’t at his wedding.

“Tell us how long you’ve been holding out for Selaphiel,” one of them asks, holding his beer as he takes a swig of it, the other groomsmen chuckling, patting the shoulder of their nosey friend.

“C’mon man, we’re your bros. You can tell us if you’ve been getting some pussy on the side,” another one says on the other side of the table.

“Nah. Sela got his ass wrapped around her pinky finger, holding on tight!”

“Shitt, damn near the whole hand!”

The entire table uproars in laughter, Toji chuckled softly, a small annoyance creeping at his friends’ teasing comments. He glanced over at Sela as she danced with the flower girl and the rest of her bridesmaids , his eyes lingering on her for a moment.

"For a year and a half" he replied with a shrug. "It took a lot of restraint. But she was worth the damn wait.“

He took a sip from his drink, a small grin playing at the corner of his lips. His friends continued to rib him, but beneath the teasing, there was genuine respect and admiration for his devotion to her decision.

“No pussy pocket? Nothing?”

“Shittt, I’m not that crazy. Lotions and oils have been a good friend to me,” Toji confirms, making them all laugh again.

“I heard her telling one of the bridesmaids that she didn’t know where you were taking her for your honeymoon. You’ gonna keep that secret from your friends, dickhead?” One of his groomsmen asked.

Toji chuckled again, “Keeping that for myself," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "I want it to be a complete surprise —a special gift just for her. She deserves it."

His friends continued to teasingly nudge him, playful smirks on their faces as they took another sip of their drinks. They knew Toji was completely smitten with Selaphiel and would do anything to make their honeymoon unforgettable.

“Just don’t kill her, alright? You ain’t Edward, and she ain’t Bella,” another one says, the entire table falling out at that poke.

“Call me Toji Cullen then, the hell!” He smacks his teeth, laughing along with them.

Selaphiel comes around the table, waving softly as she then wraps her arms around his shoulders, kissing his neck as she smiles, “Hi, handsome. I miss you. ‘M ready to go,” she muffled along his throat.

She feels a chill go throughout her body as she sees him manspread against the chair, his tie loosened as a few buttons are open down his shirt, briefly showcasing the other tattoos that trace his body. The silver chain around his neck sits beautifully along the skin, his Bulova watch cold along her body as he grabs her throat from above him, pulling her down to hover over his face.

"There you are, my lovely bride," he replied warmly, tilting his head to kiss her chin, “I missed you too. Are you ready to head out?"

“Yes,” her feminine voice says softly, “I wanna be with you.”

Toji's bone straight smirk widened, his eyes holding a tender expression. He gently slipped an arm around her waist, a protective yet affectionate gesture.

"Good," he replied lightly, his voice carrying a hint of desire. "I’m tired of sharing you.”

Selaphiel was finally out of that extremely uncomfortable dress, now wearing a more sultry look. It was purely white, fully laced, long sleeved and clinging to her body. A deep v was within the middle that ever so slightly showcased her nipples. Her veil was much shorter now, small pink bows all around the soft white material. With a farewell to his groomsmen and Selaphiel doing the tradition of throwing her bouquet to her bridesmaids, everyone followed outside, saying their goodbyes and continuously cheering. Toji guided Selaphiel away, a palpable excitement between them as they stepped into their black Aston Martin, speeding off into the night.

When they made it to their destination, they were now parked at a cliff, the car’s window showcasing the lights of the city at night. Toji told her they would sit here for a bit while he got a few last things together for their honeymoon. She wanted to ask a thousand questions, anxious as she had no idea where they were going. But instead, the chaos of their wedding day had brought a wave of exhaustion over her, now comfortable in his shoulder as she sat on top of his lap in the backseat, softly snoring against his shoulder as he scrolled through emails from his job.

She snuggled deeper within his body, Toji immediately adjusting to the movement, his warmth encompassing the natural coldness of her skin. It was a blessing and a curse. In the winter he was her personal heater, but any other time, she would flip him over immediately in the middle of the night, sticking her face directly in the fan across from the bed as she groaned hotly.

“You remember the first time we came up here?” She asks, her voice quiet as she seems to be half asleep.

Toji chuckles, “I always do. You punched me in the balls.”

“You tried to get a feel—for the free, crazy as hell,” she mumbled, “I don’t even want to know how much you spent on this Aston Martin. Just because you have money doesn’t mean you have to spend it all.”

“It wasn’t bad. It was about five—“

“Hundred? That’s not bad—“

“Thousand?”

Her eyes flew open, upper body sitting up as she said, “Toji Zenin. You did not spend five hundred thousand American dollars on renting an Aston Martin!—“

“Woman. I spent five thousand. You know what I’d do with five hundred thousand dollars? Buy like three Aston Martin’s!”

“Don’t be funny. You know I don’t do math,” she glared, “Even that’s still too much!”

He shrugs, switching the topic as he then says, “Speaking of my name…I wanted to talk to you about something.”

She sees his face become serious, sitting upwards to fully face him as she says, “Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask a favor. Do you think I could…take your last name instead of you having mine?”

Selaphiel stares at him, his olive toned skin a cream color within the moonlight. Although she hadn’t spoken on it, the only people that appeared as “family,” at their wedding was his groomsmen. She knew that he didn’t associate with his family. He briefly told her that they were extremely abusive, telling nothing else. They had gotten into a bad argument about his stubbornness before, Selaphiel trying to offer him the word of the Bible about forgiveness. He was always extremely patient and sweet with her, but when it came to his family, that was an argument she was never going to win.

She presses her hand gently along his chin, rubbing her thumb over the scar among his lips. He grimaces slightly, squeezing the skin of her thigh as he slightly moves his face away.

“Of course we can do that.”

“Thank you,” he says, hoping she doesn’t make him push the conversation.

She leans forward, softly capturing his lips within hers, pulling back as she continues to graze her fingers along his face. He takes her wrist, softly kissing her hand, squeezing it within his palm.

“So, are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?” She tilts her head, “I’m gonna start nervously farting if you don’t. I’m extremely anxious.”

Toji laughs, “I was trying to hold out, but…” he lets out a deep breath, “I know I told you I would never go back home. But I remember for one of your assignments you had to do a city you were interested in, and you picked Shibuya, because you wanted to see all the markets, try the food, shit like that.”

Selaphiel’s eyes go slightly wide as she says, “Our honeymoon’s in Tokyo?”

Toji wants to roll his eyes as he says, “Yes, but—“

He groans as she wraps her arms tightly around his neck, pulling him forward as her back is now against the car seat, kissing all over his face and jaw. It had been a dream of hers to visit Japan, even before she’d met him. She told him her dream of going into Tokyo, but he immediately knocked down the idea, telling her it wasn’t a place he planned on going back to. Unfortunately, he loved her too much to not give her something she always wanted.

“No family shit, Sela—“

“I promise,” she nods her head, “I just wanna be there with you. But seriously, how much did you spend?”

“You want me to lie?”

“You’re absolutely terrible.”

“This we all knew.”

Making it to the airport wasn’t the issue for Selaphiel, it was up until they were now on the plane, trapped within the sky and nowhere else to go. Toji knew she was terrified of planes, doing everything to make her as comfortable as possible. He’d even put them in first class, a bed within their section and office table for him to work while she slept. But instead, she balled up within his lap, holding onto him for dear life. He sighed, leaning his head on top of hers as he continued doing his work.

"Baby,” Toji murmured soothingly, “We’re landing in about thirty minutes. We’ll be okay.”

He was the complete opposite of her, enjoying flying in the air. He couldn't help but glance out the window, admiring the view from the plane's height. The vast expanse of the sky with its ever-changing patterns of clouds and the breathtaking landscape below filled his eyes with wonder. When he saw the overview of a place he use to call home, he felt a shift in his chest, not sure if it was nostalgia or the complete opposite.

She was thankful for them to finally land, the chauffeur placing their suitcases within the trunk as they were now making their way through the city. Selaphiel’s eyes didn’t know where to look, almost like a child seeing their favorite show come along the TV, fascinated and unable to pull away. They made it to their hotel, Selaphiel being slightly dragged by Toji’s hand as they made it up to the top floor of the building, a suite larger than she’d ever imagined now in front of her eyes. It was completely spacious, the windows showcasing the high buildings and colorful persuasion of the city, her eyes falling to a large tower not too far from where they stayed. She softly thanked the hotel staff that placed their bags within the room, her feet following her to the window, a warmth in her heart as she still couldn’t believe she was on her dream trip.

She feels arms come around her neck, leaning against her as he speaks within her ear, “You like it?”

“I love it,” she replies, “And I love you.”

“Yeah yeah, you just love me cause I’m your sugar daddy.”

She shrieks as he turns her around, throwing her over his shoulder. The hotel staff stands within the room as he says to him, “I’m apologizing now for future noise complaints you’re gonna receive.”

“Toji!” She giggles embarrassingly, unable to see as he passes the man a tip, closing the door behind himself as he leaves.

The rest of their day had been as interesting as the morning. Traveling all around the city, Selpahiel explored and took photos of anything she saw. It was also fascinating to watch how quickly Toji fell into his traditions. His deep voice switched in and out of his native tongue, speaking in words she didn’t understand yet she was still intrigued. It made her happy to see that he wasn’t repulsed with being here, finding his own way to fall in love with a place he associated with hatred. He was also falling in love with her all over again, her sunny disposition able to bring anyone’s energy up. But with that sunny disposition came a naivety that made him want to bang his head along a wall. Selaphiel stood in a soft green spaghetti strapped dress, a high slit on one leg as she wore sneakers with the look, perfectly sculpted body feverishly moving with each step she made. Even with the dress being flowy all of her curves defined themselves. Her dark curls bounced around her face and makeup, her hand reflexively pulling a stray hair behind her ear as she bent over the railing to stare down at the cherry blossom tree across from her.

He watched as her body aligned smoothly, back curving inwards, hips sinfully poking outwards. The slit in her dress swishes over the back of her thighs, a glimpse of her ass jiggling as she called behind herself, “Baby, look! You see?”

“I see,” he lowly replies, eyes only upon her figure, wondering how she'd look as he took her from behind, ass clapping harshly along his hips.

As they were seated in a restaurant, his mind only became worse. Selaphiel pouted as she adjusted the straps of her dress, “You think I should take them out?”

She refers to the heart shaped nipple piercings she has, the jewelry poking through the thin material of the dress, desperately begging to spring free.

“They’ve been kinda sensitive lately,” she says, Toji wanting to pull his hair out at this point.

“Could be the metal, baby. Your skin is more sensitive to the cheaper silver,” he replies. On the other hand, he was currently imagining her whines as he sucked along her sensitive nipples.

“Probably,” she shrugs, leaning forward as she opens her mouth, “Lemme’ have some of your food. What’d you call it?”

Of course.

He sighs, “Takoyaki.”

This wasn’t necessarily his final strike, but it was just enough. They were in a private indoor pool of the hotel, Toji watching as she absentmindedly paraded around in her baby-phat bikini. The innocent pink along her body is nowhere near as guilty as his thoughts. She was like his own personal bratz doll, her body coming out of the water as she goes to search for her phone on the table, her hair damp as it reaches the end of her back, body dripping to add along his carnal temptations. He wanted to play with her.

They were now back inside of their room, Toji laid across the bed as Selaphiel sprawled along his lap. His fingers were captured in a blunt as he held it between his lips, sucking his teeth as he kept trying to spark his lighter.

“Do I even wanna know how you snuck weed into Tokyo?”

“The safe answer is no,” he mumbles, still focused on sparking his lighter.

“Okay,” she rolls her eyes.

She might’ve come off naive at times, but she wasn’t stupid. She felt in her mind that she was stalling other things newly-wed’s did on their honeymoon. She also knew that smoking was a rarity for Toji, knowing that he only did it to take the edge off. She loved how respectful he was of her wishes, sometimes even going as far as to not touch her without asking. But this was different, their love was sanctioned within her devotion to her religious beliefs, and last time she’d read the Bible, it was now perfectly fine for them to enjoy their intimacy. So what was the issue?

Maybe she was intimidated by him. Or it was the thought of her inexperience compared to all the women he’d slept with, not knowing if she’d be enough for him. Maybe she was just afraid he’d tear her apart. It was that scary glint in his eyes, a lion constantly on the prowl when he stared. At times she couldn’t believe how incredibly attractive he was, even just doing regular things. Like now.

He brings his attention up to her, firmly pulling her downward as he tells her, “Open your mouth.”

She immediately complies. Lightly separating her baby pink lips, he blows the smoke into her mouth, pulling her forward by the back of her neck as he brings his tongue down her throat, drowning her in a ruthless kiss. She feels her heart pumping in her ears as she grips the bottom of his shirt, twisting nervously as he overpowers her, her body hovering beneath his as he dominates the kiss. Her breath hitches along his mouth as she attempts to pull herself back, Toji jerking her closer as he growls, “Don’t run from me.”

Toji holds her by the side of her neck as he briefly pulls their lips away, her pleading whimper inflaming something within his body. His eyes darkened with desire, cupping her face in his hands, his gaze locking into hers with an intensity that made his intentions clear. He was fierce, possessive. His mouth left no doubt as to who she belonged to.

“Baby—I’m uh—I’m hungry,” she then stutters, trying to distract him.

“Me too,” he rasps.

Oh.

He can feel her body now slightly trembling. He slows down his movements, staring at her aura that was shaken by a kiss alone. Her fingers softly press along her lips as her face is a deep shade of red.

“Fuck. My bad, pretty. I just—“ he cuts himself short, gripping her skin tightly to withhold his advances, “You said you were hungry?”

She can barely speak. Her eyes go slightly wide as she feels his bulge below her lap, prominent and hard. Huge, she thinks.

“Use your words, baby,” he encourages.

“Yes,” she then corrects, “I’m craving pasta.”

He tilts his head, lightly grinning at her as he says, “Basic ass pasta in Tokyo?”

She nods her head, trying to be normal with him, her eyes never looking directly into his as she replies, “Please?”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“You’re lucky to have me,” she retorts.

She comes off of his lap, watching as he re-adjusts himself between his legs before making his way out of the bedroom. She leans back against the pillows for a while. After about twenty minutes of being in her head, it’s like she had finally come up for air, chaotically running her fingers under the blanket as she searches for her phone. Once she finds it, she immediately presses the call button, her ear to the screen as she waits.

Her best friend answers, “Why the fuck are you calling me, Selaphiel? It’s three in the morning in New York. You better be dying.”

“You’re mad yet you still picked up the phone?”

“What do you want?” She speaks in a monotone voice.

“Remember how I said I would call you if I started freaking out?”

“Unfortunately I do.”

“This is me now freaking out.”

“What the hell are you so scared of, Selaphiel? Dick?”

“His, in specific? Yes,” she admits.

“He loved your big headed ass enough to marry you, let’s not forget. He also loved you enough to hold off pussy for an entire year. And a half. Let the man break your vagina so hard that it falls off and creates a new one.”

“You’re not helping!”

Her best friend sighs, “Look. Just channel that inner sex-lioness, okay? The minute you guys start getting hot and heavy, it’ll come out.”

Selaphiel takes a deep breath as she thinks upon those words, realizing she might be being dramatic as she replies, “Okay. Lioness. Grrr,” she quietly growls within the phone.

“Girl,” her friend laughs, “I’m hanging up. You’re not being dramatic though, the man is built like a goddamn gorilla. Scary like one, too. Deuces! Writing a eulogy for your cookie as we speak.”

Her friend hangs up before she can say anything else, Selaphiel’s eyes rising as she sees Toji come back in the room. A curse leaves his lips as he reaches behind himself, pulling his shirt over his head which gives her a full view of his upper body. All of his tattoos were extremely meaningful to him. Dark ink complimented the silver jewlery along his wrists and neck, clinking with each movement he made.

Toji notices her gaze lingering on his exposed physique, a smirk now playing on his lips. He flexed his muscles slightly, a showmanship of his strength and masculinity as he said, “You wanna keep staring or come over here?”

“I just—um, did you hurt yourself?” She tries to find her words, bringing her eyes back down to the bed.

Toji's smirk widened as he noticed the subtle embarrassment in Selaphiel’s voice and the shift in her gaze. He continued to strip off his clothes, responding with a nonchalant shrug, “Got a stain from cooking. Imma’ hop in the shower before I finish,” he explains.

“Oh. Okay,” she nods.

“Wanna come shower with me? I’ll wash your hair,” he offers, “I know you don’t want chlorine sitting in it from the pool earlier.”

This was her chance. Toji was never shy to be fully naked in front of her, but at most she had only stripped down to her underwear to sleep. She knew that being in the shower with him might create an opportunity to pounce, but that wasn’t a bad thing. The longer she stared, the more she craved him. At the same time she wanted to say no based on her nervousness. But this was her husband now. There was no reason to fear it.

Lioness, she thinks of her conversation with her best friend. More like a kitten, she tells herself.

She then says, “Yeah. Sure,” she nods, convincing herself.

Toji's heart fluttered surprisingly at her agreement, his eyes lighting up with desire and affection. He closed the distance between them, gently tilting her chin up with his finger so that their gazes were level.

She nods her head, his grip becoming more firm as she repeats “Yes,” more confident this time as she sees his face.

He led the way to the luxurious ensuite bathroom, his excitement and affection for her palpable in the air between them. Toji closes the door, dimming the brightness to something softer and more ambient.

Her heart pounds within her chest. She kept her eyes down as she began to unravel her bikini top and bottom, the thin material dropping to the floor to reveal her bare body. Dark curls cascade around her, freckles appearing heavily along her face under the faint lights. Toji watched every second of this. He was now able to see every perfect flaw. Tiger stripes along her hips, dimples dented in her thighs, breast full as the jewelry within her areolas shine. Quickly placing her arms over chest, she clasps her hands over her arms, feeling her face completely hot.

He comes beside her, moving her hair behind her neck as he places a kiss along the skin. Selaphiel shivers more than she expected herself to as he says, “I’d kill for you, you know that? You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

She keeps her attention to stepping in the shower, the warm water pulling her back to reality as she exhales. Her eyes briefly wash over Toji who removes his bottoms, eyes falling to the third leg that sits in between his original pair. She brings her eyes back up to the shower head. Toji gently stepped into the shower behind Selaphiel, the warm water cascading over their bodies, steam embracing them like a comforting veil. His eyes fixed on her figure, his heart swelling with affection and admiration for his wife. He reached for the body wash, generously applying a small amount onto his hands before softly lathering it along her back and shoulders, savoring the feel of her skin under his calloused fingertips. It was like the first time touching her.

His hands along her bare body made her shudder, skin heating up in a way it hadn’t before. This was different. She was…aroused.

Toji noticed the subtle shudder that ran through her body as his hands traced along her bare skin, sending a wave of warmth and desire through his own veins. A low growl escaped Toji's lips as he pressed his body closer to hers, the heat of the water and the scent of her body wash blending into an intoxicating cocktail. Her hair was darker with water seeping into it, his hand latching around the flattened curls, pulling her along his chest as his lips hovered over her neck.

"You’re like a fuckin’ drug. I can’t resist you,” he whispered huskily in her ear, his breath hot against her flesh.

He twists her around, pressing his hand along the side of her throat to keep her eyes along his. Her nervousness came back out to play, eyes fluttered shut, teeth digging into her lip as she whimpered, “Toji…”

His grip on Selaphiel’s throat tightened gently as she whimpered his name, the sound echoing in his ears like a sultry symphony. His lips brushed against her skin, trailing along the sensitive flesh of her neck with a tantalizing mixture of tenderness and passion.

“Say that shit again,” he whispered into her ear, his voice low and seductive, “I want to hear you say my name, pretty. I want to hear you call out to me.”

His lips along her throat made her entire body inflamed, shakily gripping his arm, “Toji…I…” he had barely done anything, yet her entire body was trembling. The sound of his name on her lips drove his desire to a fever pitch.

“That’s it,” he grunted. His hand moved down to her hips, pulling her closer to him as the heat threatened to consume them both. He captured her lips in a fierce, passionate kiss, his touch gentle yet unmistakably possessive.

“Baby…” she embarrassingly whined, wrapping her arms around his neck, feeling her face becoming completely red.

Toji's heart raced as Selaphiel wrapped her arms around his neck, her voice breaking slightly in her pleading whine. His eyes darkened with desire, and he gently cupped her face in his hands, his gaze having an intensity that made his intentions clear.

"You’re okay,” he whispered softly, his voice filled with devotion and passion. Then, he leaned down, capturing her lips again in another sin ridden kiss.

She whimpered along his mouth, hand coming around the back of his hair as she captured his tongue in between her lips. Her thighs squeezed together as feels herself becoming horny, a newfound feeling that crippled her logic.

Toji's grip tightened in Selaphiel’s hair as she captured his tongue in hers, grunting at her desire to deepen the kiss. He could practically feel the heat between them rising with each passing second. His hands roamed over her bare skin, caressing and exploring every inch of her body, as if trying to etch her form into his memory. And then, with a low growl, he hoisted her up against the shower wall, holding her close to him as if she were the most precious treasure in the universe.

“I…Toji…wait. I don’t wanna…not in here, baby,” she stutters out, feeling her heart speed up as he hoists her against the shower.

He lowly chuckles along her skin. Selaphiel shrieks as he puts all of her weight onto him, carrying her into the bedroom. She couldn’t help the nervous giggle that left her lips, back along the bed as he began kissing her throat. The thought of their bodies wet from the shower hadn’t even crossed their minds. They enjoyed the feverish need for one another, Selaphiels neck stretched back as she raised her hand to his arm, digging her nail into his skin as his lips continued their assault along her throat. It wasn’t until his lips traveled down that she almost ripped his limb completely off.

He flattens his tongue along the jewelry of her nipple, hearing a soft gasp as she jumps. She realizes how good he is with his mouth, her areola being extremely sensitive yet a warm sense of pleasure overcomes her body. She closes her eyes the minute she sees him release her breast with a lewd popping noise, hungrily taking the other nipple into his mouth, growling as he squeezes his hands around her hips that kneel into his touch. His mouth is along her skin with a fierce possessiveness, claiming every inch to show just how badly he wants her.

“Never needed you the way I need you now, baby,” he says against her abdomen.

Selaphiel can only sit halfway up and stare down at his dark eyes, face completely red as she nods her head to mask the embarrassment. Toji watches as her breath hitches, meeting her gaze as he feels the arch within her body, his desire for her growing each passing second. His lips continue their journey down her hips, trailing famished kisses along the skin as he worshiped her body with a passion.

She had no chance to run, hide or even protest as he brought her legs over his shoulders, pulling her down to the edge of the bed as she was now staring at the top of his dark hair, Toji’s tongue making immediate contact with her clit. It was warm within his mouth, his jaw also making contact with the wetness of her arousal. He groaned in a way she hadn’t heard before. She was sweet, but he didn’t expect anything else. Selaphiel gasped loudly, attempting to push him away, the raw need coming from him overpowering everything else. His eyes locked into hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

“Toji—oh my god,” she softly cried, her body within a state of shock, unable to handle the thousands of nerve wracking pleasures she feels. He enjoys her. His entire mouth dances along her core as he swirls his lips in a circular motion, dirtily making out with the puff of her sensitive clit.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sela. You taste like goddamn heaven,” he growls against her, pushing his mouth deeper as he dives in and out of her lower lips, spreading her with his tongue as he drops spit against her, a loud slurping sound creating as he nuzzles his head farther into her. His nose is damn near captivated. She attempts to twist her hips out of his hold, Toji smacking his lips as he utters, “Come here,” locking his large palms around her ankles, spreading them from earth to hell as he locks her knees against the sheets.

It seems as if the more she tries to move out of his hold, the more aggressive he becomes. Selaphiel struggles out a cry as she watches his head bob up and down, mouth sliding down to her begging opening, his tongue fitting perfectly inside of her as it shoves in.

He tells her, “Watch me tongue fuck my pussy. You’ll love it.”

She couldn’t believe his words. She tilts her head to stare away, Toji briefly removing his hand from her ankle as he turns her chin back to him.

“Your pussy is so pretty, baby. Look how wet you are. It all feels good. Imma’ make you feel like this all the fuckin’ time,” he promises to her.

“Toji—“

He cuts her off, going back down to her spread legs, locking his arm back around her ankle. He sticks his tongue out, slowly entering it within her squelching hole. Selaphiels body shakes at this, Toji moaning as he slowly removes his mouth from her, doing it in a repetition as he leans down, thrusting it back in. Her eyes watch in horror as a white substance appears on the end of his tongue, her hips trembling as she cries, “Baby, I…no!” She flies her hands over her face.

Toji chuckles darkly, “You can’t be creaming already. You’re too fuckin’ good to me,” he grunts.

The lock on her ankles allows him to move her in a way he wants, grinding her clit along his tongue, coming back down to her trembling opening. It squeezes around his tongue as he kisses within it, stretching her open to prepare her for something bigger. He spread her legs wider, muttering against her body, “I’m gonna stretch your pussy so good, baby. Gotta’ make sure it doesn’t hurt too bad.”

“Toji,” she whimpers, pleading he stops this unruly talk.

He continued his ministries, tongue exploring her in ways she’d never experienced before. He was relentless. He squeezed her ankles, gripping them as he pulled her hips down to slosh against his face, Selaphiels eyes blown with lust as he dragged his lower lip along her clit, trapping it under his mouth as he followed the upper lip behind it.

Toji briefly looks up to see Selaphiel watching him, her eyes rolling blissfully as he continues to pleasure her. The sight only fueled his desire. His grip tightened, his tongue now working with a determined fervor, desperate to draw out anything from her lips.

“Baby…t—this feels so…”

She brings her hand into his hair, tugging lightly at the dark mane. His body was inflamed at the desperate sound of her voice. He leaned into her touch as her nails dug into his scalp, relishing the mix of pleasure and pain that it brought.

He gave her pussy a deep kiss, her vision now becoming teary, the feeling all becoming too much for her. Toji nuzzles his lips against her, kissing her opening again, and again, and again. She went to push his head away when he gripped both of her hands in his, bringing them under the hold he had against her ankles, her upper body now forced to look directly at him from how she was positioned. The sight of her dark curls covering her face as her lip was tucked under her teeth was enough to make him more careless with his movements, sliding his tongue into her hole and rocking her hips forward.

“B—baby, I feel like I h—have to pee…” she whined.

Toji can’t hold back the chuckle that comes from his mouth, sending vibrations up her spine at the rumbling along her clit.

“You’re cumming, baby,” he explains, “Relax. Imma’ eat your pussy until you squirt, that’ll feel better than cumming. Okay?”

To hear him speaking this way, she could barely handle it. She gushes along his face, filling his mouth with the sweet taste he begged more for. Her upper body trembled as she desperately tried not to scream out. His name was the only thing she could remember to say as he moaned against her clit, spanking the side of her leg. Countlessly, endlessly.

Toji maintained his grip along her ankles, French kissing her opening as he drank from her, never wanting her climax to end. He dragged her until her hips were hanging off of the bed, watching as she gasped, quivered and moaned in pleasure.

“What’s happening to me…” she speaks softly, locking her eyes closed.

“You’re experiencing pleasure, baby. Please don’t be embarrassed,” he gruffly tells her, leaning back down as he flattens his tongue against her clit.

He chaotically shakes his head from side to side, a moan startling out of her lips from the movement against her. This had been her first time experiencing an orgasm. She whimpers deeply as she watches her legs tremble. Toji was drunk, unable to stop himself from becoming addicted. His head was swimming, the sound of her moans and fingers entangled in his hair making him more dizzy with need. He wanted her, desperately.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. You’ okay? I want to give you more,” he coaxes, bringing himself upward to see her expression. Selaphiel turns her face from his, red and flushed. Nonetheless she nods, accepting the kiss he gives her, tasting a foreign sweetness along her lips.

She wraps her arms around his neck as he releases her hands, placing her legs above his shoulders as he now hovers over her. Selaphiels eyes go slightly wide as she looks down, seeing his tip, fat and as pink as his lips. Her eyes run over the scar along his mouth. She brings her hand to his chin, going to touch along the mark, surprised as he embraces his face into her hand. His heart swelled at her touch, coming forward as he captured her lips in his, a kiss so filled with love.

His tip smushes along her clit, bobbing up and down that it causes her hips to jump. Her heart beats in her chest, the pounding of it beaming in her ears. She feels safe with him. The love and passion within his eyes move to a desire and lustful one, his vision watching his tip throb along her clit, spreading her legs wider with his palms. Toji places his forehead against Selaphiels, seeing as she has her teeth dug into her bottom lip. He goes slow—at least he attempts to— pressing her legs back farther as he pushes himself in. His tip becomes swallowed by her, latching onto him as if she’d been waiting a lifetime. Their lips are just barely touching each other’s. Selaphiels mouth slowly gaped open as it felt like a fire had been matched along her lower abdomen. She gasps, jerking under his hold at the intrusion of pain, whimpering as Toji wraps his palms around her wrists, trapping her along the bed.

“Toji,” she softly cried, squeezing her palms under his hold as he sucked the skin of her throat, adjusting her hips to the uncomfortable pain she feels.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” he grunts, feeling as she tightens around him.

He brings his lips back over hers, Selaphiel moaning deeply as he spreads her legs wider than before. That moan shuddered out into a cry as a mixture of pleasure sensed over her pain. It was something she’d never felt before, a deep pleasure that felt almost blinding, like her entire body would rapture from it. Toji’s eyes darken as he listened to her moans blend with different feelings, the sensations driving him further into a frenzy of desire.

“You’re taking my shit so well, baby,” his breath is hot against her lips, “Such a fuckin’ big girl.”

His hips rock down to meet the back of her thighs. She feels her eyes slightly watering, rolling to the back of her head as she feels him drop his hips down again. Her mouth falls open as a large wave of pleasure washes over her. She whines out, “Fuck. Fuck, baby.”

“You feel so fuckin’ tight, baby. Let me have more of you,” it’s not really a question as he hovers his large upper body above her, keeping his hips low as he lightly picks up speed. More pleasure comes with each movement, her walls pulling him deeper each time his balls slam along her skin, sticky as she becomes more wet with each stroke.

He slowly removes the grip he had on her wrists, allowing her to bring her hands along his face, her finger tips tracing all along his abdomen. She brings her eyes down, watching as his hips connect with hers, causing her to whimper out.

“Look at that, pretty. ‘Pussy is so perfect…” he says, a low moan falling from his lips. The more she squeezes, the more he’s unable to hold back. He places his hand along her jaw, face right above hers as he grips firmly. Watching Selaphiels reactions only drove Toji’s desires to a new height. He could see the mixture of surprise and arousal within her face from the newfound aggression he carried. It fueled him to be rougher, even more possessive.

“Tell me how you feel,” he commands. Her mouth opens as she can hear their skin slapping together, body shifting each time he strokes. She’s unable to move her face as he keeps his eyes directly on hers.

She whimpers out, “Feels so…fucking good, baby,” to which he cockily replies, “Yeah?” Her moans become louder as he thrusts harder at that.

His expression darkened as Selaphiel talked to him, less shy than before. His grip on her jaw tightened ever so slightly. His voice was low, a velvety growl as he spoke.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he purred, his thumb gently tracing her cheek, “I wanna make you like this all the time. Submissive,” he leaned down, lips brushing against hers before he grunted, “Let me give you all of your dick, baby. Yeah?”

Her mouth never closed, releasing even louder moans as she felt his hips slamming against hers. She went to bring her hand against his hip to slow him down, only making him speed up. She could hear his arrogant chuckle in her ear as she helplessly whined.

“Stop whining. Take it,” he tells her, voice with a dark edge, leaning down as he captures her lips in a dominant kiss.

He has a grip on the side of her throat now. She hesitantly brings her hands to the back of her thighs, whimpering as she spreads her opening for him, watching as his length sinks down inside of her, flushed and veiny as it bruises along her walls.

“S—so good, baby. Yes,” she whimpers out.

The sight of her taking control of her own pleasure, holding herself at his mercy, sends a surge of possessive desire coursing through Toji’s veins. He growled, his grip on her throat growing firm as he stared down at her.

“You’re mine,” he growls, “Every fuckin’ piece of you.”

His grip clasps around her entire throat, upper body hovering over hers as he pulls out, harshly slamming his hips back inside of her. She grips the hand around her throat, cursing each time he bottoms out. Her lower abdomen trembles as he yanks her entire body down to meet his. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared scarily down at her, watching as she fell apart beneath him.

“Baby…I f—feel like I have to pee again,” she mutters, her face hot as she hears Toji darkly chuckle again.

“You’re gonna cum again, baby. Think you’ll squirt on my dick this time?” He asks her, her eyes shutting as she whimpers at his voice.

She pulled him down by the back of his neck, kissing him softly. Her lips trembled against his, moaning out in a way she hadn’t expected herself to. Her mouth then opened as she moaned louder than before, her hand coming over her lips as she tried to quiet herself. Toji moaned into the kiss as he felt her covering her mouth, ripping her hand away as his eyes were completely possessive.

“Don’t hold back your moans, pretty. I wanna see you come apart. You hear me? Speak when you’re spoken to.”

“Yes,” she softly cried, “I—I’m cumming, baby.”

“Show me.”

Another orgasm ripped through her body. She brought her hand to his back, scratching deeply into the skin as she shouted his name. Her entire body exploded in raptures, holding him close to her as she shivered under his hold. He continued to move nonetheless.

“I love you,” she cried, her mouth interrupted by a tender kiss as he grunted, “I love you more, baby. Never loved anyone more than I love you,” he grits his teeth, a moan escaping his mouth as he pulls out of her, cum dripping from his tip and dropping along the bed. Her body still continues to orgasm, feeling as she trembles involuntarily. As she tries to relax beneath him, her breathing slowly becomes steady as he brings his lips over her neck, tickling her with his mouth. She giggles softly, trying to push him off as he holds her down.

She brings her face to his as she asks, “…Did it…feel good for you? I—I know you’ve been with a lot of women—“

“Selaphiel, don’t piss me off in a moment like this,” he snaps at her, “I love you so fuckin’ much. I’m honored to be your first, baby. Wouldn’t have changed it for the world.”

She presses her lips together, keeping her eyes down from his. She feels his hand come to her chin, pulling her up as he states, “I mean it.”

She nods her head, trying to pull herself away from the awkwardness she feels. This was a beautiful moment. She gave herself to the man she trusted wholeheartedly, and she wouldn’t have traded it for the world. She brings her lips up, kissing him passionately.

She then asks quietly, “Am I…pregnant now?”

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡

When she wakes up the next morning, she sees that the other side of the bed is empty. Sunlight bursts within the room, the large windows open as she stares over the city of Tokyo, bright and colorful lights blinding her eyes. She slowly sits herself up as the familiar smell of pancakes fill in her nostrils, the sweetness choking her throat. She runs her fingers through her hair as she looks around the room, her eyes meeting with the large silhouette of Toji, his body passing the door frame as he seems to be on the phone. Business, she figured. He winks as he disappears back into the kitchen.

Her mind falls back to the memory of the night before. The moment she thinks about it, she feels that her legs are sore. She brings her fingers up to her lips, remembering his rough kisses. His eyes staring down at her. The way he handled her. She didn’t know what came over here, but she wanted that again.

She quickly showers, debating whether or not to actually put clothes on. She stares at herself. They’d already had sex, this was her husband, why was she still afraid to tell him what she wanted?

It's not like he’d say no. Maybe she was embarrassed, only having sex one time and wanting to be ruined by him the next morning. Was she crazy?

She thought about doing her makeup. Realizing that he’d catch onto her plan, she disses the makeup idea. She allows her hair to fall around her body, her arched eyebrows strikingly dark against her light freckles, brown eyes soft as she stared at herself. She felt…different.

Taking a deep breath, she wraps a towel around her body as she creeps out of the room, making her way into the kitchen as she sees him still on the phone. He holds a bowl as he mixes batter within it, her ears not registering what he says as he speaks in his language.

He notices her, muttering another couple of words before he hangs up the phone, “Shit. Did I wake you up?”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I just smelled you were cooking. How long have you been up?”

He grins at her, “A while. I wanted to wake you up, but you were sleeping like a rock. Must’ve fucked you good, huh?”

Her face goes red, “Don’t be an ass.”

“Just messing with you, baby,” he eyes the towel around her body, seeing her face is red in the cheeks and bare of any flaws, “How did I get so lucky?”

“You must’ve gambled hard for me,” she amusingly replies, sitting herself on the table across from the stove as she watches him.

“Must’ve put my fuckin’ life as collateral,” he agrees.

A newfound feeling of lust had crawled up her spine. It spread like wildfire, furiously making her sick in her entire body. She couldn’t stop thinking of him in that way. She stares at the way his back muscles flex as he continues stirring the bowl. He looks back to her, noticing her state.

“You’re distracting me, pretty. Can’t finish cooking when you’re staring at me like that.”

“Sorry,” she shakes her head, “I just…couldn’t help to watch you.”

She tilts her head, hair falling around her body as it follows her. The minute he turns back towards the stove, Selaphiel releases the hold of the towel she wears, letting it fall along the table. She presses her hair behind her ear as Toji’s eyes capture her bare body, a giggle coming from her lips as he raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t play with me right now, Selaphiel,” his smile drops from his face.

She pouts, “You don’t want to play with me?”

She stands from the table as she comes in front of him, a newfound sense of confidence filling her body. She wants him. Slowly, she keeps her eyes upon his as she lowers herself to the ground, a jolt of surprise and desire coming within him.

“Baby,” his voice speaks lowly, almost like a warning, “What are you doing?”

“I want you in my mouth,” she tells him. A groan drops from his lips as he clutches her hair in his fist, pulling her to where her entire face is shown from below.

“You sure?” His face shows genuine concern.

She nods her head. He then grunts, “Imma’ fuck your throat up.”

He places his thumb on her bottom lip, opening her mouth roughly as he pulls his length from the sweatpants he wears, tip encompassing between her lips as he shoves himself within her throat. In this moment she remembered all of the advice her friends had given her on pleasuring him. Her eyes shut as she tries to focus, fearful that she’d chicken out as he guides her head against his hips, pulling her back and forth by the ponytail he created.

“Your mouth feels fuckin’ amazing, baby. Just like that,” he groans out.

“Fuck my throat, please?” she tells him, not so much asking. Her eyes were big and doe like with an innocence that had him wanting to shout.

“I’ll bruise it,’ he corrects.

She hummed satisfyingly at his words, wrapping her lips tighter around the dark pink flesh, sliding her palm down as she took him deeper down her throat. Her other hand placed on his hip as she pulled him forward, her head rushing back and forth as she twisted her wrist, feeling as saliva pulled between her fingers and the space between her lips. She pulled her mouth away, now only working at him with her hand as she stuck out her tongue, letting spit drag out and fall onto the pre-cum forming against his tip.

Toji couldn’t believe his sight, his innocent woman that went red at a sexual joke was now below him, sucking his dick like she was made to do so. She hungrily took him back into her mouth as she pressed herself down, eyes fluttering up to his completely low ones as she gagged. It was almost effortless to her. He forced himself down her throat, a low moan fleeting from his lips as he collected more of her hair in his fist, fucking her mouth.

Her eyes were teary, throat nearly sore, lips bearing a dark red and all she could focus on was getting him to cum. Making him cum. Hand that was still wrapped around him, she placed it behind her back with the other, her eyes shutting tightly once again and filling her throat until she could barely breathe, nose grazing over the pubic hairs attached to his skin as Sela finally pulled herself back. Toji tightened his lower half, a slew of drool coming from her tongue and lips.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy, baby,” he grits out. Yanking her up, he turns her body around, throwing her upper half along the marble of the table.

His ragged movement causes him to knock the pancake batter along the floor, her chest pressed up against the marble that makes her piercings cold, her body warm as it becomes aroused. He holds both of her wrists with one hand, feeling himself becoming pissed off at her teasing. She giggles at his impatience, keeping her eyes along the table to hide her amusement.

She then gasps softly as he spanks her, clamping her mouth shut as he asks, “What the fuck is so funny?”

She bites her lip to stop her giggling, shaking her head as she doesn’t verbally respond. He keeps his hands wrapped around her fists as he knocks her legs wider with his own, Selaphiel then softly giggling out, “You’re so cute.”

“Cute, huh?”

He takes his other hand to spread her open from behind, Toji seeing the slick arousal shining along her brown skin from the sun beaming in the room. Her body goes into shock as she feels his tip prodding at her opening, sliding himself in slowly. Her mouth drops open as he presses her back inward to perfect her arch, Selaphiel shuddering out a whine as he says, “Look at you. Swallowing every inch of my dick.”

He takes her hair within his fist as he guides her. His other hand stays locked around her wrists, her fingers reaching upward to feel for his arm as her body is trapped under his hold. He pushes in deeper. He then reaches up the front of her, pulling his palm around her mouth as he clasps her voice shut, Selaphiel moaning loudly between his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he begins snatching her back onto his pelvis.

“Thought I was playing with you, huh?” He talks within her ear, Selaphiel unable to keep up as the heaviness of her ass is clapping along the skin of his hips, her brain now fried and completely empty.

She gasps out between his fingers, “Baby—“

“No. None of that ‘baby’ shit now,” he grunts, taking one of his legs as he lifts it along the marble of the table, giving her a particularly hard thrust that causes her to shout. This was completely different from the night before. He was almost implausible, as if these feelings were deep within him. He was holding them back just for her—but she’d clearly poked the bear.

“Oh…my…fuck…” she cries, groaning at every movement he makes. Her walls feel sensitive, the strokes he gives her are nothing nice. But it all feels so good. She could feel tears blinking within her eyes, thighs trembling dangerously. Toji can’t help but smugly grin behind her, listening to the way she cries out with pleasure, sounds spurring him on with how she reacts to him. It makes him feral.

“You’re gonna’ paint my dick with your cum. You’re so damn pretty. So damn perfect,” he keeps up with his movements, removing his hand from her wrists as he now has both hands wrapped around her mouth, gripping her down, bouncing her along the front of him to where Selaphiel could barely speak. She only nods her head in agreement, eyes still knocking backwards as if she were possessed, moaning aggressively as his abdomen tightened each time he was deep within her.

She feels like she’s going to black out. Even with that thought, her mind swarms for her to keep going. She then takes her hips as she pulls them up, helping as she follows the rhythm of him bringing her back down. She turns her head slightly, seeing the darkness shift in Toji’s eyes.

“Let me fuck you back, baby,” she pleas softly.

He doesn’t release his hands over her mouth, only loosening them to show he wasn’t pulling her down as he murmured, “Go ahead.”

She whimpered as she twisted her hips around, dropping them back against his pelvic, turning to watch his low eyes. Every moan is louder each time their hips connect. Toji groaned as she took control, his grip along her face becoming less heavy as he watched her move against him, body filling with hunger as he listened to her voice grow louder with each smack of their hips.

“Mmm, I got it, baby,” she whimpered out, Toji’s abdomen squeezing at her whiny tone.

“I know,” he rasped, “Squeezing my fuckin’ dick like this.”

She hissed, pushing them away from the table to where she had no support to lean herself on. She bent herself over to where she had her hands locked around her own ankles, Toji taking his dominance back as he tugs her back by her hip, slamming her down along the front of his thighs. Her eyes roll to the back of her head.

His grip on her was strong and possessive, teeth clenched as he slammed her down heavier into his hips, the sound of their bodies connecting filling the air.

“Oh fuuuck,” he groaned, head dropping down to stare at the way her ass clapped against his body, skin shaking within his palm.

The sound of his voice, his pounding deep inside of her was all too much to handle. Her voice was quiet as she creamed along his dick, feeling him even deeper than before from the angle she was now in. She gripped tightly around her ankles, lifting her upper body as she tried to match his rhythm. He slammed in deeper, her body trembling as she felt a rush of pleasure punch her in the gut, realizing she was having another orgasm.

Her idea of moving away from the table failed her as she was now unable to take control, reaching out to move away from him. Unfortunately Toji’s grip of her skin was lethal. He slammed her down onto his hips, her ears only able to hear their skin slapping together. She felt as if she was having an exorcism, eyes swirling to the back of her head as she released a long moan of, “Oooh shittt, baby. You’re so deep.”

He shakes his head, “Nah. Keep cumming.”

She cries out, tears dropping onto the floor as she holds onto herself, messily sobbing out, “Fuck me, baby. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

And he does. She feels him damn near in her stomach as she tries to pull away, his own moans now mingled with hers as his restraint completely faltered. He lifted her up, biting down at the nape of her neck as his other hand was still along her hip, hotly pulling her down, Selaphiels voice going completely dumb as she whined, “Don’t stop. Baby, please. Don’t.”

“Look at my little crybaby,” he coos, hand now along the skin of her throat as he tugs her down, chuckling darkly in her ear, “This is your dick, baby. Stop running from it.”

“I’m gonna cum on my dick, baby,” she cries harshly. He replies, “Yeah? Show me again.”

Her stomach dropped as her orgasm released through her, shivering chaotically as Toji pulled her neck back, watching her face blown with pure lust, falling apart in shambles all because of him. She loved him, wanting every single part he had to give. Even this one. He kissed her roughly, tonguing her down the same way he had the moment they were officially married. Even in an erotic moment, their love for one another never dissipated.

He held her as he felt her body relax within his hold, her mouth panting out against his as she held him close, eyes shut as she felt her face go red. She wished she could stop that.

“You’re a bastard,” she croaked.

Toji couldn’t help but smirk knowingly, “Damn right. But I’m your bastard.”

[girlrotterr]

Oath.

knight!abby x fem!reader x assasin!ellie summary: In a kingdom on the brink of new leadership, tensions run high as a coronation draws near. a/n: my apologies if this is all over the place! (wrote this while sleep-deprived..)

The grand hall of the palace was draped in regal tapestries, each one heavy with stories of past rulers, their deep, rich colors glowing under the soft light of chandeliers that hung like constellations above. The crystal fixtures sparkled like stars, casting delicate rays that danced along the polished marble floors. The fragrance of fresh roses filled the room, mingling with the sharp scent of recently cleaned stone, yet you barely noticed the elegance, your thoughts too distant to care.

You stood before the large, arched window, the panes of glass cool against your fingertips. Outside, the sun sank slowly, painting the kingdom in golden light that blended into the soft hues of amber and rose. The sky, streaked with the dying colors of the day, was beautiful—achingly so—but it felt distant. Just like everything else.

Your face remained impassive, cold, as you gazed across the horizon. Today was the day of your coronation, the day you would become queen. Yet the weight of the moment, its significance, felt strangely hollow. The echoes of excitement from the kingdom beyond the palace walls barely reached you. The crowd outside, buzzing with anticipation, their voices and footfalls merging into a dull roar, seemed as distant as the horizon itself. You were aware of the world outside, but none of it felt real.

Two maids worked around you in practiced silence, their hands quick, delicate, and efficient. One was at your side, fastening gold earrings into place, each one set with gemstones that glinted under the light. Her movements were precise, careful, though you barely registered the cool metal brushing your skin. The other maid stood behind, her fingers weaving through your hair, creating an intricate design worthy of the crown that would soon rest upon your head. They were skillful, and yet, their presence barely existed in your mind, your thoughts far beyond this room, slipping through the palace corridors like a shadow.

The maid by your side fumbled slightly as she fastened the last earring, her fingers trembling as they touched your neck. You didn’t flinch. You barely blinked. But you could sense her nervousness, feel the tension rolling off her in waves. Perhaps it was the gravity of the day, the immense pressure of serving the soon-to-be queen. 

Behind you, standing just inside the doorway, was Abby Anderson—your most trusted knight, your oldest friend. Her armor gleamed in the chandelier’s soft light, the metal polished to a mirror-like shine, each plate a testament to her dedication and discipline. But Abby wasn’t watching the door or the crowd beyond the palace gates. Her focus was solely on you. It always was.

She had been by your side since childhood, her loyalty as unwavering as the steel she carried. You both had shared so much—moments of joy, of sorrow, of quiet understanding. But today, her presence felt heavier, her gaze more intense. There was something in the air between you both, something unsaid, as if she could sense the quiet storm brewing within you, the unease you hadn’t spoken aloud.

Abby’s eyes traced your face, searching for something, though you gave nothing away. The years had made her keen; she could read you like no one else could, and yet, today, there was a barrier even she could not penetrate. You were a queen in waiting, but in that moment, you felt more like a pawn—moved by forces unseen, drawn into a game far beyond your control.

At last, the maids completed their work, their fingers delicately smoothing the final strands of your hair into perfect alignment. They moved with practiced grace, their hands lingering for just a moment before they stepped back, retreating as if fearful that any further motion might shatter the silence that had settled over the room. The soft rustle of their skirts was barely audible, and their presence faded into the background entirely.

Abby’s presence lingered behind you, ever watchful. You could feel her gaze, piercing through the room’s stillness. Her armored boots softly scuffed the marble floor as she shifted, the slight sound making your spine stiffen, though you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“You’re prepared for this.” Abby said at last, her voice cutting through the quiet with a firm conviction. It was not a question; there was no room for doubt in her words. It was a truth—her truth—a decision she had already made for you. It wasn’t just encouragement; it was certainty.

For a moment, you remained silent, letting her words hang in the air like a blade unsheathed. Your fingers idly traced the cool glass of the window, the faint lines fogging slightly under your touch. The smooth, cold texture grounded you in the present, a fleeting comfort against the storm inside your mind.

“Do you remember how angry the servants would get at us?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking through your own silence, but softer than you expected. The memory flashed in your mind, stark against the dread of the present.

Abby looked at you, her eyes flickering with a hint of warmth as she recognized the moment you were recalling. 

“We’d sneak into the kitchens,” you continued, “stealing bread, fruits—whatever we could grab. And we’d feed it to the stray animals outside the castle walls.”

Abby smiled faintly, just for a moment, her features softening in the memory. “They’d scold us for it,” she replied, her voice softer now, a distant echo of your childhood, “trying to hide the food on higher shelves or locking it away in pantries. But somehow, we always managed to find something.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you turned slightly, your gaze still distant, but now filled with the shadow of nostalgia. “And now those same servants quiver in my presence.” The words left your mouth like a quiet, bitter confession, their truth sinking deeper than you’d intended. “They bow when they see me. They fear me, Abby.”

The weight of your own words settled between you both, the warmth of the past quickly vanishing, replaced by the icy reality of the present.

Abby’s hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, her thumb brushing its pommel in a gesture that was as much instinct as it was protection. “They respect you,” she said quietly, her voice steady, though there was something deeper there, something unsaid. “They may tremble, but they will follow you, just as I do.”

Your eyes flicked back to her, meeting her gaze. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke.

Abby, your oldest friend, had always been there, her unwavering loyalty a constant in your life. Yet today, that loyalty felt like a shield you might need more than ever.

The chill in your chest only deepened. This wasn’t about respect or loyalty—it was about survival, about strength in a world where softness was weakness. You knew the truth Abby didn’t speak. Your reign would demand coldness. It would demand sacrifice.

The crown, though it had yet to rest upon your head, already cast a heavy shadow over your soul. Its weight had not yet made contact with your brow, but you could already feel its burden pressing deeply into your very essence, seeping into your bones and shaping your thoughts.

───────

Ellie sat in the cool shadows beneath the canopy of trees, her back pressed against the rough bark, the familiar weight of her knife resting comfortably in her hand. With slow, deliberate movements, she ran the blade along the surface of an apple, peeling it in thin, spiraling ribbons. The soft scrape of metal against fruit was steady, almost meditative, and each curl of skin fell to the forest floor in a neat pile. Jesse and Dina stood a few feet away, their voices a low murmur as they discussed the crowd. Ellie didn’t bother listening. Their words were just a distant hum, like the wind rustling through the leaves above.

In the clearing beyond, the crowd surged and swayed, a restless sea of bodies gathered at the palace gates. From their hidden vantage point, Ellie could see the mass of people stretching far beyond what any of them had anticipated. The coronation had drawn the entire kingdom, it seemed, and the air was thick with the buzz of excitement, the occasional roar of cheers rising up like waves crashing against rocks. The sunlight flickered through the trees, casting dappled patterns across the forest floor, but Ellie’s focus remained on the apple in her hands, her knife carving each slice with practiced precision.

“They’re packed in there tight,” Jesse muttered, his brow furrowed as he leaned against a low-hanging branch. His eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the sheer number of people. “Getting close to the princess won’t be easy. Not with this many eyes on her.”

Dina sighed, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at the bustling mass. “This is insane. Look at them. How are we supposed to get anywhere near her with this many people watching? We’d be lucky if we even make it to the gates without being noticed.”

Ellie didn’t respond. The blade continued its slow dance along the apple’s flesh, peeling away another thin ribbon. She could feel Dina’s frustration simmering, could sense her impatience like a crackling fire, but she wasn’t interested in engaging.

Dina’s patience snapped, her gaze shifting to Ellie with evident irritation. “And you,” she snapped, “you don’t even seem to care. You’ve been quiet the whole time. Don’t you have anything to contribute?”

Ellie’s hand paused mid-motion, her fingers tightening slightly around the knife handle. She looked up slowly, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “If you’ve got something to say, Dina, just say it. Or maybe you should focus on the task at hand instead of whining.”

Dina’s eyes flashed with anger. “Whining? You’ve been sitting here like this doesn’t matter. Do you even know what’s at stake? Or are you too busy with your little apple to care?”

Ellie rose to her feet, her movements deliberate and controlled. The knife still glinted in her hand, the apple now stripped of its skin. She fixed Dina with a steady gaze. “I know exactly what’s at stake. You think I got this job because by some mistake?”

Before Dina could say anything, Jesse stepped between them, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “Alright, enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “Both of you, just stop. This isn’t the time for bickering.”

Dina huffed, her gaze still directed at Ellie but with less venom. Jesse turned to Ellie, his expression softening slightly. “Ellie’s here because Maria trusts her. She’s new to the group, sure, but she’s not new to the work.”

Ellie observed Dina’s expression shift from anger to reluctant acceptance, the tension still hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Jesse’s voice took on a firmer tone. “ If we’re going to make this plan work, we need to support eachother, stick to the plan, and cut out these pointless arguments. Got it?”

Dina didn’t immediately respond, but the rigid set of her shoulders softened slightly. She gave a grudging nod, still clearly annoyed but willing to cooperate. Jesse turned back to Ellie, offering her a brief, understanding glance

Ellie nodded in return, her eyes scanning the crowd, “There’s no way we pull this off in front of all these people. There’s no clean escape, no cover. We’d be exposed, and the guards would have us before we even got within striking distance.”

“So what? We just give up?” Dina said, “Go back to Maria and tell her we couldn’t handle it?”

Ellie shook her head, the faint smirk returning to her lips. “No, Dina. We don’t give up. We adapt. We do this the right way. We go in slow.”

“Slow?” Dina scoffed. “We don’t have time for slow.”

“We make time,” Ellie countered, stepping closer. Her voice dropped, cold and deliberate. “If we want this to work, we have to get inside. We need to learn everything—the layout of the town, the routines of the guards, how the people move, how they think. We slip into their lives like shadows. We blend in, become part of the scenery, and when the time’s right, we make our move.”

Dina shook her head, her arms still crossed defensively. “And how long is this supposed to take? A week? A month? We don’t have that kind of time.”

Ellie’s gaze flickered back to the palace, the sun casting long shadows across the stone walls. “As long as it takes,” she said quietly. “You’ve done this longer than I have, Dina, but you know this isn’t a regular kill. This is the queen-to-be. We don’t get a second shot at this. We do it right, or we don’t do it at all.”

Jesse finally spoke up, his voice calm but firm. “She’s got a point, Dina. If we rush this, we’re asking for trouble. We need to know what we’re dealing with before we act.”

Dina’s frustration was clear, but after a long moment of silence, she exhaled sharply, her shoulders dropping in reluctant acceptance. “Fine. We do it your way. But if this goes sideways, Ellie, it’s on you.”

Ellie nodded, her expression unreadable. “It won’t.”

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting an amber glow over the town as the crowd continued to swell. The distant cheers grew louder, the anticipation in the air thickening as the coronation ceremony drew closer. Ellie watched the scene unfold, her mind already working, planning, calculating each move.

They would become part of this place—unseen, unnoticed—until the moment was right. And when it was, they would strike from the shadows, swift and lethal.

There was no room for mistakes.

───────

You jolted awake, your lungs burning as if they were being scorched from the inside. Coughs wracked your body, each spasm sending searing pain through your chest. Blinking rapidly to clear the haze from your vision, you realized the room was shrouded in thick, acrid smoke. The dim light that filtered through the dense fog was ghostly and indistinct, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

With your heart racing, you struggled to sit up, your movements slow and unsteady. The smoke clung to your skin, making it difficult to breathe, and you could feel your head growing light as if it were floating away from your body. Your eyes watered uncontrollably, and the oppressive weight of the smoke made every breath a laborious effort.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you staggered out of bed, your legs weak and uncooperative. The smoke seemed to thicken the longer you stayed in the room, and the oppressive heat made the air feel almost molten. You stumbled towards the door, each step a monumental task as you tried to shield your face with the crook of your arm, hoping to avoid inhaling more of the choking smoke.

You emerged from your bedroom, the palace engulfed in chaos. The once-grand hallways were now a nightmarish landscape of flickering flames and billowing smoke. The once-polished marble floors were now slick with soot, and the ornate tapestries that once adorned the walls were reduced to smoldering husks. The flames crackled hungrily, consuming everything in their path with an insatiable fury.

You pushed through the haze, your eyes watering, your throat raw from coughing. Your mind raced as you made your way towards your parents' quarters, the thought of them being trapped in the inferno spurring you on. The corridor twisted and turned, and the smoke grew denser, each breath feeling like it might be your last.

You reached their door, but your heart sank as you saw the chains wrapped around it. The metal glinted ominously in the firelight, each lock fastened tightly as if mocking your desperation. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you grasped at the chains, yanking and pulling with all the force you could muster. The locks resisted stubbornly, their mechanisms cold and unyielding against your frantic efforts.

The smoke was getting thicker, searing your lungs with every inhale, and your vision was beginning to narrow as you struggled to stay conscious. You coughed violently, the sound echoing harshly in the confined space, but you didn’t stop. Your fingers clawed at the chains, your voice a ragged plea as you strained against the cold metal.

“Help! Somebody—please!” Your voice was a mere whisper against the roar of the flames, barely carrying over the din of the burning palace. The locks seemed to mock you, their resistance only heightening your sense of helplessness.

Just as the smoke began to envelop you completely, your vision dimming to a suffocating blur, a figure appeared through the haze. Abby, her armor glinting in the flickering light, burst into view. Her expression was a mix of determination and fear as she dashed towards you, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Come on, we have to get out!” Abby shouted over the roar of the flames, her voice cutting through the smoke like a lifeline.

Before you could react, Abby grabbed you by the arm with a grip that was both firm and unyielding. The intensity in her eyes brooked no argument. She began dragging you towards the corridor, her strength propelling you forward even as you struggled against her.

“No!” you yelled, your voice cracking from the strain. “My parents—please, Abby! They’re still in there! You have to save them!”

Your protests were met with a resolute silence as Abby continued to pull you away from the door. Her pace was relentless, driven by a single-minded focus on getting you to safety. You flailed against her, trying to wrench free, your fists landing weakly against her armor.

“Let me go!” you cried out, hitting her with all the strength you could muster, but Abby remained unmoved. Her face was set in a grim line, her eyes fixed ahead as she navigated the treacherous path through the burning palace.

“I can’t!” Abby shouted back, her voice carrying an edge of desperation. “We’re not safe here!”

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly as Abby dragged you away, each step pulling you farther from the locked door and your parents. The smoke thickened, wrapping around you like a choking shroud, and the heat became unbearable. You could see the door now, its chains glinting through the smoke, but it was growing smaller and smaller with each passing second.

“Abby, stop!” you pleaded, your voice a strained whisper. “We need to go back!”

Abby’s grip tightened, her determination unwavering. “It’s too late,” she said firmly. “The fire’s spreading too fast!”

You could feel the heat intensify as the flames roared closer, the walls of the palace crumbling around you. The inferno’s glow painted the walls in flickering hues of orange and red, and the once-familiar corridors were now a labyrinth of destruction.

Your parents’ door was now a distant memory, the vision of it being consumed by the flames etched in your mind. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the sweat and smoke as Abby continued to pull you away, her determination a beacon in the chaos.

“Don’t—don’t leave them!” you sobbed, your strength waning as the fire grew fiercer. Your struggles became weaker, your body exhausted by the smoke and the frantic escape.

───────

“We must go now, Your Majesty.” A maid’s voice echoed through the room. She stood at the doorway, her head peeking in cautiously as if unsure whether to intrude on the final moments of your preparation. Her uniform was impeccably crisp, and her eyes darted nervously between you and the room, her posture stiff and formal.

You blinked, the trance you had been in dissolving as you scanned the room with renewed focus. The reflection in the mirror caught your eye. For a moment, the reflection seemed almost foreign, a ghostly echo of the queen you were about to become.

You turned to face Abby, who stood steadfast near the door. Her presence was as constant and reassuring as ever, her armor gleaming softly in the dim light. She hadn’t moved an inch from her post, her gaze locked on you with an intensity that was both protective and unwavering. It was as if she was willing to stand there for an eternity if it meant ensuring your safety and success.

You met her eyes, holding the gaze with a mixture of determination and an unspoken bond that had been forged over years of friendship and loyalty. The moment stretched, silent and weighty, a silent conversation passing between the two of you.

With a final, lingering look at the mirror, you straightened your posture and adjusted the layers of your gown, the fabric rustling softly with the movement. The intricate embroidery glinted in the light, the gold threads catching the soft glow and accentuating the grandeur of the ensemble. You took a deep breath, gathering the last of your composure.

“Shall we go?” you asked Abby, your voice steady but carrying a hint of the gravity of the occasion.

Abby’s expression softened, though her stance remained resolute. She nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting both pride and a hint of anxiety. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said softly, her voice carrying the unspoken promise of her protection.

The maid stepped aside, allowing you and Abby to pass. As you walked towards the door, the echo of your footsteps seemed louder than usual, the soft click of your heels against the marble floor punctuating the stillness of the room. The grand hall awaited, filled with the thrumming anticipation of the crowd, the culmination of everything you had worked towards.

You took one last deep breath, feeling the weight of the crown and the enormity of your impending role settle over you. With a final, resolute glance back at the room—the sanctuary you were leaving behind—you stepped through the door and into the corridor beyond. The sounds of the cheering crowd and the distant murmur of the kingdom’s voices grew louder as you approached the grand hall, each step bringing you closer to your fate.

[chaoticforever]

Thunderous Pursuits | Yandere Thor x Male! Reader

Summary: Let this be a lesson to Thor’s old friend. Love is a fragile thing, easily broken by jealous gods. Especially Thor.

A/n: Smut is present.

Another day of saving the world.

Thor plopped himself down in the booth as his teammates began to settle down beside him. The restaurant the Avengers went to for the evening was a lavish and elegant establishment in New York, with high ceilings, gold chandeliers, and soft, ambient lighting. The walls were painted a deep shade of red, and the booth was comfortable and spacious, with a single red rose adorning the center of the table.

Earlier that afternoon, the Avengers had saved Earth again from yet another alien invasion. To celebrate this victory, Tony decided to take his teammates to a five-star restaurant in the city since some of them hadn't been to one before. He had arranged a private booth in a secluded corner of the restaurant for them to eat.

The God of Thunder opened the menu and gazed through the different choices. Thor didn’t eat earthly food as much, but he was going to enjoy them this evening.

Soon, a waiter approached their booth. 

"Hello, my name is Y/n, and I will be your server tonight," a polite voice addressed. "Can I get y'all started on some drinks?" 

Thor paused when he heard the waiter introduce himself. That voice... he would know that anywhere. Slowly, he lifted his eyes from the menu, and his eyes locked with the person standing near the table.

And, sure enough, it was him.

Y/n L/n.

"Y/n!" Thor's lips curled into a big smile.

The waiter looked up from the pad in his hands when he heard his name called. A fond grin appeared on his face when he saw the individual who called out to him.

"Hi, Thor!" Y/n walked around the table and the God stood up to give him a brief hug before stepping back. "It's so great to see you again. It's been too long, and wow, you cut your hair! It looks amazing."

"Thank you, old friend," Thor boomed, as he took his seat again, his piercing blue eyes never leaving his old friend's form. "It has been so long. I never expected to find you here, a restaurant, of all places."

The other Avengers quietly observed the exchange. They were intrigued by Thor's familiarity with someone the team didn't recognize. After all, they knew of Thor's brief friendships with Darcy and his ex-girlfriend, Jane, but this one was a new face. As they watched the guys interact, it became clear that Thor and his friend had a history that went back a long way.

Steve spoke, "So, Y/n, how do you know Thor? It looks like you two go way back."

The waiter nodded. "We do go way back. Way back. I was once an Asgardian god."

The five Avengers exchanged surprised glances. Clearly, they had not expected such a revelation. But Thor, on the other hand, frowned at Y/n's choice of words.

"Y/n, what do you mean, you 'were once' an Asgardian God?" His tone was sharp with curiosity, and his eyes searched for answers in Y/n's e/c eyes. Why did Y/n voice that? Was he not a God anymore? 

The former Asgardian cleared his throat, a subtle signal that the topic wasn't one he wished to delve into at this moment. "That is a story for another day. But for now, what can I get you heroes to drink?"

Tony was the first one to speak up and he ordered a martini, shaken, not stirred. Steve opted for a Coca-Cola, while Clint chose a cocktail. Natasha requested a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and Bruce kept it simple, ordering a glass of water. However, Thor remained silent, his gaze fixed on Y/n. His mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts known only to the man.

"Uh, Point Break, it’s your turn," Tony said.

Thor blinked twice, momentarily startled before clearing his throat and tearing his gaze away from Y/n. "Aye, my apologies. I will have... uh, what is that earthly drink you mortals enjoy so much?" He looked to Tony for guidance, who rolled his eyes.

"You mean beer? The billionaire supplied.

Thor nodded, turning his gaze back to Y/n. "Yes, I will have a human beer, please."

Y/n nodded and jotted down the orders with swift movements of his pencil. He turned to leave but paused, and asked if they were ready to order food or if they needed more time with the menu. As it turned out, everyone was ready to order.

The male server took their food orders, starting with Tony again, who ordered a steak with sides of mac and cheese and broccoli cheese casserole. Steve opted for a classic bacon cheeseburger and fries, while Clint chose a plate of pasta with garlic bread. Natasha ordered sushi with a side of chicken, and Bruce opted for a massive plate of ribs and mashed potatoes. Thor mirrored Bruce’s choice.

After writing down their food orders, Y/n left, heading to the kitchen and leaving the heroes to their conversation. Thor's eyes followed Y/n's retreating figure, his mind racing with numerous questions.

As the Avengers talked, Thor found it hard to focus. His mind kept wandering back to Y/n, his old friend who was now a waiter. He couldn't shake his curiosity about what happened to Y/n since they last saw each other and the implication that the man had given up his godhood.

"Thor," Natasha's voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. "It seems like you and Y/n have quite the history. Care to fill us in?" Her tone was inviting, leaving the decision to share entirely up to Thor.

"I've known Y/n since the dawn of time. He came to Asgard as a young adult and we were very close. We fought in battles and went on countless journeys. Though it seems I missed this part of his journey."

Clint, who was sitting across from Thor, arched a brow and gave him a knowing look. "Dude," Clint wiggled his eyebrows. "you have a crush on him, don't you?" It seems that nothing escaped Clint's gaze.

Natasha playfully nudged Clint, as Bruce shook his head. He muttered something about Clint being an idiot though a small chuckle did manage to escape his throat.

A slight pink hue tinted Thor's cheeks. "I certainly do not have a crush on him."

And that was true — Thor did not have a crush on Y/n. On the contrary, what he felt for his old friend ran deeper than a fleeting crush, even after all these years.

A little while later, Y/n returned with two more servers that had trays filled with food and drinks. They carefully placed everything on the table, ensuring that everyone received their ordered meals. "Guys, enjoy your meal, and feel free to flag me down if you need anything else," Y/n then left the Avengers to their meal.

They ate, and the conversation shifted to their recent battle and the close calls they had faced. Thor, once again, found his attention divided between the lively discussion and his silent observations of Y/n as the waiter efficiently moved between tables, tending to other people.

He needed to speak with him.

So, when the dinner concluded and Tony paid the bill, leaving a generous tip for Y/n's exceptional service, the group began to make their way out toward the waiting limo. However, Thor lingered behind, his eyes seeking out Y/n, who was clearing a table. Thor made his way over to him.

"Y/n," Thor’s voice was low and serious, causing Y/n to pause in his clearing and looked up at Thor, "a word if you please." 

Y/n straightened up and offered a smile. "Of course, Thor. What can I do for you?"

"I must know, old friend, everything that has happened in your life up until now."

Y/n's smile remained unwavering. "And I'll tell you everything you want to know tomorrow. Meet me in Central Park at twelve o'clock. You and I will catch up."

The thunderous God nodded, feeling satisfied with that arrangement as he placed a hand on Y/n's shoulder. "Until tomorrow, my friend. I look forward to it."

As Y/n walked away with dishes in his hands, Thor's eyes trailed after him. Why was his friend working as a server in a human restaurant? What had happened to him in Asgard? And most importantly, why'd he say he 'was once' an Asgardian God? Thor had his suspicions about the last question, but he still needed to get the missing piece of the puzzle from Y/n.

The only plausible explanation for Y/n's situation was that Y/n must have been stripped of his powers and made mortal, much like Odin had done to him before.

But the question remained: why? There were only two ways for a god to lose their powers: either through transferring their consciousness into another mortal body or by having their powers forcibly taken away. Y/n still inhabited the same body for centuries, automatically ruling out the first option. This left Thor with the conclusion that someone must have taken his powers, and he hoped that his dad hadn't been involved in such an act.

Suddenly, the restaurant door opened, and Bruce's voice rang out. "Thor, come on! Tony said you have thirty seconds to get out here or he's telling the limo driver to pull off without you. Let's get moving."

With a playful roll of his eyes at Tony's impatience, Thor followed Bruce out of the restaurant and into the waiting limo.

The limo glided through the city streets on the way back to the Compound, and Thor's thoughts inevitably drifted to Y/n. He recalled the curve of his lips when he smiled, the way the black waiter's attire highlighted his handsome features, and Clint's accusation about having a crush.

Indeed, as Thor had voiced earlier, it was more than a crush. The love he felt for Y/n ran deeper than mere infatuation, and it had only bloomed stronger over time.

One thing's for sure: over the years, Y/n had been the object of Thor's late-night fantasies more times than he cared to admit, even during his semi-relationship with Jane. Y/n was the main reason he couldn't fully commit to her. The thought of having Y/n beneath him, moaning his name while begging for release, was a desire Thor had harbored for some time. 

In Thor's mind, he felt that this was an opportunity given to him. It was clear to Thor that their paths had crossed again for a reason — because they were meant to be together. Why else would they have reconnected now — when Y/n seemingly needed him? It was a sign from the gods. So, he would first speak to Y/n, and then the two could focus on their relationship.

Thor couldn’t wait until tomorrow. 

XXXXX XXXXX

The wait until the next day felt like an eternity for the God of Thunder. He was so ready to see Y/n once more and learn about everything that had transpired in his life recently. He knew that Y/n would be there on time; it was in their nature to honor commitments, no matter how tiny.

Finally, the clock struck twelve, and Thor found himself standing in Central Park. The sun shone brightly, its rays dancing through the leaves of the trees, casting dappled shade on the grass, and a nice breeze stirred in the air. As he ventured further into the park, his eyes spotted a familiar figure sitting at a bench beneath the sprawling branches of a big oak tree.

There, casually leaning back against the bench with one leg casually slung over the other, was Y/n. He looked utterly at ease, dressed in a simple white tee and faded jeans. The outfit accentuated his nice, broad shoulders, and Thor's eyes wandered appreciatively over Y/n’s body.

He looked good.

Real good.

Thor's footsteps quickened, his eagerness to reunite properly with his old friend unmistakable. He knows that he just saw him yesterday, but the short amount of time wasn't enough to satisfy his longing for his company. Y/n noticed Thor approaching and gave him a slight smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Hey, Y/n," Thor greeted, his voice warm and deep. He extended his hand, and Y/n took it, letting Thor pull him into a hug.

"It's good to see you, T-Man," Y/n replied, using the old nickname he had for Thor. Hearing it now made Thor's heart flutter, and he loved the way it rolled off his lips.

Settling onto the bench, Thor's curiosity got the better of him. He knew that Y/n held the answers to the many questions swirling in his mind. So, without further ado, he decided to dive straight into the heart of the matter, forgoing the human tendency to beat around the bush now.

"My dear comrade," Thor began, his eyes locked intensely on Y/n. "You have much to tell me, and I am eager to hear it. How is it that Y/n, son of Hera and Zeus, God of Time, finds himself here on Midgard, serving mortals as a waiter? The last I heard, you were a protector of this realm."

The former God clasped his hands in his lap but he maintained eye contact with Thor. It was always customary to look someone in the eyes when speaking.

"I was the protector of this realm," he confirmed, "But your father and I had our fair share of disagreements. He deemed me reckless and unworthy, and in a fit of anger, he stripped me of my powers and banished me here to Midgard. I've been living as a mortal for almost two years."

A frown marred Thor's handsome features as he listened to Y/n's words, his eyebrows knitting together in anger. Stripped of his powers and exiled here — it was a brutal punishment, one that stirred a protective instinct within the God of Thunder. He knew firsthand the pain of being stripped of one's powers. The idea of Y/n, the mighty God of Time, being reduced to working at a job, was an insult to everything they stood for.

"That old fool!" Thor growled, feeling his anger rising. "To treat you, another God who has served Asgard for thousands of years with such cruelty is an outrage. He cannot keep doing this to people like us," he took Y/n's hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze, and Thor felt a burning desire to set things right. "Rest assured, I'll find a way to have him restore your abilities."

Y/n shook his head. "There's no need for that. I've accepted my fate as a mortal, and in some ways, I enjoy being human."

Thor's eyebrows ascended. "You do?"

Thor's surprise was evident on his face. The tall God remembered all too well the emotions that had consumed him when he was stripped of his powers and sent to Earth — the anger, the bitterness, and the overwhelming sense of tiredness that came with realizing that walking as a mortal was far more challenging than he had anticipated with long distances.

The waiter nodded in confirmation. "I do. There are some drawbacks to being human, like getting tired and injured, and I do miss being able to manipulate time. But being human granted me a freedom I never experienced before," Y/n paused, a faraway look in his eyes as if recalling a fond memory. "And I even found love."

Suddenly, the air in Central Park seemed to grow thick with each passing second. The once-bright sun was now concealed by the gathering of dark storm clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low, menacing growl that echoed through the trees. Additionally, the breeze picked up, carrying the scent of impending rainfalls.

Lightning crackled around the god's left fingertips, a visual manifestation of his rising emotions. His vision darkened at Y/n's words, and he gently withdrew his right hand from Y/n's grasp. Did Y/n just say what he thinks he just said? He had—

Y/n had found love. The word "love" reverberated through Thor like a strike of lightning, sending an unwelcome jolt of awareness through him. Love implied intimacy, tangled limbs, and passionate kisses. The thought of Y/n sharing such closeness with someone else awakened a surge of possessiveness through him.

Sensing the change in the weather, Y/n glanced up, noticing the dark clouds that had gathered. He looked around, seeing people leaving the park, then he turned his gaze to the man sitting next to him.

"Uh, Thor?"

Hearing his name, Thor snapped out of his turbulent thoughts and took a steady breath, consciously calming himself. As a response, the clouds above dissipated, replaced by the hot sun. The harsh wind softened, and the lightning that crackled from his fingertips faded away without a trace. The weather returned to normal.

"Love?" Thor echoed, his tone carefully neutral; he grappled with the unfamiliar emotion swirling within him. He tamped down the spike of jealousy, not wanting to seem possessive or unfair. They had been apart for years now, living separate lives, so what right did he have to claim Y/n's heart? And yet, the thought of Y/n being intimate with a male or a female stirred a possessive hunger deep within him, a feeling he had never experienced before, not even during his brief period with Jane. "Who is this person that has captured your heart?" He dangerously murmured disguised as casual curiosity.

Y/n smiled softly. "Her name is Maya."

"And how did you come to meet Maya?" Thor asked, his tone carefully controlled, even as that name rolled off his tongue like a sweet poison. But he schooled his features, keeping his emotions in check.

"Well, when I was sent to Earth, I found myself in the middle of an open road at night. Maya accidentally hit me with her car, but she took me into her apartment to rest up and recover. We spent a lot of time together, and eventually, we started dating as they say. She's a great woman."

A jaw clenched; Thor's teeth grinded as he forced himself to remain composed. So, Y/n had found love with this... Maya. "I see," his fingers curled into a fist. "And Is she aware of your past?" Y/n nodded silently in response. "Where is she now?"

The h/c-haired male seemed completely oblivious to the undercurrents of Thor’s jealousy as he spoke. "Maya had a hair appointment today, but she should be here soon, and you'll get to meet her."

Can't wait, Thor thought. He needed to see this Maya, to put a face to the name that now felt like a curse on his tongue. But more than that, he wanted to assert his presence, to let Maya know that Y/n was his first and would always belong to him. Furthermore, he would make sure—

"There you are, Y/n!" 

Instantly, Thor's head whipped around to see a female approaching their bench. This must be Maya. Her dark hair fell in loose waves down to her back, perfectly complementing her complexion and her radiant smile. She wore a comfortable denim jeans jumpsuit that hugged her hips, showcasing her curvaceous figure.

"About time you got here," Y/n stood to greet her with a soft smile, leaning down to brush his lips on her cheek. Her arms wrapped around him, and the affection between the couple was as clear as day.

"Sorry, I had to get my coffee. You know how I get," Maya let out a soft chuckle, her eyes widening as she looked over at the person sitting on the bench with her boyfriend. "Y-You're Thor!" she turned to Y/n again. "You did not tell me your old friend was the Thor from the Avengers!"

Y/n held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, you knew I was a god at one point, and that I'd be meeting an old friend. Who's the one, popular god that's currently running around New York City?"

"Still, you could've mentioned it was an Avenger!" Maya exclaimed, turning back to The god, who had been observing the exchange with a neutral expression. She held out her hand for him to shake. "It's so nice to meet you, Thor. I'm a big fan!"

Standing from the bench, Thor's tall and muscular frame towered over Maya, but not Y/n, who stood at a similar height. He shook Maya's hand gently, his gaze flickering briefly to Y/n's. "It's a pleasure to put a face to the name of the woman who has stolen my friend's heart," Thor's voice held an underlying current of quiet possession that the other two didn’t pick up on. "He has told me things about you."

"Oh, has he? Only good things, hopefully."

"I promise, only good things, babe," Y/n assured, his eyes shifting briefly to Thor. "So, Maya and I were just about to go to the carnival. Do you want to tag along?"

The God shook his head. "Thank you for the invitation, but I must decline. I have matters that require my attention back at the Avengers Compound." As much as Thor longed to spend more time with Y/n, he did not want to be a third wheel or see these two being affectionate.

The woman nodded in understanding. "I understand. You have the world to save and all. Perhaps next time if you're free."

"Most definitely," Thor agreed, his eyes following Y/n and Maya as they walked away, with Y/n's left hand in Maya's right.

A frustrated growl rumbled in Thor's throat as he raked a hand through his newly trimmed brown hair. This reunion had not gone as he had envisioned. He had imagined catching up on old times, and perhaps, even confessing his long-held feelings for Y/n. But, unfortunately, Maya's presence had ruined his plans.

The desire to remove this woman from the equation burned within Thor, and he knew there was only one way to do that. However, he understood that any harm brought upon Maya would hurt Y/n, and he didn't want to see his old friend hurt. Therefore, Thor decided to let Maya be.

At least, for now.

XXXXX XXXXX

In all honesty, Thor had been planning to return to the Compound. The thought of witnessing someone else's affection for Y/n was too much to bear. He had turned around, prepared to walk in the opposite direction when he changed his mind.

He turned back, deciding to secretly join Y/n and Maya at the carnival. He needed to see for himself the depth of Maya's love for Y/n when they were together.

The God maintained a discreet distance as he trailed secretly behind Y/n and his unfortunate girlfriend, not wanting them to realize he was following them. A few minutes later, he watched as the couple purchased their admission tickets and walked into the carnival, their hands still entwined. Thor lingered at the entrance, his eyes fixed on their retreating figures.

Thor paused at the entrance of the carnival, his mind formulating a plan. With the money Tony had generously provided, he decided to purchase a cap and sunglasses from the nearby store, employing a tactic he had learned from his time with the Avengers — infiltrating places and staying hidden in plain sight.

After getting his disguise, Thor paid for an admission ticket and stepped inside. 

The carnival was alive with the scent of cotton candy, popcorn, and funnel cake, mingling with both the excited chatter of children and the loud music blaring from speakers. People of all ages were there today, laughing and screaming as they rode roller coasters, tested their luck at games, and snacked on delicious foods.

Hidden behind sunglasses and a black cap, Thor moved with the crowd, his tall frame blending seamlessly into the sea of humans. His sharp eyes scanned the area, searching for the man he desired.

And as Thor navigated the carnival, his frustration mounted with each passing minute. He searched in vain for any sign of the couple, eyes scanning the crowds for Y/n and Maya, but couldn't find them anywhere. Heat started burning in Thor's chest that had nothing to do with the hot weather — but was rather fueled by his rising impatience and possessiveness.

"Damn it, where are they?" He muttered under his breath, irritation in his voice.

Thor quickened his pace.

Dodging between families and groups of teenagers, he walked past the game booths, bumper cars, and food stations.

His determined search finally paid off as he spotted Y/n's distinctive profile at the milk bottle toss game booth, a ball in his hands as he prepared to throw it. Maya stood behind him, holding a sundae cup with two spoons, as she cheered Y/n on.

Adjusting his sunglasses, Thor stepped closer to them. He watched as his friend threw the ball and knocked over a stack of milk bottles with accuracy. That didn’t surprise Thor; Y/n had been a seasoned warrior for thousands of years, after all.

The man behind the booth handed Y/n a stuffed animal—a tan plush dog— which Y/n then gave to Maya. Her smile lit up her face when she received the nice gift.

The couple walked away, sharing the sundae and laughing together. Thor's fists clenched at his sides as he fought the instinct to march over and pull Maya away — to claim what was rightfully his.

Instead, Thor forced himself to maintain a cool and distant demeanor, following his prey. He remained hidden, observing their interactions without them knowing. He kept his distance as the couple rode roller coasters, played more games, and indulged in stupid affectionate gestures. Throughout it all, Thor's anger bubbled, especially when Y/n had the audacity to cup Maya's cheek and kiss her softly.

That did it.

Thor knew he had promised himself that he wouldn't hurt Maya for Y/n's sake, not wanting to see him unhappy. But — after witnessing their interactions throughout the day, something snapped within him, and he didn't care about his promise. He decided that Y/n was meant to be happy with him — and him alone. The thought of anyone else having Y/n's heart was unbearable, and Thor found himself no longer caring about the consequences. He had no choice but to get rid of Maya.

On Friday night, Maya was leaving her workplace alone, while Y/n was at work. The night air was crisp, carrying a hint of a chill, as the streetlights casted orange glows along the pavement. Thor silently followed her. He kept a careful distance, mirroring her movements: walking when she walked, turning the corner when she turned, and stopping when she stopped. He hid when she turned around as if she knew somebody was trailing behind her.

A gust of wind rustled the leaves. Maya shivered from the cool, spring weather and pulled her jacket tighter, quickening her pace considerably. Her eyes glanced but she saw no one there. Unbeknownst to her, the threat loomed closer than ever.

As Maya passed an alleyway, the wind picked up again, and she felt a sense of unease. She stilled, feeling like she was being watched, "H-Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling. "Is someone there?"

Silence answered her, but Maya could've sworn she felt eyes boring into her back. She turned around, but the alleyway was empty. With a sense of unease lingering, she began walking, her steps faster now as she hurried towards the safety of her home, never pausing. Finally, she arrived at her apartment building and sauntered inside, the door closing firmly behind her.

As Maya set her keys down on the table and turned around, she let out a startled gasp at the sight of Thor standing there.

Quickly, Thor locked the top and bottom locks, feeling satisfaction from noticing the fear that flashed through her eyes.

Good, Thor thought, satisfied, be scared.

XXXXX XXXXX

The morning sun's rays filtered through the thin curtains, their warmth caressing Y/n's features, gently waking him up. He stretched languidly, and sat up, yawning. Then, the e/c-eyed man opened his eyes completely and headed to the bathroom.

One of the first things Y/n incorporated into his life as a mortal man was a nice skincare regimen. Maya had explained to him that humans often used facial masks to keep their skin clear and free from acne. In his previous life as a god, Y/n had never had to worry about such concerns, as his skin had always been flawless. Without his powers, however, he now found himself susceptible to the same skin issues that plagued mortals. So, he used these facial skin care masks.

Though Y/n can admit that he quite enjoyed these face masks. The soft texture against his skin was surprisingly wonderful, and the masks worked great.

He feels like his sister, Aphrodite.

After completing his morning routine, he grabbed his phone and made his way to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, already prepared, as he dialed Maya's number. The ringing tone echoed aloud and was greeted by her voicemail.

The phone heading straight to voicemail didn't entirely surprise Y/n. He knew that she loved sleeping in after a hectic work week. He decided to pay her a surprise visit since he had been given a spare key.

Y/n opened the door and was prepared to step through it when his feet paused and looked down, suddenly noticing the white envelope on the ground. Frowning in confusion, he bent down to pick it up, his eyes scanning the words inscribed on the envelope: "To Y/n, From Maya."

Intrigued, Y/n opened the envelope, his eyes reading over the paragraph, and the frown on Y/n’s features deepened. Huh—

The note read: My dearest Y/n,

Hope all is going well. I just wanted you to know that you’ll always have a special place in my heart, and our relationship is the best thing that ever happened to me.

It pains me to say this, but, to be honest, I have fallen out of love. Our relationship has run its course, and I think we are no longer meant to be. My love for you has faded like a flower wilting under the sun.

Please know that this was an incredibly difficult decision for me, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

I wish you nothing but happiness. May you continue to find love and fulfillment in life. And who knows, maybe our paths will cross again when we least expect it. Until that happens tho, farewell, my love.

With a heart full of memories,

Maya. 

The note left Y/n stunned and confused. Maya had seemed happy and content in their relationship. How could she just fall out of love and walk away like this? It didn't make sense to him in the least. There's no way this letter could be real.

What—? Huh—? More questions plagued his mind as he couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal and hurt. What had he done wrong? Had he pushed her away without realizing it? Or was there someone else?

Shaking his head, Y/n left his apartment building and headed straight for Maya's place. He needed to hear the reason for her decision from her own mouth, rather than reading it on a piece of paper. That wasn't fair to him and he deserved more.

Y/n's footsteps echoed hurriedly against the pavement as he hurried along the streets, rounding corners and navigating crosswalks. Finally, he arrived at Maya's place and hastily knocked on the door.

There was no response.

Then, Y/n inserted the spare key into the lock, twisted it, and marched inside. He stepped further into the room and called out to Maya when he noticed something.

Maya's apartment was empty.

It was completely devoid of her personal belongings — no furniture, decorations, nothing at all. He searched every room, drawer, and closet, but found no trace of her here. It was as if she never lived here.

Y/n pulled out his phone and tried to call Maya again — but it just went straight to voicemail. The realization sank in — this letter wasn't a joke or a prank. Maya had surely left him, and she hadn't even had the decency to do it in person or provide a proper explanation for her decision.

It was a hurtful and callous way to end their relationship. That's so messed up.

Y/n's hands balled into fists at his sides, the letter crumpling within his grasp. He felt a prickling sensation at the corners of his eyes, and he realized that he was experiencing two very human emotions:

Crying and heartbreak.

Y/n knew that gods experience human emotions such as crying, too. But now that Y/n was human, the experience felt different. In that moment, he understood the depths of his feelings for Maya. This was why mortals spoke of love as both a blessing and a curse — it can give you joy but could also inflict unbearable pain.

He exited Maya's apartment building, the crumpled letter still clutched in his hand, a tangible reminder of what he had lost. His eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, were facing downward as he walked, his thoughts consumed by these emotions. It was this lack of focus that caused him to accidentally bump into someone else, knocking their umbrella from their hand.

Crouching down, Y/n wrapped his hand around the umbrella to pick it up, but he found that he couldn't. Y/n bent down to retrieve the fallen umbrella, however, to his surprise, he found that he couldn't lift it. He tried with both hands this time, but the umbrella remained stubbornly out of reach. Jeez, this simple umbrella feels as hard as trying to lift Thor's hammer—

Wait a minute.

Y/n's eyes drifted upward, and he found Thor standing there, which means this umbrella was Thor's hammer in disguise.

"Oh, hi, Thor." Y/n’s voice came out soft, despite the emotions currently coursing through his mind, releasing his hold on the hammer. "Might want to pick that up."

Thor complied, lifting the hammer, eyes fixed on Y/n's e/c eyes. "Are you okay?"

Y/n’s response was quick. "Yes, I’m fine." 

Unconvinced by Y/n's fake composure, Thor placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes filled with concern. "You know you don't have to pretend to be okay when it comes to me. You can tell me anything."

Finally, Y/n conceded. "Maya left me. Out of the blue, she broke things off and disappeared, and I don't understand why."

Thor's eyes softened, and he pulled Y/n into a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry to hear that," his voice was, unknowingly, laced with feigned sympathy. "That lady doesn't deserve the honor of your love."

Unbeknownst to Y/n, a smirk played on Thor's lips, his eyes gleaming with a mix of vindication and triumph. He didn't like seeing Y/n in pain, but it was necessary.

The pain was only temporary, and Y/n would eventually get over this simple mortal. Then, there would be room for Thor, and they could finally be together.

In the weeks that followed, Y/n slipped into a deep depression. He spent most days lying in bed, thoughts consumed by the memories of Maya. He questioned everything, from his own worthiness to the nature of love itself. He didn't get it. Why had she left? Was he truly enough? These thoughts ate away at him — like maggots devouring the flesh of the dead.

Additionally, the only thing that stirred him from his bleak existence was his work. The familiarity of the restaurant, the mechanical tasks of serving tables, provided a fleeting sense of normalcy.

And throughout it all, there was only one person who was there for him — Thor.

The God of Thunder checked in on him regularly, offering words of comfort and support for his pal. He brought takeout, watched movies with him, and listened as the man poured out his heart, sharing his heartbreak and confusion. Thor was a great presence during his time of need.

In Thor's presence, he found himself smiling more. His appetite returned, and the dark circles under his eyes gradually faded. Y/n felt a little like himself again.

One evening, after Y/n finished his shift at the restaurant, he found himself with Thor in his bedroom. A movie played in the back, but they were too engrossed in conversation to pay attention to it. Thor had asked Y/n about his deepest desire.

"Well, being here on Earth for a long time made me desire love the most," was his admission as Y/n thought back to when he thought he had found love. "It seems that love is the emotion humans desire the most. I guess I'm one of them too."

Thor's eyes roamed over Y/n's face as if searching for something. And then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in closer, his thumb gently stroking the back of Y/n's hand, sending shivers down his spine.

"I can give you the love you crave, Y/n," Thor murmured, voice deep and husky, his thumb continuing its gentle caress.

Y/n sat up straighter, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He grabbed the remote and turned off the television, their conversation now the sole focus.

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"I mean," Thor's voice rumbled. "I can show you what it means to be desired."

Y/n opened his mouth to ask the man to elaborate when Thor surged forward, his left hand cupping the back of Y/n’s neck and capturing his lips in a brutal kiss. Y/n gasped into the kiss as Thor's tongue, invaded his mouth, tasting and claiming, leaving no doubt about his intentions. 

E/c eyes widened in surprise at this, but Y/n didn’t immediately pull away. Thor's kiss was demanding, possessive as his free arm wrapped around Y/n, placing a hand on his back, pulling him closer. Y/n could feel Thor's hardness against his left thigh, straining against the fabric of his pants, and he moaned into the kiss.

Suddenly, Y/n pulled away slightly, breathless. "Thor, I—"

"Shh," Thor placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "You want this, Y/n. You want my touch, my possession. Admit it, and I'll give you the love that you desire. You’ll forget all about that mortal, Maya." 

Stunned by this turn of events, Y/n could only manage a breathless, "Alright," he knew that he did crave this intimacy and always found Thor attractive. He wanted to feel that type of intimacy once more.

Suddenly, he felt the powerful urge to assert his agreement more physically, more explicitly. So, he pushed Thor onto his back, straddling his muscular thighs.

A devilish smile curved Thor's lips as he tugged on Y/n's shirt, eager to taste the body of the guy that he had daydreamed about countless times. With a sharp tug, buttons flew across the room, revealing smooth skin and toned muscles beneath.

"Dangerous move, little waiter," Thor murmured, his hands roaming across Y/n's chest, thumbs grazing perky nipples that tightened, hardened from his touch. "Now, I get to have my way with you."

Then, Thor trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along Y/n's jawline and down his neck. His teeth scraped gently over Y/n's pulse point, nipping and sucking until a dark bruise formed. Y/n's breath hitched as Thor's hand glided lower, his fingers tracing the waistband of his sweatpants.

"You like it when I touch you, don't you?" Thor whispered, his hot breath fanning across Y/n's ear, "Tell me what you want."

Y/n craned his neck to allow Thor better access to his neck and shoulders. "I... I want you to touch me, Thor. Everywhere."

Thor didn’t need a further invitation. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of Y/n's pants, exploring the terrain of his six-pack abs before dipping lower. Y/n arched his back, his breath catching as calloused fingers brushed against the length of his already long, stiff cock.

"You're so hard for me, little one," Thor murmured, fingers teasing the outline of Y/n's length before pulling away. "I want to see it. Want to watch it throb for me."

With trembling fingers, Y/n removed his pants, sliding the fabric down his legs, along with his boxers. His cock twitched eagerly, the head already glistening with pre-cum. He had never been so aroused, so desperate to be touched and taken.

Thor's eyes darkened with desire as he reached for Y/n's cock, stroking it firmly, his right thumb teasing the sensitive slit. "That's it, my beautiful God. Let me see you. Show me how much you want this."

The former God's lips parted on a moan, his hips involuntarily bucking into Thor's hand quickly. "Please, Thor... don't stop."

Thor smirked, the possessive gleam in his eyes undeniable. "I plan to take this much further.  But first, I want a taste..."

And with that, Thor leaned down, his hot breath tickling the head of Y/n's cock before his tongue darted out, licking a thick stripe up the underside. Y/n cried out, his hips jerking at the unexpected pleasure, and Thor chuckled, the sound vibrating against Y/n's sensitive flesh.

"So responsive," Thor murmured, his lips wrapping around Y/n's hardness as he sucked and teased with practiced skill.

Y/n threaded his fingers through Thor's hair, his head falling back as sensations bombarded him. Thor's tongue swirled and twirled, his lips sucking on his cock, driving Y/n wild with need. He looked up at Y/n through his eyelashes, reveling in the sight of his pleasure-clouded eyes, and he sucked Y/n's length deep into his mouth, his hands caressing Y/n's thighs, thighs that now tremble with anticipation.

"Please, Thor," Y/n begged, his voice raw with need. "I want to feel you inside me."

Thor released Y/n's cock from his mouth with a lewd pop, saliva dripping from his lips as his fingers unfastened his pants. "Time to see what a real god looks like."

Thor sat up, his eyes flashing with promise as he slowly revealed his thick, veiny cock. Y/n's mouth went dry at the sight, his own spent cock twitching with some renewed interest. Reaching inside the nightstand, Thor discovered a bottle of lube and slicked up his cock for Y/n.

"Damn, Thor, that's huge," Y/n whispered his gaze devouring every inch of Thor's masculine glory. "Even bigger than mine."

A smug grin stretched across Thor's face as he pushed Y/n back against the bed, kicking off his pants in the process. "Get a good look at this and commit this to your memory and your heart, because I intend to make you scream my name."

With that promise ringing in the air, Thor climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between Y/n’s thighs and lining up the tip of his cock with his entrance. 

"Tell me you want this, Y/n. Tell me you want me to fill you up." Thor's voice was low and commanding, his eyes intense.

Y/n nodded eagerly, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yeah, Thor. I want you. Please, take me. I need you inside me."

Hmm, Thor mused and pressed forward, his thick cock breaching Y/n with a slow, relentless thrust. Y/n cried out, his back arching off the bed as he was stretched wider than Y/n could remember. Thor paused, giving him a moment to adjust, but the reprieve was simply short-lived.

Thor began moving, his powerful thrusts driving Y/n into a euphoric haze. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound joined by the lewd slapping of skin and Y/n's loud moans as Thor’s hips moved.

"That's it, take it," The God of Thunder let out a growl, hands gripping Y/n's hips to gain better leverage. "You feel too good wrapped around my cock. I've dreamed of this... dreamed of claiming you, babe."

Y/n's eyes squeezed shut as he clung to Thor, his nails digging into the tall God's broad shoulders. "Oh, Thor, right there," he gasped, his entire body trembling on the edge of release. "Damn, I'm so close."

Thor's pace quickened, breath coming in hot, ragged gasps. "Open your eyes and look at me," he demanded, causing Y/n's eyes to snap open, his gaze locking with Thor's, and the Avenger's hand found his cock once again. "You make me feel like a true God. I could fuck you forever, but right now, I want you to come for me."

"Oh... fuck..." 

In response to Thor's words, Y/n's body tightened like a coil, and he came with a hoarse cry, his release coating Thor’s fingers. Then, Thor emptied himself into Y/n, his hips stuttering as he rode out his orgasm, painting Y/n’s ass hole in ribbons of white. He maintained eye contact with Y/n the whole time. Mine.

Panting and sweaty, Thor pulled out of Y/n and they collapsed against the bed, hearts beating fast from their encounter.

Thor pressed a tender kiss to Y/n's lips, his hands stroking the sweat-dampened skin of Y/n's torso. "You're incredible, Y/n. We were always meant to be together."

This was a known fact, and tonight was simply proof of their love for each other. Now, he needed to make sure Maya was fully out of the picture (Thor forced her to write that note to Y/n, and had set up a secret camera in Y/n's apartment, the footage transmitted to a hidden monitor in another location where he kept Maya chained and captive). Now that she had seen the love between them, he would tell Heimdall to execute her, ensuring she posed no threat to their happiness again.

Now, all that remained was for Odin to restore Y/n's powers. Then, they would be together forever, unburdened by the constraints that mortality has on people.

Just as it was meant to be. 

XXXXX XXXXX

[buckets-and-trees]

Now That I Saw You

Characters/Pairings: lawyer!Bucky x curvy!female assistant reader Word Count: 4k Summary: Finally home from the work trip to Norway where things changed with your boss, you are uncertain about what the future means exactly, but eager to see him again. Sequel to What You Want.

Content Warnings: modern AU, slight power dynamic, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, body reverence/worship, use of "plum" as a term of endearment, sex in a semi-public place

Logistical Notes: My August entry for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky-Bingo using the BODY WORSHIP prompt and week 3 of Hot Bucky Summer hitting up that SOMEONE ELSE'S HOUSE prompt.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Normal breathing, you thought to yourself as the driver pulled up the drive of the massive estate of Alexander Pierce, one of the senior partners of the law firm where you worked. This was your first time attending the firm’s New Year’s Eve party since you’d only begun working for Bucky in the early spring, and although you were only Bucky’s assistant, you had heard enough directly and indirectly to know that making an appearance here mattered. Bucky had insisted that you didn’t need to feel obligated to come – especially since he’d kept you away from your family over Christmas when the weather had made it impossible to fly home from the business trip to Norway. He had even insisted on paying for flights for you to go straight home instead of making the long drive to your hometown.

What he didn’t know was that you had called and changed your return flight from January 2 to December 31.

Bucky was close to making partner, and you wanted to show that you were one of the small but dedicated team he had in his office that took their work supporting Bucky seriously.

And while being home for some delayed holiday time with your family had been nice, the longer you were there, the more you were itching to get back to New York and figure out what life was going to look like with your boss post-Norway.

Five days of normal business followed by the three “stranded” days of Nordic adventures, shopping, sightseeing, dining, spoiling, and so much sex. So much sex.

With Bucky.

Your boss.

A valet stepped up to open your door as the Uber driver stopped in the circular receiving area of the driveway at the front of the mansion. As you stepped out and began walking up the steps, you were glad you went with the modest heels rather than the strappy high heels your best friend had tried to coax you to pick when you FaceTimed her while getting ready. Since you were nervous about enough other things, you didn’t need to worry about your shoes tonight.

Things like the bolder shade of lipstick you’d put on, or the sexiest dress you’d ever worn, or simply the fact that you didn’t know where everything that happened in Norway left you with Bucky Barnes.

Minor things to trifle over, really.

You gave your name to an attendant at the front. They scanned the list, smiled, welcomed you to the festivities, and gestured toward the staff taking care of a coat check just inside, off to the right of the grand foyer.

You gave your name to an attendant at the front. They scanned the list, smiled, welcomed you to the festivities, and gestured toward the staff taking care of a coat check just inside, off to the right of the grand foyer.

As you approached the coat check, you couldn't help but marvel at the opulence surrounding you. The foyer was a masterpiece of marble and gold, with a grand staircase sweeping upwards and crystal chandeliers twinkling overhead. You were enveloped by a pleasantly thick scent of gardenias and champagne, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and tinkling laughter from the rooms beyond.

You slipped off your coat, revealing the dress you'd agonized over for hours. It was a deep emerald green, hugging your curves before falling in a silky waterfall to your ankles. The neckline dipped low, and the back was even lower, leaving you feeling both sophisticated and slightly exposed.

The attendant handed you a small golden ticket in exchange for your coat, and you tucked it carefully into your clutch. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the evening ahead. The butterflies in your stomach were performing an intricate ballet, a mix of excitement and nerves that left you feeling slightly lightheaded.

As you turned to face the grand ballroom, you were immediately enveloped by the soft glow of candlelight and the gentle tinkling of champagne glasses. The room was a vision of elegance, with towering floral arrangements adorning every table and shimmering gold accents catching the light. The air was filled with the gentle hum of conversation and laughter, the tinkling of champagne flutes, and the soft strains of a live orchestra.

You took a tentative step forward, your eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. The sea of designer gowns and tailored suits was intimidating, and you found yourself second-guessing your decision to attend. Just as you were considering a hasty retreat, a warm, familiar voice called your name.

"Hey there, stranger! I was hoping you'd make it tonight."

You turned to see Steve Rogers, Bucky's best friend and fellow lawyer at the firm. He approached, moving with a swift grace as he always did, his broad shoulders filling out an impeccably tailored navy suit, a glass of champagne in each hand. He’d be intimidating if you hadn’t forged a wonderfully warm friendship over the past months working in the office. You admired how much he wanted to take care of those around him, unafraid to speak up whenever needed, and equally ready to make someone smile.

Even now, the tension in your shoulders eased at the sight of him and his bright smile.

“Bucky will be happy to see you!”

You ducked your head a moment, taking a sip of the champagne he offered. “He will?”

“I don’t think he could tie his shoes anymore without you,” Steve exaggerated, but the compliment warmed your insides anyway.

Steve offered you his arm and then led you further into the party.

Your senses were overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of the event. Everywhere you looked, your eyes drank in more exquisite details infusing the atmosphere. You passed by a magnificent ice sculpture of the firm's logo, its edges glinting in the candlelight. You passed by tables laden with delicacies from around the world - tiny caviar-topped blinis, glistening oysters nestled in beds of ice, and delicate pastries that looked almost too beautiful to eat. Waiters in crisp white jackets glided effortlessly through the crowd, their trays balanced with flutes of golden champagne and jewel-toned cocktails.

You couldn't help but feel a bit like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole. Each new sight was more wondrous than the last. To your left, a living statue covered in shimmering gold paint posed gracefully atop a pedestal, her movements so subtle you had to blink to be sure she was real. To your right, an aerialist in a glittering silver bodysuit performed breathtaking feats on silks suspended from the vaulted ceiling, twirling and spinning in mesmerizing patterns.

Near them, a group of women in shimmering gowns laughed melodiously, their jewelry catching the light with every gesture. You nodded politely at a few familiar faces from the office, but your attention was divided, always seeking. You noticed Alexander Pierce himself holding court near a grand fireplace, his silver hair gleaming as he regaled a captive audience with what was surely a riveting anecdote.

As you and Steve wove through the crowd, your eyes continued to roam, searching for one face in particular. The anticipation built with each passing moment, your heart quickening its pace. You nodded politely at a few familiar faces from the office, but your attention was divided, always seeking.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, your gaze was pulled across the room to finally land on Bucky Barnes, looking devastatingly handsome in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. His dark hair was newly trimmed since you last saw him, sleek in a way that made your fingers itch to rake through it and over his scalp. He was engaged in conversation with a small group, his head thrown back in laughter at something someone had said.

Suddenly, Bucky's attention shifted to you, his eyes locking onto yours across the bustling room. The laughter died on his lips, replaced with a bit of wonder and an impossibly charming grin. Immediately heat was pooling in your stomach, nerves somewhat calmed, but a different itch pitching inside you.

The world seemed to slow down as Bucky excused himself from his group and began making his way towards you. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him approach, his eyes never leaving yours. The crowded room seemed to part for him, or perhaps it was just your imagination playing tricks on you.

As he drew closer, you could see the slight widening of his eyes as he took in your appearance. His gaze traveled slowly from your face down to your toes and back up again, lingering on the curves accentuated by your dress. When his eyes met yours again, they were dark with an intensity that made your skin tingle and memories of your time in Norway together flash vividly through your mind.

"You're here," Bucky said softly as he reached you, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I thought you were still with your family."

You smiled, trying to keep your voice steady. "I wanted to surprise you. I hope that's okay?"

"More than okay," he murmured, his eyes still roaming over you appreciatively. "You look absolutely stunning."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his compliment. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself," you replied, taking in his impeccably tailored tuxedo.

Steve cleared his throat beside you, reminding you both of his presence. "I'll leave you two to catch up," he said with a knowing smile, giving Bucky a pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Suddenly alone with Bucky, you felt the air between you crackle with tension. The noise of the party faded into the background as you stood there, lost in each other's gaze.

"Can I get you a drink?" Bucky asked, gesturing towards the bar.

You lifted your half-empty champagne flute. "I could use a refill," you said with a smile.

Bucky's hand found the small of your back as he guided you towards the bar, the possessive heat of his touch sending flames radiating across your skin. You were acutely aware of every point of contact between you, rejoicing and regretting over choosing the dangerously low and exposed back that allowed him skin to skin access in this moment.

As you waited for your drinks, Bucky leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "I can't believe you're here," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Since Norway, you’ve been on my mind constantly.

Your heart raced at his words, memories of passionate nights, morning, afternoons, and so many stolen kisses streaming through your mind. "I couldn't stay away," you admitted softly. "I needed to see you."

Bucky's eyes darkened with desire, his gaze dropping to your lips. For a moment, you thought Bucky might kiss you right there, in full view of everyone. But he seemed to catch himself, remembering where you were. Instead, he reached past you to collect your drinks from the bartender - a flute of golden champagne for you and a tumbler of amber whiskey for himself.

"Come with me," he murmured, his voice husky and filled with promise. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he led you away from the crowded ballroom.

Your heart raced as you followed him down a dimly lit corridor, the sounds of the party fading behind you. Moonlight streamed through tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. His fingers tightened around yours as he glanced back, a roguish glint in his eyes.

At the end of the hall, he paused before an ornate wooden door. With a quick look around, he turned the handle and drew you inside. You found yourself in a luxurious study, shelves of leather-bound books lining the walls and a grand desk dominating the center of the room.

Bucky took your glass and his and set them on the desk. Then his strong arms encircled your waist and drew you to him. "We shouldn't be in here," you whispered, even as excitement coursed through your veins.

"Shh," he replied, pulling you closer. His lips found yours in a searing kiss that made your knees weak. You melted against him, hands roaming over the broad planes of his shoulders.

As Bucky's lips moved against yours, all thoughts of propriety and caution melted away. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers curling into the lapels of his tuxedo jacket as you pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, pent-up longing and desire pouring out between you.

Bucky's hands roamed your back, tracing the exposed skin left bare by your daring dress. And the way he touched you? Reverently worshipping the curves and plump flesh you were usually so insecure about? This was why you dared to show more than you typically did. He made you believe you were gorgeous. His touch ignited sparks along your spine, each caress stoking the fire building within you. You gasped as he nipped at your lower lip, using the opportunity to sweep his tongue into your mouth.

The taste of whiskey on his lips mingled with the lingering champagne on yours, creating an intoxicating blend that left you dizzy with want. You pressed yourself closer, desperate to eliminate any space between your bodies. He slipped a finger beneath the strap on your shoulder and pushed it down, tugging until he freed one of your breasts. He hummed as he began to palm it with his large hand, and you arched into his touch.

Suddenly, Bucky broke the kiss, and spun you around. You gasped and brought both hands out to steady yourself on the edge of the desk.

Bucky's lips traced a burning path down the curve of your neck, pausing to nip gently at the sensitive spot where it met your shoulder. You shivered as his warm breath ghosted across your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. His kisses continued their southward journey, open-mouthed heat following the elegant line of your spine.

Each press of his lips felt like a spark igniting your nerve endings. The cool air of the study contrasted sharply with the heat of his mouth, creating a delicious tension that had you trembling. As he moved lower, his hands skimmed down your sides, fingers tracing the curves of your waist and hips with reverent appreciation.

As Bucky sank to his knees behind you, his hands slid down to your hips, his breath now teasing the small of your back. The anticipation built, your heart racing as you felt him gather the silky fabric of your dress in his hands, lifting it inch by tantalizing inch. The whisper of the material against your skin was electric, heightening every sensation. When he reached your hips, he paused, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your panties.

"You're exquisite," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

Slowly, reverently, he began to peel your panties down. The delicate lace clung to your curves before giving way, sliding down your thighs.

You shivered as the cool air hit your exposed skin, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through you. Bucky's hands caressed your thighs, urging them apart, his touch both soothing and electrifying. You could feel his hot breath against your most intimate areas, causing a fresh wave of arousal to wash over you.

"God, I've missed you," Bucky groaned, his voice husky with desire. "Missed tasting you."

Without further preamble, he leaned in and ran his tongue along your slit, eliciting a gasp from you. Your fingers gripped the edge of the desk tighter as he began to explore you with his mouth, his skilled tongue alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing flicks.

You bit your lip to stifle a moan, acutely aware of the party continuing just down the hall. One of his hands snaked around to caress your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. The dual sensations had you panting, struggling to keep quiet as waves of pleasure washed over you. The thought of being caught only added to the intensity of sensations swirling through your body.

Bucky's tongue worked magic between your thighs, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your most sensitive spots. Your legs trembled as the pleasure built, threatening to overwhelm you. You bit down on your lip, desperately trying to muffle the moans that threatened to escape.

"Let me hear you, plum," Bucky murmured against your heated flesh. "I want to know how good I'm making you feel."

His words sent a shiver through you, and you allowed a soft whimper to escape.

Encouraged, Bucky redoubled his efforts, his tongue circling your clit with increasing pressure. One of his hands slid up your inner thigh, and you gasped as he slowly pushed two fingers inside you.

The dual sensations of his tongue on your clit and his fingers curling inside you had you seeing stars. Your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against his face as you chased your release. The coil of tension in your core wound tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment.

Just as you were about to tumble over the precipice, the sound of approaching voices in the hallway made you freeze. Panic mingled with arousal as you realized how exposed you were, bent over the desk of what had to be Alexander Pierce’s private study.

But Bucky was undeterred, and you bit your lip to stifle your moans, acutely aware that you were in a semi-public space. The thought of getting caught only added to the thrill, your arousal only surging more, lapped up by his wicked tongue. He worshipped at the altar of your sex with so much devotion, you weren’t quite ready to think about the implications of yet.

Bucky's fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your toes curl. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. The voices in the hallway grew closer, and your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

"Bucky," you whispered urgently, your voice trembling. "Someone's coming."

He hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. "Then you better come first," he murmured, his voice muffled but determined.

The voices in the hallway grew louder, and you could make out snippets of conversation about quarterly reports and market projections. Your heart raced, torn between the need for release and the fear of discovery.

Bucky, however, seemed to relish the added excitement. His ministrations became more intense, his tongue flicking rapidly against your sensitive bud while his fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot with each thrust. The combination of pleasure and danger pushed you closer to the edge.

"Come for me," Bucky whispered against your heated flesh, his breath sending shivers through your body. "Let go, plum. I've got you."

His words were your undoing. The tension that had been building inside you finally snapped, and you came with a silent scream, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure washed over you. Bucky's mouth and fingers worked you through your orgasm. Your legs trembled as the aftershocks of your orgasm rippled through you. Bucky's touch gentled, his fingers slipping out of you as he pressed soft kisses to your inner thighs. The voices in the hallway faded, moving past the study door without pause.

With shaky hands, you pushed yourself up from the desk, your breath still coming in quick passes. Bucky helped drop the fabric of your dress back down to the floor and rose to his feet behind you. He turned you back around to face him and brought you back into his arms. You could feel the hard line of his arousal pressing against you, but he seemed unconcerned over seeking his own relief.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his lips brushing your forehead. "So beautiful when you come undone for me."

He dipped down and pressed a kiss to the swell of your still exposed breast before then bringing your dress back up and over your shoulder, setting it completely right again.

Your hands slid up to loop around his neck. His eyes were dark with desire, his lips slightly swollen from his ministrations.

"That was…" you trailed off, unable to find the right words.

"Amazing," Bucky finished for you. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it sent a fresh wave of arousal through you.

But before either of you could be tempted into anything else, the voices in the hall returned.

"I'm telling you, Alexander, the Ultron account is a goldmine waiting to happen," a booming voice declared footsteps drew closer.

Bucky quickly reached for the drinks on the desk, pressing your champagne flute into your fingers. The he dipped to the floor, snatched up your panties, and pocketed them. You bit your lip, and he smirked at you.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, Wilson, but I'm not convinced the risk is worth the potential reward," came Alexander Pierce's measured reply as the door opened.

"Barnes! There you are," Alexander Pierce's voice boomed as he entered the study, followed by two other senior partners. "We've been looking for you."

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it.

Bucky turned, his body language relaxed and confident despite almost being caught in a compromising position.

"Mr. Pierce," Bucky greeted smoothly, his voice betraying none of the tension you felt. "I was just showing my assistant the impressive library you have here. We both share a passion for rare first editions."

You nodded. "It's truly remarkable," you managed, proud of how steady your voice sounded.

Pierce's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked between you and Bucky, but his expression remained neutral. "Indeed it is," he said, moving towards one of the bookshelves. His hand swept over one of the shelves. "I'm particularly fond of this Hemingway collection. However, I’m afraid I can’t entertain you with its history and how I had to hunt them down presently. I’m actually glad we found you, Barnes. We have some urgent matters to discuss regarding the Stark Industries merger. I’d like to bring you in on it, if you’re game."

"Of course, sir,” Bucky nodded, his professional mask slipping for only the briefest of moments, but you saw the excitement there for the opportunity presented.

"Excellent," Pierce said, clapping his hands together. "Gentlemen, have a seat." He turned to you, his smile polite but dismissive. "Thank you for your interest in the collection, and, please, enjoy the rest of the party."

You nodded, understanding the clear directive. "Of course, Mr. Pierce. Thank you for your hospitality."

As you moved to leave, Bucky caught your eye. His gaze was intense, filled with unspoken promises. "I'll find you," he mouthed silently, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you slipped out of the study, leaving Bucky to his impromptu meeting. Your mind was reeling from the events of the last few minutes - the passionate encounter with Bucky, the near-miss of being caught. Mostly, though, you were happy you had come after all and were eager to spend the rest of the evening with Bucky. At a party like this where business and pleasure stood side by side, you knew the host couldn’t be gone in his study for long, and then Bucky would return to your side, and you’d be able to ring in the New Year just right.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!

It's been SO LONG since we've seen these two! I hope it was a nice return to them.

[mingi-s-dimples]

Crave me - yunho

pairing: bf!yunho x gf fem!reader

rating: 18+, bdsm

genre: romance, bdsm, filthy smut (mdni ty)

summary: The bratty attitude you had with him didn't last long.. as he leaves his patience at the table and destroys you.

WC: 3.5k

warnings: rough/strict dom!yunho, bratty sub fem!reader, bdsm, choking, neck kink, sucking, blowjob, making out, tying up, pet names (darling, babe, love, pretty boy, sweetie, sweetheart), degradation kink (slut, cumslut, whore), praise kink, slapping/spanking, both vaginal and anal, use of bdsm attire (cuffs, blindfold, rope), use of toys (vibrator), sense deprivation (blindfold), little bit of hand kink, punishing, edging, creampie, ruined orgasms, multiple rounds, deals (but Yunho feels cocky and he said fuck the deal), cum cum cum a lot of cummm, squirting, mentions of safe word but never used (reader is a brat), cum eating, big dick!yunho, overstim, backshots, unprotected (REMEMBER TO WRAP UP IRL !), completely consesual !, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: SO ! When I first started writing this fic, several day ago, I didn't intend to make it this.. filthy. But.. my lovely bestie rated the roughness in the other 3 fics I have posted an average of 8.sth/10 and I took that as a CHALLENGE. Hope you like it, Lis, love you sweetie. Another small note: WHY AREN'T THERE MORE BDSM FICS OUT THERE HELLO? I'M A SUCKER FOR THEM !

Update, Lis: okay, even though i saw some paragraphs before this was published, i was still taken off guard by this. i’m taking back my words, roughness level 10/10, WHEN I TELL YOU I HAD TO TAKE A BREAK AND BREATHE. seriously i love this fic sm and bia you are so talented, you never fail to amaze me❤️❤️ please keep going with your work, i love youu<3 ( i’m still waiting for a demon joong fic 👹👹👹 ) - my answer: the demon joong fic is alr in my drafts, halfway done.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The grand dining hall was a symphony of opulence and elegance, its high vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork and crystal chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over the scene. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, their deep hues of burgundy and gold complementing the polished mahogany of the round, small dining tables. As the guests settled into their seats, the gentle strains of a string quartet drifted through the air, mingling with the soft clinking of fine glasses and the murmur of animated conversation.

At one end of the table you were sitting at, the host, Park Seonghwa raised his glass in a toast, his voice resonant and filled with the gravitas of tradition. Across from him, Hongjoong's laughter rang out, light and melodious, adding a delicate counterpoint to the music. The aroma of roasted meats and rich sauces wafted from the platters being served, each dish a masterpiece of culinary art. Conversations flowed like the wine, moving from the latest societal gossip to philosophical musings, as the guests, dressed in their finest evening attire, engaged in a dance of words and wit.

In this setting, every detail was meticulously curated to create an atmosphere of refined luxury and cultural sophistication. Yet, beneath the surface of this carefully constructed elegance, the undercurrents of intrigue and hidden agendas were beginning to stir, promising that the evening's conviviality was only the prelude to a much deeper story.

You, a renowed and well known supermodel, were sitting right next to your husband, Jeong Yunho. He was the CEO of the agency you were modelling at.

The thing is... besides the lovey-dovey side you and Yunho always showed to the other guests and your friends, for example Seonghwa, Hongjoong and the others, the two of you had... another side to your relationship.

Your intimate relationship dynamic was quite.. the opposite of what you were showing. From light forehead kisses, hand holding and warm hugs and kisses... to cuffs, blindfolds and degradation. No one knew the real you when in private, and it made the whole thing way better.

*several minutes later*

"Ooookay, should I ask the chef to bring us some desserts? I think the dinner went really well!" Hongjoong said smiling, watching each of his guests contently. He then hovered his eyes over the whole venue, you could see the happiness flooding over him. It was the ending dinner for a really important business plan that came to a final success.

While the others were happily celebrating with the host, you and Yunho were giving each other some stares. One of the things you loved the most to do was to annoy your man. Why? Cause you knew he'd destroy you the same night. You were never allowed to do things on your own, without his permission. Things such as touching him in public, deny his own touching, dress how you'd like without his approval, because he was really jealous of needy and hungry eyes that always wanted you. Everyone had envy for him, because you were the most beautiful model in your country, the agency itself was the best one, too. But tonight.. you decided to do.. everything that annoyed him and drove him insane. You first started with a.. really nice outfit, you'd say. It was halfway see-through, high heels and silver, bold jewelry completing the look. You were wearing two pieces, a short but flowy black skirt and a white, almost translucent shirt, an elegant one. Your hair was straightened, flowing beautifully on your bare back, as the shirt you were wearing only covered your chest. A silver chain was connecting two pieces of fabric on your back, making you flinch with every slight touch, because of the sheer coldness.

"Darling.. did I ever approve of... this outfit?" Yunho whispered, one of his hands going on your thigh. You tried to deny his touch, moving his hand away, but he only dug his nails deeper into your leg. You flinched, looking at him in the eyes, with an almost innocent look.

"Oh babe... don't you like it? Damn.. I thought it looked really nice" you said sheepishly, smiling at him.

"I didn't say I don't like it but... didn't we agree that these types of visible outfits are... only for me to see, hm?" he whispered and approached your neck with his lips, slightly biting it.

"Babe.. there's people around us. What would they think of you, seeing you kissing me like that?" you said, trying to get a reaction out of him but to your surprise, he remained calm and content, biting you harder.

"Do I look like I give a fuck? You did it to yourself, love. This is the first strike of tonight.. be careful for the rest of the time. I don't feel like destroying your beautiful body when we get back in the room." Yunho said, going in for a soft kiss on your lips.

"We'll see about that, babe." you said and got up from your seat, searching with your eyes the champagne bar.

Someone came behind your back. Of course, it was Yunho, all touchy on your bare waist, as the shirt you were wearing was pretty.. short.

"Babe.. I almost forgot" he mumbled.

"What did I tell you about denying my hand, hm?" his hands hovering your back, one of them on your ass and one on the nape of your neck, slightly squeezing it. "Hm? what did I tell you, mind sharing me your reason?"

"You told me that I should... never move your hand away from myself.." you said turning around to face him. "But... what's entirely wrong with it.. pretty boy? Don't you like it when I tease you..?" you said and gave him a kiss, your hands traveling from his neck to his collarbones, then from his chest to his belt, tugging at it for a second.

"This is.." he whispered. "Strike two.. my love." One more and we're out of here.. remember the rule?" he squeezed your ass, looking right into your eyes, seeing how eager you were to fuck him right there.

Several minutes pass and you were back to your table, sitting next to each other. He effortlessly pulled your seat closer to his, making you gulp at his power and speed. Looking him in the eyes you started being all touchy with him. Started from his hands, feeling up his slender and long fingers, then to his biceps. You stayed like that for a long minute, with your head resting on his shoulder, then one of your hands went straight for his crotch, no warning.

"Yunho, everything good? Why did you flinch, is it too cold here?" Seonghwa asked, confused.

"Ah yes, everything is fine, don't worry about it" he said smiling, squeezing your thigh, his hand going to your pussy, rubbing circles through your panties from under your skirt.

 "Babe... that's strike three, if you ask me." he said and patted you on your thigh, to make you look at him. He then looked around for the exit doors and excused himself, taking your hand into his.

"Joong, we'll be back, I need to take care of something at the agency" Yunho said and then dragged you out.

And as the two of you got out the doors, there was a long empty hall, no one was there. He slammed you to the wall, one of his hands on your throat and one lifting you up. He was going towards the elevator.

"Nh- babe, where are we going? you said through the kisses.

"Just upstairs, I reserved a room for us right here. I didn't think we'd need it but... you wanted to be a little slut so it serves us good. Aren't you my little whore, hm? All down for me, I saw you eye fucking me when you were getting champagne. You wanted me to fuck you dumb tonight, mm? he said while going in the elevator.

"What did you want me to do babe, hm? Did you miss my slaps and my cuffs? You little slut, you'll see what will happen if you're being a brat with me again" and right as he said this, he held you close as he opened the door with the keycard. He closed it and he dropped you on your bed.

Some meters from the king sized bed there was a small bag, and you knew so well what there was... cuffs, blindfolds, ropes.. everything you could think of as a sub. And yes.. the relationship between you and your husband, in private, was a dom/sub one. You found out that you were both into bdsm a while ago, when Yunho didn't resist anymore and tried something new on you. You loved it and... it became a really often practice.

"Love, spread out, now." he said as he went back to get something from the bag.

You were still dressed and he was too. But you could feel yourself leaking right on the bed. You knew you left a wet spot on the dark sheets, something that turned your man on even more.

"Told you to spread the fuck out, you brat. When did you get so naughty, hm? Want me to put you in your place? he said as he spread your legs out, tying them to the bed frame. You still had your clothes on, but the skirt was lifted up and the blouse was all messed up. He ripped of your panties and threw them on the floor.

You tried to say something but didn't have time to react. He went back to the bag and took out some cuffs, then got on the bed, his crotch, still dressed, rubbing on your folds. You could feel his bulge getting bigger, his pants getting thighter as he went further to tie your hands to the headboard.

"For all of what you did tonight.. babe, you'll get punished, you know that, right? he said as he hovered his hand over your throat and collarbones. "Stay still, I'll tie a sheer blindfold to your eyes. I want you to still be able to distinguish how I destroy your little and pretty pussy." 

"Yuyu.. please. Fuck me." you pleaded, trying to look him in the eyes. Whenever he tied a blindfold on your eyes.. it turned you on so bad. You couldn't properly see what was happening nor what he was doing, preparing what to do to you.. but it was thrilling.

"Hmm... what should I start with.. pretty slut, mm? Should I just edge you until you can't take it anymore and cum out of overstimulation and exhaustion, should I make you cry and not let you cum the whole night? Should I.... fuck you and deny your orgasm how you denied my hand? Tell me, sweetheart. I need words, not muffled sounds." he confidently said, giving you a smirk and his right hand going right to your blouse, easily unbuttoning it and throwing it away on the floor.

He hastly gets rid of your bra, his groping entirely unhelpful. Large hands, slender fingers roaming your body, sliding over your nipples, pressing and nibbling at them, cupping your breasts and hoisting your legs up and around his waist. Him, still clothed, you.. only with your skirt on, if that's even important.

"Fuck, Yuyu —" you gasp when he sucks a dark bruise into the skin of your neck, while one of his hands went to his shirt. He slowly unbuttoned it, then went for his pants. He undid them halfway and pushed towards you, getting a soft moan out of your slowly rising chest, heavy breathing from all the manhandling he did on you. He was taking his time. He absolutely loved seeing you begging for his cock, squirming and moving against his crotch in wish of friction. But.. Yunho left all his patience at the door.

"Babe, how did you get me this mad, hm? Did you even think about the consequences, you little slut? If that's what you wanted.. I'll destroy you, sweetheart."

Two of his fingers trace your hole before sinking into you, curling to find the right spot. All you can do is arch your back, your moans and cries soon muffled by one of his hands, as he chokes you.

"Is this what you wanted? rile me up so I'd fuck you hard tonight? all you needed to do is ask, sweetie." Yunho said, curling his fingers right into your sweet spot, receiving some loud moans from you.

You could ask and he'd give you the moon if he could. But he was a completely different person in bed. There's something about him taking you like this, almost feral, that makes your toes curl.. could it be his fingers and how he curls them in you so good that he makes you shiver and cum, maybe squirt all over the place? would it be... his cock and how deep you feel it in you, scared that he might destroy your insides?

He fucks his fingers into you sloppily, scissoring you open with little to no care if it hurts or not. It was clear that he only had one goal in sight, and that being stretching you out just enough to be able to take his cock.

It only takes a few more strokes before he's satisfied, the blunt head of his dick prodding at your entrance, getting loud whimpers from you.

"Use the safe word if it's too much" he said and started pounding into you, making your hands rocket to the headboard, holding on for dear life. It's the only warning he gives you but.. it's enough to get an understanding on how pissed he was. He was holding so thight onto your thighs, them around his waist, that you knew you'd have bruises the next day.

"So fucking tiny" he grunts as he watches you struggle to adjust to his size "Such a whore for my cock, mhm? You take it so well... even if it destroys you. Be my cumslut, won't you? I'll edge you until you can't take it anymore."

"Y-yunho !" you shouted as he used a vibrator on your clit, arching your back at the sensation. The puffed bud he was stimulating made you feel like you'd already come, but something else happend. Your walls clenched on his cock, receiving a low grunt and as he slowed down his thrusts, he watched you contently at how you squirted all over him and the bed.

"Oh wow, already? Lucky this is the only thing I'm letting you do, you little slut" he said as he thrusted even deeper, harder, sloppier into you.

"Babe, n-no don't do th-that I might c-cum" you said as he was giving you another round of circles on your clit, feeling how overstimulated you were.

"Nope, I won't let you" he said as he stopped, pulling out of you, your hole clenching on nothing.

He started rubbing his length lazily, looking at you squirming right in front of him. You wanted to be fucked dumb, until you couldn't walk anymore. But that wasn't his plan for tonight.

"Let's make a deal. If you make me cum only with your mouth, no hands and no sucking. Just touching, licking and nibbling, I'll let you cum. Otherwise, you'll get slapped and fucked... not in your little aching pussy, but deep down in your cute and red ass, until you cry. What do you say, babe, a pretty good deal, I'd say?" he said as he uncuffed your hands, lifting you on your knees.

The thing is... you weren't quite.. on your knees. You were spread out, your aching hole rubbing on the wet and sloppy linen underneath you. You started humping it slowly, not knowing if you were allowed to, but he somehow didn't mind it. He knew you weren't able to cum only from humping on a cloth so he let you do your thing.

"Now.. be my little cumslut and get on licking." he said guiding your head to his dick, throbbing on your lips. You had your hands cuffed at your back, not being able to move them. You started kissing, nibling at the tip, getting some nice groans out of him. Then you started licking the slit, putting pressure with your tongue and licking his length all down to the base of it. The circles you always make on the tip get him from being silent to being louder, as the sloppy sounds of your tongue turns him on more.

"Yes, just like that, sweetie. A liiiittle bit more and you're getting me closer."

You started nibbling, almost like sucking on his tip.

"Yuh, mhm. Go on, make me cum, you little whore" he said as his breath started getting faster, heavier, your licks getting sloppier as he tried so hard not to cum but... you did the deal. He came all over your face, as you were not allowed to suck it.

"Good girl, such a good girl you are" he said as he wiped off his load from your face with one hand and with the other one opening your mouth, his thumb on your bottom lip. He let his cum drip onto your tongue, signaling you by raising his brows to swallow. You did as he wanted, soon sucking his fingers to get every drop of his load.

"Y'know babe.. I kinda changed my mind in between your little nibbles." he said as he turned you over, on your belly, one of his hands on the back of your throat. "You're gonna take me so well, I will make sure of it." he said as two of his fingers went in your other hole, no warnings. You moaned at the feeling of his fingers curling up inside you. The same as before, his goal was to make your hole be able to engulf his length, but this time his goal was to bottom down entirely.

"Thought you could just leave me like that?" he wraps a hand around your waist, the other one on your neck, "leave me high and dry without any repercussions? You're lucky I'll keep my promise and let you cum so... cum, you little slut." as he started pounding heavily and deeply into you.

The hand he had on your waist goes to your pussy, curling them inside you and rubbing your clit.

You shake your head at his words, the coil in your tummy tightening with every word he hisses into your ear, wetness dripping down his balls and coating them as he pounds into your ass.

Yunho could feel you clenching around his cock, knows you're close by the familiar rhythm and your muffled whines rising in pitch. He removes his thight hold on your neck, letting you turn your head around, gasping for air.

"'m so close, fuck, yunho, gonna cum —"

Your entire body tenses then slumps down against the mattress, only held up by his strong arm around your waist. Yunho fucks you through your orgasm, through the oversensitivity and the chants of your little whimpers and words.

"too much, 's too much, please, s-stop" but you never use your safe word. You whine and you cry until your limp body is pushed over the edge again, eyes rolling back while you cream his cock, the 2nd time in a short time.

"c-can't," you whimper weakly, "please cum, please — Yunho, please-"

You're begging him so sweetly, voice cracking and body at his mercy. Yunho's hips stutter and his load spills deep inside of you. Your knees buckle under his waist and you whine when the two of you stumble back, his arms wrapped around your chest, all touchy on your breasts.

"You're gonna take my cum all, you little whore. Remember what I said, being my cumslut? Now, take it" he said as he continued pounding into you, getting you over the edge. He didn't lie when he said he'd destroy you, your knees trembling as he closed the gap between the two of you. He then pulled out, pumping his length and his other hand going to your clit over your thigh, sending you shivers down your spine as you squirt once again for the night, now your body being only handled by the hand he used on you.

"What a good whore I have, mm" he mumbled as he came on your back, slowing down his pumps as he slowly puts you down on the mattress.

"See babe? What happens if you're a fucking brat?" he said as he undid the blindfold, looking at your teary eyes.

"What, by the look you have, you want more, you little slut? Is that right?" he said as he slapped your ass.

"Don't worry, I wasn't even close to being done tonight, turn around, I want you to see me fucking you this time."

[seafarersdream]

The Draconic | 18+ (Modern AU Aegon Targaryen x Y/N)

When you’re in London, The Draconic is the place to be. It’s only the hottest club in town, where the drinks are as fiery as the dragons they’re named after, owned by Aegon Targaryen, the self-proclaimed nightlife king. Enter Y/N, Helaena’s best friend, who somehow finds herself tagging along, knowing Helaena’s outings usually end with a story worth telling (or hiding).

TW // Explicit sexual content, profanities, rough sex, mild BDSM elements, substance use (alcohol), smoking.

The Draconic exudes an air of mystery and exclusivity, with its grand entrance flanked by imposing dragon sculptures and the soft glow of green and gold lights illuminating the facade.

Inside, sultry Bossa Nova music drifts through the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The main lounge is a spectacle of emerald and gold hues, with plush velvet seating and marble floors adorned with dragon motifs. Crystal chandeliers cast a shimmering light over the scene, creating an almost otherworldly ambiance.

At the center of the revelry, basking in the attention, stands Aegon Targaryen. He is every bit the king of this lavish domain, exuding confidence and charm as he mingles with the elite guests. His presence is magnetic, drawing eyes and whispers as he moves through the room, a glass of the finest bourbon in hand.

Y/N stood at the entrance of The Draconic, her eyes wide with awe as she took in the grandeur of the club. “Fuck me, this place is something else, Hel,” she muttered, her voice dripping with astonishment.

Helaena, with a cheeky grin, looped her arm through Y/N’s. “Told you, love. My brother couldn’t do subtle if it slapped him in the face.”

Y/N grinned. “Just promise me we won't end up in the tabloids... again.”

Helaena laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, darling, wherever Aegon goes, the cameras follow. It's like he's got his own bloody paparazzi fan club.”

Y/N snorted. “And it doesn’t help that your brother goes through London socialites faster than toilet paper in a public loo.”

Helaena rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. Last week, he was dating some heiress named Daphne. This week, it’s a Russian model called Tatiana. Next week, who knows? Perhaps the prime minister’s daughter.”

They made their way inside, the sultry Bossa Nova music wrapping around them like a velvet cloak. The air was perfumed with the scent of expensive cologne and the subtle, smoky undertone of fine cigars. As they passed through the grand foyer, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the dragon sculptures and the exquisite marble flooring.

“No phones allowed, remember,” Helaena reminded her, handing over their devices to the stern-looking security guard.

They entered the main lounge, and Y/N felt as if she'd stepped into another world. Patrons lounged on emerald green velvet seats, their conversations low and conspiratorial. The bar, a stunning creation of green onyx and gold, was the centerpiece of the room, with bartenders expertly mixing drinks for the elite clientele.

“There he is,” Helaena said, nudging Y/N. “Aegon.”

At the heart of the room, Aegon Targaryen commanded the space. His silver hair was slicked back, and his suit was tailored to perfection. He exuded an effortless charm, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips as he entertained his guests. The golden dragon pin on his lapel caught the light, a symbol of his dominion over this lavish playground.

“Come now, let's go say hi,” Helaena urged, dragging Y/N through the throng of people.

As they approached, Aegon’s eyes flicked towards them, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. “Sister! And this must be…?” he inquired, his voice smooth and welcoming, yet laced with a hint of something darker.

Y/N steeled herself, trying to exude confidence. “Y/N,” she introduced herself, noting that up close, Aegon was even more striking—his silver hair and lilac eyes giving him an almost ethereal allure.

“Ah, so this is the Y/N I’ve heard so much about,” Aegon said with a chuckle, his eyes lingering on her.

Helaena shot him a playful but warning glare. “Stop flirting with my best friend, Aegon. Go find another prey,” she quipped, though there was an edge to her tone that suggested she meant it.

Aegon chuckled lowly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was merely admiring,” he said, his voice dripping with insincere innocence.

Helaena stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed Y/N's arm, dragging her toward the bar. “Come on, let’s get you something to drink.”

She ordered two Dragon Blood cocktails, which arrived looking unnervingly realistic, the deep red liquid swirling ominously in the glass.

Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into the back of her head. She took a sip of her drink, trying to ignore the unease. But she had a pretty good guess as to who was responsible for the intense gaze.

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Y/N and Helaena were well into their cups, each clutching a glass of Dark Sister cocktail. The liquid inside was an enchanting, a sinister shade of dark red almost purple, flecked with silver specks that swirled hypnotically. The taste was a heady mix of pomegranate and absinthe, with a smoky undertone that left a tantalizing burn in its wake.

Surrounded by a veritable graveyard of empty glasses—was this their eighth drink? Eleventh? They’d lost count hours ago—the two friends were deep in a rambling conversation about Helaena’s eccentric family.

“I mean, can you believe it?” Helaena slurred, her cheeks flushed with a rosy glow. “Mum's dating Rhaenyra.”

Y/N nearly choked. “Rhaenyra? As in, your half-sister Rhaenyra? The one who also has kids with your uncle Daemon?”

Helaena giggled, nodding vigorously. “Tell me about it. Every time I turn around, there's another plot twist. Yes, that one! So now, technically, my mum is dating my half-sister. It’s like our family tree is a vine, just tangling and looping all over the place.”

Y/N burst into laughter, almost spilling her drink. “That’s bloody brilliant. Do they make you call her mum or sis?”

Helaena cackled, nearly tipping off her stool. “Oh, gods, it’s even worse. Mum’s taken to calling her Nyra in that sickeningly sweet voice. And don't get me started on the kids—Joffrey, my little nephew, is fucking confused on how to address Alicent, bless him.”

Y/N was in stitches, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t even—imagine the Christmas dinners!”

Helaena grinned, raising her glass. “Here’s to family. Because who needs enemies when you’ve got relatives like mine?”

They clinked their glasses, the liquid inside shimmering under the club's lights. Y/N leaned in conspiratorially. “So, what’s the deal with Aemond? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

Helaena chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, Aemond. He’s gone completely off the grid. Last I heard, he was up north in Stromness. When I spoke to him, he was convinced he’d found evidence of a kraken. Sent me a photo of some squiggly line in the water and everything.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he a marine biologist or something?”

Helaena nodded, her grin widening. “Yeah, that’s the one. But he’s got this bizarre obsession with mythical creatures.”

Y/N laughed, this time spilling almost half of her drink. “Does he have a little notebook for his ‘discoveries’ too?”

Helaena snorted. “Oh, he’s got notebooks, alright. Filled with sketches of ‘sightings’ and elaborate plans to capture a sea serpent. We’re talking full-on mad scientist vibes.”

Y/N could hardly contain her amusement. “I can just picture him, all serious, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of a mythical beast. Does he ever actually do any real marine biology work?”

Helaena took another sip of her drink. “He does, but only when he’s not busy chasing legends. Last Christmas, he gave us all ‘Unseelie Repellent Spray.’ It was just water in a fancy bottle, but he was dead serious about it.”

Y/N shook her head in amusement. “Your family is a goldmine of entertainment, Hel. I don’t know how you keep up with it.”

Helaena shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. “It’s either laugh or cry, and I’d much rather laugh.

Suddenly, Helaena felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Oscar Tully standing there, his red, curly hair as wild as ever. His boyish face was littered with freckles, and he wore his signature lopsided grin.

“Oscar!” Helaena exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

“Hel!” Oscar replied, matching her enthusiasm.

The breakup had been mutual, and they’d managed to stay on good terms. They launched into small talk, catching up on life since they last saw each other.

“So, how’s the trout farm going?” Helaena asked.

Oscar rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Swimmingly, thanks for asking. Someone’s got to keep the world supplied.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement.

Oscar turned to her with a grin. “Mind if I steal Hel away for a bit? I promise to return her in one piece.”

Y/N waved her hand dramatically. “Oh, by all means, take her.”

He offered his arm to Helaena with a playful bow. “Milady?”

Helaena rolled her eyes but took his arm. As Y/N watched them blend into the crowd, she decided she’d had enough alcohol for one night. She could bet everything she had that Helaena would come back as drunk as George IV.

Standing up, she stumbled a bit and decided to find a quieter place to collect her thoughts. She remembered spotting some private booths earlier, each with high-backed, gold-trimmed seats and curtains that could be drawn for privacy. Each booth had a unique dragon nameplate.

She randomly picked one marked “Sunfyre,” thinking it would be empty.

To her shock, inside she found Aegon reclined luxuriously on the plush seat, his suit jacket discarded and shirt unbuttoned. The stunning brunette was on her knees between his legs, her head bobbing rhythmically as she performed the act with evident expertise. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and Aegon’s hand was entangled in her locks, guiding her movements with a mixture of roughness and intensity.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she took in the scene, her breath catching in her throat. The woman’s lips glistened as they slid up and down Aegon’s cock, her hands working in tandem to heighten his pleasure. The air was thick with the sounds of their illicit encounter—the soft, wet noises of the brunette’s efforts and Aegon’s low, guttural groans of satisfaction.

His eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the booth, lost in the sensations. His grip on the brunette’s hair tightened as he pulled her closer, his hips thrusting slightly in response. But then, as if sensing the intrusion, he opened his eyes and locked onto Y/N’s stunned gaze.

For a moment, neither moved. Y/N stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest, unable to tear her eyes away from the intimate scene. Aegon’s expression shifted from pleasure to surprise.

Before he could say anything, Y/N snapped out of her stupor, spinning on her heel and practically fleeing from the booth. Her mind raced, the vivid image of Aegon seared into her memory. She needed a drink—something strong—to process what she had just witnessed. The night had taken an unexpected turn, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for where it was heading.

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Y/N ordered two of the strongest cocktails served at the bar. The bartender, with a knowing smile, brought her a pair of Death by Flames. She downed the first in one go, feeling the intense heat and smoky flavors hit her like a fiery wave, but realized nothing could erase the image of Aegon from her mind.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered, cursing at herself. “Why do I always have the shittiest luck in the entire country?”

Cursing under her breath, she berated herself and her rotten luck. With frustration bubbling up, she decided to make a beeline for the loo, hoping that a splash of cold water might help clear her head.

Y/N stumbled into the bathroom, taking in the dragon-shaped faucets and sinks made of green marble. Gold accents and dragon motifs were everywhere, maintaining the club’s theme. Soft, ambient lighting in shades of green and gold created a warm, inviting atmosphere, with hidden LED strips along the walls and floor adding subtle highlights that enhanced the overall ambiance without overpowering the space.

She splashed her face repeatedly with water, each splash accompanied by a string of colorful profanities. “Bloody hell, piss off, for fuck's sake!”

She glanced at her reflection, seeing the crazed look and blown pupils. “Great, now I look like I’m the one who just gave someone else a fucking blowjob,” she groaned.

She fumbled with her bag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, hoping to calm her frayed nerves. As she lit up and took a deep drag, she caught her reflection again and decided it was time for a monologue, just to vent her frustration.

“Alright, Y/N, let’s have a little chat. What the actual fuck were you thinking? Did you honestly believe you’d find a quiet spot in a place called The Draconic? Clearly, you’ve lost the plot.”

She took another drag, pacing back and forth. “Oh, sure, let’s follow Helaena. What could possibly go wrong? Well, let me tell you, everything. First, you walk in on Aegon, the living embodiment of a Greek god getting a blow job from a woman who probably just stepped out of a lingerie commercial. And you? You're standing here, looking like you've just crawled out of a bloody coal mine. Fabulous.”

She paused, flicking ash into the sink. “Why, oh why, did I think coming to this club was a good idea? I’ve got Helaena’s ex chatting her up, and me, well, I’m left with the delightful mental image of Aegon’s magnificent cock. Just brilliant. What’s next? Is the bloody Kraken going to pop out of the toilet?”

Taking one last drag of her cigarette, she flicked it into the dragon-shaped ashtray with a flourish. “Right, Y/N. Time to pull yourself together, go back out there, and pretend you didn’t just have the most insane moment of your life. Maybe I’ll even find Helaena and we can laugh about this... in about ten years.”

With that, she took a deep breath, splashed her face one last time for good measure, and steeled herself.

It seemed the gods were laughing at her existence because Aegon is leaning casually against the wall outside, a cigarette dangling from his lips and that infuriating smirk plastered on his face.

“Why’d you leave, love? I was about to ask you to join,” he said cheekily.

“Fuck off, Aegon,” she muttered quietly, trying to sidestep him and avoid further embarrassment.

But Aegon moved to block her only path back to the main area. He stood there effectively cornering her.

“Come on, don't be like that,” Aegon teased, leaning closer. “It was just a bit of fun.”

Y/N glared at him, her nerves fraying even more. “Your idea of fun is a bloody nightmare for everyone else.”

Aegon chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Oh, you wound me, beautiful. Can’t a man enjoy a bit of company in peace?”

Y/N sighed, looking at him with exasperation. “Look, I didn’t mean to walk in on you. It was pure accident.”

Aegon shrugged it off nonchalantly. “No need for apologies. But did you at least enjoy the show?”

Y/N’s cheeks reddened, her breaths coming raggedly. “I’ve seen better,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

Aegon looked at her, unimpressed, clearly not believing her. He took the cigarette from his lips and held it to her mouth so she could take a drag. She hesitated but then took a deep pull, the smoke burning her throat, but the distraction was welcome.

“So, where’s Helaena?” he asked, taking the cigarette back.

“She was whisked away by Oscar and hasn’t been seen since,” Y/N explained, still trying to compose herself.

Aegon raised an eyebrow. “Oscar, huh? Well, that explains a lot. Guess it’s just you and me then.”

Y/N sighed, feeling the massive amount of alcohol she had consumed catching up to her. Her head was starting to pound. “Can I have some water?” she asked, her voice a bit shaky.

Aegon’s smirk softened slightly, and he nodded. “Of course, love.” He placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her gently toward his private office.

The office was a stark contrast to the chaos outside, a sanctuary of dark leather and polished wood. Aegon motioned for her to sit on a leather sofa as he poured a glass of water from a crystal decanter.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the glass. “Drink up.”

Y/N took the glass gratefully, drinking deeply, the cool water soothing her parched throat and clearing her head slightly. She glanced around the office, noting the various dragon-themed decorations.

“Thanks,” she said, setting the empty glass down on a nearby table.

Aegon leaned against his desk, watching her with amusement and. “Feeling better?”

“A bit,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “This night has been... a lot.”

Aegon chuckled. “Welcome to The Draconic. It’s never boring, that’s for sure.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, despite everything. “You can say that again.”

Aegon’s grin widened. “Believe it or not, this is one of the tamer nights.”

Trying to be smooth, Y/N asked, “So, where’s your… friend or companion or whatever?”

Aegon shrugged nonchalantly. “Don’t know, don’t care,” he said, his grin turning slightly wicked.

Y/N bit her lip, trying hard to hide the growing wetness between her thighs as she watched him. There was something undeniably magnetic about Aegon, and despite her better judgment, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

“Must be nice, having that kind of freedom,” she said, her voice a bit huskier than intended.

Aegon’s eyes darkened slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. “It has its perks,” he replied, his voice low.

Y/N felt her pulse quicken, the tension between them thickening. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Well, thanks for the water. I should probably get back to Helaena.”

Aegon pushed himself off the desk and stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Sure you don’t want to stick around a bit longer? I can be very entertaining.” he said, his voice dripping with suggestion. “Besides, Helaena is probably also occupied.”

He began to circle around her like a serpent, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N shivered, feeling the intensity of his gaze and the heat of his proximity. The room seemed to close in around them.

Y/N breathed out quietly, her voice shaking. “I’m Helaena’s friend,” she said, more to convince herself than anyone else. “I shouldn’t be doing anything with her brother.”

Aegon put a hand under her chin, his finger tracing her lips as he whispered, “She doesn’t have to know.”

Y/N moved forward, their lips now almost touching. She could feel his breath, warm and intoxicating, mingling with hers. Her fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair, feeling the softness against her skin.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, the words more for her own reassurance.

“As you say, love,” Aegon whispered back, his voice a seductive purr.

In an instant, they clashed into each other, their lips meeting in a rough, demanding kiss that felt like they were devouring each other. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them suspended in a moment of dangerous excitement. Their hands moved frantically, tugging at each other’s clothes with a desperate urgency. Y/N felt Aegon’s hands at her back, unzipping her dress, while she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, their mouths never breaking contact.

“Oh, God, Aegon,” she gasped between kisses, feeling his hands on her skin, the heat of his touch igniting something deep within her.

“Y/N,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.

The kiss deepened, becoming almost primal, as if they were trying to consume each other completely. Y/N’s dress fell to the floor, and she felt the cool air against her skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating between them. Aegon’s shirt joined her dress on the ground, followed by his belt and trousers. Her hands roamed over his bare chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath, as his fingers traced the curves of her body.

“Fuck,” Aegon muttered, his lips trailing down her neck, “you’re fit.”

Y/N gasped as his mouth moved lower, his hands gripping her hips with a possessive hunger. He kissed a path down her body, his breath hot against her skin. She shivered, feeling the intense pull of desire.

“Stop,” she managed to say, though her protest was weak. “You’re leaving marks.”

“Good,” Aegon murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. “I want everyone to know you’re mine tonight.”

Y/N shuddered as his mouth found her clit, his tongue teasing and sucking with expert precision. Her hands tangled in his hair, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. Aegon was relentless, his hunger evident in every movement.

“You arrogant bastard,” she gasped, her body betraying her as pleasure surged through her.

Aegon chuckled, the sound vibrating against her most sensitive spot. “So wet, darling, all for me, huh?” he taunted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

His fingers joined the assault, thrusting inside her with a rhythm that had her seeing stars. Aegon was a god at this, his fingers curling just right while his tongue continued its relentless teasing. Y/N’s mewls turned into desperate cries, her body trembling under his assault.

“Mmm, you like that, don’t you?” he murmured against her clit, his tone a mix of degradation and praise. “Such a good girl, taking everything I give you.”

Her body arched, her hips moving instinctively to meet his fingers, the intensity of his touch driving her wild. “Aegon, please,” she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper.

“Begging already?” he smirked, increasing the pressure of his fingers. “Look at you, falling apart just for me.”

Y/N’s vision blurred, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She was so close, the sensations overwhelming her. His mouth never let up, his tongue a constant source of exquisite torture.

“Come on, love,” he urged, his voice husky with desire. “Let go for me.”

With a final, intense suck and a twist of his fingers, Y/N’s world shattered. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing as she squirted hard, her juices soaking Aegon’s hand and mouth.

“Shit, love,” Aegon groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he watched her. “That’s fucking hot.”

He didn’t stop, drawing out her orgasm with gentle licks and caresses. Y/N’s body trembled, her mind barely able to process the overwhelming pleasure.

As the waves of her climax slowly subsided, she collapsed back, breathless and spent. Aegon moved up, his lips brushing against hers in a possessive kiss.

“I could watch you come like that all night.”

Y/N could only nod weakly, her body still trembling, as she tried to catch her breath.

Aegon began pumping his cock, his hand moving in smooth, practiced strokes. Pre-cum was already leaking from the tip, his veins throbbing with need. He sat down and guided her to straddle him. As she settled on top of him, Y/N noticed a strategically placed mirror, reflecting their entwined bodies clearly.

Aegon’s eyes darkened with a primal hunger. “Ride me, love,” he commanded, his voice low and rough.

Y/N positioned herself over him, her hands on his shoulders for balance, and slowly lowered herself onto his throbbing cock. The sensation was intense, both of them groaning as he filled her completely. She began to move, bouncing expertly, the squelching sounds echoing in the room.

“Fuck, you ride like a slut,” Aegon taunted, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. “So wet and desperate for me.”

Her eyes caught the mirror again, watching as she rode him with wild abandon. The sight was incredibly arousing. Aegon’s fingers wrapped around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp.

“You like that, don’t you?” he taunted, his grip tightening slightly. “You like being fucked like this.”

Y/N’s moans were half-choked, her eyes rolling back as the pressure on her throat intensified the pleasure. “Yes,” she gasped out, her voice strained. “I love it.”

Aegon’s eyes were locked on where their bodies met, watching as her cream formed a white ring at the base of his cock. “Look at that,” he said as he tuts at her. “You’re making such a mess, love.”

Y/N’s body responded to his words, her movements becoming more frantic. She was riding him hard, her nails digging into his backs, leaving marks of her own.

Aegon groaned, his grip tightening as he felt her walls clench around him. “That’s it, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just like that.”

“Aegon, I’m so close,” she moaned, her body trembling with the impending climax.

“Come for me, Y/N,” he commanded, his voice full of raw desire. “I want to feel you.”

With a final, desperate bounce, Y/N’s body convulsed, her orgasm ripping through her with such force that she squirted again, much to Aegon’s delight. He watched with a mixture of pride and lust as she trembled above him. His own release followed closely, exploding inside her and painting her insides with his cum.

The room reeked of sex, the intense scent of their passion filling the air. Aegon held her close, their bodies still entwined, his hands moving gently over her back as he rubbed her hair, soothing the aftermath. They stayed like that for a moment, their breaths mingling, gradually slowing down.

Y/N’s pussy was overstimulated, every slight movement sending tremors through her body. She trembled uncontrollably, her muscles twitching with the aftershocks of their intense lovemaking.

Aegon held her close, his voice a soothing whisper in her ear. “You did so well for me, darling,” he murmured, his tone filled with both admiration and tenderness.

He shifted slightly, still inside her, causing her to gasp as another wave of sensation coursed through her. “Fuck, love,” he continued, his breath hot against her ear. “How am I supposed to not crave your cunt after this?”

Y/N could only manage a weak smile, her body still recovering from the overwhelming pleasure. She leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his arms.

Aegon’s fingers continued to trace soothing patterns on her skin, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re amazing,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Absolutely fucking amazing.”

They shared a tender kiss, a huge contrast to what had just transpired. Aegon’s lips were soft and gentle, offering a moment of intimacy that grounded them both.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, standing up carefully. He retrieved a warm, clean towel and returned to her side, gently cleaning the insides of her thighs. Y/N watched him fondly, her heart warming at the unexpected tenderness.

“What a gentleman,” she teased, her voice light with amusement.

Aegon winked at her. “Don’t tell anyone.”

After cleaning her up, he poured her a glass of cold water. “Drink up,” he said, handing it to her. “You need to stay hydrated.”

Y/N took the glass, sipping gratefully, still watching him with a smile. He then grabbed a spare shirt from a nearby drawer and slipped it over her head, his fingers lingering as he admired how it looked on her. The shirt was oversized, hanging loosely on her frame, but Aegon seemed to like it that way.

“Acting like a doting boyfriend now, are we?” Y/N teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

Aegon smirked, adjusting the shirt on her shoulders. “I knew this shirt would look fantastic on you, and I was right.”

“Oh? Well, in that case, I might as well keep it then.”

Aegon chuckled. “You’ll have to earn it, love.”

She grinned, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Consider it a down payment.”

Aegon laughed, pulling her closer. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Y/N laughed along with him, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the afterglow of their encounter. “I’ll take my chances.”

Aegon grinned, leaning in to kiss her again. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Y/N kissed him deeply, their lips melding with a renewed passion. His hands found their way to her arse, gripping it firmly as he pulled her closer.

But then the door flew open, and Helaena stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. “Oh great, I’m forever traumatized,” she exclaimed, a scandalized gasp escaping her lips.

The evidence of their encounter was plain as day. The whole room reeked of sex, and there were suspicious liquid remains on the floor.

“Really? In my brother’s office?” Helaena berated, her hands on her hips.

Y/N’s face turned crimson, and she tried to hide her face in Aegon’s shoulder, mortified. Aegon, however, was laughing shamelessly.

“Oh, come on, Hel,” Aegon said. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

Helaena’s eyes narrowed as she glared at both of them. “Dramatic? The room smells like a brothel, and I just walked in on my brother groping my best friend!”

“You do have impeccable timing,” Aegon managed to say between laughs.

Y/N peeked out from behind Aegon, still embarrassed. “I… I can explain?”

Helaena rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, please don’t. I think the evidence speaks for itself.”

Aegon grinned, pulling Y/N closer. “Come on, Hel. You know you love us.”

Helaena shook her head, unable to suppress a smile despite her mock indignation. “You two are disgusting. Just… clean up after yourselves, will you?”

Y/N nodded vigorously, still trying to hide her face. “We will, promise.”

As Helaena left, muttering about needing eye bleach, Aegon and Y/N burst into laughter. Y/N shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “I guess I’m keeping this shirt after all.”

“Damn right you are,” Aegon said with a smile. He paused, looking at her thoughtfully. “So, when are you free?”

Y/N blinked, confused. “Free for what?”

Aegon rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m taking you out on a date, woman.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “A date? After all this?”

Aegon grinned, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Course, You’ve already seen the worst of me. Now please let me try to impress you properly.”

Y/N pretended to ponder this, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, let me think about it. I mean, you did just make a mess of the place, and you have a habit of getting caught in compromising positions...”

Aegon chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. “Oh, come on. You know you want to. Besides, how many people can say they had their first date after walking in on said person mid-blowjob?”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Alright, you’ve got a point there.”

She gave him a mock-serious look. “Okay, 5 PM next Friday, Targaryen. Don’t be late.”

Aegon pumps his fist in celebration. “I’ll be there on the dot, love. You just wait.”

“You know,” she said, looking up at him, “this has to be the strangest way I’ve ever agreed to a date.”

Aegon grinned. “Well, I’m nothing if not memorable.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her. “That you are.”

She took a deep breath and reluctantly stepped back from him. “I should go find Helaena and do some damage control before she decides to disown both of us.”

Aegon laughed, nodding. “Good idea. She’ll get over it… eventually.”

“Don’t be late,” she said with a playful smirk.

Aegon raised his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t dare.”

With one last smile, Y/N turned and headed for the door.

[solxamber]

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

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

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, dear God. You’ve been isekai’d.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You steel yourself. “Yes, Floyd?”

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

God help you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This calls for drastic action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[perfectsunlight]

I BET YOU THINK ABOUT ME - JISOO

kim jisoo x reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: implied age-gap, class disparities, isolation, belittling, emotional manipulation, mentioned breakup.

synopsis: despite being broken up, you bet your wealthy ex-girlfriend still thinks about you.

there were many things you enjoyed about dating kim jisoo. the way her laughter could light up a room, soft but knowing, like she was in on a joke no one else understood. how her touch was always delicate—calculated, even—as if everything she laid her hands on was an extension of the control she had over the world around her.

but her wealth and status? no, those were never the reasons you stayed.

even now, walking down the narrow, cobblestone streets where red and gold leaves scattered beneath your feet, you couldn’t help but be swallowed by memories of her. the crisp autumn air bit at your skin, a sharp reminder of the past, tugging at your thoughts like the wind tugged at your coat. it was in this season that jisoo had always seemed to glow brightest. her beauty matched the fall—effortless, rich, like a vintage painting come to life. she was untouchable.

however, she was just as cruel.

you just didn’t realize it at the time. how her perfectly manicured fingers—always cold to the touch, always adorned with rings that shimmered in the dying autumn light—had dug deep, not into your skin, but into your spirit. each time she mentioned your "quaint" lifestyle, your "charming" lack of understanding about the finer things in life, it had been wrapped in a velvet glove of affection, so you hardly noticed the sting at first.

it had felt like walking through the falling leaves, admiring the beauty, unaware that winter was creeping closer, ready to strip everything bare.

she had always made sure you knew she was from another world—one where silk sheets were the norm, where every meal came with a waitstaff and a glass of wine you could hardly pronounce. her apartment had been like a showroom, sterile and pristine, with floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched out over the city like a kingdom she ruled from above. and you, standing in the middle of it all, had felt small.

but now, in the aftermath, you could see how she had looked at you, like a pet project. an amusing distraction.

you remember the last dinner you shared at some restaurant you couldn’t pronounce, where the chandeliers above flickered against the dim light and the leaves outside the window swirled like some gilded snowstorm. she had ordered for you without asking, her voice as smooth and cool as the autumn breeze that crept into the cracks of your jacket.

"it’s adorable," she had said, waving her hand dismissively at your confusion when the plates arrived, "how little you know about this. really. it’s sweet."

at the time, you’d laughed it off, sipping the wine that burned your throat more than it soothed. but now you realize how sharp her words had been, each one a blade wrapped in silk.

the holiday parties were even worse.

you’d always felt out of place, like an actor in the wrong movie, wandering through rooms filled with people who looked like they belonged in some old-world painting. there were always murmurs of stocks and art auctions, people in tailored suits that hung off them like armor. you, in your off-the-rack blazer, had felt like an imposter. but jisoo, with her arm linked loosely through yours, had moved through the crowd effortlessly, her smile cold and practiced, like she knew every secret and every face in the room.

the air inside was thick with perfume and candlelight, but it never warmed you. outside, through the towering windows of the penthouse venues, you could always catch glimpses of the world you belonged to—the same city, but miles away, where people didn’t wear silk scarves that cost more than your rent or talk about vacation homes in hushed, reverent tones. the autumn leaves that still clung to the trees seemed desperate, the last few hanging on in the icy wind. much like you had been, clinging to jisoo’s side, pretending not to notice the subtle, cutting remarks she’d make about your clothes, your taste in music, your background.

"you know," she’d say in that breathy, disinterested tone of hers, eyes scanning the room like a queen surveying her subjects, "maybe next time you could wear something… a little more appropriate for the occasion?"

the words had stung, but you’d smiled, nodding like you hadn’t just been dressed down in front of people who already looked at you like you were her charity case. you’d downed your drink, hoping the burn of it would distract from the ache in your chest, while jisoo had already moved on, laughing airily at some joke from a man whose name you couldn’t remember, but whose disdainful eyes stayed with you long after the night was over.

at those parties, she’d always introduce you the same way: “this is y/n.”

nothing more, nothing less. like you were just another accessory—another piece of her perfectly arranged life. your name alone always hung in the air, stiff and formal, with no affection behind it. 

it was a title, not a connection.

but the way she spoke about herself was different. she was kim jisoo, daughter of one of the wealthiest families in seoul, a woman who everyone admired but no one truly knew. she never missed a chance to remind people of her lineage, of her success, of the places she’d been that you could only dream of. you’d stand there, smiling politely, the outsider in your own relationship, as she charmed the room with stories of her luxury trips to europe or some exclusive party she’d attended.

you used to tell yourself that maybe this was just her world—one you didn’t quite understand but could learn to navigate. after all, you thought, love was supposed to be about growing, about adapting to each other. but now, looking back, you see it differently. you hadn’t been adapting. you had been erasing yourself.

you remember the first time you’d seen her living room—everything about it had been a display of understated opulence. the couch, soft and inviting, had been custom-made in italy, a piece of furniture that cost more than you’d make in a year. the kind of thing you wouldn’t even dare to sit on without an invitation.

she’d caught you staring at it once, your fingers brushing lightly over the velvety surface, as if afraid you’d leave some permanent mark on it.

“do you like it?” she’d asked, her tone casual, almost playful, as she kicked off her shoes. organic shoes, she’d said—handcrafted by a designer who only used sustainably sourced materials, each pair worth thousands. she’d tossed them carelessly to the side, as if they were nothing more than an afterthought.

“it’s beautiful,” you’d breathlessly answered, unsure of how to respond. what else could you say? the couch was more than a place to sit. it was a symbol of everything that separated you from her.

the older woman had smiled, that knowing little smile of hers, and settled onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her. “it should be,” she’d replied, her voice laced with a subtle arrogance. “it cost a fortune. but you can’t put a price on comfort, can you?”

at the time, you’d nodded, sitting beside her, careful not to spill the coffee you’d brought from a café that seemed almost comically out of place in her world of curated luxury. but now, looking back, you realize how much weight that moment held.

the couch, the shoes, the apartment—it was all part of the same narrative. jisoo’s life was meticulously designed, every element perfectly placed to reflect her status. even her so-called love of organic, sustainable products wasn’t about caring for the earth; it was about showing the world that she could afford to care. it was another layer of the image she presented, another way to remind you that you didn’t quite belong.

the shoes—those ridiculously expensive shoes—had been one of the first things you’d noticed about her. how she would glide through the city in them, effortlessly chic, while you tried to keep up in your well-worn sneakers. how she never seemed to care about the price tag, because to her, money wasn’t something you worried about. it was something you had. something you displayed.

you remember asking her about them once, marveling at their craftsmanship, at the intricate details stitched into the leather. “they’re nice, right?” she’d said, almost bored with the conversation. “made by a small artisan. i like supporting brands that are more...conscious. but it’s not just about the shoes, you know? it’s about a lifestyle.”

at the time, you’d nodded along, impressed by her philosophy, thinking there was something admirable about her commitment to sustainability. but now, with the clarity that only distance can bring, you see it differently. it wasn’t about responsibility or caring for the environment—it was about exclusivity. 

jisoo didn’t just buy things; she bought status. and as a result, she never let you forget where you came from.

she didn’t need to say it outright; her silences were louder than any words. the way her gaze would graze over your simple gifts, a flash of disappointment quickly masked by a too-sweet smile. the way her laughter, always so soft and melodic to anyone else, would carry a sharp edge when she’d point out how "cute" your attempts to impress her were. every look, every gesture, had been a reminder: you would never be enough.

and the holidays only magnified the divide between you. her family gatherings were a spectacle—elegant, with a quiet kind of opulence, but they were colder than the snow beginning to fall outside. conversations were distant, sterile, filled with politeness and half-meant compliments. you’d watch as jisoo’s mother raised an eyebrow at you, a polite but questioning smile on her lips, while her father barely acknowledged your presence at all, too engrossed in conversations about business acquisitions and real estate.

you remember the first time you had brought her home to meet your family. the warmth in the room had been undeniable, even if the house had been modest. the table was small, the plates mismatched, and the wine was cheap, but there had been laughter. real, full-bodied laughter, the kind that left your cheeks flushed. but jisoo had sat there, stiff and out of place, a polite smile frozen on her lips as she delicately picked at her food. she had said all the right things, but you could tell—she didn’t belong in your world, just as you didn’t belong in hers.

and after that night, she’d never come back. not once.

"it’s not my kind of environment," she’d said, as if your family home was some quaint little corner of a forgotten world. but you hadn’t pushed it. you’d just smiled, hoping that love would eventually smooth out the rough edges between your lives.

but it never did.

your image of her entirely changed once she launched her own dior collaboration.

the transformation was undeniable. jisoo had always been poised, elegant, and out of reach, but when her dior collaboration was announced, it was as if she ascended to another level entirely—a world you never truly belonged to. the moment you saw her in those campaign ads, draped in luxury from head to toe, with that distant, unreadable expression in her eyes, you realized something had shifted. it wasn’t just the clothes or the brand—it was her.

the once subtle differences between you were now glaring. she’d always had a way of making you feel small, of making the simplest moments feel like they were being measured against some invisible standard. but now, with the world’s eyes on her, she no longer had to hide it. she wore her superiority like couture, and her status was no longer just an undercurrent in your relationship—it was the defining feature.

you remember scrolling through your phone that first day the campaign was released, seeing her everywhere—billboards, social media, magazines. her image was iconic, flawless, unattainable. the woman in those pictures wasn’t the same person you once loved, or perhaps she was, and you had simply refused to see it. the jisoo in dior was the one the world adored: polished, elegant, and untouchable. and the jisoo you had known—the one who laughed with you on lazy sundays, who curled up next to you in bed with soft whispers—felt like a figment of your imagination.

that night, you sat in your apartment, surrounded by the faint scent of coffee and fallen leaves, watching her face appear on the tv during yet another interview. the host praised her for her taste, her grace, and asked how it felt to be a global ambassador for such a prestigious brand. jisoo smiled that small, practiced smile, the kind that could melt an audience but had always left you feeling cold.

“it’s an honor, truly,” she said, her voice as smooth as ever. “i’ve always been drawn to the finer things in life, and working with dior is the perfect alignment of that vision.”

drawn to the finer things. those words echoed in your mind long after the interview ended. it wasn’t that she loved the finer things—anyone could—but the way she lived for them, the way they seemed to define her, made you realize just how different you were.

the last time you saw her in person, it was the tail end of last fall, the leaves almost entirely stripped from the trees, the sky a muted shade of gray. you’d met for coffee, though it felt more like a final performance than a reunion. she had walked in, dressed head-to-toe in dior, effortlessly chic in her monochromatic outfit, the click of her heels on the hardwood floor echoing like some distant reminder of all the ways she had outgrown you.

she hadn’t even taken off her sunglasses, those oversized black lenses that concealed any hint of vulnerability. the moment she sat down, you knew—this was the end.

“i’m heading to paris for fashion week,” she had said casually, as if she were talking about a trip to the grocery store. “things have been busy.”

you remember nodding, unsure of what to say, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between you. there was no warmth in her gaze, no familiarity in her voice. the woman sitting across from you was a stranger, more concerned with her schedule, her image, her empire, than with you.

when you finally found your voice, all you could manage was, “i’m happy for you.” it sounded hollow, even to your own ears.

she had smiled—an empty, fleeting gesture. “thanks. it’s good to hear you say that.” her leaving behind the scent of her designer perfume felt more symbolic than it probably should have,

that’s when you knew—there was nothing left of what you once had. 

the girl you had fallen in love with was gone, replaced by someone who only cared for power, prestige, and perception. and as the autumn wind howled outside, rattling the windows of the café, you realized you weren’t mourning the loss of her, but the version of her you had once believed in.

jisoo wasn’t just a woman anymore. she was a brand. a symbol. a masterpiece crafted by the very world she belonged to. and you? you were simply a chapter in her rise to the top, forgotten as soon as the ink dried.

you didn’t date kim jisoo for her wealth. 

you dated her for the way she seemed to know the world in a way you never could—confident, poised, above it all. you thought that maybe, by loving her, you could somehow touch that world too. but love wasn’t what had tied you together. not really.

it had been power.

she loved the way you looked at her, like you were eternally trying to catch up. the way you stumbled over the names of her favorite designers, or blinked in confusion when she mentioned some art exhibit you hadn’t even heard of. she loved the control. and you—god, you had loved her for it. back then, you thought it was awe. now you see it for what it was: submission.

but there, in the middle of the bustling autumn streets, as you watch the leaves scatter across the pavement in a dance as fleeting as your relationship, you find yourself wondering—does she think about you?

does she ever sit in that apartment of hers, surrounded by luxury and untouched by the season, and wonder what it would be like to be less than perfect? does she ever close her eyes and picture the messier parts of love, the parts she could never let herself fall into?

you smile bitterly, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. maybe she does.

maybe, even now, as you wander through the city you had once explored together, her mind drifts to you—the one person who had never fit neatly into the frame of her perfectly curated life. maybe she remembers how, despite everything, you were never quite small enough to be molded. 

and maybe, just maybe, in her moments of silence, with her designer bags and high-rise views, she thinks about how she’ll never find someone quite like you again. someone who saw her for more than just the polished surface she presented to the world. someone who, despite it all, had loved her—flaws, cruelty, and all.

the wind howls, scattering more leaves into the air, and you watch as they swirl and disappear. there’s a certain beauty to the way things fall apart, you realize. a kind of freedom in it.

jisoo might not know that, but you do. however, your mind refused to let you rest.

it was 3 am, and you were still wide awake. the cold light of your phone screen cast shadows on the walls of your tiny apartment, worlds away from the penthouse where jisoo was probably fast asleep. you imagined her there, wrapped in those luxurious silk sheets, her breath steady, undisturbed by thoughts of you. in her city. the one that always felt a little brighter, a little shinier than yours. a place you never quite belonged.

your mind wandered, picturing her with someone new. someone from her world. the kind of girl who knew all the right names to drop at fancy dinners, who could wear those thousand-dollar organic shoes without feeling like an imposter. a girl with a perfect pedigree, someone who her friends probably thought was “better” than you. you could almost hear them whispering it, their voices low but full of certainty.

it wasn’t long ago that you had tried to fit into those circles. you’d been the outsider, awkward and out of place in jisoo’s world of high-society dinners and private parties. but you tried, back when love made you brave, when you thought if you just held her hand tight enough, the rest would fall into place.

they let you sit at the table, once. out of courtesy, or maybe because you were still attached to her arm like an accessory she wasn’t ready to give up. you’d laugh when they laughed, your smile tight as they sat around talking about the meaning of life, throwing around names of philosophers and books you’d never heard of.

“the book that just saved me,” one of them had said, casually, like it was a known fact that certain books saved people. you’d smiled and nodded, even though the title flew right over your head, another reminder of how little you belonged.

jisoo had glanced at you then, her eyes softening in the way they sometimes did when she noticed you struggling. she squeezed your hand under the table, like she used to when you were still hers, when you thought her world was one you could live in.

but that was before. before the doubts crept in, before the weight of her world pressed down on you. now, it felt like she’d moved on, maybe even found someone who fit in effortlessly where you never could. someone who didn’t have to pretend.

you rolled over, the silence of your room closing in, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she was asleep now, completely at peace. and if the girl in her bed had the right name, the right look, and could keep up with her friends when they talked about art and life and all the things that always seemed just out of your reach.

the thought made your chest ache, that deep, familiar loneliness that always seemed to come with thinking about her. about them. those nights when you sat in the background, silently wishing you could be enough. but no matter how much you tried, you could never quite silence the feeling that jisoo’s friends were always comparing you to someone else, someone better.

and tonight, even though you knew it was pointless, you couldn’t stop wondering if they were telling her that the new girl was everything you never could be. or maybe jisoo was out at one of those cool indie concerts she dragged herself to every week, trying to feel young, trying to prove she was still part of the scene, even though she didn’t belong there any more than you did. it was always about feeling cooler than she actually was, pretending she wasn’t inching further from the age of the crowd around her.

but even with her friends laughing by her side, pretending to be someone else, you knew the truth. 

“i bet you think about me.”

[jobean12-blog]

Up for a little game?🤭🤭

How would you meet:

Mob!Bucky, Vampire!Bucky and/or Barista/Baker!Bucky

And how would they ask you out. Or would you ask them out?

Bloody Kisses

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: Bucky finally makes you his.

Author's Note: SYDNEY! I've had Vampire!Bucky on my mind with all these new pics of him looking so yummy and then you sent this and I was like eeeeeeee here's my sign! So this is how you would meet and he would definitely be the one making all the moves. Vampire AU is an absolute favorite of mine so I can never get enough of it! Thanks so much for thinking of me and sending this little thot in! Hope you've had a lovely weekend and you enjoy this! HUGS!🥰❤️🥰Thank you all for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!

Warnings: Bucky is irresistible in every way and he wants you. Mentions of blood, tension, some softness.

You’re mid conversation when you sense the change. It’s as if the stale air has been sucked away and replaced with something more tangible, something seductive.

Natasha’s eyes are focused on whatever is beyond your shoulder, toward the entrance of the hall.

Everyone around you seems to be looking in the same direction, so you place your drink down and turn.

A man stands just inside the arched doorway, his black jacket draped over his shoulders, the garment fitted perfectly and accentuating their broad width. His long fingers splay against the lush fabric, a gold ring glinting under the light of chandeliers, and his covetous blue eyes focused on you.

“Do you know him?” Natasha asks.

“No,” you breathe out, nearly swaying on your feet. “But I’m going to make sure I get to know him.”

An inexplicable awareness races across your skin coupled with a heat only he can set ablaze. He approaches and your pulse quickens, the urge to run into his arms something you need to fight against.

He wears all black, from his tight-fitted turtleneck down to his shined shoes and his strong jaw is shadowed with dark hair but his skin, it glows, smooth and soft.

When he walks toward you, he moves with such a sensual purpose that you notice the other women around you swooning.

But he makes no sign that he notices. His eyes stay trained on you, hungry and determined.

Without removing his gaze from yours, he takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips, turning it over and kissing the inside of your wrist, savoring the rapid pulse of your blood.

His lips linger there, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before they open and he smiles, turning your hand over to kiss your palm and then finally, each of your fingertips.

“You taste divine,” he whispers.

Your breath catches in your throat at the forwardness of his words.

You barely hear Natasha’s gasp, this man’s very existence consuming your every thought and somehow you know it’s the same for him. He’s oblivious to anything but you.

He speaks his name, hushed and soft along the shell of your ear, before he pulls you away from the crowd.

“Walk with me?” he asks as he leads you toward the glass doors at the back of the room.

You nod and fall into step beside him, taking his offered elbow.

The fragrance of the night hits you the moment you step outside, the lush gardens on the estate in full bloom and the full moon bright and silvery in the dark sky.

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” you muse as you look up.

“Mm,” he hums, and you bring your eyes back down, feeling the weight of his stare.

It’s hard to look away and you easily fall deeper into an intimacy that you can’t seem to recover from.

“And yet you shine brighter than any,” he murmurs, tucking you closer and brushing his thumb across your bottom lip.

You tremble in his arms, the feeling heady and addictive.

“How come I’ve never seen you before?” you ask as you walk deeper into the gardens.

“And yet it’s as if I know your heartbeat better than any melody that has touched my ears.”

You would swoon if you didn’t have the strength of his arms around you, but some part of your head still remains clear enough to say, “that didn’t answer my question.”

He just smiles and plucks a white flower from the nearby plant as you pass it and holds it under your nose.

“It smells amazing,” you whisper.

“Queen of the night,” he explains. “It only blooms under the cover of darkness and often wilts with the rising sun.”

Your mouth dips into a frown as you look down at the beautiful flower. “So, we can never see it bloom in the sun?”

He takes the stem from your hand and tucks it into the breast pocket of his jacket.

“No,” he says, tucking two fingers under your chin and bringing your gaze to his. “But the night offers so much to be in love with and yet, never asks for anything but our company.”

You let his words sink in and a small smile teases your lips.

His fingers trace their outline, his touch delicate but completely consuming.

Your lips part with a gasp and you feel his body tense against yours, his gaze wandering over your face and down the delicate column of your neck.

His fingertips fall, slowly tracing the outline of your throat and his thumb presses against your wildly beating pulse.

“Are you scared?” he asks, lifting his dark lashes to look you in the eyes.

“No,” you whisper and press yourself closer.

He releases you and pulls you further down the path, bathing you in the shadowed recesses of the overgrowth of plants.

Your back hits the stone wall, the feel of the cool leaves brushing along your skin.

His features look stronger here in the shadows, hard, thrown into sharp relief under the obscured glow of the moon. His cheekbones resemble carved stone, his eyes dark, his lips lush and exaggerated.

He gives you no time to hesitate, gripping your neck, his palm cool and steady while his thumb presses to the hollow of your throat.

It’s possessive and sends a silent thrill up your spine.

A smart girl would push him away. Pretend she’d rather be somewhere else and run for the safety of the light, the safety of the crowded party. r

Instead, you lift your chin and meet the slight dip of his head, your noses brushing and your breath catching.

“I don’t usually meet men like this,” you say. “I hardly kiss on the first date.”

You swallow and close your eyes, opening them again to find him smiling down at you.

“I know,” he says, unbothered. Undeterred.

He licks his lips before he kisses you, innocent and soft. You moan into the kiss, swallowing his mumbled whispers of praise.

Your skin tingles and a heat builds inside your chest, pushing down into your belly where it pools low, down between your legs. You want him so badly you feel restless and urgent, a need you can’t explain clawing in your throat.

You dig your hands into his hair, holding him to you, barely letting him move a breath away.

But it’s all a ruse. He pulls free of your grip easily, the power he holds undeniable, and looks at you with a passion burning in his eyes.

“I have waited a lifetime for you,” he murmurs against your mouth, trailing his lips along your jaw.

Your head falls back against the wall, exposing the soft skin that flutters violently over the flow of your blood.

He kisses softly under your ear, once, twice, and then slides his mouth lower, sucking on your skin until you’re arching into him. The first pierce of his fangs is nothing but euphoria and when he begins to gently suck you cry out his name.

The sip is barely enough to satisfy him and with a great effort he pulls away, lips stained red and blue eyes anchoring yours.

“And all the lifetimes we’ll share will never be enough.”

His words make little sense to you now, your entire existence being slowly devoured by his every touch.

When his large hands grip your hips and he drags you into him again, you go willingly, the sharp sting at your throat setting you ablaze.

This time he doesn’t hold back, drinking you in until your pulse slows, and your eyes begin to dim. You fall limp in his arms, and he gently releases you, trailing a delicate finger along your cheek before he cuts into his wrist and holds it above your parted lips.

“Drink,” he whispers.

You’re weak at first but with his gentle coaxing you suck harder, your strength returning as the taste of his blood moves through you. Revives you.

A feeling like you’ve never experienced before fills all your senses, throbbing in your lips and fingers, in your very skin. And when you meet his eyes once again it’s with new sight, his long fingers reaching up to trace your cheek.

“You,” he whispers, brushing his bloody lips along yours, “are mine for eternity.”

[belphegorey]

⌜sapphires, mammon⌟ his little human looked so pretty in gold ships ⎯⎯ mammon x fem!reader tropes ⎯⎯ vaginal sex, blushing mammon, dick piercing, scenting, size kink, praise, marking, pact marks, lots of greed

Gold. It dropped down your skin in silken cloth, caressing your body in the thin layer and making you shimmer. Necklaces and bracelets glittered like the finest of treasure on your body. Earrings dangled with more carats than anyone could afford.

The tantalising speck in your eye reflected the same ore. Your wicked smirk taunted him in more and more of the golden decadence you were encased in. The finest of prizes. The treasure all pirates would hunt for, the gift all people would die for, the only thing Mammon would kill for.

Rings hung on your fingers. Rubies, emeralds and diamonds galore. The jewel within the golden earrings, he realised, were perfect sapphires. His chest grew tight as they glittered under the chandeliers. “ Your eyes ,” you had whispered them on your first day in the Devildom, just after Mammon had given you his completely grand tour of the House of Lamentation, “ they’re so blue .”

Mammon could still recall his scoff. You had been so strange. Sure, he had only listened to you for an hour by that point, but he had decided you were not worth his valuable time. Most of his mind had been occupied by whether or not his stocks had lowered during the day. “ They are not blue ,” it had felt like an insult to him at the time. He hadn’t even acknowledged the sheer intrigue upon your beautifully shining face — whereas it was all Mammon could think of now, “ they are like… sapphires. Sapphires and gold. ”

You had nodded with a faint little smile. It was the first smile he had seen of yours. Mammon could describe each expression on your face, and the variety of your grins in great detail, but that one was the most valuable in his mind. Rare, special, and one you had shown him first. “ Sapphires and gold .” Yet again, his mind was occupied with profit, including whether or not he could find a way to sell you as an experiment to Solomon, but even then Mammon had felt pride seeing your soft expression just for him. The first time he had felt something positive toward you, a blissful premonition of your shared future. “ A beautiful combination .”

His tongue tied into knots. It was the worst torture he could have ever endured. Any punishment from Lucifer paled in comparison as he watched you descend into the room with the same small smile on your face. His skin burned hot and the rings around his fingers, one of which you had given him as a gift, did nothing to cool his fire. All his brothers stood around him, watching and praising your every movement, he was sure that Beelzebub had slipped drool onto the floor beneath them. Mammon scrunched his nose to ignore the stabbing in his spine.

His. It was what fuelled him. Greed was what flowed in his veins and blossomed in his throat. You were his. You dressed up in the finest of materials for him . You wore sapphire earrings for him . The little smile on your face was only for him . His brothers were not who you were looking for. They were not the ones who protected you and listened to your every story.

“You look darling, my love,” Asmo moved forward in a movement similar to that of a dance. His steps were delicate and smooth as he whisked you away from Mammon’s eyes. You had gone with him like a true ballerina, performing with your typical delicateness and respect. Mammon was sure that he could hear the growing orchestra of the human ballet play out in his head. Did that make him Hilarion to your Gisele? His fingers twitched as he noticed Diavolo and Barabatos greet you with smiles.

Everyone was watching you. Had you been anyone else Mammon would say it was because of the scarcity in your outfit. He knew better. You were the treasure that sparkled in eyes. No jewel, no car, not even his precious Goldie, were comparable to you. You were his human. He was your demon. Your first demon.

Mammon would not allow himself to just watch you be flaunted by his brother. He jumped to action, the orchestra in his mind crescendoed to a glorious triumph, and Mammon made his way across the room. Your golden dress and the sparkling smile guided him forward, the itching in his back of wins that threatened to burst through fuelled him further. Your eyes, lit brighter than the chandeliers above you, found him and your smile returned. Big, toothy, mischevious. The hand weighed down in glorious rings ran softly against your hip, the jewels catching the light gloriously.

Temptress. You were no worse than one of Asmodeus’ succubi. Mammon loved it. Your tantalising gaze licked at his greedy veins and pressed him to act further. To let loose. To properly remind everyone who you were meant for.

“I’m glad you could make it, Mammon!” Diavolo’s regular grin greeted him while Barbotos stood to his left, arms folded in the usual servant manner. Both of them stared into his body, Mammon could feel the eyes as they fell to the flood of green surging off his soulless body. He attempted a smile to placate the royal before him, but your sparkling person kept poking at the corner of his eye. It felt just wrong to look away from you, especially when the hungry gaze of all the higher demons in the Devildom were staring right at you. “Lucifer had said you would be working tonight.”

He had never been so lucky in his life. It was his own curse to step with misfortune haunting his shadow. His modelling job would always run overtime and Mammon would be left hanging from the roof tied in electric cables as punishment for his tardiness. But not that day. Not only did it finish early, a feat in itself, but Mammon was allowed to witness you in all golden glory. “I was gonna, yeah, but we finished early so i’m able to come and celebrate ya.”

He felt your hand before he properly realised you had moved to stand right beside him. Your touch was feathery, slowly running across his back to tug on the belt loop along his hip. The fire beneath his skin was red hot, your touch was the ice he needed to cool down. A shudder ran down Mammon’s spine as you leaned into him, he felt the fire rise on his cheeks at the stance. So blatant, so obvious, it showed that he was dangled on your arm. Him. No one else.

“But,” you sighed and finished your demonus with a low gaze on the floor. One of the fingers you had caught around his belt loop reached for his hand, linking his finger to yours. His lips were sealed tight as the blushed tortured his physique, “it is a shame but I need to steal Mammon for the night. You won’t mind if we leave a bit early, right?”

Diavolo waved off your worry with a hearty grin, moving with your lie though Mammon (and he was sure you as well) knew that he caught your lie easily. “So long as you come over for afternoon tea with Barbatos and I this week, it will be fine.”

“Of course,” you grinned with a wickedness he could only compared to Satan, though that in itself was like a cat. Your chest pressed into his arm as your grin only grew further. “Should I bring over some cakes?”

It was Barbatos who answered the question; with only a simple shake of his head. “That is unnecessary. I will make sure to prepare both yours and the Young Lord’s favourites for our tea.”

“Delightful! I’ll see you both then,” you bid them both a sweet goodbye with a wave of your fingers. Mammon felt himself stuck in a frozen manner as you pulled him away to the door of the castle. All he could register was the cooling touch of your hand holding his own and the sparkling treasure gracing your body.

Mammon was not one for sharing. He never shared his favourite meals. He never shared his time with you. And he certainly did not share his possessions. The gold bars he kept hidden in his safe, the necklaces and bracelets he never intended to wear and Goldie herself were only meant for him. Yet, he needed to see you dressed in his finest possessions.

It sounded glorious. His bed covered in cash and jewels, with his most important treasure laid in the centre, covered in the jewellery he hoarded and nothing else. Just waiting for him to touch. Begging for him. Needing him.

Your visage for the night’s gala was just a little treat for the reality of his dream.

“Where are ya takin’ me?” He tugged on your joined hands in resistance and grimaced as the collar of his suit choked on him. Mammon wanted nothing more than to follow your every step, but his own attitude had to intervene. The door of the castle opened and granted Mammon a warm breeze through the Devildom night. The moons were tall in the dark sky, shining bright enough to make your jewellery glitter.  “Lucifer is gonna punish us. Nah, he is gonna punish me and then say I took ya myself.”

You giggled and he felt his tongue tie together. He loved that noise, more than when the slots would make that fantastic winning chime. “I just had a thought,” you stopped walking and turned around to smile at him. His hand was still caught in yours, and you pulled him in so that your chest pressed together. “Everyone is with Diavolo, so we have the house to ourselves…”

Evil temptress. You were pure evil! Mammon groaned and hid behind his free hand, the blush burning red on his cheeks. “You can’t say that kinda stuff,” he whined into his palm, and your resounding giggle only made him whine louder. It was wicked and you knew it! Maybe you really were part succubi. “It’ll gimme ideas.”

You moved his hand from his face, lips dangerously close to touching him. Mammon was frozen once again. Does he do it. Does he grant himself the kiss he had dreamed of? He needed it, more than he needed the newest 666 Lexura (on Lucifer’s dime) but he couldn’t if you weren’t wanting it. Mammon would wait for an eternity for you. “And if I want you to have those ideas?”

From then on, it was Mammon who led you to the House of Lamentation. The searing burn of his skin was nothing to the icy touch you offered, he needed it all over his body. Your hand was tightly gripped in the veiny grasp of his fist, but you no made no cries.

There was only gleeful laughter as you ran along beside him. Mammon didn’t allow himself the pleasure of moaning over your beautiful laugh, not when he knew what was awaiting him inside the large doors it the house. As much as he did love your laugh, he was just dying to hear your moans instead.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you look so determined,” you whispered it into his ears as he fumbled with the handles of the front door. Stupid faulty lock. Stupid prank from Belphegor to annoy Lucifer. Your lips were inches from his ear, more teasing speech sounding like the song of sirens to lure him in, “want me that bad?”

No speaking. If he spoke Mammon knew he would mess everything up and wake up from the dream he had to have been having. Instead he successfully pushed the front door open and whisked you away to his bedroom. Where you belonged.

It all just felt so right having you inside his space. Your scent has gotten so faint over the days it had been since your movie night together. The aura you held, so mischevious in its purity, tainted by his pact. He could see the black blemish along your soul all around you, burned by the mark along your sternum.

And yet, it just fuelled him so much more. It was all his. You were his. You were dressed up all for him, ready to be coated in his treasure, and smiling at him in wait for his next step. You stood in front of his bed, fingers trailing down the golden dress you tortured him with. It would be so easy to push you back onto the mattress and ravage you as he had desired for far too long.

Mammon was sure that his breathing was ragged and shallow, he must have resembled a monster. His hair was messed from his own awkward hands as he tried to stay calm and the tingling of his wings still taunted his back in wait. One more step and the control over himself would combust.

He was always weak when it came to you.

“Mammon,” you whispered his name like it were a crime. So soft spoken, not wanting to break the bubble. Your mischief, the teasing, it had gone. All that stood left before him was the radiating greed from your form, drowning his mind in the finest of liquor, “I need you.”

Snap . He heard the crack of his wings hitting the air before Mammon properly felt them extend from his back. They tore through the suit he wore as he pounced on you, your back falling to the mattress under his body.

You were so small. He was not the largest demon, but there was something in the sheer difference in your frames. Your face was cast in his shadow, your alluring eyes large as you stared up at him. There was no fear when his claw tore through the front of your dress.

Instead, there was a bright smile, the one he loved, when you realised what he was doing. “Yours, Mammon,” your hands found his hair and the horns protruding from them, pushing your chest closer to his face. The torn gold along your chest had revealed your glorious body to him, but most importantly, the mark that made you his.

“Mine,” the word was like a growl on his tongue as he watched the mark. It glowed in his presence, even more of the glorious gold that he loved. “Had to watch ya be shown off. I felt sick watchin’ but I couldn’t look away from ya, Treasure.”

You lifted a leg around his hips to press yourself against his erection. Mammon felt his cheeks go red from the shame but your shaky moan at the touch melted it away. His greedy little human, it felt amazing to know he was not the only one desperate. “Did I look pretty for you?”

“So so pretty,” he pushed up the skirt of your dress, letting the long material bunch at your waist. He wouldn’t let you take it off, maybe not for a long time. His colour was just too beautiful on you. “Gonna need you to wear this every day.”

You shuddered against him as Mammon ran a long finger along your cunt. No underwear. He had always heard Asmo talk about how you couldn’t wear panties with some clothes, but he just thought it was a lie. And yet, you were on display for him just like that. “That may be hard since you tore the front,”

“Ain’t no one else seeing you in this.” No. No, he couldn’t be having that. Even if you were in an outfit that covered all your skin under hundreds of layers, Mammon would still prefer it for his eyes alone. The wet heat on his fingers made his head spin in horny glee, the sweet smell of you making his eyes roll. “Just for me from now on. Got it? Me.”

You pushed against his seeking hand, rubbing more of your slick onto his palm. His erection throbbed in his pants. He needed to feel you. Feel all of you. “I sound like a doll then.”

His wings flapped and Mammon bit his lip. Doll. That worked. He rather liked it. “My doll, though, not my brothers,” he dug his head into the crook of your neck. Your smell was so strong, it streamed from every pore in your skin, he felt intoxicated. The growing lust, the overwhelming greed, even the licks of pride that often made his face scrunch were delicious from you. “Need ya really bad, human.”

You stroked his hair and rolled your hips against him. “Then, have me,”

The soft words had spurred action within you both. Mammon had gone into his back while you adjusted yourself to straddle him, his erection flush against his toned chest and leanings beads of white. Your eyes never strayed from his dick, he felt like glowing under your approving gaze.

“You have piercings?” Mammon nodded with a smirk, shining from the wetness he could feel growing on his thighs. You liked it. He should have known you would.

Your hand gently went to grasp his cock, thumb running along the golden piercing beneath the head. His moaned through his teeth at your curious touch. You did it again, gauging his reaction and milking another bead of precum from his slit.

Mammon noticed the bite of your lip, the slow grinding of your hips and the flooding lust in the air. He wanted to show off for you, tease you, and simultaneously ask if you wanted him to get more. “I really like it,” you eventually said, rubbing your palm against him as you lifted yourself into the air.

He dug his fingers into the mattress beneath him. It was happening. The thing he had craved. Something Mammon would have sold all his belongings for. You. He got to have you!

You aligned his dick with your entrance, whimpering as he entered. Your golden dress had fallen down and hid the act from his eyes, which may be a good thing because Mammon knew he would never be able to tear his eyes from it. He groaned as you slid down the shaft, taking more and more of him in such a slow movement that it felt torturous.

Until, he was completely in you, pushing you and stretching you out. He could feel your cunt tight and warm around him, throbbing in need for only his touch. Your face was scrunched in desire as your lip wobbled. His little human. All full.

“Doing so well, Treasure,” he moaned the praise into the air, his hand right on your hip. The glow of his pact mark fuelled the flames inside his body, only triumphed as your tits slipped from the torn dress. Mammon couldn’t help himself. “My human. Lookin’ all pretty for me,” he continued to whispered all the praise he had ever thought of when it came to you, moving himself up and closer to your chest.

When his mouth kissed the skin around your breast, your body shook as you moaned. He graced his fangs to see your reaction — it was just as needy as the last. You began to move on his dick, bouncing up and down while you pulled on his hair.

More marks. He wanted to leave enough marks on you that no one would dare go near you. Mammon squeezed his hand in your waist as he bit gently on your chest, and to his surprise you giggled through your shaky moan. “Am I your property now, Mammon?”

“Not property,” he was quick to dismiss that. You were his, but not an object. You were his favourite treasure, someone to worship. “You’re mine though. Don’t ya forget that or else.”

Your movements were that of a succubi. You’d managed to get him nice and deep inside you, threatening his control over just filling you up with his cum each time, then pulling him out so just his tip would kiss your opening.

And yet, your face was angelic and oh so sweet. Mammon was enamoured. “I won’t ever forget,” he couldn’t help but nuzzle into your neck again. It felt so safe. Mammon kissed your neck as he moved his other hand to your hip, moving your body with your bouncing, adding just the slightest bit more speed.

His favourite doll. His sapphire and his gold. His.

© belphegorey 2024 ⌜18+ banner from @/cafekitsune thank you <3⌟