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gurugirl · 28 days ago

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[5] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST | It's Good to Be King Masterlist

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 5 Word Count: 8,476

Ch. 5 Warning: Discrimination, bullying, slight angst and miscommunication, jealousy, hurt feelings, wedding scene -> smut will be in ch. 6, for those anticipating it

. .

The Duke remained quiet and sat in the comfortable feather-down cushioned chair near the fire as he watched Harry and Virgil go back and forth. He'd been meant to mediate the discussion, but Harry overrode that decision and told him to sit before he was removed from the castle. The king didn't need someone there to arbitrate anything. Harry would be the one with the final say, no matter what the Duke's opinion.

It started, on the surface, amicably. But quickly spiraled when Virgil told him he'd regret his choices as king (stripping the Lord Mayor of his title for one, and marrying Y/n for another). Harry'd expected to hear the Lord Mayor bemoan his decisions again. It was no surprise to him, but it was quite galling to listen once again to the same justifications.

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "And I thought you came here to accuse me of theft. You are a sad, tiresome man, Virgil. I'm bored listening to this drivel."

Niall watched from the door, letting his eyes rove the three gentlemen slowly. He was only there to protect Harry, should he have needed to. But more than that, he found their little tiff to be quite amusing, though he'd never let on to it.

The Lord Mayor continued, dismissing Harry's comments. "And furthermore, it's clear to everyone that you do not have Thornekeep's best interest in mind. Marrying a gutter-waif? Setting her up in the castle like she's been bred for the crown? Why… It's preposterous!"

Harry bristled at gutter-waif, but decided to hold his tongue (and his anger) in front of the Duke. "Bred for the crown? What are you? A husbandry worker now? You breed animals and ready them for royalty?"

A quiet breath fell from the Duke as he turned his head away from the pair arguing. Even he was amused.

A sputtered noise of disbelief fell from the Lord Mayor as he shook his head. "Quite vulgar! Once again!"

The king laughed sardonically and stepped around the edge of the table, glancing at Niall as he ticked his fingers, tapping his nails together slowly. "Are we done here?"

"Before we make our leave, I want to discuss the young woman again. Pearl."

"And what would you like to tell me about the young woman with whom you are infatuated?"

"Your Highness! I am not infatuated!" Virgil pushed himself up from the chair and stepped near to Harry, but not close enough that the king could get his hands on him. "I'm trying to offer you a better choice of wife. Pearl will not disappoint you. She is happy to serve you as a good wife and queen should, and she learns quickly. She will see to it that you are well taken care of."

"I do not want Pearl. I've already made my choice. If you want her so badly, you can have her. Your wife seems quite meek. She wouldn't mind you taking a lover, I'm sure. Most men of your ilk do."

Virgil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring how Harry had once again suggested that he wanted Pearl for himself. "My Lord, we can attest to and confirm that Pearl is a virgin, which is required of the queen consort. I have my doubts that Y/n is pure and virginal."

Harry laughed darkly, without a single drop of humor. "I suggest you make your leave before I become violent with you. My future wife is not up for discussion. I will not have you speak her name again."

"Then a mistress! Pearl would make a lovely mistress for you. She's fine to take on the role as long as you keep her and take care of her and her family in return."

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head and looked at the Duke. "Is he deaf? Dumb? Were you able to understand my orders just now, or am I the mad one here?"

"My Lord, I understood well your desires," the Duke said, not daring to look the Lord Mayor in the eye as he sided with the king.

"You cannot expect to be satisfied with just one woman. Surely you have plans in place to accommodate a mistress, if you haven't already," the Lord Mayor added.

Harry sighed and looked toward Niall again before stepping closer to the old man. "I think I can infer what's going on here. You and Mrs. Mable were quite close at one time, weren't you? The rumors were true then. She was your house-fed lamb, and you're a bedswerver. Your poor wife. Is Mrs. Mable threatening to let the cat out of the bag if you don't secure her virgin daughter a place in the castle?"

Virgil's mouth dropped open as his eyes nearly bulged from his head. "I… Why that's not even—"

The king moved closer, and the old man backed up to keep his distance. "That is what this is all about, isn't it? Most would wonder if Pearl was your daughter and not Mr. Mable's, but I'm convinced you're all dried up, impotent. And you, being like every other fleece-monger in Thornekeep, took Mrs. Mable as your secret, fancy piece."

"This is outrageous! I take umbrage at your accusations!"

Calmly, Harry looked at the Duke with a pleased grin. "Our old billygoat here takes umbrage. What do you say to that, Duke?"

Duke Hughes looked from the King to the Lord Mayor and stood up from his seat. "I say that it's time for us to make our leave."

"Now that is a smart answer. You could learn a lot from the Duke, Virgil."

"Just one meeting with Pearl, my Lord. She is ready to serve and would make a beautiful Queen, if not a kept mistress…"

"I said, get out! I'm quite finished with you, worm. Niall, remove him from the lounge…"

The old man raised his hands in surrender as Niall stepped forward. "We're leaving. No need for intervention. But please, consider meeting with the girl once. You will not be disappointed."

The dress was exquisite. Y/n glanced at Phoebe, who had covered her mouth with her hands after seeing all the pieces put together. She grinned at her friend and looked back at her reflection and couldn't help but focus on the young woman who Mrs. Mable had brought along for the final fitting. She had not been introduced to her, but Y/n could see that the girl was dissatisfied and annoyed.

"It's a shame this wedding and everything to do with the king's selection was rushed," the dressmaker said as she pulled at the fabric and tightened the bust, making Y/n gasp.

"Mama… When can I meet King Styles? I'm bored, and the stench in here is unbearable."

The young woman looked directly at Y/n as she mentioned the stench but Y/n was more worried about the girl's request to see the king. She'd become accustomed to insinuitive remarks and had learned to brush them off. But she did not like the idea of this pretty, young, blonde asking about her husband-to-be.

"Soon. He's been summoned. I imagine he'll be coming in any minute."

Y/n quickly grabbed her skirts and lifted them as she stepped down from the platform and looked at Phoebe. "He can't come in here! I'm in my bridal gown. It's bad luck—"

"It won't matter anyway. There's nothing customary about any of this. No one is so deceived as to think you're a virgin anyway…"

"It's so vulgar to think of it!" The pretty blonde said as she stood up and stepped in front of the mirror, smoothing out the silk panel in her dress. "The king deserves purity and beauty above all."

"Who is this? Why is she here? What business has she with the king?" Y/n pointed at the blonde as she stepped in behind her.

"There's the stench," Pearl said as she turned to look at Y/n, a smug expression drawn on her face.

Just then, the door opened and Harry barreled in with Niall and his assistant Fred trailing behind him. "Y/n… Is—what is this?"

He looked at Pearl, her mother, and the other women in the room, his brows pinched together dubiously. Y/n tried to hide the fabric of her skirts and duck behind a wooden table, but it had all been too late. He'd seen her gown.

"This is my dress fitting. You're not supposed to see me like this!" Y/n was almost in tears, and she knew it was a trivial thing to be so worked up over, but she had envisioned the surprised look on his face when she walked down the aisle toward the altar. She'd been so excited for that moment, and now that would be taken from her. He'd already seen her beautiful dress and it would no longer be a surprise.

Harry let his eyes sweep over her gown and back up to her face. "I was told that I was needed urgently. Who sent for me?"

The room fell quiet as Y/n narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Mable and then Pearl. "They did." She pointed. "I heard her tell this one that you'd been summoned but I did not call for you."

Harry could see the dismay on her face. To him, it was all the same. It didn't matter if he saw the dress now or on the day of their ceremony. But it was clear that it meant a lot more to Y/n and so for that he was livid.

"You're the dressmaker. Mrs. Mable…" Harry said and then he set his eyes on the pretty young blonde who was blushing softly and lowering her gaze in respect. "And you must be Pearl. Virgil has spoken highly of you, but unfortunately, you're wasting your time here."

Mrs. Mable rushed toward Harry and pointed at her daughter. "She is ready, Your Highness. She's been trained for this and she will do anything you ask of her. Give her a chance. You may take her into your chambers if you'd like to make a more informed choice."

Harry sniffed and looked at Y/n before he shot a look of disdain at Mrs. Mable. "Are you dull in the head? Your conniving with the Lord Mayor is pathetic. I know what you two have done and I care not if you expose him and yourself for the bedswervers you are. But do not pull my bride-to-be into this ratbag scheme."

"Is she not more lovely, not more fit to your tastes and to the kingdom's? You will require a virgin—"

"Pish! You and Virgil seem to think I hold virgins in high regard when that is the least of my concerns. Take her away. I don't wish to look at your daughter or to have her near Y/n. I can tell by just a glance that she's jealous."

Pearl let out a frustrated laugh. "I would never be jealous of her! She's akin to the filthy swine at the entry of the rookeries from where she came!"

Harry calmly stepped in front of the blonde, a rage boiling beneath the surface that he had to tame. She had to crane her neck back to look up at him. "I pity people like you," he said in a dark, spiteful tone. "Wrapped up in silk with pink lace bows and a turned-up nose. You haven't a single original thought in that tiny brain of yours and that's the most unattractive thing about you. Moreover, I can't find a solitary redeeming quality that you possess. I do not find you to be pretty. On the contrary… Your face is too wide and pasty, your wrists like a hollowed sprig, and your eyes are set too close, reminiscent of those fat bugs that like to feed off dung in the farmyards. I would never take you as my wife, much less a mistress. You are no better than anyone in this room, and you never will be."

Pearl stepped back and turned her face downward as tears threatened to burst from her eyes. Y/n felt a spike of satisfaction course up the knobs of her spine. She had been blind sided by their little trick to get the king to walk into her room for her fitting, so to hear Harry speak his mind to the young girl in that way had her holding her head a little higher, despite the devastation she felt at him seeing her dress before he was meant to.

"You bootjack! Do not speak to my daughter that way!" Mrs. Mable wrapped her arms around Pearl protectively.

Harry laughed. "Brave soul you are to mock the king and your queen-to-be. What did you expect of this disgraceful, desperate exhibit? That I'd look at her…" He gestured toward Pearl, who still had her face downcast. "And find myself smitten by her pastel garments and curled locks? She is nothing more than the dressmaker's daughter. She does not interest me in the least."

Mrs. Mable scoffed and looked at Y/n, Phoebe next to her, holding her arm. "She's a regular street beggar turned flag-hopper. Who knows how many men she's done the business with and if you want to marry into that kind of rubbish, then you dishonor your father's legacy. You are an embarrassment to the kingdom."

Letting his eyes flicker over his bride-to-be, he clenched his jaw. "If you were a man I'd have you tossed from the window down to your painful demise for speaking that way about her. Does she look rubbish to you? And who do you see standing before you as King? Not my father. He's dead, buried in the ground where he belongs."

One of the seamstresses gasped and turned away quickly in surprise at Harry's rough words for the beloved, deceased King Augustus. He shook his head and pointed toward the door. "Niall, take Mrs. Mable and her daughter down to the study and wait with them until I arrive. The rest of you are dismissed. Phoebe, you may stay with Y/n and help her out of this dress."

Niall motioned to the pair and Mrs. Mable scowled at the king on her way out of the room. Pearl kept her head down in shame with cheeks wetted by tears. Y/n watched with cautious delight, her eyes shifting from Mrs. Mable and Pearl, and then the workers as they all filed out of the Rose Room.

Then, before she even realized he'd made his way to her side, she felt his hand wrap around hers, and she turned to look up at him. "We'll have a new dress made for you. A better one. You will never have to see Mrs. Mable and her insufferable, hideous daughter ever again." He thumbed at her cheek as she nodded, a small smile working up on her lips.

"But the wedding is in two days. I don't know that that's possible. There is no better dressmaker in the kingdom than Mrs. Mable."

"I will find you a better dressmaker even if I have to bring them in from another province. Fred," Harry said, his sight still on his bride-to-be, "go find Luther and have him send for that Parisian man in Bethel. Find out who he uses and have them brought here at any cost."

The door closed behind Fred, and Phoebe stood to the side, watching as Harry and Y/n stared at one another. "You are not upset by them, are you?"

She blinked and looked toward the door. "I'm unsure how I feel. I found Pearl to be very pretty, and I imagined you would like the looks of her." She turned her gaze back to him. "Is it true you find her to be hideous?"

Harry continued running his thumb along her cheek as he lifted his other hand to the opposite side of her face. "Compared to you? She's repulsive and boring."

"But you wouldn't even take her as your mistress?"

"I won't be taking a mistress."

Y/n shook her head. "Isn't it customary for the king to have mistresses to keep him satisfied? What if I cannot make you happy?"

"Do not worry about that, little mouse. Now, I need to go and sort out the hatchet-faced sows who await me."

She giggled quietly as he stepped away from her, a cheeky grin on his face.

The moment he closed the door, Phoebe stepped in behind her and began helping her untie the corset. "She's not pretty. Not at all."

"Who? Pearl? I believe she was very pretty."

"Her attitude was ugly. I can't believe he compared her to a dung bug!"

The girls laughed together. "I wonder what he's going to say to them in his study."

"He's already love-stricken. It's so romantic," Phoebe said as she laid the corset down on the dressing table.

"Love-stricken? I don't believe so."

"Oh, but he is. I have a secret. Something I've wanted to say but didn't know if I should… But now I can't hold it in any longer…"

Y/n looked at Phoebe. "Well, what is it?"

"He's telling you the truth that he doesn't want a lover. I overheard him with his assistant and the castle steward telling them to clear the room that was meant to be kept for a mistress, but he didn't want it. He had changed his mind. Mr. Fred told him to leave it just in case, but the King insisted they give the room another use. He said it was no longer necessary, and I think it's because he can't imagine having anyone but you."

Y/n smiled and looked toward the window as her heart thumped in her chest. It was becoming quite common for her heart to patter harder every time she thought about Harry. He made her skin heat and her fingertips tingle. And she even indulged in touching herself as she imagined his eyes and his lips and his fingers… She knew her feelings about him were different than anything she'd felt before.

She had never belonged anywhere before, begging in alleyways, sleeping on the floor in her family's cramped tenement, ignored by carriages that splashed muddy water on her skirts. And now, she stood in there in castle with a little more meat on her bones and a relaxed smile on her face. The king had not only chosen her but defended her with the kind of fury only true feelings could ignite. Her feelings of being an impostor still bubbled to the surface at times, but she couldn't deny that Harry soothed the rising simmer with each passing day.

When the new dressmaker, Eugène Louise Lafitte, arrived the following evening, he had brought with him a whole caravan of helpers. Three covered carts filled with dresses, designs, supplies, and materials; two hairdressers, three seamstresses, a milliner, and two of his own assistants; as well as all of his personal belongings, as he was going to replace Mrs. Mable as the official royal dressmaker.

Y/n found the whole ordeal to be chaotic, but if she insisted on a new gown (she didn't really), then this was the only way. Eugène had set up everything in the Rose Room, and he began to measure and fit her right away. And despite the fact that there were a dozen people milling about in the room, jumping at every command Eugène spat, she found this fitting to be much better than with Mrs. Mable. For one, he never "accidentally" poked her with the pins the way Mrs. Mable had. For another, he treated her with appropriate respect. As if she were the queen already.

"Bring me the white silk Lanvin bodice…" Eugène said as he waved an arm toward his assistant, his other hand clutched at the middle of Y/n's back as he held fabric in place, and then snapped his fingers. "And check the third trunk for the custom silk skirt with cream lace. And those silk flourettes I've got in my leather satchel. I need them here."

And it went like that until Y/n could barely hold her eyes open. The buzz in the room continued for hours until Eugène was pleased with the look. Of course, he checked in with Y/n, often asking her opinion, of which she had none.

It embarrassed her, in a way, that she had no clue about what looked pretty and what did not. She didn't know fashion, but she did love the little silk flowers that were pinned along her outer skirt between bunched lace and smooth satin. The dress was lovely, Y/n could tell that much. And the finished product (which needed to be ready by midday) would be stunning. It would be paired with the original Turkish diamond necklace she'd been gifted and the finished veil that Mrs. Mable had made.

"Now, you rest," Eugène said to Y/n after Phoebe had helped her out of the delicate material and tucked a robe around her chemise. "The most important part of any outfit is the person wearing it and her disposition. Your beautiful smile will be the star of the ceremony, and you need your sleep. I will take care of the rest for you, madam. Leave the stress to me."

She paused and squinted at the odd man (he was quite odd, but she rather liked him). She wasn't sure if he'd said leave this dress to me, or leave the stress to me… Either way, she was too exhausted to think of much else than her comfortable bed as all of the workers left the room and Phoebe tucked her in and kissed her cheek.

"Goodnight, Queen." Phoebe smiled.

Y/n fluttered her eyes closed with a small, quiet laugh and whispered tiredly, "I'm not Queen yet."

"You are to me."

Despite the pre-wedding spiky nerves Harry was feeling, he was pleased and maybe even a little excited. The ceremony was only a couple of hours away and the castle was abuzz with activity all over. His suit was ready. He'd hidden in his study in hopes of a bit of peace and quiet before the doctor had forced his way in and begun talking nonsense.

"She has not yet had her physical examination, My Lord. It would require, at minimum, a quick and simple two-finger test, which is very run-of-the-mill."

Harry pinched his brows together and nodded with a sneer, his leg draped over his knee as he listened to the castle doctor. Sucking at his teeth he narrowed his gaze. "That will not be happening."

"Excuse me?" The doctor looked surprised.

"I said… That .. will not .. be happening."

"I don't understand. It's customary to check that the bride of the king is a virgin. How will we determine her virginal status if she doesn't have an examination?"

"I am sorry you're confused, but I believe I made myself clear. She will not be needing an examination. She's already told me she's a virgin." Not that it mattered to him in the first place.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies, My Lord, but how do you know she's telling you the truth? That is why we have protocol for this kind of thing. We cannot trust her to be honest about that. Of course, she'd tell you she's a virgin in order to procure her spot as Queen."

Harry sighed and placed his foot down on the floor, as if her were about to stand, his posture only slightly threatening as he leaned forward and kept his eyes hard on the doctor. "When I first picked her, I sought a woman who was not a virgin on purpose. I had hoped to enjoy some wick-dipping with her right off, but she was quite unsettled by the idea, worried about God and purity and all that. She's a virgin."

"My Lord, this is a—"

"This is a discussion that has come to an end. I won't hear of it anymore. You may take your leave. I'm busy. If you hadn't already realized it, I'm getting married today. I don't have time for your nonsense."

The doctor seemed rather vexed but he left the king's study without another word. Harry understood the usual traditions. He knew that it was expected that Y/n be a virgin. He was also not under any illusion that the people would demand proof and want to see their bedsheets the following morning to check for her blood.

He shook his head and gulped down the last of his gin. He hadn't even wanted a virgin. Mostly for selfish reasons but also because he'd never been with a virgin before. The very first time he saw her up close outside the castle gates, he found her features to be very pleasing and he made the mistake of assuming she was not a virgin. Though even after learning she was, he didn't regret his choice after getting acquainted with her.

He smiled as he stood from the chair. That's what she did to him when he thought of her. She made him smile. The kind of drowsy, sappy smile that told the world he was done for.

He wished he could see her right then. Ask her how she was doing, make sure she was being treated well… and perhaps to soothe his own nerves as well. What if she ran off? What if the foul treatment she'd been subjected to had finally gotten to her and she was on the run? Not many would stop her from running because they didn't like her anyway.

With a heavy sigh, he looked out the window to find the day overcast in soft pewters, clouds hanging low as if reluctant to bear witness to the scandal of the century. He was looking forward to making Y/n the Queen, but even more than that, he was looking forward to having her as his wife.

Y/n tried to stop the tears from escaping her eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror, the final product of her hair, the dress, her jewelry... The gown was even more luxurious than the previous. It had a fuller silk skirt with ribbons of cream lace and soft pink, green, and yellow satin flowers delicately sewn in. The bodice gave everything structure and form at the top, and the thin lace sleeves fitted over her arms like a second skin.

She grazed her fingers over the diamond necklace and inhaled a wobbly breath. "I can't believe it. I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Eugène stood behind her with a smile on his face. "I've never seen a more beautiful bride. You wear this dress well, my dear. I know it's not in keeping with tradition but I've been told that you and Harry are not a traditional royal couple. I hope it's just scandalous enough to make everyone turn heads and talk. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

"And all in less than 12 hours! It's magnificent!" Pheobe exclaimed.

"Thank you, sir. I didn't believe it would be possible, but you've proven me wrong. I'm overwhelmed with happiness."

"Then I've done my job. Now, I believe your carriage awaits to bring you to the cathedral. I will be riding with you and your family, should anything come loose and need fastening."

The bells of Thornekeep Cathedral tolled with a heavy, ceremonial rhythm, each echo rolling over the gray-tipped rooftops of the town center like a reluctant proclamation. Inside, sunlight filtered through tall stained-glass windows, coloring the polished stone floor with fragments of ruby, emerald, and sapphire light. It was beautiful, solemn, and grand.

The nave was lined with nobles, foreign dignitaries, and members of the peerage, each clad in their finest silks, lace, and tailored uniforms. Rows of powdered wigs and jeweled collars bobbed stiffly above tight lips and narrowed eyes. They did not applaud. They did not smile. But they did watch carefully. Judging as if they were qualified.

A hush settled as the great organ began to play, a stately, thunderous processional. In the vestibule, Y/n stood just beyond the threshold, her hands trembling against the folds of her gown. The dress was nothing like the ones she used to imagine when watching brides pass in the street. It was better. Phoebe stood at her side, fussing with the long veil that trailed like mist behind her, whispering encouragement.

“You look divine,” Phoebe said, adjusting the fabric atop Y/n’s head. “Now, chin up. If they’re going to hate you, let them hate a queen, not a beggar.”

At the front of the cathedral, King Harry stood waiting beneath the high stone arch of the altar, dressed in a black frock coat with gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar. His ceremonial sword hung from his hip—a nod to tradition he’d allowed begrudgingly—but his cravat was loosened ever so slightly in subtle rebellion. Fred stood just behind him, rigid as he watched on.

Harry’s expression, however, was anything but restrained. He grinned brightly when he saw her appear at the end of the aisle, arm looped with her father's. Gasps rippled through the crowd, not at the gown, not at the diamond necklace, but at the girl wearing them. A commoner. A beggar, soon to be their queen.

Y/n walked slowly down the aisle, trying not to falter under the weight of stares that clung to her like sticky brambles. Her breath caught when she met Harry’s eyes, mischievous, proud, and tender. There was something grounding in his gaze, like a rope cast to a woman who was still learning to stand on marble floors.

At the altar, the Archbishop cleared his throat and began the ceremony, reading from the Book of Common Prayer, as was custom. The vows were traditional, spoken clearly before God and court:

“Will you, Harry, take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

“Will you, Y/n, take this man to be your wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance—”

“I will,” she said, quietly but firmly, not letting her voice sound weak in front of the staring spectators.

There were no whispers of love, no passionate declarations. But when Harry slid the ornate ring, a band of twisted gold and sapphire, onto her finger, his thumb brushed hers with lingering affection. A touch that said more than their vows ever could.

When they were pronounced husband and wife, the organ swelled. Tradition usually dictated a polite kiss on the cheek before turning to face the congregation. But Harry, never one for subtlety, leaned in and kissed her full on the lips, dipping her ever so slightly, and Y/n grabbed onto his coat to steady herself. Gasps rose, half in horror, half in delight. He pulled back with a wink only she could see.

Then, side by side, they faced the court. Stone faces stared back. Y/n straightened her spine.

"Let them glare," he said under his breath as they smiled.

The cathedral bells rang again as the newly crowned Queen Y/n emerged from the grand oak doors on Harry’s arm. A scattering of cheers broke out in the crowd gathered beyond the palace gates, though they were thin and uncertain, peppered with scowls, taciturn nobles, and commoners caught between fascination and suspicion.

The royal carriage stood gleaming in the late afternoon light, a glossy black and gold coach pulled by six white horses adorned in crested harnesses. Its polished sides mirrored the anxious faces that lined the route, and the royal seal glinted on the carriage doors.

Y/n climbed in first, the veil like a cloud behind her. Harry followed, waving once to the crowd with an exaggerated flourish, as if daring them to boo. Fred closed the door after them with a look of quiet resignation, before hopping into the carriage behind with the footmen.

Inside, the carriage was warm and velvet-lined, the heavy scent of roses clinging to the seats. Y/n stared out the window as they began to move, flanked by guards on horseback.

“They hate me,” she whispered.

Harry leaned against the cushion and smiled as he pulled her hand into his. “You shouldn't worry about what a bunch of thick-headed sardines think of you. They'er blind.”

She looked up at him and smiled. "I woke up thinking that you'd come to your senses and call it off. That I'd be waiting, all dressed and ready, and you'd be locked in your chambers and have me removed."

He shook his head, soft green irises sliding over her frame and up to her face. “I’ve come to my senses, all right. That’s why you’re sitting here now.”

Y/n looked down at their joined hands—his thumb gently stroking over her knuckles—and for a moment, the heavy world outside the carriage fell away.

“I don’t know how to be a queen,” she admitted, voice barely audible over the rhythmic clatter of wheels on cobblestone.

Harry leaned closer, his voice lower, softer now. “Good.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, and he smiled at the sound, genuine and unguarded. Then he brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her fingers. “You don’t have to be perfect, Y/n. You just have to be real.”

Outside, the crowd grew louder as the palace gates loomed ahead, but inside the carriage, it was warm and still. She shifted closer to him, their shoulders touching now, the lace of her sleeve brushing the brocade of his coat.

And though the kingdom buzzed with scandal, and the court plotted behind polished smiles, in that quiet stretch of space before the next curtain rose, King Harry and Queen Y/n simply breathed, side by side.

The Great Hall of Thornekeep Palace was transformed for the occasion—hundreds of beeswax candles glittered from chandeliers high above, and polished mirrors doubled the light across the walls. Tapestries were drawn back to reveal the grand stonework of the castle’s bones, lending an air of both splendor and severity. Long banquet tables were laid out in rows, gleaming with silverware, crystal goblets, and floral arrangements that spilled over with wildflowers and white roses.

Music floated through the room, an ensemble of violinists and harpists near the hearth played a series of traditional waltzes, though the tempo felt more funereal than festive. No one danced yet. The air was too tight.

At the head table, Y/n sat beside Harry beneath a carved wooden canopy bearing the royal crest. Her plate was filled, but her appetite lagged behind her nerves. The food was elaborate: roast venison with plum glaze, lemon-rosemary quail, bowls of minted peas and white asparagus, and trenchers of honeyed bread and soft cheeses. There was wine from the southern vineyards and towering sugar confections shaped like swans and crowns.

Phoebe stood nearby, ever watchful, whispering quiet instructions on what to do with each fork, when to dab her mouth, when to rise. Y/n nodded gratefully.

The murmurs never stopped.

“She curtsied too shallow.”

“She speaks like she’s from the gutter.”

“Can’t even hold a wineglass properly…”

Harry heard them. Y/n could see it in the tick of his jaw. At one point, a nobleman seated halfway down the table made a thinly veiled comment about the "peculiar scent of fishmongers at court." Harry stood, clinked his glass, and with all the weight of his crown and grin declared:

“I rather like the smell of a woman who knows how to survive.”

The room went silent. Then, reluctantly—awkwardly—a few polite claps began. Phoebe stifled a laugh. Fred looked like he’d aged ten years.

As the night wore on, the air grew looser. Jugglers and acrobats entered, performing near the rear hearth to entertain the children and lower nobility. A small group of traveling actors performed a dramatic retelling of King Augustus the Wise, a none-too-subtle dig at Harry’s late father, much to Harry’s delight.

Y/n watched it all in a dreamlike haze, the velvet of her seat warm beneath her and her crown tugging gently at her temples. She caught Harry looking at her between sips of wine. He reached across the table, not for her hand, but to slide a sugared fig onto her plate.

Y/n picked it up and bit into the fig. Sweet. Sharp. Decadent.

She looked at him with gratitude, holding his gaze a beat longer than proper, feeling something settle in her chest, something warm, steady, and terrifyingly real. Before she could say anything, Fred appeared beside the table with the stiff posture of a man who’d tried to interrupt twice already and failed.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, bowing slightly toward Harry. “Lord Chancellor Whitely requests a word regarding the foreign trade representatives. He says it won’t wait.”

Harry groaned under his breath, tilting his head back like a man being dragged to the gallows. “Of course it won’t.” He gave Y/n’s hand a final squeeze under the table. “This is important. I will return as quickly as possible.”

As Fred guided him away, a soft voice called Y/n’s name from just behind her. She turned to find Phoebe leaning in with that same practiced smile she wore whenever navigating nobility like thorns.

“Your mother’s asking for you. I told her you’d come as soon as you’d had a moment and now that the king has been called off…”

Y/n blinked, surprised, rising carefully, nodding her thanks as Phoebe adjusted the fall of her gown behind her. The palace loomed vast and glittering, but with Harry’s warmth still clinging to her skin. Y/n lifted her chin and walked toward where her mother and sisters were standing.

Her mother let out a dramatic sob and pulled Y/n's hands into her warm ones. "You are the Queen. I hear the whispers of everyone around me, but I know you and you are worthy. Even if he already has his mistress up in his room waiting, we all know who his wife is. Whom he has chosen as his queen."

"His mistress?" Y/n looked over her shoulder at Phoebe, who shook her head in confusion, eyes flitting between the mother and daughter.

"Yes. I heard some people talking about a woman named Pearl. She's waiting for him in his chambers right now. Did you not know?"

Y/n swallowed, the back of her throat hollow as she shook her head in disbelief. Her head swirled, making her dizzy, and her sight suddenly shaded in red. Had that been the real reason why he was called off so suddenly? Had he lied to her about what he thought of Pearl? But why?

"I did not know. Thank you, mother. I need to sit."

Y/n tried not to let the dismay that clenched at her heart show on her face. Phoebe was speaking, but Y/n couldn't put together the sentences or make sense of anything. If he'd just been honest the first time around, she wouldn't have so suddenly been caught off guard. She had expected him to take a mistress but when he told her he wouldn't be…

Sitting back in her place, she looked around at the lingering gazes and then at her plate in silence. The food she hadn't finished staring back up at her in a taunt. She couldn't believe that she'd been deceived by him. But she refused to let tears stain her cheeks. She was already the butt of the joke and now she knew it to be true. She'd been so stupid.

Even though the room was full of wealth and opulence, no one danced to the music, and very few applauded the children's entertainment on the other side of the Great Hall. The longer she sat in her fancy chair, in her beautiful dress, without Harry by her side, the more she became certain that he was with Pearl. Why would he be rushed away on the evening of his wedding if not to secretly see his new lover? Would he really allow a business meeting to take precedence? None of it made sense anymore.

Y/n drank down her glass of wine and motioned to have another filled. If she was going to be ignored by her new husband while he played with his mistress behind her back, she was going to try and get on with things, and a bit of drink couldn't hurt. Phoebe had tried to offer her comforting words but it didn't help.

"He's off with her. How long has he already been gone? It's been an hour? I know better than to trust him again."

"Please, madam… I think your mother was mistaken. The king only has eyes for you—"

"My mother knew her name. Someone was speaking about it right in front of her, and she learned a secret that was not meant to be exposed. I'm happy to be armed with the truth. At least I know now."

The chatter in the room softened as heads turned toward the hall's arched entry when Harry and Fred stepped back inside. Y/n looked away. It wasn't fair that he was so handsome after having come back from wherever he'd been. His bed with Pearl likely.

When he sat back down, he reached his hand under the table to place over her skirt but she scooted herself away as much as possible and turned sharply to look anywhere but at him.

"What's wrong, mouse?"

She lifted her glass to her lips and took a long pull of her drink before setting it back down with a loud clunk onto the table. She refused to look at his face. "Do not call me mouse ever again."

Harry glanced up at Phoebe, who was standing near Y/n's chair and then back at his bride's side profile, speaking louder that time. "What is wrong? Tell me what has happened?"

Those who sat closest to the king and queen watched on curiously.

"Did you have fun while you were away? Was it necessary to take an hour to do it?"

"The Lord Chancellor had very important news, and I needed to settle an issue. I did not intend for it to take as long as it did. I apologize. Is that why you're angry?"

She felt her heart thudding in her chest as anger rose up her spine. "Liar."

"Liar? Do you think I am lying right now? Why would I lie to you about something like this? I did not… Will you turn and look at me?"

Y/n turned away further stubbornly, into an uncomfortable position in her seat as she kept her gaze set away from him. Harry groaned and a few seconds later, Y/n felt her chair being pulled back and a hand grasping at the top of her arm, pulling her up to stand. She huffed as Harry brought her with him away from the table and toward the servant's door out of earshot of the guests.

"Look at me right now, Y/n. I will not tolerate your cryptic anger. Tell me what's wrong at once."

She clenched her jaw and slowly, ever so slowly, let her eyes land on his. "I know what you did. You don't need to lie to me and make a fool of me. At least have the respect to be honest with me!"

Harry wanted to laugh, but he was beginning to get angry himself. He hadn't the slightest idea of what she was on about. "Okay. Then tell me what you think I did."

Y/n tried to maintain a stern, defiant expression and not let her emotions rise to the surface but the longer she looked at his pretty face the harder it was. "Pearl."

He raised his brows and blinked. "What about Pearl? The Mables were all disinvited from the wedding. They are not here. What of Pearl?"

"She was waiting for you in your chambers, and you just went to her. Everyone already knows that's what you did. Your secret got out, and now I know."

He couldn't help it when he a laugh fell from his mouth, and Y/n scowled. "You think that I was with Pearl? Are you serious? Have you not learned yet that believing the whispers of the overly pampered people in this room are as good as fiction?"

She blinked at him, her lips turning downward as her conviction faltered. "My mother told me."

He shook his head. "I don't care who told you. You were lied to. I was with Fred, the Lord Chancellor, and two of his men…" Harry pointed behind Y/n. "Look. There they are now. Taking their seats."

She turned to see three men sitting down, smiles on their faces. And as she let her eyes wander the room, she noticed that many people were not paying much attention to her at that moment. A few were staring, but most were drinking their wine and talking to the people around them.

She looked back up at him. "Do you have a mistress? You might as well tell me now, Harry. At least be honest with me. It's not like I'm going to end the courtship or anything. Too late for that."

"I told you I wasn't taking a mistress, and I meant it."

Y/n searched his face, eyes flitting between his irises and the anger, and the sharp ache of betrayal slowly dissolved when she found nothing but honesty in his eyes. She realized that someone had purposely said those things about Pearl in front of her mother for this very outcome. She'd fallen for the lies.

"You need to trust me. No one else here can be trusted. No one cares about you like I do, so you can't listen to them. They are lying to put a wall between us but it won't work because you're smarter than that. Look who I married?" He ran his knuckles along her jaw. "You're all I want. Why would I ever go with Opal when I have you, here, looking like this…" he said as he looked down over her gown.

"Pearl."

"Who?" He grinned playfully.

She smiled, finally, and Harry let out a breath. "There's that smile. Beautiful."

Y/n looked down, feeling embarrassed by her behavior.

Harry ran his hand down her arm and pulled her closer. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She breathed out a soft laugh. "And you're the devil."

"A handsome one?"

Nodding, she grinned wider, unable to stifle it any longer.

"Let's go back and take our seats before we politely make leave."

The great hall had grown quieter. The candlelight, though still plentiful, seemed to flicker more lazily now, wax dripping down to silver trays as though the evening itself were beginning to loosen its corset. The musicians had shifted to slower, gentler melodies, less formal, less performative. A lull had settled in.

Guests were beginning to drift away in pairs and small clusters, offering final bows and well-wishes to chamberlains and assistants rather than seeking out the king or queen directly. No one had announced the end, but the message was clear: the night was folding itself closed, and that was more than fine with Harry and Y/n.

Y/n's back ached faintly beneath the weight of her new crown as they took their seats again. Across the room, Phoebe stood watchfully near the far wall with Niall next to her, whispering, while the kitchen staff had begun clearing away the final courses with quiet precision.

Harry slid his hand against hers under the table, and quiet chatter surrounded them. She was ready to leave the Great Hall and be done with the theatrics of the day. Her emotions had been quite volatile all day, and the quiet of Harry's bedchambers was beginning to sound like a dream right then.

Fred appeared at Harry’s side and said something in his ear. Harry gave a faint nod, then turned to Y/n with that same roguish smile he’d worn at the altar, but softer, laced with something she couldn’t quite name.

He leaned toward her, close enough that only she could hear. “It's time for us to depart.”

She rose with him, and though no formal announcement followed, the shift was immediate. Some of the guests turned their eyes away in practiced discretion. A few nobles bowed as they passed. Some merely watched with disapproving eyes.

They exited through a smaller side corridor, footsteps muffled on hand-woven rugs. The hall behind them continued to hum, but it was like walking away from a fever dream, something ornate and strange, but already fading.

Once they were alone, past the eyes and expectations, Harry reached for her hand again as he led her up to his room. The corridors of the royal wing were hushed, dimly lit by flickering sconces.

Neither of them spoke. There had been enough of the show. Enough talking and forced smiles. As their footsteps echoed down the long hallway, Harry’s thumb traced idle circles against her knuckles, and Y/n held onto his hand like it was the first real thing she’d touched all day.

At the doors to his chambers, he paused only briefly before pushing them open. The room had been set up for the wedding night, warm with candlelight and perfumed faintly with cedar as the fireplace crackled. The moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, something inside the silence softened. The weight of the crown, the stifling eyes of the court, the perfect stillness she’d worn like armor… it all began to peel away.

Harry turned to her and reached for her waist to pull her close, his touch gentle and secure. Her hands slid over the lapels of his coat, anchoring herself in the solid warmth of him.

"My Queen," he spoke just above a whisper as he palmed at her cheek softly.

Y/n smiled shyly. "My King."

He leaned down, slowly, unhurried, and pressed his forehead to hers as they both closed their eyes. There was no rush to move away from the quiet moment; in fact, it had been necessary, vital. The sound of their breaths, the feel of closeness between them… Y/n trailed her fingers up his arm and tilted her face toward his lips, before pressing them to his in a kiss that was sweet and filled with quiet relief.

. .

>>Chapter 6<< is where we'll finally be getting the smut. I'll be dedicating the entire next part to their wedding night 🤭 xoxo

. .

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tsukisrants · 6 months ago

Text

Prod. By Bangchan

pairing: bangchan x afab! reader

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 12.2k

warnings: dom/sub undertones, rough sex, oral sex, fingering, name calling, humiliation, degradation, praise, spit, breeding kink, overstimulation, choking, breath play, squirting, daddy kink (cmon, it’s a bangchan fic), aftercare, jealousy, feelings, lots of feelings, ecc…

summary: he’s busy, and you miss him. so much. too much. he misses you too, and wants to show you just how much. you let him, cause- cause there’s nothing you wouldn’t let him do to you. you’re his, after all.

snippet: your lips meet, and it’s pretty messy: teeth and tongues clashing against one another, moans morphing into one sound as you both abandon yourselves to each other. “I love you.” You don’t known whose voice it was. Yours. His. Both. Neither: who cares.

It’s right, no matter who said it.

You're starting to feel a dull ache in your back after hours hunched over your iPad, studying and taking notes. It’s clear that it’s time to stretch your legs a bit. You push the chair back and lift yourself slowly, each joint protesting more than you expected. A soft groan escapes your lips—a blend of discomfort and relief. You roll your neck from side to side, trying to ease the pressure that has settled there like a heavy weight.

Glancing out the window, you notice the sky has turned dark. Night has descended, fierce and enveloping, pierced only by the gentle glow of the moon casting a silvery light across the room, a soft yet almost aggressive presence. Curious about the time, you lean toward your phone, tapping its dark screen and realizing it's already past eight. He should have returned by now, but you’re not surprised he hasn’t crossed the threshold of your room yet.

“What am I going to do with you?” you mutter to yourself as you step away from the desk and move toward the mirror to your right.

The reflection that greets you reveals a woman who looks somewhat tired and worn, yet you’re relieved to see you don’t appear as disheveled as you feared. Your hair still holds its cleanliness, cascading softly over your shoulders and down your back. The bangs and layered strands frame your face, adding a hint of youthful charm despite the fatigue etched in your features.

You quickly adjust your appearance, slipping on a soft hoodie—one of his, infused with his intoxicating scent. You bury your nose in the fabric, inhaling deeply as if drawing him closer. It feels comforting, a reminder of his presence even in his absence. The shorts you’ve chosen cling gently to your body, flattering your curves, while the socks pulled high on your ankles give you an unexpected sense of height. You slide your feet into your well-worn Air Forces, grounding yourself in familiarity.

As you tuck your hands into your pockets, you catch a fleeting glimpse of the stillness around you. The room feels heavy with unspoken words and unfinished thoughts. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should wait for him or venture out into the cool night.

With a decisive breath, you turn away from the mirror, the weight of anticipation stirring within you. Tonight feels different, charged with a sense of possibility. You open the door and step into the hallway.

Wandering through the long, echoing corridors of the dormitory, a sudden craving strikes you. You pull out your phone and decide to place an order: two pizzas, a Coke Zero, and a slice of chocolate cake. It’s the same familiar order that the app has memorized so well it requires no further input from you. With a few taps, you select “repeat order” and send it off, sliding your phone back into the soft pocket of your hoodie.

As you walk, the vibrant sounds of voices and laughter spill from the rooms around you, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Each giggle and cheer feels like a gentle caress, filling the air with a sense of community that comforts you deeply. You can’t help but smile, relishing this little slice of life that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

The world outside may be chaotic, but here, among these walls, you find a sanctuary of laughter, connection, love, and family.

To reach your destination, you step out of the dormitory and walk a few meters toward the entrance of the building across the way. The cold night breeze grazes the exposed skin of your legs, sending tiny, prickling shivers racing up your spine. You quicken your pace, eager to escape the chill. The entrance looms closer, and as you punch in the code to get inside, a deep sigh of relief escapes your lips. The moment you step through the door, you’re enveloped by warmth that feels almost like a hug, a stark contrast to the crisp night air outside.

A familiar face greets you just inside, and a smile spreads across both your faces. It’s Jaewon, one of the staff members from the recording studio. He leans casually against the wall, radiating an easy confidence that instantly puts you at ease.

“Make sure to bring him back home,” he says with a playful glint in his eye.

“Oh, a simple task,” you reply, shaking your head with mock seriousness as you pull down the hood of your hoodie, letting him see your full expression. “I’ll do my best.” His laughter is infectious, filling the air with a bright note.

“If anyone can do it, it’s you!” he exclaims as you start to move away, your laughter echoing through the empty entrance hall.

You pause for a moment, taking in the space around you. The studio has an almost sacred quality, the walls adorned with soundproofing panels and framed photos of artists who’ve passed through. Each image tells a story, and you can almost hear the echoes of creativity that resonate within these walls.

“Are you staying late tonight?” you ask, genuinely curious, as he glances at the clock behind him.

“Just for a bit. We have a session scheduled,” he replies, a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Good luck with your work, then,” you say, waving him goodbye. “Ah, good luck to you, he’s in a sour mood!” he says, and you smile at him.

You had imagined it would come to this; you sensed that things weren’t going smoothly. Even when he’s late, he always makes a point to let you know, yet today the last message you received was hours ago, lingering in the silence between you like an unanswered question. You can’t help but speculate that, much like you, he’s become so absorbed in his work that he’s lost all sense of time. You picture him still hunched over his desk, surrounded by scattered sheets of music and the faint glow of his computer screen, laboring over a melody, fine-tuning the recordings from the day.

The thought brings a bittersweet smile to your lips. You know the thrill of those late-night sessions, when inspiration strikes and time slips away. Yet, a pang of worry lingers in the back of your mind. You wonder if he’s okay, if the weight of his creative ambitions is becoming too heavy.

You glance out the window, the night deepening beyond the glass, the city lights twinkling like distant stars. There’s a certain beauty in this moment, in the quiet anticipation of what he might create. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that you should reach out, to bridge the gap between you, to remind him that he’s not alone in this.

As long as you exist, he will never, ever be alone. That’s a promise you made and intend to honor, no matter the circumstances.

After a few more steps, you arrive at the large black door that separates him from you. You don’t need to knock; instead, you quickly enter the code, which just so happens to be the date of your anniversary. Yes, it’s a cliché, and yes, the guys have teased him endlessly about it—especially Seungmin—but you know they secretly find it charming and romantic, just like you do.

As you step into the studio, you blink several times to adjust to the dim light—or rather, the near absence of it. The room is illuminated only by the soft glow of computer screens, casting an eerie yet oddly comforting ambiance. You can’t help but shake your head in concern at the conditions in which you always find him working.

He’s there, seated in one of those plush gaming chairs—a thoughtful gift from Felix, meant to help him endure the long hours he spends in this space (which is practically every night).

He hasn’t noticed your presence, and you seize the moment to linger for a heartbeat longer, watching him lost in his world. Even from this distance, you can see the dark circles under his beautiful eyes, remnants of sleepless nights fueled by passion and dedication. You bite your lower lip, feeling a pang of concern as you observe the way the muscles in his arms flex and relax, navigating through sheets of music and tapping rhythmically at the keyboard. There’s something mesmerizing about this scene—the intensity on his face, the way he seems to dance with his work, each keystroke a note in an unseen symphony. It’s both inspiring and heartbreaking, knowing he often sacrifices his well-being for his art. You wish you could ease the weight pressing down on him, to remind him to take a break and breathe.

But as you stand there, a silent observer, you feel a rush of affection and longing, a desire to connect. You want to interrupt this beautiful yet solitary moment, to pull him away from the screen and into the warmth of your embrace. Gathering your courage, you take a step forward, letting the door close softly behind you. The click of the door breaks the stillness, and his head snaps up, his eyes widening as he finally notices you. A mix of surprise and warmth floods his features, and you can’t help but smile, feeling the tension dissolve between you.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice breaking the silence that had enveloped him. “I brought dinner. Well, ordered it. It’ll be here in half an hour, maybe something more.” Just as you finish, he says, “I’m so sorry, baby,” clearly realizing it’s gotten way too late.

You shake your head almost immediately, hushing his protests and offering a soft smile instead.

“Shut up: no apologies. Just hug me, Chris,” you mutter, taking a few more steps toward him.

When you finally reach him, he turns the chair just enough to allow you to drop onto his strong legs. Instantly, his arms wrap around you, and you feel small, protected, safe—truly at home.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he murmurs, burying his face against the sensitive skin of your neck. He inhales deeply, drawing in the perfect blend of your scents, which now seem to intertwine like an intimate melody.

“Yes, I missed you so much,” you confess, grasping the drawstring of his hoodie and twirling it around your finger. You shift slightly on his lap, settling in more comfortably, the warmth of his strong, muscular frame enveloping you like a cocoon.

“Little one,” he whispers, his soft lips brushing against your forehead, lingering in a gentle, comforting kiss. It sends a ripple of warmth through you, grounding you in this moment.

“I missed you too, so much it hurt.”

There’s a pause as you hold each other, the world outside fading away, replaced by the soft hum of the studio and the rhythm of your hearts. You take a moment to absorb the feeling of being here with him, the weight of the day dissolving in his embrace.

“Did you eat?” he asks, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes, concern etched across his features.

“I was waiting for you,” you reply with a small smile, brushing a stray hair from your face.

“Always the caretaker,” he teases lightly, but there’s an underlying tenderness in his voice. “Let’s eat together. You deserve a break too.”

You feel Chris’s body moving against yours, and you immediately understand that he intends to get up, perhaps to move both of you to the little couch in the corner of the studio, the place where you usually sprawl out when you stay with him while he works. A small, faint whimper of protest escapes your lips without you being able to stop it, and you feel him stiffen slightly as he halts his movements.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his warm voice intoxicating you and making your thoughts even more confused.

"Chan..." you whisper, your hands resting on the solid grip of his shoulder, feeling the muscular structure and sensing the strength hidden beneath his sweatshirt.

"What is it, little one? Talk to me," he encourages, his face tilted slightly, an eyebrow raised—a curious, mischievous expression. It’s the look of someone who knows everything but decides to pretend not to know anything.

"I- I want..." You try to speak, to express what is in your mind, to make your desires more tangible and real, but his hands resting on your hips, gripping your flesh with severity, are enough to send your mind into total and incoherent turmoil.

Bangchan smiles, a mix of sweetness and satisfaction adorning his face that borders on perfection.

You see him push his tongue into his cheek, in one of those expressions he often reserves for the most intense moments of his performances, and just witnessing such a scene up close, no matter how many times You’ve seen it before, makes your legs tremble.

"Use your words, sweetheart. I know you can do it. What do you want? I can't give it to you unless you ask nicely like the well-mannered girl I know you are.”

You experience a shiver, your breath becoming shallow and your heart racing as anticipation and desire intensify within you. Your body feels weak and pliable beneath his touch, as if it were composed of clay. Chris patiently awaits your response, his eyes deepening in intensity with each passing moment, rendering his gaze increasingly difficult to endure.

You find yourself no longer surprised by this. Instead, you accept the situation, surrendering to him and allowing him to take control of your body. You take pleasure in the sense of liberation that arises from the unwavering certainty that he will care for you at all costs, and that he possesses the knowledge to do so in the most effective manner.

“Please, C-Chris. Jaewon mentioned that you’re feeling nervous, and I really want to help you feel better,” you confess, the words slipping from your lips as if they had a mind of their own.

There’s a softness in your tone, an earnestness that surprises even you. The dim light of the room casts gentle shadows, and for a moment, the weight of your own vulnerability hangs in the air.

You try to move closer to him, the distance between you two charged with an unspoken understanding. “I know how overwhelming things can get,” you add, your heart racing slightly as you gauge his reaction, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let you in.

His reaction ends up surprising you, as you notice his jaw locking and his eyes get even darker.

His eyes are now crossed by something indecipherable to you, a tempest of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. You can’t help but wonder what could have provoked such a reaction, what shadows lurk in the depths of his gaze.

His hands grip your waist tightly, almost painfully, and a pained sigh escapes his lips, filling the room with an electric tension. Chris seems to be engaged in a fierce battle within himself, each breath heavier than the last.

Jaewon—he's the source of this turmoil. Chris’s jealousy is palpable, simmering like a flame ready to ignite. It doesn’t surprise you; despite the fact that sometimes you can be a little too naive, it’s clear that Jaewon has at least a flicker of affection for you. Not that it matters much to you. Your heart belongs to the man standing before you, the one now consumed by his own insecurities and rage.

As Chris’s grip tightens, you catch a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath his bravado. The way his jaw clenches and his brows furrow reveals a deeper struggle: the fear of losing something he never fully claimed.

It stirs something within you—a desire to reassure him, to bridge the chasm of jealousy that threatens to pull you both apart. “Why do you let him get to you, baby?” you whisper, hoping to break through the storm raging inside him. Chris’s eyes momentarily glimmer with a softness, a fleeting reminder of the sweetness that lies beneath his tumultuous exterior. In that instant, as he realizes how adeptly you’ve read his soul, the warmth washes over him. But you know all too well that this tenderness will soon give way to shadows, and that gentle spark serves as a poignant reminder of why you love him so fiercely.

“Why, you ask?” he scoffs, his voice laced with a mix of heat and frustration, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Because you’re mine, that’s why. That kid seems to forget it all too often. Where the hell is the respect, huh? You’re mine, and he knows it. Yet he keeps asking about you—about when you’ll come to the studio. He even dares to talk to you when I’m not around.”

You can see the tension coiling within him, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. The protective intensity in his gaze sends a thrill through you, even as you sense the underlying fear that accompanies his jealousy. It’s a double-edged sword: this fierce devotion is intoxicating, but it also makes you wonder about the depths of his insecurities. You want to reassure him, to bridge the gap between his fears and your unwavering loyalty, but the words feel stuck in your throat, tangled in the complexity of the moment.

And- selfishly enough, you want him to feel this: you want him to be jealous of you enough to feel the unbearable need to prove you who you belong to. You can feel his frustration pulsating in the air, a raw energy that seems to crackle between you. It’s as if he’s standing on the edge of a precipice, yearning to let go, to release the weight of his emotions without the burden of overthinking them.

You long for him to embrace that instinct, to surrender to the chaos swirling within him.

In that moment, you wish for him to truly let go—to spill every ounce of his frustration into the open, to share the shadows that haunt him. It’s not just an act of catharsis; it’s a plea for connection.

You want him to unleash everything—the anger, the disappointment, even the fear—because deep down, you know that after the storm, he’ll be the one there to pick up the pieces. You need him to take it out on you: to possess and own you, to give you his pain and rage and to make sure that you take it all.

You yearn for him to trust you enough to confide in you, to see you not just as a refuge but as a safe harbor where he can unload his burdens. You crave that intimacy, the kind that comes from vulnerability.

And you know that once he releases those pent-up feelings, he will find solace in your presence, gathering the fragments and piecing them back together, stronger than before.

“I'm yours, Chan, I'm only yours,” you whisper, your voice trembling like the rest of your body, a delicate confession that hangs in the air between you.

The admission is enough to draw a heavy sigh from Chan, his expression transforming into one of deep contentment. It’s as if your words are music to him, the sweetest melody that resonates in his heart. The warmth in his eyes reflects a profound satisfaction, as if he’s just heard the final notes of a symphony composed solely for him. He leans in closer, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “You have no idea what that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, laced with emotion.

The sincerity in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a warmth that spreads through your entire being. In this moment, wrapped in his arms, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken promises lingering in the air. You can almost hear the gentle rhythm of your hearts syncing together, a quiet testament to the bond you share.

“Let me show you just how much I cherish you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more playful yet tender. The air crackles with anticipation, and you can’t help but smile, feeling the weight of his affection envelop you like a warm embrace. In this sacred space, you realize that it’s not just about belonging to each other; it’s about the beautiful journey you’re on together, filled with shared dreams and whispered secrets. You are his, and he is yours—an undeniable truth that fills your heart with an overwhelming sense of belonging.

“S-Show me, show me how you own me,” you say, daring to challenge him and daring to push his buttons just a little more, just enough for you to finally get what you want, what you need.

“Manners, pretty girl,” he reminds you, eyes gentle yet stern, authoritative enough to make your heart skip a beat as you feel warmth pooling at your belly, spreading down your body and making you wiggle around on his lap, your body flushed against his as you start to feel him harden under you. “Say please?” he adds, and that’s enough for you to lose every ounce of self control you had left.

“Please, please, Chan, please…” you beg, hands moving to grip at the soft texture of his hoodie, in a desperate attempt to grounded yourself, you hips starting to move without you being able to control them as you look for any kind of friction, your legs trembling and wetness spreading over the pretty panties you’re wearing.

“Please, what?” He growls, and one of his hands finds its rightful place against the sensitive skin of your neck.

He grips at it like it’s what he’s supposed to do. And he is.

He takes your oxygen away from you, your face turning the most delicious shade of pink as you try to breathe. Your mind is foggy, and his hand controls your airways as his whole presence controls your soul.

“F-fuck, Chan,” you whisper, your hands shaking as you place them over his forearms- not to pull him away, no. To keep him close, to keep him there, to tell him how much you love it when he chokes you like that without having to say it out loud.

With him, words are pretty much useless sometimes.

You guys can communicate without them, and it’s always been like that.

“Use your fucking words, or else,” he groans, his hand now closing more tightly over your neck.

“Or else what?” you say back, a smirk threatening to spread over your features as you decide to give him the brattiest version of yourself.

You don’t do it too often- not because you don’t like it, but because Chris makes it hard.

He’s sweet, yet he knows you fucking owns you. He knows exactly what to say to make you bend over, to make you cry, to make you obey. Actually, he’s usually able to turn you into a pliant little doll just by looking at you.

But tonight- tonight you need this. He needs this.

And ever so caring, you give it to him. Cause there’s fucking nothing in the world you wouldn’t give him. He knows. It’s clear that he does, because his eyes flash with- with understanding. With desire, and frustration. With possession.

“I see how it is,” he murmurs, his voice soft and sweet. Too much. Too threatening.

He leaves your neck, and air floods your lungs all at once as you gasp and breathe heavily. His hand trails the soft, reddened skin of your neck, caressing it as he admires the handprint he left behind.

Then, Chan’s hand grabs your chin and forces your face closer to his.

“Wanna be a brat? Is that it? You’re so fucking desperate for cock that you decide to be stupid enough to challenge me?”

There it is: the side of him that you so desperately wanted to bring out.

His most stern, dangerous, controlling side.

He hates it, or at least he used to. Nowadays, things have changed, and despite the fact that you’d like for him to take some credit, deep down you know pretty well that it’s all thanks to you. Thanks to your trust and love, thanks to the fact that you’ve always showed him that even when his darkness takes the lead, he’s still full of love and care. He’s still him. He has learned - or more like, he’s still learning - to let go, and to love himself a little more.

And what of himself he still can’t love, you’ll love for him.

“Are you gonna talk or are you gonna fuck me? Because I’m pretty sure that if you old man can’t get it up someone else wi-,” your words are cut off as his hand collides with your cheek, your face turning to the side and more of his marks showing up on your skin. After reassuring him that he’s the only one for you, you know that you can more safely play with his jealousy. And he loves it, cause it gives him a free go at showing you that he’s the only one that can ever own you.

“Pain slut,” he comments, as your reaction to getting hit on the face is, as usual, a loud moan.

He cruelly laughs, watching as you blush and wiggle on his lap. But he doesn’t let you move much, and actually stills you by grabbing your waist, and he pushes his hips upwards, his bulge rubbing viciously against your core, the friction ever so sweet and torturous.

Bangchan lets out a deep groan, and it slips out before he can stop it. The sound hits you hard, sending a rush through your body that makes you want to squeeze your legs together to ease the tension building up inside you. You love him to madness when he lets himself go like this: you love to see him lose his composure, and even more, you love to hear him. Hearing his voice, the way it trembles and how it badly hides all the desire he has for you.

It's one of the most arousing things in the world.

“Wanna get fucked, baby? Huh? Want to get the pussy filled up?”

You can’t help but nod, and you know that you’re practically making a fool out of yourself: to be honest, you really couldn’t care less. Bangchan mocks you as he imitates the pathetic sound you let out and the way you didn't even think to hesitate before nodding along his words and trying to rub against his cock more insistently.

You hear him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the sharp sound echoing in the room in a way that almost makes you jump.

“M-mean, you’re mean,” you whisper, your hands tracing his body and resting on his big, strong arms.

His muscles tense under your touch, and you can feel the way he clenches them and flexes them for you, since he know damn well how much you love to feel them- to feel his strength and now how much power he has over you, both physically and mentally.

Bangchan's astonished laughter reverberates through the studio, a sound so jarring that it seems to vibrate through your bones. The humiliation that follows is sharp, disorienting, enough to make your head spin. And yet, in that moment, you realize you love him more than ever.

There’s something intoxicating about how he mocks you, his teasing a strange sort of intimacy. You find comfort in the knowledge that his words hold no real malice, that there's never any truth behind the jabs. You know, deep down, that he loves you—protects you—though his love comes with a sharp edge. He loves you enough to humiliate you, enough to hurt you, because that’s the way he knows how to show it. In his cruel kindness, you find something that both wounds and heals, a paradox you can never quite escape.

“Mean, huh? That’s funny, isn’t it? Since you’re such a pathetic slut for it. Since you beg me with those pretty eyes to be meaner and meaner. Since I know that that pussy is getting wetter by the second.”

It’s the truth: he knows it, and you know it. You both know it, and that truth—the weight of it—only deepens the intoxication. There’s no escaping him, not really. Not now, not ever. And the strange thing is, you don’t want to. Because in that exposure, in that raw vulnerability, there’s a strange kind of safety. You feel naked, completely laid bare, and yet, somehow, protected. You know what’s coming. He will tear you apart, rip through the layers you've so carefully built. But you also know, with an unsettling certainty, that he will always put you back together—because he always does.

And each time, as he pieces you back, it’s as if you’re being remade. There’s a tenderness in his destruction, a care in his cruelty, and with every unraveling, you find yourself a little more whole, a little more yourself. Even if it means surrendering everything, every time, to a love that demands it all.

The relentless stillness of the moment is shattered by his actions: Bangchan grips your hair, his hold firm and unyielding, forceful enough to sting. You let out a pained moan, your eyebrows knitting together in a small grimace. Heat floods your body as he moves you like a mere rag doll.

He lifts you up, pushes you away: you are no longer cradled in his arms but standing before him, who is poised to lift you right after. His eyes scan your body, looking at you as no one ever has, as if you are the only one in the entire world.

You meet his gaze. It’s just him: Bangchan, Chris. Only him, and your desperate need to have him.

“What-“ you try to stay, yet you are unable to finish your sentence as he shushes you.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls- or well, he orders you.

Your words die in your throat as he grabs your wrist into his hand, forcing you to follow him around the studio. And follow him you do, looking like a dumb, lost puppy who’s wiggling his tail at his owner.

Which isn’t that far from the reality of things, if you were to be honest with yourself. You tremble as you feel the weight of anticipation growing inside you, the excitement looming over your body and clouding your mind. You can't think of anything else but the fact that you want to have him, here and now.

“Strip,” he commands you, casually letting himself fall onto the small couch where you usually nap when you come to keep him company while he works on his songs.

The spectacle before you is unparalleled: him, in all his magnificence, exuding power and control, sitting with his legs wide apart on the couch, his gaze rigid and the front of his pants bulging, poorly concealing the excitement he is also feeling.

You already feel exposed, stripped of everything. Yet, after taking a deep breath, with trembling hands covered by a thin layer of sweat from nervousness and excitement, you carry out the order he gave you.

You undress under his attentive and eager eyes, allowing him to observe every smallest movement of yours.

His hand finds its place on his groin, and you watch him touch himself while you remove one piece of clothing after another. Your clothes fall forgotten to the ground until you are left with only your panties on, now damp and wet with your arousal. You’ll probably have to throw them away after this, but it’s a sacrifice you’re more than willing to make.

“Take those off too, show me that pretty pussy,” he says, his witty tongue escaping his even more dirty mouth to wet his plump lips.

He keeps on touching himself, rubbing vigorously against his dick. He’s still too clothed, and you find yourself whining pathetically as you slide the panties you have on off from your body.

“Not fair,” you say, and he arches his brow in response as he tilts his head to the side.

“What?” he asks, hips moving to meet his own hand, as it’s clear to you that even though he hides it better, he’s as needy as you are.

“Wanna see you- wanna see your cock,” you plea, as a little moan escapes your lips as air comes in contact with your now exposed cunt. “This cock?” he asks, basically gripping at his own hard dick right before your eyes.

A wave of longing stirs within you, as if the mere sight of the scene before you is enough to make your senses tingle with hunger. And there, at the center of it all, he sits right in front of you—an embodiment of temptation, the perfect image of sin itself. His presence is the precise manifestation of every secret desire you've ever harbored, a temptation so vivid, so impossible to resist, that it feels as though the very air around you crackles with the promise of what is going to happen.

“Yes, please, wanna see it- wanna suck it, please, daddy,” you beg, and you can’t seem to be able to stop yourself.

You can see it in his eyes: the way he revels in seeing you like this, feeling you like this—utterly, completely his, a possession he claims with every touch, every glance. There's a possessiveness to him, something primal and unrelenting, as though your very existence belongs to him. You feel his breath falter in his throat when the words leave your lips, the weight of them pulling him deeper into that ownership. You know the effect it has on him, how it makes his mind spin, how it makes him want to pull you even closer, to mark you further as his.

And in that moment, perhaps his head spins as much as yours does. You, his possession, his obsession.

“Then get on your fucking knees.”

As soon as those words leave his lips, your legs give out and you found yourself kneeling in front of him, as you fall on your knees with a soft tud. It hurts, but you don’t mind. Actually, you love the feeling of it, the burn so delicious that it almost makes your eyes roll back.

“Such a good girl for daddy,” he praises you, his eyes locked on your naked body.

Without ever taking his eyes off you, Bangchan slightly lifts his back, and you watch, mesmerized, as he grips the edges of his t-shirt before pulling it up and completely sliding it off his body. He tosses it carelessly onto one of the armrests of the sofa, and you feel your mouth water at the sight of his perfectly sculpted body: muscles defined, imposing, strong, moving in a hypnotic dance as they follow his every motion.

“You’re so hot,” you say, as he finally starts to work on his pants.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he lowers both his pants and boxers down, kicking off his shoes in the process. “Want you to fuck me so bad.”

The air is heavy around the both of you, and you can’t stop yourself from trying to make him- do something.

You look at him through your lashes, you bite your bottom lip, you spread your knees a little wider. And he knows, obviously he does. He knows how you work, and all your little tricks. It’s hard to make him fall for them nowadays.

“Fuck,” he hisses, as his cock is finally freed from his clothes. Every time you see it, it’s like the first time: it’s so big. Big and veiny, strong like the rest of him. The tip is swollen and red, leaking the tiniest drop of his pre-cum, and the sight of it makes you salivate and feel- hungry. Yeah, that’s the word.

“Suck it,” he says, hand sliding up and down the length right in front of your face, “suck my cock, baby. Daddy’s gonna make you choke on it, c’mon.”

You move so quickly you almost fall over, yet you manage to get closer to him and place your hands on his strong thighs. He chuckles at the sight of your utter desperation, but you don’t mind. Actually, the more he laughs at you, the wetter you become.

“Thank you, t-thank you,” you whisper, before placing your hands on his cock. Both of them, since it’s just so fucking big. You grip it at the base, and with eyes full of lust, you stick your tongue out before slapping his dick against your face. It’s heavy, and it kind of hurts a little bit, just how you like it. The smell of it- of him, fills your senses. It’s salty and so so him. You breathe in deeply and nuzzle your face against the skin of his thighs, hand moving over his cock.

“Someday i’ll have you cockwarm me here at the studio. Make you stay on your knees all fucking day, I swear.”

You nod almost immediately, because there’s no chance you’d ever say no to something like that. Or to anything he’d ask from you, but that’s another thing. Chris looks at you like you’re his prey, and he’s- the big bad wolf. Pun intended, of course.

“Didn’t you say you were gonna make me choke on it, daddy? Are you a liar?” you tease, and right after that you slide your tongue all over his cock, from base to tip, focusing on the little slit to taste as much of his juicy as you possibly can.

“You little bitch,” he curses, shaking his head as his hands find their rightful place into your hair, grabbing at it and pulling at it and- hurting you so sweetly. “Gonna fucking stuff you full, see if that shuts you up.”

His cock finds its place into your mouth, and he shoves your head down the length of it so forcefully that you can’t help but cough at the intrusion, your throat hurting as spams overcome it.

“That’s it,” he groans, hips pushing up to thrust inside your mouth, the tip of his cock pushing against the back of your throat as his dick slides over your tongue. “This is all you’re good for.”

You agree, because how could you not? His words burn and rub at your skin the same way his cock rubs at the softness of your tongue. You nod wordlessly over his length, and his moans make the air around of you thicker, as if you could just move your arms and touch it.

You obviously can’t, couldn’t, but the thought is enough to make your spiral: he has so much power over you it’s insane, but comforting. You don’t have to think abut anything other than keeping your mouth open and jaw slack as he forces his cock deep inside your tight little throat.

His precum is salty and spit trails from your mouth all the way down your chin, making it sloppy and messy and wet, just how you both like it.

“Such a tight mouth, a warm little hole,” he groans as his hips buck up against your face, the muscles of his strong thighs tensing as his body is shaking with the pleasure you’re giving him. Tears spill from your eyes as he holds your head down, forcing his dick all the way down your throat, the muscles of it spasming without control as you fight the need to breathe.

“Choke. Shut the fuck up and choke for me, good fucking girl.”

You do live for his praise, for the feeling you get when you’re so lucky to obtain his approval.

You’d do anything to get that feeling, even though he basically praises you just for the fact that you exist. Still, you love that sometimes he makes you work for it, because it makes it way more intense at the end of the day. It’s- it’s like drowning. You’re gasping for air, and you fight with all your strength to keep on being alive. When you’re free to breathe, it changes the perspective of being alive: you understand it’s worth. Life’s worth.

Same thing goes with what he has to give you. You want it, you need it. And after waiting and begging for it… it’s just overwhelming. It gives your entire life a purpose.

“Please,” you mouth at the tip of his cock, tongue playing with the red, wet slit to try and gather as much as possible of his thick salty juice. “Wanna get fucked, please, please, fuck me,” you beg, because it’s what you’re supposed to do. It’s what you both crave.

Chan snickers, he rubs his cock over your swollen lips, over and over again, staining them with a glossy, creamy finish.

“What if I didn’t? What if I just fucked this hole and got off like this?”

You almost cry, yet you don’t try to object. You nod, and he chuckles at the sight.

“W-whatever daddy wants, whatever you want, please.”

And it’s the right answer.

Exactly what Bangchan wanted to hear, and it's as if in your head you can hear a small chime ringing, signaling that you've chosen the best option, and that you can move forward, go ahead, continue. He runs a hand through his hair: a thin layer of sweat makes his forehead shine and glisten, and his cheeks are tinged with the juiciest shade of red.

The tension in his muscles betrays him—the rigid set of his jaw, the way his eyes burn into yours, frantic, pleading, but he won’t say it. He doesn’t need to.

You feel it, all of it—the weight of his desperation pressing in, thick and suffocating. You feel powerful because if he looks like this now, it’s only and solely thanks to you. It's your merit.

He’s- he’s in charge, but you still have so much power. Over him. Over his entire being.

He’s yours just as much as you’re his.

You’re all naked and vulnerable, kneeling at the feet of your boyfriend. Your body is screaming at you, yelling with the need to be relieved, but you can’t do anything other than ignore it, cause that’s not up to you: your own satisfaction isn’t in your hands, but in his.

“Finally learnt your place, haven’t you? Or maybe it’s just that you’re so fucking needy that your dumb brain can’t even handle fighting me off anymore, huh?” he pets your cheek, thumb rubbing at the flushed skin with a faux tenderness, “whatever. Get up. Sit on the couch and spread your pretty legs. Gonna fill that pussy up, I need to fuck you.”

You move with such urgency, such speed, that it almost feels like you’re losing touch with your own body, as if the world around you is slipping into a blur while you stay anchored in this moment, in this need. Your knees burn, the sensation sharp and raw. Sweet, too. The roughness of the carpet scrapes against your skin, the friction almost making you lose feeling, but you don’t stop, not even for a second. You wouldn’t be able to even if you wanted. And you don’t.

You really, really don’t.

In fact, you barely notice the pain. The ache in your legs is something distant, unimportant in comparison to the heat building inside you. Your body knows its purpose here, and that’s all that matters.

Bangchan’s eyes are locked on you, unblinking, intense, yet there's something almost amused in his gaze, something quiet, like he's watching a game unfold before him. Like you’re his little toy to play with.

You are. He doesn't need to say a word; his stare is enough. Every movement of yours is like a story quickly unfolding, and he is savoring every page like a starved man. And that’s all you need. His attention, his focus, it fills you in ways nothing else can. It’s enough. Yet you need more. And more. And more. With your legs still tingling, an electric buzz coursing through them, you turn and let yourself fall onto the couch just like he told you to: legs spread wide open and body exposed for him: the soft cushion swallowing you momentarily, offering a fleeting relief.

As you collapse, he rises to his feet in a single, smooth motion. There’s no hesitation.

“Look at you. I haven’t touched you yet and that pussy is dripping with it. Fuck, baby, spread it open for me, will you?” he orders, and his words are so filthy that they make your head spin with how intensely they crush on you.

“Spread those folds, little one. Show me that tiny hole.”

When your fingers reach your own pussy, the moan you let out is basically pornographic.

His, too. It mirrors yours: it’s lower and more dominating, yet sweet.

Sometimes you feel like you could touch his voice if you really wanted to. Which is a crazy thought, but it makes sense for you. Cause everything about him defies the laws of this universe: it goes way beyond.

“F-fuck, look at you,” he groans, as you play with yourself under his hungry gaze. You know your body well, so it takes just a few flicks of your wrists to make your own legs tremble for him. He’s jacking off, and you whine and whine, so desperate to have him inside of you.

“Gimme, gimme…” you beg, tears starting to pool at your eyes. “Begging me so fucking nicely.”

He gets closer.

He grabs your legs, and then bends over. It happens pretty quickly: Chan finds his rightful place between your legs and forces them even more open than they were.

His hard dick rubs against your wet, needy folds, coating his length with your unstopping juices. You both moan, especially considering how long it has been since he’s been inside of you. Which is- well, four days, but for the two of you is kind of a record, to be honest. You just can’t keep your hands off of each other.

And looking at him, at the way sweat dribbles down his forehead, at the way his eyes shine with the light of a thousand stars… who could really blame you? You guys were fucking made for each other. You were made for him. And he? He was fucking made for you. Only you.

“Want your cock so bad.”

Bangchan laughs, before bending over to mouth at the soft skin of your breasts. His tongue slides over the sensitive skin of one of your nipples, while his fingers rub the other.

“Think you can take it? Daddy’s gonna open up that pussy first. Or do you want me to rip it, huh? Leave it gaping for me?”

As he talks, you feel his other hand trace down your whole body. Up until he reaches his goal: the growing wetness in between your legs. His fingers find their place immediately, and your eyes roll at the back of your head as his thumb moves over your swollen clit.

“C-Chan! Please!”

Harder. He rubs it harder, and while he does that his teeth nip at your hardened nipple, sending both pleasure and pain running through your defenseless body.

“It’s empty, isn’t it? I can feel it pulse under my fingers, you dirty fucking whore.”

He pushes two of his thick fingers all the way inside your wet hole. Air gets sucked out of your lungs, and you tilt your head back as your hands find their place in his scalp, grabbing his hair and pulling harshly at it.

“So tight, baby. This pussy is tight and yet it’s been fucked so many times. Made for me, weren’t you? Fucking molded over my cock.”

You nod, over and over again. You tell him that yes, he’s right, you were made for him.

“Aren’t you pathetic?” he mumbles, and that’s another thing you nod for. His fingers fill you up perfectly, even though it’s nearly not enough for you to get off the way you want. Need.

The sound is obscene: your juices slide down his fingers and almost get to his wrist, and you find yourself trying to spread your legs further to get him deeper.

“Kiss me,” you ask, tone whiny and demanding, hands tracing his scalp and neck and shoulders as he detaches himself from your now swollen tits.

Red marks cover your skin, and you can’t wait to see them turn the richest shade of purple in a few hours. He’s always had a thing for marking you up. Your lips meet, and it’s pretty messy: teeth and tongues clashing against one another, moans morphing into one sound as you both abandon yourselves to each other.

“I love you.”

You don’t known whose voice it was. Yours. His. Both. Neither: who cares.

It’s right, no matter who said it.

He rubs himself against your thigh, spreading his pleasure over your flushed skin. As you feel the weight of his dick you can’t help but keep on trembling and begging for him to finally fill you up. You glance down at where his fingers disappear inside of your body, and the sight is one to lose sleep over.

His arm is as strong as ever: veins showing up for the effort he’s putting on finger fucking you, muscles tensing and moving hypnotically, and his thick fingers getting swallowed in by your hungry cunt

“Can’t wait anymore. I need to be inside of you. Now.”

Finally.

He removes his fingers from your body harshly, leaving you gasping for air and crying out as you feel the emptiness hunt you down. He looks- looks at the way you’re gaping for him, hole abused and red and swollen begging him to get filled up. You can’t even think about feeling ashamed. There would be no point. Not right now. And most importantly, not with him.

His eyes shift. He’s no longer focused on your pussy, but he’s rather looking at your face. Make up running over it, making it messy just how he likes it. Chan brings his fingers to his mouth. They’re still coated with your juices, and you look carefully as he wraps those sinful lips of his around his wet digits. His eyelashes flutter and his throat lets out a trembling groan.

“So sweet. Sweet little pussy,” he moans around his own fingers, before switching it up and forcing them inside your mouth, making you taste what was left of your own pleasure and the thickness of is saliva.

You suck, immediately. You rub your tongue over the sensitive skin of his digit just as he takes ahold of his dick.

The tip of it, all red and swollen, gets rubbed against your equally abused cunt.

“Fuck me with it, daddy. C’mon. I need it so bad, please, please…”

It always works. Chan is a sucker for your begging. Always has been.

His hips move sinfully as he pushes his dick all the way inside your pussy in one precise motion. You almost scream, head tilting to the side and tongue lolling out of your mouth.

He keeps on rubbing his fingers over your tongue, over your lips: he does it carelessly, and you live for the feeling of getting treated like a fucking sex toy. His groans are to die for: low and sweet, caring and uncaring.

You love listening to him when he lets himself go, when he sheds all restraint and takes what he desires without hesitation or apology. There’s a kind of raw beauty in his selfishness, in the way he reaches out for everything he wants, heedless of the wreckage he might leave behind.

It’s rare, to get him like this. He thinks too much all the fucking time- but now? Now he’s free. He doesn’t care about what he’s breaking or losing, not in these moments. All that matters is the taking, the consuming, the claiming of whatever satisfies his boiling hunger.

And yet, you can’t stop giving. To him, you offer yourself again and again, without question, without limit.

He takes from you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, with a greed that seems insatiable. Every part of you—your time, your energy, your love—he consumes without hesitation. Even the things you didn’t think you could give, those pieces you didn’t even know existed, the pieces of yourself you thought were untouchable, he somehow reaches. He doesn’t just take what you offer willingly; he finds ways to take more, to claim even the things you didn’t know were his for the taking. And still, you let him. Because there’s something in the way he demands, the way he consumes, that makes you feel both hollowed out and completely alive.

Empty, but with a purpose. Filled up. A metaphor, yes. Also something tangible.

“You’re mine. This, this,” he groans, hands coming down to slap your thighs and breast and forcefully grab them into his strong hands, “this is all fucking mine.”

“M’yours, fuck, right there, harder,” you moan, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. It’s never fucking enough. No matter what, you always crave more of Bangchan. Of the light of your life.

You’re insatiable. Both of you.

“Harder, baby? Look at me, look at me in the eyes when you ask for something, you fucking brat.”

He grabs your chin, forces your eyes to meet. Your mouth is wide open, moans escaping your lips incessantly, voice getting higher by the second.

You have a fight with yourself as you try to do as he says and keep your eyes open. You wanna be obedient.

You feel it deep in your core, an overwhelming certainty that if you cannot give him exactly what he wants, you’ll cease to exist. It’s absurd, you know this—impossible even. You won’t die if you fail to please him, and yet the thought claws at your mind, making every breath feel shallow and incomplete without his approval. Somehow, it feels real, undeniable, like a truth written into the fabric of your very being. And worse, it feels right.

The idea of losing yourself entirely for him, of offering up your life if that’s what it would take, doesn’t just seem acceptable—it feels like destiny.

So… your next words don’t surprise you. And- well, they don’t surprise him neither. He knows you too fucking well.

“Choke me.”

His hand is on your neck almost immediately.

You feel it as if it were your own—a brief, stuttering halt in the rhythm of his heart, a mirrored echo of the one that shakes through your chest. You watch as his eyes deepen, the light fading into the richest, most intense shade of darkness you’ve ever seen. It’s a darkness that beckons, that promises to consume you whole, and you can’t look away.

Then his hand moves, tightening around your neck with a deliberate, unyielding strength. The world narrows to the press of his fingers, to the way your breath falters and slips away. It’s no longer yours—your breath, your control, your very will have all become his, claimed in an instant. And you let him take it all, offering no resistance. Even if the fatigue is screaming at you, telling you to let go and close your eyes- you don’t. You can’t, couldn’t. Ever.

The burn in your lungs spreads, delicious and sharp, a physical reminder of your surrender. Your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven gasps, each one precious and entirely at his mercy. The edges of your vision blur, softening into a haze, but you don’t care. In fact, you find yourself welcoming it. It’s intoxicating, this loss of control.

“S-so big. Feel so big inside my pussy…” you cry out. By now, tears stream freely from your weary eyes, and Bangchan can’t resist. He leans down toward you, his tongue darting quickly across your burning skin.

He licks away your tears with a mix of hunger and intent, savoring each drop as if they belong to him, as if they’re his to take. Slowly, he consumes you—not just your tears, but every fiber of your being, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left untouched by him. The saltiness of your tears coats his tongue, and you can see how it makes his eyes flutter and thrust get more erratic.

His pace is punishing, on the verge of being painful.

The sweetest paradox.

Bangchan fucks you over and over again. Pushes his aching cock deep inside your desperate cunt, making it pulse over his length as you try to get him to bury himself deeper with each thrust.

“Look at you. You can’t even breathe, huh? All you can do is get fucked, am I right?”

You want to respond—desperately, with everything inside you. But you can’t. The words stay trapped deep in your chest, locked behind the absence of breath. There’s no air left to give them life, no way to shape them into sound. And yet, you refuse to disappoint him. You won’t. You can’t. Your body reacts instinctively, head dipping in a shaky nod as your vision wavers at the edges. Even without words, you find a way to obey, because you always will. No matter how much it costs you, no matter how far you’re pushed, obedience is instinctive when it comes to him. It’s like second nature to you.

He notices, of course. He always notices. A glint of satisfaction flickers in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable, like a reward in itself. But it isn’t enough—not for him, not for this moment. He leans in closer, the intensity in his expression sharpening like a blade. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lifts his other hand, placing it around your neck to join the first. Now, both hands hold you, his fingers pressing into your skin with an unrelenting firmness. The weight of his touch is calculated, deliberate, and impossibly precise. The pressure is just enough to make you burn, to send a sharp jolt of pain coursing through you, but not so much that it overwhelms. He knows your limits—intimately, perfectly—and he dances along that edge with a mastery that leaves you reeling.

He knows you better than you’ll ever know yourself.

Even now, in this moment of utter control, his care for you is evident. The way his hands move, the way he keeps you balanced between agony and safety, speaks volumes. He’s pushing you, yes, testing how far you’re willing to go for him, but never recklessly. Never without thought. Protecting you, even as he consumes you, is always at the forefront of his mind. You’re his, completely and utterly, and he would never risk breaking what belongs to him.

He guides you—a watchful, loving presence, both stern and compassionate. He leads you to the edge, to the point of no return, bringing you so close to losing consciousness, to surrendering completely to the void—to him, to his desires.

Just as you’re about to be swallowed by the emptiness, just as you’re on the verge of spiraling uncontrollably into the abyss of pleasure, his hands leave your neck.

The release is sudden, and air floods your lungs with such force that the world around you spins, tilting wildly as you gasp for breath. The rush is dizzying, overwhelming, and the sheer intensity of it makes everything else disappear, leaving only the two of you in the storm of sensation. You don’t even recognize it at first- the orgasm way too intense to be given a name. Your pussy aches and pulses and gushes out streams of your pleasure over and over again, tightening around his cock, making it harder for him to move freely.

Your body is overtaken by uncontrollable tremors, and a thin layer of sweat coats your skin, marked by bites—by the imprints of his touch. You don’t even know if you said anything, really. You can only feel and hear the way your blood runs through your blood, ears pulsing with the intensity of the sensations you just experienced.

“Good girl,” he praises, watching you as you struggle to breathe normally again. And even then, he doesn’t stop fucking you. Everything is more intense now- it’s enhanced by the way your orgasm hasn’t actually ceased. It’s ongoing, ravenous.

“Came over my fucking cock, wasn’t even touching your dumb little clit, fuck! Y-you fucking squirted for me, baby. Such a good little hole, I’m so proud of you.”

It’s practically enough to send you over the edge again: one orgasm morphing into another as you rub at your abused clit. Bangchan lets you, cause you’ve more than earned it. Even if usually- your pleasure is his. This time, though, he lets you have it. And you’re so fucking grateful for it.

“W-want you to come, too. Please, C-Channie, inside of me, please? Want all of your cum inside my pussy, want you to breed me, please…”

He loves it. He lives for it, and yet often enough he doesn’t allow himself to indulge into it.

You’ll have none of it though, especially today. Today- it’s for him. Only him.

“Babygirl- you’re fucking playing with fire now.”

It’s a warning—a subtle, almost imperceptible sign that you’ve grown all too familiar with, one that you’ve learned to disregard without a second thought. There was a time when it might have made you hesitate, made you question, but no longer. The only thing that matters is the way his eyes flicker—just for a moment—before they roll back, losing themselves in the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock like a vice.

The sight of him, consumed, his control slipping away, it makes your pulse quicken. That’s what counts. Nothing else.

Now, it’s his turn.

You watch as his body trembles with the effort, each breath coming harder than the last. His skin is alive with a tremor of its own, covered in shivers that tell you just how much he’s enjoying this. It’s rough beneath your touch, heated, and flushed from the monumental physical effort he’s putting in. Sweat clings to his hair, dripping and curling the way you find so irresistible, a stark contrast to the taut lines of muscle across his chest, now straining with each movement. His arms are firm, powerful, holding you in place with a force that leaves no room for escape. You’re helpless, defenseless.

But it’s his hands that draw your attention—his fingers digging into your thighs with a strength that borders on brutal, marking you as his, pulling you closer, tighter, until there’s no space left between you. You can’t go anywhere. You can feel every inch of his tension, every subtle flex of his muscles as they ripple beneath your touch, the weight of his need pressing against you with a force you can’t ignore.

“Gimme your cum, daddy. Make me swollen with it, please. I need it, need it.”

It’s a good feeling.

He spits, and it lands on your face. It’s messy, a little bit of it goes inside your eye- it makes it harder to blink. But you don’t care, cause it’s fucking worth it. He humiliates you, makes you feel small and useless. He uses his hand to rub his spit on your skin, marking you as his property.

“Gonna fucking breed you, baby. Gonna cum so deep inside of you you’re gonna stain your panties for days- fuck. Gonna make you walk out of here with my cum dripping out of you- and I hope he sees it. Hope that fucker sees that you’re my slut- my fucking cum dump.”

Jaewon. Fuck, you’ll bake the dude a batch of cookies for having made Chan lose his temper like this. It’s the best feeling ever.

“Yes! Yes! Please, please, I’m your cum dump, j-just a toy, daddy, please!”

He leans forward.

Bangchan’s forehead rests against yours, and your gazes lock, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle that were always meant to find each other. The connection is undeniable, unshakable, as if something far greater than either of you is pulling you together. The sensation is intense, almost primal in its depth. It roots itself in the very core of your being, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed. You know, instinctively, that no words could ever do it justice. No description, no matter how vivid, could capture the raw, visceral power of this moment.

So you let go.

You surrender to the feeling, trembling as it washes over you, and you give yourself to him completely—mind, body, and soul. The tip of his cock rubs at the perfect place- it makes you see stars. You feel it all the way to your stomach, which is probably bulging with the intensity of his thrusts.

Your folds are aching, your clit keeps on pulsing and you know damn well that you’re gonna cum again- as soon as he does. Because for you nothing is more important and valuable than his pleasure. Enough to make you cum all over again, no matter what.

“Mine. Mine, my pussy, my baby, all mine,” he says. It’s- disconnected. Messy. He’s just saying things, calling you name and promising you that you’re gonna get bred. You pet his hair, you pull at it.

You stick your tongue out and look at him with hunger in your eyes as he forces his cock inside your hole a few last times.

“You look like a fucking whore,” he comments, groaning deeply before letting himself go.

He succumbs, falling into the abyss of desire alongside you. He lets himself go completely, his body seized by violent, overwhelming spasms that ripple through him with unrelenting force. And you, calm and yielding, accept it all, embracing him as he shatters in your arms.

He buries his cock all the way inside of your body, and you feel it pulse with every sprout of cum that he lets out. Over and over again. You feel it- warm and thick and dense. You cum with him, because of course you do. And you do it more for him than for yourself. You do it cause your pussy tightens up for him and makes his orgasm way more intense. He says so, too.

“Take it. Good fucking girl. All my cum baby, daddy’s cum is breeding you.”

It is, or at least you hope so.

It would be a waste otherwise. You want it to take, and you know it’s crazy, but you don’t care. You’ll give him anything, everything.

“So good, daddy. I feel so full, t-thank you.”

He kisses your forehead. Sweet, despite being still buried to the hilt inside your gaping cunt.

Despite the fact that cum is dripping from your hole and sliding down his cock- all the way to his balls. Messy. Messy. Messy.

“So polite, baby. You’re my princess, right? I love you so much.”

His words carry the taste of a smile, warm and intoxicating, and you can’t get enough of it. It’s as if each syllable wraps itself around you, pulling you closer, filling every corner of your being with an insatiable need for more. You bite your lip, the gesture both instinctive and deliberate, as your fingers trace the strong lines of his shoulders. The touch is soft, almost reverent, as though grounding yourself in the reality of him.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your voice low but unwavering. “More than anything else.”

The words fall between you like a promise, heavy with truth, with an undefined purpose, and the way he looks at you in return makes you feel as though the whole world could fall away, disappear in a fleeting instant, and you wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t matter.

“Thank you,” he adds. You know why he’s thanking you, but you shush him anyways.

“Don’t. Don’t thank me, baby. There’s no need.”

He scoffs, placing soft, gentle kisses on your cheek and down your neck.

“I know. Wanna do it anyways, so please let me, okay?” He smiles, rubbing his cheek against yours before sliding his nose over your skin, trying to touch you in any way possible.

“Okay. Just this once.”

He’s satisfied with your response, and you let him take a moment to recover—truthfully, this moment of tenderness is as much for you as it is for him.

He’s putting you back together. Piece by jagged piece, he’s gathering the fragments of you, reshaping them, giving them new form and color. His touch is gentle, reverent. He caresses you, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your skin, and his lips find yours in soft, lingering kisses. You return the gestures, mirroring his care, your hands and lips speaking the language of gratitude and love without the need for words.

His fingers tease along your side, the touch light and playful, and you respond with a mischievous grin, sinking your teeth into his shoulder in a playful bite. It’s a small act of rebellion, an answer to his teasing, and the way he chuckles softly in response fills the air between you with warmth.

“Mean puppy,” he reprimands you, and you wiggle your eyebrows, “wasn’t I a cat?” you ask, and he shrugs his shoulders.

“A hybrid? Wasn’t that something you were reading the other day?”

You blush, but you’re kinda happy he remembers everything you tell him despite how busy his life is.

“Yeah, but I’m not one. You are. Wolf hybrid.”

He howls. Of course he does. He’s- he’s the love of your life for a fucking reason, after all.

And you wouldn’t change what you just have for a thing in the whole world.

You both get dressed slowly, taking your time, and he helps you clean up. With a soft smile, he reaches for the brush you keep here at the studio and gently untangles your messy hair. You always leave a small bag with a few of your things here—essentials for the long hours you spend keeping him company. It was his idea, of course. He bought everything you might need, insisting that you leave it here.

It’s one of the countless ways he shows you he loves you, small gestures that speak volumes.

“Damn it! The pizza!” you exclaim suddenly, just as you’re pulling on your hoodie.

Bangchan laughs, the sound light and carefree, as he checks his phone, which had been sitting on the table nearby. It’s much later than you’d realized, and you probably missed the call when your phone rang.

“It’s fine, baby,” he reassures you, slipping his jacket on with ease. “I’ll just run to the shop across the street and grab something, okay?”

You pout a little, feeling disappointed because you’d wanted everything to be perfect. But he’s quick to notice, and even quicker to fix it. He steps close, his hands warm on your face as he kisses that pout away, effortlessly melting your frustration in the way only he can.

Then, with that familiar cheeky grin, he tousles your freshly brushed hair, undoing his work on purpose. The playful act earns him a sharp glare from you, but his laughter in response is worth every second of your mock indignation.

“Be quick? Please? I’m hungry. Starving. I’ll probably die if I don’t eat, actually.”

He shakes his head, shoving his wallet inside the pocket of his pants. “You’re not gonna die, baby. I promise.”

He opens the door of the studio, ready to leave.

Fortunately, you spot the obstacle before he has the chance to trip over it.

“Channie, watch out!” you exclaim, pointing at the floor.

His expression shifts to one of confusion, his eyes widening slightly as he follows the direction of your finger. On the ground, two pizza boxes lie in an awkward heap, a small note resting on top of them. With a sigh, you drop onto the couch, crossing your legs as you settle into a comfortable position, content to watch how this unfolds.

He crouches down, gathering the boxes to his chest, his brow furrowing as he grabs the note. You study his face while he reads it carefully, his lips moving faintly as he takes in the words.

“I tried knocking, but I figured it was better to leave. Hope it doesn’t get cold. —Jaewon.”

You feel heat rush to your face, a wave of embarrassment washing over you as the situation sinks in. But he just smiles—a smug, satisfied sort of smile that only adds to your growing mortification. Shaking your head, you try to hide your amusement as he crumples the note in his hand and, with a casual flick of his wrist, tosses it over his shoulder. Somehow, it lands perfectly in the trash can.

“Show-off,” you mutter under your breath, though you let it slide this time.

“Pizza!” he exclaims, his voice triumphant and brimming with energy, as though he’s just won a hard-fought victory. With the heel of his foot, he kicks the door closed behind him, the soft thud signaling the end of the brief interruption.

A smile lingers in the air between you—yours, his, what difference does it make? It belongs to both of you, in a moment that feels perfectly, unmistakably yours.

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mint-yooxgi · 3 months ago

Text

I See Red - Yandere!Vampire!Mafia!Seonghwa X Tall!Chubby!Reader

Yandere AU, Vampire AU, Mafia AU - Heavily inspired by Ateez's Last Supper performance

Genre: Mature, Smut, Fluff, Slight Angst

Pairing: Seonghwa X Tall!Chubby!Reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Words: 12,044

Summary: When will people learn? You should never touch what's his.

General Warnings: Violence and Murder, Blood (lots of it), Mentions of torture (brief), Fat shaming (not done by hwa), Derogatory comments towards the reader, Kidnapping, Guns, Possessiveness. Hwa calls someone a hag once. (not the reader). Seonghwa is very much the epitome of the simpy 'that's my wife' trope. Reader's just as crazy as him. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

Smut Warnings: Pet names (King/Queen, My Love, My Star, Beloved, Darling, Pretty Girl), Shower sex, Wall sex, Strength kink (he's a vampire, don't @ me), Oral (fem. rec), Light fingering (fem. rec), Desperate and possessive sex, Consensual and mutual possession kink (don't take this lightly), Biting/Marking, Slight Breeding Kink (if you squint), Blood, Multiple Orgasms, Body Worship, Praise, Squirting, Overstimulation. I think that's everything!

A/n: I am so, so, so, so, so, happy with how this turned out! Hwa in the Last Supper performance has me in a chokehold and I'm okay with it. Big bad vampire mafia boss who only has a soft spot for you? Sign me tf up! Huge shout out to @pars-ley for the incredible gif that is accompanying this fic! Thank you so much again for the amazing banner! Also, shout out to @kwanisms for helping me decide on the title hehehe. Also, spot the Silent Hill reference 👀 As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoy!

Park Seonghwa.

A name hot on the lips of everyone in the underground. Notorious kingpin and ruthless negotiator of his own crime syndicate, Wonderland. His name holds more power, and elicits more reactions than a nuclear bomb. It is not a name you want to hear is chasing after you.

There is nothing he wouldn’t do to get what he wants. If anyone dares to stand in his way, their existence is wiped completely off of the map. Empires have risen and fallen in mere days thanks to his handy work, that staying on good terms with him often depends on his mood.

Cold. Emotionless. Calculating. Brutal in the most volatile of ways. Park Seonghwa is not a man to be reckoned with, nor is he to be taken lightly.

A man with many quirks, who has but one fatal flaw.

You.

Being the wife of such a notorious crime boss is not easy. The constant threat of being targeted by hunters, assassins, kidnappers, or even rival syndicates in attempts to gain an upper edge over your husband gets quite tiring. Not many have ever succeeded in hurting you, let alone killing you. No one ever will.

Not unless they wish to live another day.

Seonghwa has spared no expense in regards to your protection, selecting only the best of the best of his most trusted men to protect you. However, there is the issue in and of itself. They’re men. Humans. They can only offer you so much. He used to have an elite team of vampires guarding you, but they were bought over by a rival gang.

Shame. They were his second strongest team.

Humans, fickle as they are, can be compelled. Once a human is compelled, no other vampire can break that compulsion. Your guards are instructed to offer their lives before accepting a rival syndicates’ offer.

Each man was hand picked by Seonghwa himself, training them with his own personal guard to defend against any other supernatural being that they might come into contact with. Guns are loaded with indestructible bullets, inscribed with his family’s signature crest. Bullets which can penetrate any raw material, and kill whatever creature they come into contact with.

Every now and then, Seonghwa will add one of his own personal guard to yours. A precaution to make sure the compelled men are doing their job, and that the compulsion hasn’t worn off. Those who cannot abide by the rules are dealt with. Should anyone so much as lay a finger on you, the kingpin himself has no issue chopping off each extremity one knuckle at a time.

Going after you is a fool’s errand. Only the bravest - or rather, stupidest - have ever tried. If even so much as a whisper of an attempt on your life, or your relationship with him, reaches his ears, he is quick to stop it dead in its tracks. Literally.

No one comes in between the two of you. Absolutely no one.

You are the apple of his eye. The only one he can truly be vulnerable with, and let his guard down. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for you. Anything you could ever want or desire, he will provide, no questions asked. Seonghwa worships the very ground you walk on. He worships you.

You are his, and he is yours. Nothing will ever change that fact.

Over the course of many years, the two of you have had many ups and downs. Learning about his true nature had been a bit of a rough patch, especially once you discovered what he is. However, one thing that has always remained strong is your trust in one another. Seonghwa would never hurt you. He would rather carve out his own heart than do anything that would warrant you being afraid of him. A fact which you knew was unquestionably true, especially once you saw just how much of a monster he could be.

A monster whom you love with all your heart, and who has entrusted you with his own.

Perhaps that’s why his organization has lasted so long. Instead of excluding you from his affairs, he revels in the fact that you are always more than ready and willing to help. Your ideas have saved him and his men more times than anyone outside of the organization will ever know. Because of this, you’ve butted heads with his inner circle more times than he can count, but it’s always with good reason.

Nothing makes him prouder than watching you put someone in their place, even if he’s one of those people sometimes.

Your importance spans far more than a simple marriage bond. Since you are one of the only known consistent women in his life, that’s all outsiders seem to focus on. Every nasty name, every type of derogatory comment, has been thrown your way by estranged men and women. Most attempt to push the two of you apart, hoping to drive a wedge between the two of you so they can topple his empire. They seem to mock you for being the ‘outsider’ in the group, not fitting in to the typical ‘escort’ ideal.

What they all seem to get wrong is that you are not a typical ‘escort’. You’re no ‘mistress’, either.

Well… other than the times you’ve brought Seonghwa to his knees, of course.

The other women you’ve occasionally bonded with inside of his syndicate either work undercover to gather intel for his men, or are one of their respective significant others. None of them dare to cross you, all of them treating you with the highest of respect. They all know what would happen should one decide to step out of line. The last, and only women to try was a fine example.

Unlike most of the shallow men that appear in this line of work, Seonghwa is very fond of your curves, and your height. In his eyes, you are the most beautiful, precious, perfect being to have ever walked the earth. Always, he is more than happy to remind you of that fact.

Most of the time, Seonghwa can barely keep his hands to himself. Whenever you’re around, he’s always got a hand placed so delicately against your lower back, or an arm around your waist or shoulders. If he’s feeling particularly frisky, he may pull you into his lap while discussing business plans, or casually cup your ass by sliding his hand into the back pocket of your jeans. That, or he’s making a point that you’re with him.

Seonghwa is a possessive man, and he wants the whole world to know that you’re his. Similarly, there is no being more prideful than him over the fact that he is yours. You belong to each other, and nothing will change that. Everyone should weep in envy at the fact that only he gets to touch you, and only you get to touch him.

The man can’t help it. Showing you off is one of his favourite pastimes. The whole world needs to know what they can never have. It’s become so prominent, you’ve had to start imposing a rule during the extremely important meetings to keep the touching to a minimum.

Of course, he usually toes the line between accidental caresses and handsy, but it’s not like you really mind. Despite his ruthless demeanour, Seonghwa would never truly force you into anything you didn’t want. Your comfort and safety is his top priority, and he would much rather you feel safe in his arms, than believe he could ever do anything to hurt you.

Everyone else, on the other hand…

Park Seonghwa is a man of few faces, but only you get the honour of knowing what he looks like when he’s in love.

“Where is she?” A sigh is breathed out through his nose as he sits at the grand dining table. You were supposed to join him fifteen minutes ago, but you’ve yet to arrive home. “It’s not like her to be late.”

Seonghwa begins to tap the tips of his fingers against the top of the grand mahogany table. The food is going to get colder with every minute you delay your arrival, and he never wants to serve you mediocre food. Besides, he’s supposed to be having a guest for dinner.

Dark eyes flit around the room, noting the silent guards stationed at the side of the room. Their faces are stoic, giving nothing away that would suggest they’re keeping things from him.

Not that they could hide anything, even if they tried.

Seonghwa would have gotten his own personal guards to attend this meal, but the guest’s conditions upon meeting wouldn’t allow such a thing. Still, the man sitting behind the table is smart. Despite his reputation, many still underestimate how far he will go to maintain the upper hand. No one knows this house like him and his inner circle. Besides you, of course.

Stationed in strategic parts surrounding the dining room, his personal guards wait. Some are on patrol, but the ones that never miss are on immediate standby.

Letting out a sigh, Seonghwa thinks back on the last time he saw you. It had been this morning, he recalls, your conversation echoing through his head. The vampire had been admiring you openly from the comfort of your shared bed, nothing but silk sheets draped over his hips. His head rested against his open palm, elbow supporting himself as he fought off the desire pooling throughout his entire body.

You were positively glowing beneath the light of the rising sun, his marks practically shining upon your skin. Even after an intense night of lovemaking, Seonghwa was still insatiable. How could he not be? You are everything he’s ever wanted in life; one look and he’s ready to fall apart. It didn’t help that the image of you from last night, fucked out and desperate, with tears of overstimulation in your eyes, kept flitting through his mind.

He nearly missed the fact that you told him all about your plans for today.

You were going to visit a friend for lunch.

It’s been hours since then, and he hasn’t heard from you once.

“Sir,” A voice from off to his right draws his attention, and the subordinate recoils in fear at the sharp look sent his way. “The guests have arrived.”

Letting out an irritated sigh through his nose, Seonghwa leans back in his seat. A quick glance is spare to the empty high backed chair beside him which matches his own in every way. Two thrones. One for the King, and one for his Queen. Neither are supposed to be empty while the other sits in theirs.

He’s not used to this. He’s not used to not having you beside him.

Seonghwa purses his lips, giving the servant a curt nod in response. Looks like he’ll have to start without you.

The large double doors to the dining room are pushed open, a lone figure walking inside. Short, dark blond hair is slicked back, grease practically dripping off of the strands. An air of arrogance surrounds the tall man, every step echoing off of the marble walls. His head is held high, an expression of the utmost confidence painted across his features as his green eyes dance in amusement.

“Seonghwa! My man!” Arms are spread wide in greeting as the man comes to stand directly before the large dining table. His eyes scan the empty seat beside the kingpin, the corner of his lips twitching upwards. “I didn’t think you were one to dine alone.”

The doors fall shut with a definitive slam, the room suddenly appearing much darker beneath the dim lights.

“James.” Seonghwa blinks, a look of disinterest on his features. Reaching out, he takes his wine glass into his hand, swirling the contents lightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Did you forget about out meeting?” The man quirks a brow. “It seems your wife has.”

The wine glass stills in Seonghwa’s hand. The sharpest of glares that would make anyone crumble beneath its gaze is sent James’ way, a few of the guards stationed at the sides of the room straightening from the intensity.

“Watch your mouth.” A warning that is not to be taken lightly. “Unlike you, I don’t need to control every aspect of a woman’s life.”

Seonghwa schools his features back into a look of disinterest, sipping back the rest of his wine. He rests his now empty glass near the edge of the table, fingers delicately holding onto the stem. Two taps, and the server begins to move to refill his master’s glass.

“Such brave words coming from a man who should really be keeping tabs on that which he supposedly cares for most.”

A scowl paints itself onto Seonghwa’s features, grip tightening over his wine glass. The server sure seems to be taking his sweet ass time, and the man at the table is beginning to get impatient.

“Tell me, Park,” James hums, clasping his hands behind his back with an air of relaxed ease. “Do you know where your wife is tonight?”

Seonghwa’s lips purse into a thin line, a vein in his temple throbbing as he clenches his jaw.

“Wherever my wife may or may not be is none of your concern, James.”

The server finally steps up beside Seonghwa with a fresh bottle at the ready. Wordlessly, the kingpin raises his glass into the air, fingers delicately holding onto the base of the bowl. Wine immediately begins filling the crystal, turning what once was pure into a dark red.

“No, perhaps it’s not.” James simpers. The man begins to pace lightly in front of the notorious mobster, his nose lifted pointedly in the air. “But perhaps, it should be yours.”

The doors to the dining room begin to open, a scuffle apparent in the hallway beyond. A few shouts can be heard, loud curses followed by the prominent clicking of heels.

Unrivalled fury paints itself across Seonghwa’s features as he watches your figure, beaten and bloody, being shoved into the room at gunpoint. Your clothes are torn and dirty, clear lines cutting through the smeared blood on your face to make way for your tears.

The glass in his hand shatters into pieces.

Rivulets of red trickle down his skin, his chest rising and falling dramatically. There’s a sudden chill that fills the room, and James’ own wife who is pointing the gun at your head visibly shivers.

Maria may be a powerful witch, but even she knows not to provoke monsters.

“Some security detail you had.” James guffaws, shoulders shaking in laughter. “Military men? Humans at that? You were practically begging for someone to take out the trash.”

Slowly, James begins stalking towards you.

Maria takes a cautious step back as he approaches, uncertainty in her eyes. The gun in her hand feels heavy, and she has to bring the other up to help support it in order to stop herself from shaking.

“You know… I never understood what you saw in her.” He continues, tracing his hand over your shoulders as he circles around your back. “Weak. Pathetic. Ugly.”

James pauses right beside you, grabbing you harshly by the back of the neck. The way his nails dig unforgivingly into you causes a fresh trail of blood to begin dripping down your skin.

Wood begins splintering beneath Seonghwa’s grip as he digs his hands into the arms of his chair. Lips are curled over sharp fangs, but still, the kingpin does not move.

Not yet.

The timing isn’t quite right.

“You and I both know ‘wife’ is just a codename for ‘living blood bag.’” Stepping in behind you, James purposely rests his chin on your shoulder. He forces your head to the side as he inhales your neck, making you shudder in disgust. “I don’t blame you for harvesting one so plump. Fat makes for good insulation. They don’t break as easily, and their blood is still pretty decent if you leave them to marinate for a few days. Besides, a couple days without food could do this one some good.”

The way such a vile creature has the audacity to reach up at pat your plush cheek makes Seonghwa snap. Though, at this point, he is passed the point of dramatic, extreme violence. Right now, he is so furious, a searing sense of calm begins flooding his entire body.

A list is already being compiled within his mind of all the ways Seonghwa is going to torture this vampire for even daring to look at you. Items, even more deadly than the last, are added with each offence such filth bestows upon you. Right now, that list is up to twenty-four. And counting.

“About that territory I wanted… I figured we could celebrate a done deal by draining the fat bitch dry.” James drags a single finger along a fresh trail of blood that drips over your skin.

Your eyes squeeze shut, body trembling in disgust. The feeling of this wretched man’s hands on you makes your skin crawl. All you want is to rip his dick off and shove it so far up his ass his witch of a wife can taste it when she kisses him. Only, the gun pointed firmly at your head by said woman, along with the dangerous vampire quite literally at your throat prevents you from doing just that.

James’ each movement is slow. Precise. He makes sure to drag out this moment, bringing his finger up to his mouth to suck your blood from his skin. His eyes flash with glee as he meets the furious gaze of the kingpin before him, the corner of his lips quirking upwards.

“Mmmh… Not bad…” A smug expression rests over James’ face, seemingly humming to himself. Focussing on the male before him once more, he smirks. “So, what do you say, Park? Do we have a deal?”

Seonghwa takes a deep breath in through his nose, the sharp exhale being heard all the way across the room. A sound which causes each and every one of his subordinates to freeze. A white cloth quickly gets handed to him by the server, the younger man trembling in fear. No one wants to become unfortunate collateral simply by being present during one of the King’s fits of unbridled rage.

In one fluid movement, Seonghwa shakes out the cloth, beginning to dab at the dark red staining his white sleeve. Though he’s managed to control his expression, a hard look settles onto his features. There is no denying the pure, white hot fury blazing within his dark eyes.

“You come into our home,” Seonghwa’s voice is low, dangerous and steady. Slowly, he wipes off the splatter of red that covers the shoulder of his black waist coat. “Disrespect me. Disrespect, insult, and brutalize my wife. Repeatedly mock the way we conduct proper business, and then have the audacity to insist on using underhand methods to get what you want? From me? Me?”

Seonghwa clicks his tongue, halting all movement of his hand. Fingers dig unforgivingly into the cloth as he slowly begins shaking in rage, throwing the now stained fabric harshly on top of the table. The high backed chair he had been sitting in scrapes loudly against the marble as he suddenly stands to his feet.

For the first time in his life, Seonghwa allows his throne to fall to the floor.

“It doesn’t work like that, James.” Seonghwa sneers, his eyes flashings violently as black veins begin to trickle out over the skin of his cheeks. Cracks appear throughout the wood as he leans forward to slam his hands on the top of the table, every soul present jumping at the loud bangthat echoes throughout the room. “You have three seconds to rectify this misdeed before I make minced meat out of both you and that hag who has the unfortunate displeasure of calling you her mate.”

James’ wife glances at him out of the corner of her eyes. Fear is clear on her features, her hand holding the gun to your head faltering as she begins to shake.

Not even Maria’s magic can help them now.

“One.”

“James…” Uncertainty lingers in her tone, eyes darting between the two vampires in the room.

“Don’t listen to him, Doll,” James throws her a brief look before turning to sneer at the man bracing himself against the top of the table. “He’s bluffing.”

“I can assure you that those who thought the very same are more than six feet under by now.” Seonghwa rebuttals. “Two.”

“Maybe we should rethink-“

“Too late.” A malicious grin pulls at Seonghwa’s lips, his eyes crazed. “Three.”

A bullet whizzes through the room, striking James’ wife right between the eyes.

“Maria!” James can only watch in despair as her lifeless body falls to the floor with a loud thud. He rounds on the kingpin whom looks exceptionally pleased with himself, a large smile full of nothing but pure insanity stretched across his cursed lips. “You bastard! You’ll pay for this!”

James manages to pull out his own gun. The barrel barely touches your head before it’s shot right out of his hand. You manage to jump away, another bullet sinking into the man’s upper thigh and pushing him further from your form. The man immediately recoils in pain, grabbing his bleeding hand as his legs shake, barely able to support himself on his own two feet for much longer.

Slowly, Seonghwa walks out from behind the table. Each step is meticulous, echoing off of the cold marble as another bullet sinks into James’ left knee. The pathetic excuse of a vampire immediately goes tumbling to the ground, crying out in agony as his body contorts in response to his new wounds.

Blood spills over the once clean floor as James looks up at the man he attempted to blackmail.

“Oh, James… James, James, James.” Seonghwa tuts, shaking his head in disappointment as he crouches beside the male withering in agony. A harsh grip in his hair forces James to meet the mobsters unforgiving glare. “You should have known better than to try and pull something on me.”

Seonghwa throws James unceremoniously onto the floor before standing back to his full height. Nothing but the utmost disgust rests on his features, glaring down at the trembling vampire in pure malice. Fangs are bared in a silent, mocking snarling, Seonghwa using the tip of his loafer against James’ forehead to harshly push him backwards.

Wiping his hands on his front, the Wonderland leader is quick to straighten out his waistcoat.

“I’m going to enjoy destroying you.” Seonghwa’s voice is nothing but a calm timbre as he looks down upon his prey. That familiar malicious grin tugs at Seonghwa’s features, and James finally understands what it means to make a deal with the devil. “Count yourself lucky that I have much more important matters to attend to right now.”

Without sparing another glance at the vampire slowly bleeding out in his dining room, Seonghwa turns his back towards the dying man. The click of his shoes echo throughout the dining room, each step seeming to mock his enemy.

Both Yunho and Jongho have appeared by now, each male standing on either side of you. Their eyes are hard, glaring at the man on the floor for even daring to touch Seonghwa’s Queen.

James can only watch on as Seonghwa wraps his arm securely around your waist, leading you through a separate set of doors. Yunho and Jongho, the most notorious for their brutal interrogation and torture tactics, begin stalking towards their newest prey.

The last thing you see of the vampire that kidnapped you is a look of terrified realization painting his features as the two others close in on him.

Once the door to the hallway you now find yourself in is shut, you let out a small breath of relief. Seonghwa’s touch is nothing short of comforting as he keeps his hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you gently towards your private quarters. You can feel the way his fingers tremble against your skin; the only indication of his true emotions throughout this entire situation.

“A bath has already been drawn. Towels, as well as the proper medical supplies have been laid out for you both.” One of the head servants quickly falls into step just behind the two of you. “Mingi and Yeosang have been stationed at the first check point. Wooyoung and Hongjoong have taken the liberty to stand post outside your bed chambers. One in the hall, the other on the balcony. San will remain on watch with both Chris and Minho on the roof.”

A gruff nod is all Seonghwa gives in response, not allowing for even a hint of emotion except for displeased anger to appear on his features.

“I want to know who let that bastard so much as even look at my wife. Get the names of everyone who allowed this to happen immediately. Gouge their eyes out. Cut off their tongues. Then, feed them their severed fingers one by one.” There is no room for argument in Seonghwa’s tone, his gaze fixated on the hallway in front of you. “Do not stop until they are found, and properly disposed of. You all know the consequences. It’s time to deliver them.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant nods once firmly in understanding, swiftly turning on their heel to relay the message to the Hounds.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Seonghwa pauses just before the door to your shared quarters, turning to glance back at the servant from over his shoulder. “Tell San: ‘nice shots.’”

Another verbal confirmation is given before the servant is running off, leaving the two of you alone for the time being. Not even a moment later, Seonghwa is quick to shove through the door of your bedroom. He guides you gently inside before making extra sure all of the locks are all sliding into place. All of the curtains are drawn, the soft glow of the lamps soon flickering to life.

A breath of relief escapes you as you walk a bit further into your private quarters. Finally, you allow yourself to relax, knowing you’re now completely safe. One hand comes up to rub your shoulder, rolling it lightly beneath your touch as a dull ache begins to throb just beneath your skin.

“Well, today has been a day,” You huff, exhaling a low sigh through your nose. “I-“

Turning back to face Seonghwa, the rest of your words catch in your throat.

Never before have you seen your husband like this. Never, in all of the years that you’ve been together, have you seen him look this vulnerable. This scared.

Tears stream silently down his face, his lips parted slightly. He stands frozen to his spot like a statue, none of that familiar warmth he usually holds for you in his dark eyes. Instead, a complete look of devastation pulls at his every feature, his breathing shallow, and broken.

In a few steps, he closes the short distance between your two bodies. Trembling hands come up to cradle your face, fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your cheeks. His gaze flits everywhere over your beaten and bloody features, tracing over the largest cut he can see resting just above your eyebrow.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” Another tear slides down his cheek, his throat working as a plethora of emotions flash across his features. “Darling, I’m so-“

“Don’t do that to yourself, Hwa.” Your hands come up to gently rest on top of his own. “I wasn’t worried. I knew My Star would save me.”

Slowly, thanks to the comfort of your touch, his hands stop trembling.

“How can you be so calm right now?” His gaze searches your face, holding onto you a little tighter. “You could have died! I could have-”

His throat works, the mere idea too unbearable to even conceive.

He didn’t lose you. He can never lose you.

“Because I trust you, My Love.” You offer him a soft smile. “I have faith in my husband, even when he doesn’t have faith in himself. I know he’ll always protect me. A few scrapes and bruises here and there are nothing compared to the scars that line his body just so that he can keep me safe.”

“I will gladly bleed for you if it meant you never getting into harm’s way. Ever.” Tilting his head forward, he rests his forehead against your own.

“I know, Hwa,” A loving smile tugs onto your features. “A mosquito can’t bite me without incurring your wrath.”

“Because nothing deserves to touch you except me.” He lowers his voice, taking on a slight gravelly edge as he stares deeply into your eyes. One hand comes down to slip around your waist, pulling you closer as his touch settles against your lower back. After a moment, he adds a bit more lightheartedly, “And those you approve of. Clothes are walking a thin line, though.” At your quirked brow, he’s quick to remind you, “Don’t worry, My Love. I haven’t forgotten your lecture about respecting your mind and body, along with your autonomy. I will always respect you.”

“There he is.” A giggle escapes you, your eyes crinkling in joy. “There’s the man I always fall deeper in love with. Every. Single. Day.”

Seonghwa leans forward, nudging his nose so tenderly against your own. “I strive to always be the only love in your life, just as you are mine.”

“You are, My Love,” A soft hum escapes you, tilting your head slightly to peck his lips. “You’re my one and only.”

You barely have time to blink before Seonghwa is pressing his lips against yours. Both of his hands slide around your back, digging his fingers into your skin and pulling you flush against himself. His tongue traces your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You eagerly grant it to him, hearing a content hum escape him as you tangle your fingers in his hair.

“My Glorious Queen,” He growls against your lips. “Always, you will be mine.”

“Yours, My King,” A pleased sigh is breathed against him.

“Come,” Seonghwa pulls away from you, guiding you towards the ensuite with an arm wrapped securely around your waist. “Let me wash that vile creature from your skin.”

“Please.”

Eagerly, you both enter the bathroom to see the large tub steaming with fresh water. Bubbles lightly float against the opaque surface, a pink hue to the contents as the scent of cherry blossoms float through the air. Perched on a small podium resides a med-kit. Two large, fluffy towels rest off to the side. One with his personal crest embroidered into the fabric, the other with yours.

Grabbing a small hand towel from the vanity, Seonghwa is quick to wet the material. Turning back to face you, he begins gently washing the dried blood and dirt from your face. It only takes him a few minutes to do so, discarding of the towel and turning you both towards the tub.

A large sigh is breathed through your nose, shoulders drooping ever so slightly.

“Is something wrong, My Love?” Seonghwa steps in behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. Soft kisses are placed along the skin of your neck, nuzzling his face into you gently.

“No.” Lightly, you shake your head. “I’d just prefer to shower than to sit in the tub, is all. I feel bad for letting such a luxury go to waste.”

“Nothing is too much for you, Darling,” A tender kiss is placed above your pulse before the sound of the water draining from the tub greets your ears.

You barely even felt him move.

“You spoil me.” An affectionate gleam shines within your eyes, the corners of your lips quirking upwards slightly.

“As I should.” Another gentle nuzzle is given into the side of your neck, Seonghwa gently turning you both to face the mirror. “You deserve nothing but the best. If I can’t spoil you, then what kind of husband am I?”

“Mine.” Your hand comes up to settle gently against his arms still wrapped around your waist.

A pleasant hum sounds from behind you.

“I can accept that.” Seonghwa tightens his grip around you. “What I can’t accept is you smelling like another man, especially while hurt. Here I am, promising to always take care of you, and I haven’t even healed any of your injuries yet.”

“They’re not that bad-“

“Bullshit.” The way his lips curl over his fangs can be seen in the reflection of the mirror before you. “Anything that dares to mar your beautiful skin, other than my own claims, will not live to survive another day.”

His one arm holds you firmly in place as he brings his opposite wrist up to his mouth. With one sharp bite, blood begins to drip from his skin, bringing the fresh wound to your lips.

“Drink.”

Immediately, you do as told.

The smooth liquid slides over your tongue and down your throat, a sweet taste flooding your mouth with every gulp. You’ve drank from him quite a few times before, but that still never prepares you for the sensation of his blood overtaking your every sense. Your vision sharpens, scents and sounds becoming that much clearer the more you drink. It’s addicting, and no one knows this fact more than him.

Seonghwa’s eyes flutter shut. The feeling of you suckling at his wrist causes a thrill of pleasure to surge through his entire being. Every time he feels your lips on his skin, his soul comes alive. The intimacy alone of sharing such an important life source with each other has always meant more to him than he could ever describe. Though, he wishes the circumstances were a bit more pleasant.

Blood is addictive. He should know. Yours is the most fulfilling, deliciously divine taste he’s ever had the pleasure to sample. Other than the nectar that flows from between your legs, of course.

Seonghwa can never get enough of you, not that he’d ever want to. The only thing more satisfying to him than calling you his is the fact that only he gets to touch you. Only he gets to experience every glorious instance with you. Others may look, but they can never have you.

The mere image of that thing having touched you… having hurt you, makes his blood boil. The fact that someone actually got close enough to do so has him already formulating a new plan for your protection.

You are now hardly ever to leave his side, two or more of his own personal guard with you at all times. No exceptions. Seonghwa can never let something like this happen again.

Time for him to restate his claim.

Slowly, Seonghwa begins stripping you of your clothing. The more he removes, the more eager he becomes, nearly tearing the fabric at the seams to expose more of your naked body to him. The small cuts that litter your skin begin to close, and he watches in smug satisfaction as his blood heals you in real time. His fingers trace over every inch of your bare skin that he can reach, admiring how your scents begin to intermingle the more you drink.

As it should be. He should always be covered in you, and you should always be covered in him.

Finally, you part from him with a gasp, some of his blood clinging to the corners of your lips. Eagerly, your tongue darts out to catch those lingering drops, humming contently at the taste. The way he watches your eyes hood over in the mirror as you stand naked in front of him has another pleased rumble shaking his chest.

“Allow me to replace such abhorrent marks with beautiful ones of my own.”

“I look forward to it, My King.” You coo, tilting your head slightly to nuzzle against his own.

Another pleased hum fills the air, a playful nip being given over your jawline.

Slowly, reluctantly, Seonghwa lets you slip out of his arms. Dark eyes flash, a low growl echoing throughout the room as he watches your naked form slip into the shower. Most, if not all of your previous injuries have already healed, pride swirling within his chest at how well he can care for you.

The sound of running water soon fills his ears, steam beginning to fill the bathroom as he strips himself of his ruined clothes. Your eyes follow his every movement through the glass, drinking in the way his skin slowly reveals itself to you. He knows you’re watching him. You can tell from the way he faces towards you, each movement purposeful as he slides off his waistcoat, loosening his tie in the next second. Once he’s slide the thin material from around his neck, he tosses it to the floor in one fluid movement.

Slowly, Seonghwa begins unbuttoning his white shirt, red splatters staining the material.

Water flows over your skin, the heat helping to wash away the dried blood and dirt clinging to your body. It helps to relax your tight muscles, letting out a soft sigh in content. Your tongue comes out to wet your lips, watching as your husband pops the button of his slacks, kicking off his shoes and making short work of the rest of his clothing. He takes his time to run his fingers through his long, bleached hair, the strands having come loose from his sleek, slicked back appearance due to your previous ministrations.

A smug look pulls at his features, lips tugging upwards in the corner as he begins stalking towards you. Each movement is slow, stepping inside the large shower and closing the glass door behind him purposefully. Those dark eyes of his drink in every inch of your naked body, shamelessly trailing over every dip and curve that he can see.

The tattoo he can see resting proudly over the side of your ribcage has that familiar sense of pride swirling within his chest. A tattoo which matches his own.

Seonghwa licks his lips.

“Allow me to cleanse you, My Queen,” Lowly, his voice rumbles out, closing the distance between the both of you in a few steps.

Your hands settle onto his shoulders as he slips his one arm around your waist. A soft inhale escapes you as he pulls you flush against his chest, never once breaking eye contact. Gently, he brings the fingers of his free hand up to cradle your chin, leaning in to press his lips against your own.

The kiss is nothing more than a brief, loving display of affection, Seonghwa parting from you after a moment. Only, he doesn’t step away. Instead, he tilts his forehead to rest against your own, his touch disappearing from beneath your chin.

Without so much as turning his gaze away, he reaches for the fresh washcloth that always hangs just off to the side.

The arm he has wrapped around your waist begins to slide downwards as he wets the cloth, a firm squeeze being given to your ass. The small peep of surprise you let out makes him smirk, beginning to massage your flesh so tenderly in his hand. A pleased growl escapes him as your body jerks forward, pressing yourself even firmer against his own.

Seonghwa is meticulous as he lathers the cloth with his own body wash, soon beginning to drag the material over your skin. Slowly.

Your eyes flutter as nothing but both his scent, and his touch, surrounds you. You’ve always loved his soap, the deep musk making your head spin.

A fact of which he knows, for he only started wearing it for you.

Anything and everything to make you fall for him. To make you his. Once Park Seonghwa sets his sights on something, he will not stop until he gets exactly what he wants. Seonghwa wanted you, - he needed you - and you are exactly what he got.

Each touch is soft, starting at your shoulders and making his way down your body. Not once does he break eye contact with you, having spent countless of hours mapping out every beautiful dip and curve beneath his fingertips.

Seonghwa knows your body like the back of his hand. He knows exactly where to touch to elicit certain reactions, and he takes full advantage of such knowledge now.

The cloth is dragged so lovingly over your back, his opposite hand giving your ass another appreciative squeeze before sliding up your spine.

The way you shiver beneath his touch makes him smirk.

Slowly, Seonghwa brings the cloth back upwards, teasing over your shoulders before lifting your one hand with his own. Wordlessly, he intertwines your fingers together, dragging the cloth over your arm. Switching hands, he’s quick to repeat the same actions on the opposite side, letting you feel his love for you, his desire, in every touch.

Still, he does not dare to tear his gaze from yours.

Your breathing deepens, heart fluttering inside of your chest. From the way his eyes shine, you can tell that he can hear every reaction his ministrations cause your body to make. The way your nails dig slightly into the skin of his shoulders once you place your hands back onto him says it all.

Tracing the cloth back up your arm, Seonghwa swipes it gently over your upper chest. His own breathing deepens as he slides his touch down to cup your breast, his free hand coming up to cup the other. A firm, appreciative squeeze is given to both, a low moan falling from his parted lips.

For a brief moment, his gaze flicks downwards. Using his thumb and forefinger on his one hand, he gently tweaks at your nipple. The other brushes over your opposite breast, lathering the soap over your skin while his thumb teases over your opposite nipple through the cloth.

A soft, pleased hum escapes you, lashes fluttering as you revel in his touch. You cannot help but arch into him, his hands burning paths of pleasure across your skin.

Water continues to softly cascade down your body, washing the soap away shortly after coming into contact with your flesh. No part of you goes untouched, Seonghwa making sure he cleanses your body thoroughly. He doesn’t want there to be any reminders left from what happened earlier in the day. Right now, all that should cover you is him.

Slowly, Seonghwa sinks to his knees.

A halo of kisses are placed over your stomach, soft moans breathed against your skin. Those dark eyes of his glance up at you periodically, lashes fluttering after each press of his lips against you.

Your husband can never get enough of you. Right now, he wants even more.

“I can never get over how euphoric touching you is, My Love,” Another wet, open mouthed kiss is pressed against your stomach. “Fuck- I love your body… So perfect… So soft…” A blissful sigh is breathed over your skin. “Love making you shake in ecstasy, claiming you for the whole world to see…”

Your breath hitches softly as both of his hands come around to cup your ass, squeezing your flesh so delicately.

A pleased hum rumbles from deep within his chest, devolving into a low chuckle.

“See?” Fangs nip lovingly at your skin, Seonghwa dragging the cloth over the curve your ass. Occasionally, he’ll give you another appreciative squeeze, nuzzling almost possessively into your stomach. “How could I ever want to stop touching you? Your body knows who it belongs to… Who you belong to… Isn’t that right, My Love?”

Seonghwa peeks up at you from on his knees. His eyes are dark and dangerous, a predatory look swirling deep within his gaze. There’s no room for argument in his tone, the cloth getting tossed to the side as his touch returns to your skin, gripping at your thighs tightly.

A thrill rushes through your body, clenching lightly around nothing as he stares up at you. You know that look all too well, your hands automatically reaching out to begin combing your fingers through his damp hair.

Only, it seems as if Seonghwa doesn’t appreciate your prolonged silence.

“I asked you a question, My Love,” A low, warning growl builds in his throat.

Suddenly, you find that he’s turned you so that your back is pressed against the cool tiles of the shower wall. His fingers sink almost unforgivingly into your plush flush, dragging the nails of his one hand down your skin and hoisting your thigh over his shoulder.

“Tell me who you belong to.” Lips curl over fangs, black veins crackling over the skin of his cheeks. “Come on, Pretty Girl. I need to hear you say it.”

The sight alone causes your heart to flutter, breath hitching slightly as you stare down at him.

“I’m yours, My Star,” You coo, continuing to thread your fingers through his hair. “I belong to you. Everything I am, everything I was or am sure to be, is yours.”

The feral snarl that reverberates against the tiles of the shower sends pleasure flooding through your veins. Dark, ravenous eyes stare up at you, irises bleeding red as white sclera shift into the deepest of voids. Seonghwa’s lips curl upwards, pulling back to expose his fangs as he slides his hands over your sides.

“Good Girl.” A sharp nip is given to your inner thigh, a small trail of blood beginning to drip down your skin. One which he is more than eager to trace with his tongue.

A thrill rushes through you, loving the deep growl that lines his voice. A tone you know all too well, affection lingering beneath every syllable.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, pausing all movements as you yank his head back so he’s forced to look up at you. The same dark look that he wears is reflected on your own features, grinning as you hear a guttural groan part his plush lips.

“And who is it that worships the very ground I walk on? Who belongs to me? Who is it that will only ever belong to me?”

The intensity in your eyes makes him shiver, his cock twitching against his thigh. Already, precome leaks from the tip, his heart beating alongside your own. He holds onto you tighter, digging his fingers into your soft thighs as a desperate moan escapes him.

“I will only ever belong to you, My Love.” Seonghwa rasps, beginning to trail wet, open mouthed kisses up the skin of your inner thigh. “I’m yours. I always have been, and I always will be.”

“That’s right, My King,” You hum, a sultry grin tugging at your lips. “You’re mine.”

“Forevermore, My Queen,” His eyes flash, nosing closer towards the apex of your thighs. “Fuck- you smell incredible… Need to make sure you always smell like me, so everyone knows who you belong to. No one- No-fucking-one is ever going to take you away from me again.”

With those words, Seonghwa slips his hands back around to your ass, burying his face into your cunt.

A pleased growl escapes him as his nose slips between your folds, fingers sinking unforgivingly into the plump flesh of your ass. He pulls you even closer, nuzzling against you before teasingly swirling his tongue around your entrance. The tip of his nose bumps against your clit, his lips laving over your cunt before suckling harshly at your folds.

You toss your head back against the wall, fingers immediately tangling in his hair. The way you pull him in closer to you makes him moan against your core, his hot breath making your head spin as he traces his tongue over your slit. Soft pants fall from your lips as he places sloppy, wet kisses all over your cunt, making sure no part of you goes untouched.

Slowly, he dips his tongue between your folds, holding your gaze as he licks a firm strip up from your entrance to your clit. The tip of his tongue immediately begins flicking rapidly over that pert little bud before his lips are wrapping around it, suckling eagerly at that sensitive little bundle of nerves.

The way you keen against him makes him smirk, a pleased hum rumbling from within his chest.

Each movement is messy. For the moment, Seonghwa is more focussed on covering his face in the wetness that drips from your cunt. He wants to smell like you, to bathe himself in your scent as he covers you in his. He needs it. Especially after seeing such a vile creature dare to lay their filthy hands on you.

Another firm squeeze is given to your ass, Seonghwa pulling you even closer against his lips. Those dark, ravenous eyes of his drink in each and every expression you offer him, desperate for more. Eagerly, he traces his tongue over every inch of your pussy, beginning to thrust it as deep as he can within you.

Soft pants and stuttering moans escape your parted lips. Nothing but absolute pleasure floods your veins, skin tingling everywhere he touches. The fingers you have tangled in his hair pull him in even closer, beginning to grind lightly against his lips as he desperately thrusts his tongue into your weeping entrance.

“Oh, fuck- just like that, Hwa- Oh!” Your lashes flutter, beginning to feel that familiar pressure building within your lower abdomen. “Don’t fucking stop!”

A snarl of agreement reverberates against your cunt, Seonghwa pressing himself even firmer into you. The tip of his nose bumps continuously over your clit, jolts of pleasure sending shockwaves throughout your entire body as your moans begin to rise in pitch.

“Fuck- make me come, My Star,” You pant out, staring down at him through hooded eyes. “Make me drip all over your pretty face.”

“With pleasure…”

The words are growled against your core, Seonghwa immediately shaking his head back and forth. His fingers dig unforgivingly into the skin of your ass, swirling his tongue inside of you as his nose presses firmly against your clit. The tip of his tongue soon focusses on tracing along the top of your inner walls, thrusting desperately as he moans into you.

With one final nudge over your clit, your eyes are fluttering shut. Your orgasm washes over you like a wave upon the shore, body thrumming in ecstasy as you arch from the wall. Lightly, your thighs shake, Seonghwa not relenting for even one second as he prolongs your pleasure for as long as he possibly can.

Though, you know that this is far from over. After all, he’s only just begun.

Just as with every other time when he’s eaten you out, Seonghwa does not stop here. In fact, he only redoubles his efforts over you. Black veins pulse over his cheeks as he laves his tongue over the entirety of your cunt, making sure no drop goes to waste.

He needs all of you. He craves it, like the very air you need to breathe.

Lips wrap around your sensitive clit, suckling eagerly at that pert bud as he balances you against the wall. One hand slides down from your ass, two fingers spreading you open to give him unrestricted access to your weeping cunt. Not even a moment later, he flattens his tongue, rubbing it in firm circles over your clit.

“Oh- Fuck!” Your eyes roll, heavy pants escaping you as you’ve barely had time to recover from your previous orgasm. Pleasure pools in your core, clenching hard around nothing as Seonghwa focusses all of his attention on your clit. “Hah- Hah- My Love- Oh!”

“More.” The firm command is growled against your throbbing clit. “Give me more.”

The lewd, wet sounds that fill the air make your head spin, Seonghwa shameless as he traces his tongue over every inch of your cunt. Pleased hum and deep moans escape him, bringing the tip back up to circle so tenderly over your clit before suckling that pert bud between his lips.

“Seonghwa…” His name is but a pleasant sigh from your lips, eyes hooding over as you stare down at your husband feasting on your cunt so ravenously. “My Love…”

“Come for me,” Those sharp eyes of his glance up at you, sucking your clit firmly between his lips. “Soak my face, Beloved. Bathe me in your sweet nectar and claim what rightfully belongs to you.”

His words have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, body shaking as with one final flick over your clit, your orgasm crashes into you. Loud moans and high pitched whines escape you, head spinning as he supports you against the wall. Nothing but pure euphoria floods your veins, chest rising and falling dramatically as heavy pants fall from your lips with every breath.

“Mmmh, that’s it, My Queen,” Seonghwa hums, chuckling lowly. Tender kisses are placed over your swollen clit, smirking against your core with every twitch he feels against his lips. “So fucking beautiful…”

This time, he slows his pace.

Soft, wet kisses are trailed over the skin of your inner thigh, his fangs nibbling at your flesh. Occasionally, he grazes you enough to cause blood to swell on the surface, his tongue quick to lap up each drop. The fingers he had been using to keep you spread open trace over the edges of your cunt, dipping down to tease lightly at your entrance.

A soft moan tumbles from your lips as you feel him push the tips of his fingers inside of you, only to remove them in the next second.

“Seonghwa-“

The desperate whine of his name gets caught in your throat, which is simply music to his ears.

“What’s that?” He hums, continuing to tease at your entrance by dipping his fingers into you gently. Only, he never pushes them more than a knuckle deep, pulling them out to trace the tips so lovingly over your folds. “Does My Pretty Girl want to come again?”

Lightly, you squirm in his hold, whimpering as you stare down at him.

“Needy girl,” Seonghwa chuckles, slowly kissing his way back up your thigh.

The one leg you still have supporting yourself on the ground begins to shake.

“Please-“ Your voice catches, hips jerking forwards in an attempt to push his fingers deeper inside of you.

“Does My Love want me to devour her pretty pussy?” A tender nuzzle is given against the skin of your inner thigh. “Will she not be satiated unless I make her squirt all over my face? Will she not be satisfied until I make her mine?”

“Fuck- Seonghwa-“ Your fingers tighten in his hair, forcing his gaze to yours as you tilt his head upwards. Something within your eyes flash, clenching hard enough around nothing to cause yourself to begin leaking prominently over your thighs. “Make me yours. Right. Fucking. Now. I need you…“

In the blink of an eye, Seonghwa has stood back to his feet. Both of your legs are wrapped around his waist as he pins you against the wall, fingers digging harshly into the skin of your thighs. Not even a moment later, he slides his touch upwards, grabbing handfuls of your ass and squeezing at your flesh.

There is nowhere for you to go. Nowhere to run or hide, for you will forever be trapped in his embrace. Seonghwa has made damn sure of that.

Not that you’d ever want to leave him…

The tip of his hard cock nudges at your dripping entrance, slipping between your folds as he pushes as close to you as possible. Each breath is but a low snarl upon his lips, black veins crackling over his cheeks. The look in his eyes is downright predatory, fangs on full display as he stares you down.

“You’re mine.”

With those words, Seonghwa buries himself deep inside of you. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust, creating a brutal pace as he snaps his hips against your own.

A choked moan parts your lips, eyes rolling slightly as you cling to him. Your nails scratch down his back, each growl he breathes out going straight to your core as you clench tightly around his cock. The familiar stretch of him sinking into your core makes your head spin, pulling him in even closer.

“Fuckin’ perfect, Darling,” Seonghwa breathes, his forehead pressed against your own. Those dark eyes of his stare intensely into yours, fingers digging into your ass as he snaps his hips into you. “Your pretty pussy always sucks me in so well. My Pretty Girl is always ready to bounce on my cock, isn’t she? So wet… So tight.”

“It’s because I was made for you, My Star,” You exhale shakily, lashes fluttering as your tongue darts out over your lips. “You always fill me so well, My Love. Feels incredible having you buried inside of me. I can’t help but feel empty without you.”

“It’s because I was made for you, Darling,” The words are a mere rasp on his lips, slowing his movements only briefly in order to circle his hips so lovingly against your own. The way you keen against him makes him smirk, a pleased rumble shaking his chest. “Feel that? Feel how perfectly your pussy moulds around my cock? I never wish to part from you, My Love. You own my heart, and I never want it back.”

“Seonghwa-“ A soft whine escapes you as a sharp thrust is given into you. The wet squelch you can hear each time he buries himself deep inside of you makes you clench, pleasure thrumming throughout your veins.

The tip of his cock presses so tenderly against that special spot inside of you, Seonghwa having mapped out every inch of your body multiple times. His only desire right now is to please you. As is his every desire. Your pleasure is his pleasure, and feeling you drip all over his cock while screaming his name is ecstasy of the highest order.

“You can never escape me, Beloved,” A sharp nip is given to your ear as he leans into you, his voice but a low rumble on his lips. “The moment you let me slip that ring on your finger, you became mine. If you ever even attempt to leave me, if anyone so much as dares to take you away again, I will chase you to the very ends of the earth. You’re mine.” Another sharp thrust is given into you, emphasizing his every word. “You belong to me, just as I belong to you. There is no one else. There will never be anyone else. I’m yours, and you’re mine. Until the very end.”

“All yours, Seonghwa,” You sigh, purposely squeezing around his cock. The way he grinds himself so lovingly into you makes you hum. “Always, I am yours, just as you will forever be mine.”

“That’s right, Pretty Girl,” A pleased chuckle rumbles from deep within his chest. “We belong to each other. Forevermore.”

Shifting your hand upwards, your fingers tangle in his hair. In one quick move, you guide his lips to yours, kissing him desperately as he begins rolling his hips so sensually into your own. Each thrust fills your cunt with every inch of his cock, his tongue eagerly exploring your mouth as you part for him.

The change in pace makes your head spin, pleasure pooling within your core as you drip all over his cock.

Soft whines and gentle moans are breathed into each other’s mouths, hands desperately gripping at each other’s bodies. You hook your ankles behind his back, thighs tensing as you pull him in closer.

The way your body presses flush against his own, every glorious curve of yours being felt against his skin, makes him moan. To him, there’s no other feeling quite like it. Your body sets his own on fire, soul coming alight with every touch.

“I fucking love you, My Queen,” Seonghwa mumbles against your lips, nipping lightly at your skin.

A soft moan tumbles from you lips, clenching hard around him as he thrusts sharply into you.

“As I love you, My One and Only King.”

Pleased rumbles fill the air, a deep moan of your name being breathed out by the vampire before you. He holds onto you so tightly, as if you may disappear at any moment. Desperate, deprived, and possessive. Only you can make him this way.

Though his pace has slowed, each tender thrust into you is firm. Seonghwa makes sure to fill you with every inch of his cock, loving how your warmth flutters around him each time. The way you drip over his balls and onto his thighs makes his head spin, swallowing all of your melodic whimpers and whines as he kisses you deeply.

“Seonghwa-“ You gasp into his mouth at one particularly hard thrust. When he immediately grinds his hips into you, the tip of his cock pressing so delicately against that special spot, your eyes roll slightly. “Right fucking there, My King- Oh!“

A pleased hum echoes around you, another sharp thrust given into you. His cock is angled perfectly to hit that spot, pride rumbling within his chest as he listens to the way your breath catches in your throat..

“Oh-“ Your walls clench tightly around him, digging your nails harshly into the skin of his back. “Claim me, My Love. Fucking mark your territory so no one dares to take me away from you again.”

The deepest of snarls you’ve ever heard him emit fills your ears, echoing around the tiles of the bathroom.

In the blink of an eye, you find yourself pinned beneath him on your bed. Water drips from both of your bodies into the sheets, wet strands of his silver blond hair clinging to his skin. Each strand accents his features, serving as nothing more than a bright halo beautifully framing his face.

“With the utmost of pleasure, My Queen.”

The deep snarl that lines his every word is the most feral you’ve ever heard him get. It goes straight to your core, clenching hard around him as he begins that brutal pace once more. Tingles erupt over your skin, surrendering yourself completely to the pleasure he provides.

“Not gonna fucking stop until you’ve creamed all over this cock, Beloved. Gonna fill you so fuckin’ full of my seed, I’m gonna be dripping out of your precious cunt for weeks.” His hands grip your wrists tightly, pinning your arms above your head as he thrusts relentlessly into you. The way your body shakes, tits bouncing with every snap of his hips into your own makes nothing but love, lust, and pride swell within his chest. “Gonna let the whole world know who you belong to, and who belongs to you. There won’t be a living soul in this universe that will ever touch you again, besides me. They won’t dare. You’re mine. Do you hear me? Mine!”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Tears of pleasure begin flooding your vision as that familiar pressure builds rapidly within you. You can barely keep your eyes open to stare into his captivating gaze, harsh pants and high pitched whines escaping your lips with every desperate thrust he gives into you. “I’m yours, Seonghwa! All yours! Always and forever, My Star! Make me yours so I can make you mine!”

Another feral snarl greets your ears, his lips immediately finding your own. His kiss is nothing but desperate, tongue slipping into your mouth as he moans into the kiss.

In one swift movement, Seonghwa shifts to hold both of your wrists above you with his one hand. The other drags lovingly over your body, tracing over every curve delicately. His fingertips tease at your skin, continuing to slide his touch everywhere over your body. A tender caress is given over your stomach, the soft touch contrasting the animalistic way he fucks into you.

With one final squeeze to your stomach, he drags his hand further downwards, thumb finding your clit and beginning to rub in small circles.

“Oh!” Your back arches from the bed, eyes fluttering closed as your whole body begins to shake. Your thighs tremble around his waist, squeezing so tightly around his cock as that pressure within you gets close to snapping. You do your best to hold back your impending orgasm for as long as you can, needing to feel him filling you full of his come before you can even think of letting yourself go. “Seonghwa- My King! Please-“

“Come for me, Darling.” There is no room for argument, his words but a command on his lips. Wet, sloppy kisses are placed against the skin of your pulse as he buries his face into the side of your neck. “Fucking flood my cock with your love. I want to hear you scream.”

With one final flick over your clit, your body obeys his every command. What serves to make the feeling all the more intense is when you feel him bite into the side of your neck, his fangs sinking into your soft flesh and drinking his fill of your blood.

A scream of his name tears from your throat, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your squirt all over his cock. You keen from the bed, whole body trembling violently as you feel him pin your hips to the mattress with his own. Spurt after spurt of come escapes him as he fills you to the brim, your walls fluttering around his cock as your combined releases begin to leak out of your core.

Heavy pants escape you, nothing but whines falling from your lips. The intensity of your orgasm washes over you, suspended in a pool of bliss as you feel Seonghwa press himself completely against you. Not an inch of your body goes untouched by him, releasing his hold over your wrists in order to gently begin tracing his hands over your sides.

Soft kisses are trailed over your neck, his tongue coming out to lave over the fresh bite mark that rests proudly against your skin. The pleased hum that rumbles from deep within his chest makes you smile, staring up at him through hooded eyes as he pulls away to admire you beneath him.

Before he even gets a chance to say anything, you beat him to it.

“Turn me.”

To say your words catch him off guard would be an understatement.

This time, it’s Seonghwa’s turn for his breath to hitch. The vampire lord stills above you, staring down at you with wide eyes as he sees the sincerity reflected on your features.

“My Love?” His words are but a breathless whisper as he brings a hand up to cradle the side of your face.

“I want you to turn me.” Slowly, carefully, you bring your own hand up to cup his cheek. Your thumb traces over his skin, admiring the man above you. A soft, tender smile pulls at your lips, eyes flicking between his own. “I know we’ve talked about it before, but it was simply never the right time. I’m ready now. I love you, Park Seonghwa. You are my forever. I’m ready to become yours.”

Tears begin building within his eyes, blinking rapidly as the first drops begin to fall gently against your skin. His throat works, hands fumbling over your body as he presses impossibly closer to you. Tenderly, he cups your face, lips finding yours in a searing kiss. A kiss which he hopes will convey everything he wishes to say to you.

The moment you smile against his lips, he knows that it does.

“I love you.” A choked confession parts his lips, placing intermittent kisses against your own before trailing even more along your cheek and over your pulse. Arms slide around you, hugging you close as he buries his face within the crook of your neck. A lingering kiss is pressed against the fresh bite mark adorning your skin. “I love you so fucking much.”

Without hesitating, you wrap your own back around him, holding him close. The fingers of your one hand come back up to thread through his wet hair softly. You cradle him to your chest, refusing to let him go anytime soon as your heart beats steadily for the man held within your loving arms.

Kisses are soon trailed from your neck and down over your chest, Seonghwa nuzzling affectionately over your heart. He buries his face against you, soon turning to rest his ear directly above that muscle pumping rhythmically beneath your skin.

A tender glance upwards is sent your way.

“Are you sure?”

You expression softens, lips tugging upwards lovingly as your whole body relaxes beneath his touch.

“More than anything, My Love,” The hand you have threading through his hair comes around to cradle the side of his face. “I never want another incident like today to occur. I despise seeing you cry, especially when I’m the cause of it.”

Seonghwa looks about ready to protest, but your finger settling gently over his lips quiets him for the time being.

“You are the love of my life, Seonghwa. I promised you forever, just as you did for me.” Gently, you trace your touch over his cheek, caressing your fingertips along his skin. Openly, you admire the beautiful man before you. “I’ve wanted this for a while now, and today only served to solidify my choice. I want to be able to claim you in the same ways that you claim me. I want to be yours. Now, and until forever.”

Pushing himself upwards with his arms, Seonghwa hovers over you. Nothing but tender love and affection can be seen within his gaze, staring down at you so fondly as he admires every inch of your skin. He takes his time trailing his eyes over your body, finally pulling out of you and sliding his palms up your sides.

He licks his lips, some remnants of your blood still clinging to his skin.

“Nothing would make me happier than spending eternity with you, My Queen.” Dark eyes shine so lovingly down at you, pressing another tender kiss to your lips. The way you smile against his skin makes his heart flutter, warmth surging throughout his entire body.

Long since has Seonghwa dreamt of this day. Countless hours have been spent fantasizing about this very moment, bonding you to him in such an intimate way. Sure, you’ve shared each other’s blood enough times before, but this is different. Now, you will become like him.

After this, there is truly no turning back.

Soon, you’ll be able to share in even more pleasures this world has to offer, and he’ll be right by your side through it all. He’ll get to guide you through each new experience, showing you things he’s only ever dreamed about. You’ll be able to share meals with him in more intimate and fulfilling ways, teaching you the ways of his kind and revelling in each and every new discovery you make. Together.

You’ve always been quite efficient at biting and feeding from him, that he cannot wait to watch you make your first kill.

Excitement pours through him, indescribable unconditional love flooding his veins.

Seonghwa knows exactly who that first kill should be.

A loving smile stretches onto his features, staring down at you so fondly. He can smell the way his blood courses through your veins, mixing seamlessly with your own. Softly, his hands caress over the sides of your face, searching your eyes one final time for any uncertainty or hesitance.

He finds none.

Silently, your husband vows to be the last thing you ever see in this life, and the very first thing you see in your next.

With a subtle nod of your head, another soft kiss is being placed upon your lips.

“To the start of our forever.”

With those words, Seonghwa snaps your neck.

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angelbarelywritesslashers · 1 year ago

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♡ slashers scenarios | your first time together is…your first time

♡ fandoms; The Boy, Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2006), slashers (general)

♡ characters; Brahms Heelshire, Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral - i tried to be ambiguous but where i couldn’t be, i gave an option for both sets of parts uwu

♡ cw; sex (this is smut my friend), a little bit of implied breeding kink, possessiveness

♡ notes; what it says on the tin; you lose your virginity the first time you have sex with your stabby bf. i can only dream 😔

also, probably the last fic with a random selection of characters , i have the poll results n everything. vincent was the winner and brahms three percent behind him, so they’re being added to a-team permanently

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Brahms Heelshire

> he’s relieved when you tell him you haven’t gone that far before

> because he’s a virgin too, and probably more nervous than you are

> he’s eager though- he’s always eager when it comes to you

> he pulls you on top, grabbing your hips and grinding up on you as you kiss

> and then he urges you to use his face- fuck it or sit on it, depending on what you’re working with

> and while your hesitant, not wanting to overwhelm him for his first time

> but god, he’s a good little sub, and he loves every second of it

> after he’s made you cum, he pulls away- practically still drooling, and begs for you to touch him

> he bucks up into your hand immediately, already so hard he’s twitching

> if he lasts more than a few pumps, he flips you, seeming shy to pin you, but trying his best

> and he has to take a breather to make sure he doesn’t immediately cum inside you

> he’s slow at first, literally shaking

> and for your first time, it’s all missionary- he needs to watch your face, making sure he’s doing a good job

> and making sure he tells you how pretty you are

> he cums first, he just can’t help it- but he’s not at all hesitant to replace his cock with his fingers

> and he makes sure you cum at least twice more, using his mouth again if he needs to

> by the time you finally catch your breath, he’s already more than ready for round 2

Micheal Myers

> he’s already pushing you to your knees in front of him when you manage to tell him

> he pauses- he’s not sure what to do

> he’s always rough.

> and he’d been rough with you thus far

> he rubs your cheek softly and huffs- and at first you think he’s going to put a stop to things for the day

> until he throws you over his shoulder, giving your ass a playful squeeze in the process

> of course he’s not going to fuck you on the porch like an animal

> not for your very first time at least

> he drops you on the bed and takes his mask off

> it’s not the first time you’ve seen him without it, but it’s still special

> he teases you, hands all over your body as he carefully watches your reactions

> he has you in your undies when he finally gets impatient and goes back to his usual selfishness

> he had you get on your knees again- this time more gently coaxing, and guides you through taking him

> and for the record, there’s a lot to take

> before you have him too needy he lays you down

> you can tell this is going to be a once in a while thing, so you savor the sight of him between your thighs

> he eats you out/rims you like it’s his goddamn job, staring up at you all the while

> it’d be creepy if he wasn’t so good at what he was doing

> if you insist on missionary, he’ll let you this time

> but he wants you doggy so he can watch you take him inch by inch

> this boy has so much stamina

> you cum three times before he finally pulls out, painting your back

> you try to sit up but he doesn’t let you- he’s not done with you

> not even close

Thomas Hewitt

> something about his eyes darken when you tell him you’re a virgin

> he’d never be the one to initiate something first - he’s far too scared of crossing your boundaries to lead like that

> so if you’re telling him, it’s probably because you’re telling him you want him to take your virginity

> and even though he never believed in the Bible, or the sexist shit Hoyt always spouted

> he’s possessive, and if something about being your first is exciting. it was another part of you that’d be all his

> before you know it the man is ripping your clothes off. like literally ripping.

> he manhandles you- unintentionally, but it’s hard for him not to with your size difference

>he spreads your thighs wide apart and goes to town

> he goes down on you again, and again, and again and—

> by the time he sits up you’re already overstimulated

> but it’s his turn, and he’s eager to take it

> you can feel how huge he is through his pants, and your jaw drops when you see him

> “Tommy, that won’t fit”

> he huffs, amused through his mask and nuzzles you reassuringly

> he starts in missionary, but then he pushes your legs up into a full mating press

> he fucks into you deep and hard, going faster until you’re babbling nonsense

> he pulls your hair and makes you look him in the eye as he cums inside

> and when he does pull out, you can feel it dripping from you

> he looks at it and then up at you excitedly, and you know what he wants

> again

#slashers #micheal myers #thomas hewitt #micheal myers x reader #slashers x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #slashers x you #tcm #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #the boy 2016 #texas chainsaw the beginning #halloween #cw: smut #cw suggestive

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breakmeoff · 23 days ago

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Wet n Wild

featuring: han jisung x fem!reader warnings: swearing, peeping tom hannie, shy hannie, some crack. smut: brief handjob (m receiving), unprotected p in v, breeding kink. mostly porn, very little plot lol MDNI, 18+ only* word count: 1.7k synopsis: han can't help but stare at you through his hotel room window, watching you sunbathe unabashedly. once you catch him peeping though, he tried to play it off - and poorly. so while you try to teach him a lesson about not spying on people, he can't help but word-vomit his inner-most dirty fantasy. note: this is part of the Larie's Libations 200 Followers Celebration. this was requested by my sweet anon reader 🩷🩷, whose selection is listed below. thank you for reading! LARIE'S LIBATIONS - Dark Whisper Splash [Rum] — Han Jisung [Water] — Pool [Cherry & Citrus Rind] — Quirk (Shy/Easily Flustered) Kink (Breeding) Masterlist

“She has to know what she’s doing… right?” Han mumbled to himself, two fingers curled around the edge of his hotel room’s curtain. The room was mostly dark, except the sliver of light that he was letting slip past the crack between the two drapes normally shading the window that faced out directly to the pool.

SKZ was on the second leg of their tour and the band and staff were taking a very much needed two days respite, which was the reason that you were enjoying the hotel’s amenities in the middle of the day.

This was the second major tour you’d been on with the boys as one of their makeup artists. While not super close with any of them, you had established a good working relationship with the kids, falling into a big-sister type role with them as you were a few years older than Chan.

However, when Han found himself staring at you through his window, the last thing he considered you was family. “She’s been hiding that ass the whole time? …How? How have I not seen that before?”

Subconsciously, his free hand dropped to the front of his basketball shorts and cupped his semi-hard cock, unable to take his eyes off of you.

Every move you made was being watched, including the moment you placed your hands on the edge, and hoisted yourself up and out of the pool. As you fully stood back up on the cool decking, Han gulped dramatically, watching the water cascade down your tanned skin, and drip from the small black bikini you looked devastatingly hot in.

Walking barefoot over to the lounge chair, you bent down to grab your towel, giving Han the perfect visual of your ass sticking out towards him. Resting a foot on the lounger, you began drying off some of the excess water and stood back upright, starting to towel off your hair as you looked over your shoulder, glancing directly over to Han’s window.

You weren’t dumb, and Han was less than subtle, so of course you’d seen him peeping at you through the curtain off and on for the last 10 minutes or so. Was a damn good thing he was cute, because had it been anyone else it might have seemed pervy - but you were amused.

Finally, you dropped your towel back down onto the chair and turned around to fully face him, your hands coming to rest on your hips. There was no way he wouldn’t have known you were looking directly at him.

“Oh fuck!” He yelped, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he quickly closed the curtains. With his hands still pinching them shut, he looked around his room frantically. “...she didn’t see me… right? The windows are dark…” he tried to reassure himself, “it was just coincidence she looked over here,” he chuckled.

Holding his breath, he separated the curtains just enough to let one eye peek through to see if it had just been a fluke.

With a smirk on your lips, you still stared right at him and the window. Lifting one hand, you crooked your finger at him in a silent ‘come hither’ motion, daring the younger man to come outside and face you in person.

Squeaking, Han swiftly closed the curtain again, his cheeks flushing a bright red. “Shitshitshit, fuck, what do I do? What do I do?” Giving himself a moment to freak out and calm himself back down, he paused before taking one last look back through the drapes.

But… you were gone.

“What the…” he mumbled, pulling the curtains apart wider than before, starting to look more obviously around the pool area. Furrowing his brows in confusion, he was about to crane his neck in another direction when he heard a knock on his door.

“Fuck!” He whispered, letting go of the curtains again before ducking down into a crouching position, as if making himself smaller would hide him behind the solid wood door. He froze, not moving an inch, and waited for whoever knocked to leave.

But, after a few seconds, he heard the knock again and a muffled voice. “Han, I know you’re in there. Open up.”

Pinching his eyes shut, he silently screamed in a moment of panic. Still bent down in his crouched position, he began ‘walking’ slowly to the door, doing his best to stay silent. If you couldn’t hear him, he could pretend to be invisible... right?

“I saw you watching me, the jig’s up.” You said, your voice still coming through garbled. Another moment passed. “Open your door or I’ll go get Chan.”

Popping up to his full height, Han raked his fingers through his hair before he pulled the door open and smiled at you brightly, as if this was the first time he’d seen you all day. “Y/N! What a pleasant surprise!”

“Figured that might get you,” you teased, a single eyebrow arched upwards as you stood before him, your towel wrapped around your body. Tilting your head, gesturing in the direction of the pool, you questioned him. “See something you liked out there?”

“What? Where?” He looked around, peeking over you towards the pool area. “Oh, over there? No, nothing. I saw nothing. Never looked over there before in my life.” Han babbled, obviously overcompensating. And poorly.

With a slow nod of your head, you kept your eyes on his face, completely flushed pink and awkward as hell. Shifting your stance, you unwrapped the towel around yourself and brought it to drape over your arm, completely exposing your bikini to him in 3D, high-def color, imax screen quality reality. “Nothin’ huh?”

Han’s jaw dropped as the towel came off and he could see you almost completely unobstructed in front of him and up so close. “Uhh…” he stammered, his eyes slowly scanning your frame, completely unaware of what you had just said.

Huffing a small laugh, you reached forward and tipped his chin up with two fingers, bringing his eyes back up to your face. “You wanna keep staring or do you wanna maybe do something about it?”

His brain short-circuited and he just stared at you, his mouth agape, blinking with a stunned expression on his face as he tried to process what you just asked.

Seeing that you were going to need to take matters into your own hands, you placed your open palm on Han’s chest and pushed him backwards into the room. Closing the door behind you, you tossed your towel onto a nearby chair, and watched as he kept walking backwards until the back of his knees found the bed and he sat down.

Closing the distance between you, you approached him slowly, not wanting to startle him necessarily, but determined to show him a good time. Placing your open palms on his shoulders, you leaned down, fanning your breath over his parted lips. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll really give you something to look at…”

Han’s eyes were locked onto yours, and all he could do was nod his head, sucking in a deep breath. “Yes Ma’am.”

Hearing exactly what you wanted, you pushed him back onto the bed and slowly crawled over his body, crashing your lips against his feverishly. Han moaned desperately against your mouth, lips, tongue, heat tangling together as his hands were all over you, any and everywhere he could touch.

It didn’t take long before your hand slid down his stomach and under the waistband of his basketball shorts, firmly gripping his now fully hard erection, pulling a breathy groan and whimper out of the younger man.

Once you had him weak for you, and putty in your (literal) hands, you tugged his shorts and briefs down, his weeping cock now sprung at full attention. Untying the strings on the side of your bottoms, you pulled your bikini completely off and straddled him, one hand firmly around his shaft as you guided him to your soaked core, sinking down in one, slow, all-consuming motion.

Han’s head tipped back and he moaned wickedly, his hands grasping at your ass, desperately needing something to hold onto as you moved expertly above him. “Fuck Y/N, you’re gonna kill me. Soso good…”

Your grin was sinful, loving how he was crumbling so quickly for you. Bouncing yourself up and down on him rhythmically, he lifted his head enough to look down at where your bodies met, mewling through parted lips. “You’re so good at this…” he mumbled, stars in his eyes as he let you guide everything.

“I think about this all the time… always wanted to touch you… so fucking hot….” Han’s hands slid from your ass, up your hips, side and then fully cupped both of your bare breasts, watching them in a dazed manner. “Perfect tits… fuck, so soft, shit, your pussy feels so good…”

Breathing out a laugh, you started to grind your hips above him, providing more friction to your clit against his pelvis. “Holyfuckingshitohmygod,” he cursed out, eyes pinching shut for a second before they reopened, focusing back again on your pussy. “Gonna fucking cum so much inside you… gonna put a baby in you,” he grunted, lifting his hips up involuntarily, thrusting up into you.

“Wait,” he paused, fingertips gripping into the soft flesh of your tits, eyes looking up to yours. “You on the pill? I don’t have a… nnnnfghhhh, condom…” he moaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Yes, Hannie…” you laughed, lifting your hips to fuck yourself up and down on his cock once again. “I’m on the pill, now be a good boy and take it…”

“Okay good…” Nodding absently, he couldn’t decide where he wanted to look, eyes raking between your face, tits, pussy, and then back up again. “Then I’m gonna fucking put twins in you, get you all fucking fat with my babies…” he moaned.

“...can’t wait for everyone to see your belly all swollen with my seed, knowing that I claimed your pussy and made you a mommy……” Han cried out, his words slurring together, head smacking back against the mattress, just as he tensed up below you and came.

my tags: @angel-writes-here @idkimobsessed @queenofdumbfuckery @mfcherry @downingmorphine @pixie-felix @d3kstar @lveegsoi @ebnabi @nebugalaxy @babystay724 @mmarusa @imagine-all-the-imagines @erisuna @beabidoobee @hanniesbubuwife @bbykaixx @riri53 @jinniesgirl @alx-wyjsr @skzswife @hwangjoanna @stephanieeeyang @minnysproutgriffinteddy @jqtsblyth @magicshuhua @loveesiren @szonyix6277 @seungttttop @moontabi

#larie's libations #han jisung smut #stray kids han #han x reader #han jisung x reader #han jisung #han jisung x you #jisung x reader #stray kids jisung #skz jisung #skz han #stray kids han jisung #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #skz smut #skz x reader

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maimaily · 1 month ago

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the lads boys as kittens !! 🪼 ‧₊˚ rafayel

summary: You were living in your new apartment now, a free space for yourself, but maybe it was too free. You weren't quite used to the silence and loneliness of it, so you decided to welcome a little one to your home. After considering many options, a cat seemed the most adequate: clean, independent, wouldn't take much of your time as a dog… right?

characters: kitty!rafayel + mc as reader (other characters will be posted separately).

a/n: cat breeds are selected based on the "Yes, Cat Caretaker" event. If there's any change, it'll be based on the appearance of each breed, but not its personality traits strictly. proofread but if there's any mistake please let me know! (eng isn't my first language).

xavier 🢒 zayne 🢒 sylus 🢒 caleb (coming soon)

Rafayel — Siamese How did he get to live with you?

Oh, the classic mistake: "My first cat is an angel so I may adopt another one!" Did you expect another quiet and calm kitty? WRONG. But let's start from the beginning: you were worried that Xavier would feel lonely being the only cat. You heard it's recommended to introduce them to other cats so they can learn to socialize and avoid aggressive behaviors, especially in younger cats. Xavier was already an adult, but it wasn't too late, right?

And it happened by coincidence, really. You were strolling around, enjoying the fresh air and your well-deserved day off, when you heard the first weak and pitiful "meow" behind some shrubs. You quickly found him; his leg was hurt, and he looked like he hadn't eaten in a long time. You carefully got closer, trying not to scare him, but he still hissed and even tried to scratch you.

It was understandable, he was hurt and you were multiple times his size, how could he not be scared? So you offered some of the small treats you carried with you since adopting Xavier, a new habit. That managed to make him calm down enough for you to pick him up with your jacket.

At the vet, you felt relieved that his injury wasn't serious and he'd get better soon. The lady asked if you were interested in keeping him, and you were about to refuse when you remembered Xavier. Some company wouldn't hurt for either of you so... why not? After the corresponding paperwork and paying for the treatment, little Rafy was all yours to take care of. The walk back home was quiet, only filled by Rafayel's massive smugness of owning you.

The expression of utter betrayal on his little face was beyond words when he discovered he wasn’t the undisputed king of the house!

Picky eater. Dry food is too dry and wet food is too wet. Oh, and he gags at certain veggies, don't put them near him. He loved cooked fish yesterday, but who said he wanted it again today? Also, he has already made it clear he doesn't like that brand of tuna. And once again, where's his salmon treat? You can't win with him, Siamese cats weren't supposed to be this picky!

Food thief. Pretty ironic how he's so demanding about his food, but he'll do anything to have a bite of yours. He wants to taste that vanilla ice cream you bought, the steak you treated yourself with, and your drink looks tasty too. You have to push him away all the time, and sometimes he stretches as if he wasn't doing anything. He's not slick.

Gagging Gatsby. You observed him all day, worried sick for your little boy who wouldn't stop gagging. With your heart squeezed by worry, you rushed to the vet, only to find out that he... had swallowed a fly. He spent the entire afternoon writhing in disgust, convinced that ingesting a mere fly had doomed him forever, and you stabbed your wallet at the vet for this little lord who was just feeling icky. You really didn't know what to do with him anymore.

Doesn't like = will destroy. The precious cat mug you bought at the thrift store ended up broken on the floor after Mr. Perfectionist felt it looked at him wrong, or something like that. The vase with flowers gifted by your colleagues? Dumped on the table, the poor flowers scattered all over the place (Xavier joined in his antics, double scolding for misbehaving). And the curtains? Oh Lord, they were a bit too white for his liking, they had to go away! This means he jumped to the top of the window and slid down them with his claws :)

Spoiled rotten. Bows, collars, outfits, jewelry, fancy oils for his exquisite fur and paws, special brushes for grooming, the comfiest bed and blankets? He wants them all. Have I made clear enough that your wallet is suffering?

Needs attention like air to breathe. Contrary to Xavier, he meows a lot. When he sees you passing by he meows happily as he follows you, does it when he's angry, hungry, needy, or just wants you to stop doing whatever you're up to and cuddle him instead. He's mostly dramatic, but when you leave he meows up a storm, and that's what hurts you the most.

Loves baths like no other cat! You could have been expecting this, so yes, he does love baths very much. You bathe him with Xavier, who doesn't really mind them, and it's so cute seeing Rafayel being the most playful he ever is, even trying to get Xavier into the action (he's dozing off due to the warm water…). Let him enjoy his time, he and Xavi get a bit upset with the blow dryer if air gets into his sensitive ears.

His favorite place to make biscuits it's your ass. Do NOT leave your rear exposed while you're lying down, he will jump onto you and start kneading the soft flesh without warning. It's up to you if you let him do it or not, but he thinks he's soooo funny.

"You know… we really need to work on this, little man." You sighed, hands supporting your head as you sat on the toilet. "Privacy and all, don't you think?"

The coffee cream cat stared at you with big eyes, almost blinking happily as you talked to him. This was usual everyday life since you brought Rafayel in... personal space dissipated completely and privacy became a once-in-a-while-luxury.

Rafayel not only wanted but needed to be glued by your side each minute of the day. When you woke up, the first thing you saw was little Raf on top of you, eyes expectant of breakfast; at noon he climbed to the table as you ate to keep you company, at evening he sat next to you on the couch if you decided to watch some TV and at night he ran with full batteries around Xavier who had won the best spot of the bed.

"Meow". You sighed again, almost sure he understood what you were saying to him, and actively decided to ignore it. "Come on, Rafy. Just a minute, please!" You tried to carefully push him outside, but he just jumped up on the counter and looked at himself in the mirror.

When you got out of the bathroom, a groggy Xavier waited on the couch for breakfast. He saw how you carried Rafayel's body with one arm and brushed your teeth with the other before letting him down on the hallway floor. The little cat at your side looked away for a second before losing his concentration completely, his wide eyes now landing on an earring you lost some days ago.

He jumped on top of it and tapped it with his paws, looking its shiny colors, the gem-like shape, and- oh! That smell!

"Breakfast's ready!" You called them both and they hurriedly attacked their bowls. Sadly, there was no time to spare as the clock marked near eight in the morning, threatening you to get late to work. Your presence was like a fleeting shadow, going from here to there, taking interrupted bites of your breakfast, tripping as you put on your socks halfway through, and buttoning your shirt wrong.

"Bye-bye, my loves. See ya. Behave," you said as each busy head received a kiss between their ears. "Bye-bye, Miss Hooman!" was probably the thought inside Rafayel's mind before he heard the automatic lock of the door. Only then he did notice your absence, and by the time he reached the door, it was already too late.

The day felt longer than usual, and even more tiresome. You dragged your feet inside and closed the door behind you, taking your shoes off as you turned the lights on. The living room looked empty, a thing you noticed after putting away the groceries in the cupboard. Xavier's bowl was almost empty yet Rafayel's one was mostly the same as this morning. By looking at the hour they were most likely asleep by now, so you'd make sure everything was alright the next morning.

With slow movements, you made your way to the bed after taking a shower and tucked yourself under the covers where Xavier had fallen asleep. You scratched his head, scrolling on your phone to find the app for the new security camera you installed for the front door. It was your new acquisition after adopting another cat, you needed to be sure you had a way to take care of them even from a distance. To optimize energy, the camera only recorded when it detected movement at the entrance, but the curiosity soon broke your heart.

7:49 a.m. The first recording, just as you left the house. Rafayel's thin body paced in front of the door with a sad meow, his ears flattened after a long time of meowing. 8:36 a.m., he probably heard someone outside and ran to greet you, only to find a closed door. 10:31 a.m., he was trying to find his way out, jumping to turn the doorknob, only to fail. 1:23 p.m., he decided to take a nap there for an hour, and by noon there were no more videos.

Your heart clenched, and you didn't waste a second before getting off the bed and finding Rafayel after looking around, curled up behind the sofa cushions with the shirt you wore that morning. "Hello, baby," you smiled when he opened his eyes, meowing loudly one more time as he bumped his head against your hands, "Hi, love. Were you sleeping? Are you comfy?"

His paws tried to reach your face as you cradled him in your arms, taking him with you to the bed. "I'm back home, sorry for taking so long, Rafy." He protested, of course he did. You left him alone all day! Do you know how long is that, Miss Human? That's like. A whole year in cat years! And Xavier is not exactly the best company, you know? He naps all day and doesn't play with him and-

Smooch.

His feline rambling subsided after your soft lips touched his small head. "I'll make it up for you tomorrow, I got you a little present for being such a good boy". Rafy The Lover was back, purring happily against your hands as you caressed his soft fur, lulling him to sleep on top of your chest with a warm smile only you could provide.

You knew better than anyone the feeling of being alone, and you'd do anything to avoid making Rafayel feel left behind again when he called out for you.

I'm so sorry it took me this long! I had so many ideas for Rafayel I had to cut back many, maaany of them, also I was a bit busy (๑-﹏-๑) . I'm not 100% happy with how the story turned out, but I really hope you like it.

tag list ! @animegamerfox, @princessofenkanomiya, @aethercoreria

Dividers made by: @uzmacchiato, @v6que and @haecunt

#love and deepspace #lads rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x mc #rafayel x reader #lnds rafayel #lnds #qi yu #qi yu love and deepspace #qi yu lads #love and deepspace mc #lads qi yu #lnds qi yu

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realcube · 3 months ago

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SMOKE SHOW pairing.. ukai x reader

desc.. how buying cigarettes from a corner shop becomes a passionate customer-with-benefits relationship.

tws / tags.. nsfw. smoking, mentions of addiction, f!reader, vaginal, slight anal, oral (f receiving), degredation, praise, daddy kink, squirting, implied virgin reader, risky sex, exhibitionism, breeding kink.

there's a small chime of the bell as you hesitantly pad into the store, holding the heavy door open and briefly surveying the interior before you commit to entering.

it's a quaint little convenience store just off the road near your apartment. you've never been inside before because you usually buy all your essentials from the supermarket, but while on walk, you decided to pop in quickly to buy an energy drink, as you had already finished the one you brought with you from home.

despite never visiting this shop before, from just a cursory glance you are immediately able to locate the fridge section, and pounce in that direction.

lined up on the cooled shelves was an extensive selection of different novelty drinks, but you decided to keep it classic and pick up the cheapest one without so much as a second thought.

holding the chilly drink in one hand, you make your way over the front of the store to pay for it.

that's where you see, sat behind the counter, an older blonde man, who you assume is the store manager. your throat dries at out at the mere sight of him. sat on a stool, he's lazily hunched over a newspaper, which his narrow eyes are fixated on. while one hand holds the paper, the other balances a lit cigarette between his fingers, resting it his fist near the grey ashtray on the counter. with a gentle tap, the excess falls into the dish and the pulls up the remnants to his lips for a long draw. all the while, his sharp stare is still focused on the headlines in front of him.

from the bleating silence in the store — the only noise your able to hear being the constant droning of the fridge — you suspect the two of you are alone in the establishment. which makes you all the more nervous for the interaction you are about to have with this mysterious stranger.

unfortunately for you though, before you are given any time to mentally prepare, he notices your presense out of the corner of his eye and straightens up, placing his paper to the side and using his newly free hand to beckon you over to the counter.

your whole body stiffens at first, but your legs then move automatically underneath you and stagger worried-self to his register. without thinking much about it, you place your item down in front of him and insantly digging through your purse in search of your card.

"is that all?" he asks in a low voice, and you nod silently, pulling out your bank card to pay.

his expression turns sour at the sight, "sorry, doll. card machine's broken. you got cash?"

the charming feeling of this alluring stranger calling you 'doll' caused an unexpected heat to befall your cheeks and neck, but you didn't have much time to relish in it as you urgently began rummaging through your purse for cash.

thankfully, you were able to find a 5000 yen note stuck to your lipgloss cap.

as he watched, he placed his cigarette between his lips, which caused the intoxicating scent to waft over towards you, and fill your senses with brewing agitation and unrest — which you quickly shrugged off as nicotine cravings.

as he picked up the note as was about to ring up your purchase, you spoke up in a mousey voice, "uh, could i also get a pack of marlboro reds, please?"

the man quirked a brow at you, which caused a shiver to race down your spine, but nonetheless, he moved to open the glass cabinet behind the counter, and pull out a pack for you. however, when he placed it down beside your drink, you noticed that he had brought out golds.

while he was tapping the prices into the register, you piped up, a bit louder this time as he must have misheard you due to your timidness last time, "uh- sorry, i actually asked for reds."

"stick to golds, kid." he scoffed with a smirk, taking another puff of his.

meanwhile the cloud of his second-hand smoke grew thicker, and it stung your eyes, making them increasingly red and damp. "uh, okay." you murmur under your breath, averting eye-contact. you weren't going to beef with the corner store owner on a tuesday.

the tills makes a clashing noise as he rings up your purchase, and swiftly hands you your receipt. and as you are collecting your items, you notice that your total printed on the receipt had come to ¥5,060. 600 for the drink, 4000 for the cigarettes and 10% on top for sales tax.

you froze in your tracks, and from the way you were glaring at the receipt with such a puzzled look, ukai automatically recognised what your issue was, and said unprompted, "i'm not going to give you a hard time over 60 yen. i'm not some tight-arsed, miserable old guy, yet." he muses, tapping off the excess ash from his cigarette once again, gaze fixed on the ashtray as he does so.

"well," you roll your lips together in a pleased habit as your mouth spreads into a big smile, "thank you, sir."

"don't mention it, kid."

----------

not even a week had past before you found yourself back in his store. despite having no authentic reason to go in this time, you fabricated yourself a reason to go in again. just to see him. there was something about him you just couldn't shake. you knew it sounded strange but you just couldn't get this guy out of your head.

regardless, on your walk, you decided to nip into his store again to pick up another energy drink — despite the fact you had plenty at home.

you picked it up, the cheapest one he had on offer, and scuttled up to the counter. placing it down in front of him, you gazed up at him with dewy eyes and asked in your token sickeningly sweet manner, "this and a pack of marlboro reds, please?"

like last time, he was sat on his stool, with his blonde hair pushed out of his chiselled face, and his lips cradling a lit cigarette as he read the newspaper. it was almost picturesque and stunningly identical to the way you saw him last time.

when you approached though, he exhaled a deep, guttural sigh as he stood up from his stool, and slipped his cigarette out of his mouth and between his fingers. but that didn't stop the thick smell from drifting over to you from across the counter. the blunt tobacco scent mixed with his classic, musky cologne. it was hypnotic. a part of you wanted to dive across the counter and get a proper taste.

"you again?" he spat, in teasing accusation.

"mhm."

"already buying more cigarettes? what happened to that twenty pack of golds i sold you not even a week ago." he folded his arms over his chest, looking down at you for an explanation.

your pleasantly surprised he remembers you, and you stutter out, "i- uh, well, i finished it. so i'm buying more."

"finished it? that's twenty cigarettes in six days."

"hmph, maybe i would have gone through less if you had sold me the reds like i asked." you shrugged, and he can't help but smirk, amused at such blatant attitude coming from a previously dulcet girl.

"uhuh. and just for that, you're not getting any." he sighs, relaxing back onto his stool and picking up his paper once more. pretending to read it as though he doesn't clearly see you losing your mind out of the corner of his eye.

"huh? you can't just do that!"

"my store, my rules." he muses, eyes fixated on the folded paper in his hands, not sparing you a glance, "you need to get this habit of yours under control, kid."

"you're literally smoking right now!" you whine, pointing out the lit cigarette nosied between his two fingers, which he idly taps against the edge of his ashtray.

at this point, he finally looked up at you from his paper, but only to shrug in your direction and say, "yeah but i'm grouchy and old, so i can do what i want to take the edge off. young, cute girls shouldn't be smoking. what have you even got to worry about? boba prices? what shoes you should wear with your new dress?"

"i have very real things to stress about, i'll have you know." you argue, crossing your arms over your chest with a huff.

"yeah, whatever. i'm just telling you now that you'll regret it later." he takes another puff of his own, wafting the smoke in your direction to rub it in.

"the only thing i regret is coming to this stupid shop.." you grumble to yourself. "are you at least going to ring up my drink?"

his eyes flicker rapidly between your petulant figure standing afore him and your chilled sugar free energy impact on the counter, and eventually he sighs and heaves himself off his stool to stand by the counter and scan your beverage, muttering as he facilitates the transaction, "you know these energy drinks are bad for you too. filled with a load of nasty chemicals and bull piss. kids your age are dying from these things every day."

you roll your eyes as he speaks, and this doesn't go unnoticed by him, though he chooses not to comment. as he slips your change into your hands, he meets your gaze and asks you, hoarsely, "you like the sweet flavour though, don't you?"

"i guess." you grumble with a shrug, pulling your change from his round palm.

"why don't i make you a deal? you can have your shitty energy drink for free, unless you buy a pack of cigs. then, you got to pay for both. how does that sound?"

you quirk an eyebrow; not sure why this random grocer is so invested in your smoking habits. but you'd be lying if you said the offer wasn't tempting. but you can get the drink for pretty cheap in-bulk at the supermarket, so you pried into the scope of his offer, "any energy drink, or just this brand?"

"any."

woah, that changes things. there's some flavours you've always wanted to try but never had because you couldn't bring yourself to pay ¥1000 for one 500ml can. but any energy drink? just for the sole prerequisite of not buying cigarettes from his store. sold.

you nod, cracking open your drink with a hushed fizz and a smile, "alright, then. we'll see about that."

"i'm a man of my word." he rasps solemnly.

----------------

ding.

the chime of the interior bell rings as you push open the door to the shop and step inside. from routine, making a b-line to the fridge section and picking up an nice, chilled beverage. different brand this time; you didn't plan on buying any cigs so you could treat yourself to a bigger, more expensive can — instead of that cheap energy impact crap — since you weren't going to be the one paying.

you assessed your options, and picked up a cute pinkish can that called to you. surveying the exterior, ultra watermelon, it read. though unsure about what made this watermelon flavour so 'ultra', you were keen to find out. hence, you firmed your clutch on the item and made your way to the register, where a familiar face awaited.

as usual, there was nobody else in the store — bar the manager and yourself — so there was no need to wait in any pesky queue, and instead you swaggered right up to his counter and placed your new can down.

however, his concentation remained stuck to his newpaper that was draped over his hand, as he scanned over the front page with burning insensity in his eyes. his brows knitted together, and he said, "look here."

he stands up and walks to the counter, then leans of it slightly, with a lit cig tucked between his two fingers on his spare hand — no surprise there — and the other holding the paper up to show you the article he was reading, directing your attention to the headline with his thumb.

"ashes of ambition: how workplace stress is fueling rising nicotine addiction." You read the title aloud, then stop right there to quirk a brow at him. "don't tell me you actually believe this garbage."

paying no mind to your comment at all, he flaps the paper to straighten it out and pulls it away from your view, to further examine it himself as he speaks, "says here that nicotine addiction in young people has gone up 263% in the last three years." he clicks his tongue, drawing another breath from his own lit cig.

you roll your eyes, "sounds like a made-up number."

once again completely disregarding your remark, he continues his own thought-spiral, "they're sayin' it's cos of stress, but your generation ain't got nothing real to stress about."

"oh, here we go."

"nah. want to know what's really causing it? it's those e-cigarettes. you heard of 'em?" he coughs, punching his chest to clear his airway of all the thick smoke, and you grimance as his action only cause the smell of tobacco to flood your senses further.

"like vapes? of course i've heard of them."

"you e-smoke?"

you can't help but stifle a laugh at his entirely made-up but understandably derived language, "no. i don't 'e-smoke'."

"hmph, that's a shocker." he huffs with a sarcastic smile playing on his lips, as he crossed his arms over his buff chest, keep the rolled up paper in his fist, "they're all the rage with the kids your age,"

you subconciously roll your eyes. you can't tell if he's being purposefully complimentary or if he genuinely thinks you are that young — because in actual fact, you're likely not much younger than him. depending on how old he is.

he continues his spiel, but in a more frustrated tone, "but they are even worse than cigs. filled with oils that clog your lungs. but people love 'em 'cos they taste like fruit punch. it's a load of shit."

"if they are so popular, maybe you should get some vapes in stock. then maybe this place wouldn't be so dead all the time." you motion to the surrounding emptiness, and he simply scoffs in unamusement and narrows his eyes at you as he spits:

"you're a brat. get out of my store." the metallic bottom of the can scrapes against the surface as he pushed it towards you, before he falls back onto his stool, "and take your shitty drink with you. free of charge."

you giggle to yourself, and pick up the drink, "thanks." you hum, before skipping out of his store, as he ordered.

-------------------

you continued to uphold your end of the little arrangement for a while; you'd come in every week, fight the intense urge to buy a box of cigs, and walk out with a free energy drink each time.

albeit, you know energy drinks aren't much better for you — but hey, battling one addiction at a time. plus, unlike cigarettes, energy drinks have different and sweet flavours. and they come in pretty cans, opposed to packing displaying various tobacco-related aberrations.

also, you were aware that you could succumb to your desire if you wanted to, without him knowing, if you just bought the cigarettes from the counter at your local supermarket. but that would be deception, and for some reason, you know you'd feel massively guilty if you were to do that. so you don't.

and it seemed to be working. the number of smokes you would have per day significantly reduced, and around a week ago, you ran out entirely, and you've not bought more since. it's been hard and you definitely experience cravings, but it's progress.

after a couple months of your ritualistic visits to his convenience store, you began to learn more about the owner. you even got his name — which, granted, you probably should've asked about earlier, though you didn't realise then that you would be seeing him so routinely.

keishin ukai. apparently he's a volleyball coach at the local high school, as well as managing and owning the corner shop.

visiting him at the store would sometimes be the highlight of your week. even though he could be abrasive and acts disinterested at times, your interactions were always sweet and would fill you with butterflies. for some strange reason.

and this encounter was no different.

as per usual, you approach his front desk with your chilled fridge item in your hand, a banana, and a stupid wide grin on your face. you had began selecting a single fruit to buy along with your drink, so it didn't feel like you were robbing him whenever you went into the shop — support small business, and whatnot.

he was sat mulling over the newspaper's crossword, with a lit cig hanging from between his lips. when he notices you from out of the corner of his eye, he takes a deep breath in through his nose and sets his pencil and paper aside, and takes ahold of your banana to process it.

it's like every time you see him, he's smoking. baring in mind, you do come at a similar time — around eight pm — on most occasions where you visit his store. so perhaps he just happens to schedule his smoke breaks for that time. still, for the first time, you inquire further:

"ukai, how come whenever i visit, you're always smoking?" you ask with an innocent tilt of your head, "i mean, you want me to quit so bad, but your habit is worse than mine."

"i'm old so i can do what i want." he grunts to himself, with a slight smile playing on his lips as he types the price of your banana into the card machine.

"you're not old; you're, like, in your thirties. you're just lazy." you scoff, tapping your card when he slides the machine over to you.

he shrugs, removing the cig from between his lips and allowing clouds of smoke to spill from his mouth, "right. i'm in too deep to quit now."

"that's not true," you whine defensively, clutching your drink close to your chest, "i mean, that's what i thought too. but do you want to know a tip?"

his hooded eyes gazed upon you fondly, with a warmness that was concealed by a thin fog of smoke. it pleased him to hear you care about his health in such away, and he found the way you spoke with such excitement and kindness to be so endearing.

"tell me." he states.

you lean in, cupping the side of your mouth and lowering your voice as though you were telling him top secret information, "you just gotta replace one addiction with another, slightly less harmful one. like what i did with caffiene." you pull away with a giddy grin on your face, pleased to have imparted such efficacious knowledge upon your dear friend in need.

eager to see his reaction, you are disappointed when you notice his face is stuck in a contemplative scowl. so you prompt, "do have any ideas? how about gambling, do you enjoy that?"

"do like a game of poker with friends.." his notion begins, but he abruptly shuts it down with, "but i'm way too broke to afford that."

you nod understandingly, "right, well, you don't have to think of one right now. but give it some more consideration." you explain, collecting your banana from his counter as well, "and let me know if there's anything i can do to help. see you later, ukai!" you chirp, ready to turn on your heels and head for the door, until he calls outs:

"actually, there is something you could do."

----------------------------

sex addiciton.

that's what he chose, and you were more than happy to be of serivce. in fact, he didn't even manage to fully articulate his proposal before you were already tugging him into the back room.

although he was pleased by your enthusiasm, he had a different arrangement in mind, he sat his cigarette aside in the ashtray, and dashed over the front of the shop and locked the door, as well as flipping the sign to display 'we're closed!' to any passersby.

he rushed back to the counter were you stood, and you immediately dropped your items on the floor in favour of tossing your arms up and allowing yourself to be engulfed in his strong embrace. his lips came crashed down on yours, and he had you locked in a fiery, sloppy kiss. you could feel his stubble scaping against your chin and your jaws rocked in unison and it was delightfully harsh, like scratching an itch you didn't know you had.

meanwhile, his roaming hands groped at the meaty flesh of you ass and he lifted you up, to sit you down on the countertop. hands still grabbing at your ass, while this new position allowed you to wrap your legs around his waist and pull him impossibly close. you could feel his growing erection make contact with your clothed pussy.

you were wearing just a skirt and panties on your bottom half, hence with your legs spread apart, it was easy enough for him — even while still engaged in a fierce kiss with you — to slip his rough hand down your thigh and harshly tug the fabric of your panties to the side, exposing your wet folds to the chilly air of his store.

you whined into the kiss at his actions, but it was shortly broken when he pulled away to admire your newly revealed pussy. his thick thumb dipped gently between your lips, gathering all the slick and sending a chill down your spine when he grazed your needy clit.

"what a pretty cunt. where've you been hidin' this."

you choke back a giggle by biting your lip, gazing at him while his stare is clearly fixated unwaveringly between your legs. his thumb idly dips in and out of your hole, very shallowly and with little energy. it's not enough stimulation to make you moan, but certainly enough to help build your arousal — which was his intention.

"tight girl.." he muses, able to feel your homey walls from just his initial assessment with his thumb, "pass me condom, doll. behind the counter." he groans, utterly enthralled and visibly turned on by the way your glossy pussy takes just his thumb. it requires every ounce of self-discipline in his body to hold himself back from getting knuckles-deep into you.

"i'm on the pill." you reassure; somewhat muffled by the hand that had moved to your face to conceal the lewd expressions.

"fuck.. that's perfect. you're perfect, baby."

his thumb finally parts from your hole, only so he can hurriedly yank down his joggers and his briefs to reveal his length, which he taps lightly against your cunt, coating his buldging reddened tip with your wetness.

eager for his cock to experience the snugness promised by your hole, he slips into you with a stifled groan of pleasure. his teeth grind together and eyes wrinkle shut, while his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs. the way your supple walls cling to his girth entirely knocks the wind out him.

"shit, angel. you're— I'm— ngh, so fuckin' good." he grits.

an amused smile stretches across your glossy lips. it was entertaining to see a man you knew to be so firm and intimidating, come completely undone and spiral into a blubbering mess upon inserting himself into your welcoming pussy. it's like you cast a spell on him.

your not able to admire his new-found loserdom for long, as a sharp surge of pleasure strikes into you as he begins thrusting. with the help of your own sticky arousal, his fat cock slips past the defenses of your contracting walls and finds itself deep into your cunt, his tip almost kissing your cervix.

the way his girth overwhelmed your insides made it so you could see the outline of his dick on your lower stomach slightly, and it would even pulse in tandem with his movements. every jagged thrust into your sopping hole would reflect on the imprint on your abdomen, which he found so hot — entirely mesmerised by it.

"heh, pretty little pussy can't handle it, eh?" he huffed out a broken chuckle.

lips pursed, you timidly shook your head. but that didn't make him stop. no, if anything your hushed pleas and constricting pussy only fueled and energised him. seeing you all weak and desperate laying out bare on his counter, it ignited a hunger within him.

he wanted — no, he needed — to see you impaled on his fat cock, to see you submit to his ruthless control over your cunt. see that sweet girl who would always come into his store for a little drink, get fucked senseless on the older store owner's cock. he longed for it.

and he wasn't going to let your snug walls stop him; he'd bully his way through your narrow insides, just to kiss your cervix with his bulbous tip.

"must be a virgin— ngh-" he spat, brows furrowed and he continously rocks his hips into yours, "yeah, baby? never been stuffed with dick befor— fore, huh?"

your head is tossed back now that your neck has essentially gone limp, and your mouth hangs slightly agape as you allow all sorts of mindless babbling to pour out amidst your erotic chorus of mewls. in attempt to cope with the endless waves of pleasure ukai sends wracking through your body, by ploughing into your poor, soppy hoppy repeatedly.

he smirks and mistakenly interprets your senseless garble as agreement, despite the fact you were too fucked-out to even aknowledge his question about you being a virgin. "mmh, doll, a virgin, yeah? makes sense. this— ngh— this pussy explains it." he laughs to himself, stroking your tired little clit with the rough pads of his fingers as he grumbles, "don't worry, baby. daddy's gonna take care of you, 'kay?"

and as clichė or corny as it may have sounded, he was being honest.

within a few minutes you already felt yourself fast-approaching your orgasm, from the way he was stimulating your clit to the satisfaction of his cock destroying your aching pussy, it all felt too much and your legs were shaking as you were ready to burst on his countertop.

an experienced man like ukai could recognise all the tell-tale signs of your impending climax: your staggered breathing, high-pitched moans and (most enjoyably) your twitching pussy. oh, and also the fact you were screaming it loudly for the whole empty room to hear.

" 'm close!" your whiny voice echoes through the store.

and ukai, ever the gentleman, is entirely ready to put his own pleasure aside for a moment to help serivce you through — what he believes is — your first ever orgasm.

his feverish pace slows down slightly, to just the right pace so that you are still getting the satisfaction you need, but your also able to focus on deep he goes inside you. the way the head of his cock brushes against that spongy spot on your walls — it's euphoric, like stratching an itch you didn't know you had. also this reduced rate alllowed him to focus more attention on your clit, poking and rubbing it, watching intently on your face for what patterns and movements would make you squirm.

while one hand was glued to your cunt, he placed the other on your shoulder and pulled you close, gently tracing his fingertips up your spine and whispering into your neck. "c'monn, doll, you're so close. finish up for daddy."

"ngh.. i-" you start, melting into his touch and allowing your head to fall onto his (surprisingly) buff shoulder. your hips subconciously roll against his while the knot in your stomach buldges and pulses.

"don't need to say anything, darling." he rasps hoarsely, "just got'ta feel me in ya. let me make you feel good. you're almost there."

and just like that, your pussy is spasming and gushing around his cock. this sudden jolt of bliss that strikes through you is enough to cause your body to tense and for you to fall backwards onto the counter, or at least you would've, if it not for this open hand on your spine supporting you, and keep your shivering body pressed close to his while you let your climax overcome you.

lewd noises of all sorts are flying out of mouth, while the walls of your cunt clamp down on him, and the crystalline liquid squirting out of you — of which you are blissfully unaware — drenches his trousers and the lower portion of his shirt.

"ukai!" you squeal.

"fuck yeah, just like that, squirt on my cock, messy bitch— oh yeah.."

but despite your sweet moans and tight pussy gripping onto his throbbing cock, he keeps an intimate hold on you, and strokes your back as you struggle through your intense high. he even tries to fuck you through it but it's a challenge due to your steal grip on his length. "ah, that's it, perfect girl. keep going. just relax."

although he wanted to appear calm, cool and collected for you, it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself more than you, judging by his trembling voice and breathless words. "oh, good girl. make a mess on my cock. so fu— huh—ckin' hot."

but who could blame him? when you were whining the most beautiful, erotic noises right into his flushed ear, and your pussy was fluttering around his dick like you were trying to wring him dry.

and it just about worked. as soon as you came down from your high, or at least, your cunt relented it's lethal grip on him, he pulled out and bottomed out all over your glistening folds. painting your puffy lips and inner thighs white with his milky cum.

his orgasm was short-lived compared to yours since he pulled out, but still, one of the best ones he's ever had. it took him a moment to come done even when the high had subsided and everything his dick had to offer had been left either on your flesh or dripping onto the shop floor.

you gaze up at him, with your legs still spread and your chest rising and dropping quickly, as you heaved, "you know, you were okay to cum inside. i'm on the pill." you chuckle breathlessly, recalling telling him this earlier, but perhaps he didn't process it fully due to the racing hormones.

"yeah, but." he pants, just as puffed as you are, if not more, "wanted to play it safe for your first time.. sorry 'bout the mess." he looks down dejectedly at your cum-stained thighs and pussy. "i'll get you a warm rag."

after fixing his trousers, he lurches into the backroom, and you hear the tap running for a few moments. soon, he comes back in with a wet microfiber cloth like he promised.

"i'm impressed. you have pretty good stamina for a chain-smoker." you titter to yourself as he walks towards you, but he simply rolls his eyes in response. though you can tell he is charmed by the discreet smile playing on his lips.

as he stands between your legs, you offer your hand out to take the cloth, but he shakes his head, "nah, let me, kid." he grumbles, back to his harsh old-man persona.

you gulp slightly at his certainty, and mumble, "kay, be gentle?"

" ' course." he utters plainly, immediately getting to work. tenderly wiping away the excess cum on your skin, until only a sticky sheen remained.

"i can get the rest at home. thanks." you insisted, hopping off the counter, with the intention of pulling your skirt back on, but unprepared for how jelly your legs would be. thankfully, ukai fully anticipated it, and his strong arm was right there to steady you until you could find your feed.

"woah there, careful." he chides, keeping an arm securely around your waist even while you put your panties and skirt back on. he only dared to let you go when you slowly began walking away. even then, he inquired, "need me to walk you home? it's dark out."

"i'll be alright, thanks though." you smile warmly at his offer.

"no worries." he mutters, shfiting awkwardly in place, "see ya later then, (y/n)."

"see you later, keishin." you blow him a kiss on your way out.

-------------

after that heated encounter, things became a little different when you would visit ukai's store.

sex was a regular thing during your interactions now; it's like you couldn't escape his store without his dick stuffed into one of your orifices first. not that you were complaining, he was attractive and so expert at making you feel good. but your relationship quickly descended into something entirely physical and indecent extremely fast.

your hole was getting used by him on a weekly basis. and he didn't care to uphold the gentlemanly facade he put on the first time — no, all that stuff he said about 'playing it safe' went straight out the window after that occassion. that instance was the first and last time he'd ever pull out. from then on, he was depositing his load straight inside your creamy walls whenever you'd have vaginal sex. you were basically his talking cumdump.

at first, he would be polite about it and would help you gently slip your panties back on, careful as to not dirty your damp folds with his cum that was seeping out of your hole still. he'd hold your hand or crandle your figure as you put your skirt back on and would assist you in walking to the door if your legs were too numb — he'd even offer you a cup of tea if you looked thirsty! overall, the would treat you like a precious vessel; an irreplaceable container for his hot seed.

but even after a few months, that 'baby doll' treatment vanished too.

he'd bury several rounds of his load into your worn pussy, and once he had decided he was done, he'd tug himself out and search for your discarded panties. when he found them, instead of tenderly helping you to slip them back on, he'd ball them up in his palms and shove it right up your soaking hole. like a uncomfortable, make-shift plug to keep all his cum inside you. then he'd send you on your way with nothing but a wave of his hand and a slap on your ass.

at least he was smoking less, though?

another typical day, you came skipping into the shop looking for the same thing: a free energy drink and some dick. you picked the can of your choosing and approached the counter enthusiastically. however, you notice something different about ukai today; the air around him was off. he wore a suspicious look on his face and couldn't look you directly in the eye, he kept gazing away at the far corner of his shop. "hey, keishin." you hum, "what's up?"

" just the usual, kid." he glanced down at the drink you had sat afore him. with a hushed voice, he said, "there's someone else in the store. we can't get started until they leave."

you quirk a brow, "somebody else? that's a first." you titter, but ukai doesn't seem so amused.

"just take your drink and come round here." he spat, motioning for you to come round the back of the register, and you did as he said. shuffling your way around until you were standing right beside him, and you placed your drink on one of the little shelves he had.

you stare up at him placidly, while he looks down at you. he even snakes an arm behind you to stroke your lower back. he's got a very satisfying face; defined in all the right places. and so effortlessly alluring with his thick tuffs of blonde hair hang in front of his face. you are about to lean in for a kiss until the other customer in the store approaches the register, and ukai suddenly turns to serve them.

the customer is some random guy that you do not recognise. dark hair, dark eyes, nothing particularly spectacular about him. although he did appear close to you in age. either way, on the desk he placed down a few items for ukai to process: some instant noodles, a cereal bar and a carton of milk. run-of-the-mill stuff, really.

even as ukai served the customer and input the prices into the card machine, he didn't take his other hand off of you. in fact, as he worked, it creeped down slowly from the small of your back, to the fat of your perky ass. that's where you thought his descent would end, but no. after he gave your ass a rough squeeze, he slides down even further.

then you freeze, as his risque fingers find themselves against your clothed pussy, and rub against your growing damp patch.

"need a bag?" ukai asks casually to the customer, not even paying any regard to his hand on your sopping heat. the guy responds with muted nod.

while he procures a plastic bag for the customer, and one-handedly puts everything into the bag, his fingers on his other hand hook over the fabric of your panties and skillfully yank it aside. then, without wasting any time, he haughtily pokes one finger right up your pretty pussy. and your expected to stand there and not make a peep, lest you off-put the customer and they become aware of the dangerously inappropriate situation concealed behind the counter.

his finger curls inside your spongy walls and virgously squirms around, and you literally need to bite your tongue in order to keep quiet. admittedly, his lone finger was nothing compared to his cock but it was expert at hitting all the spots on your walls that have been in dire need of stimulation.

and while you are fighting for your life to keep silently — honestly becoming light-headed — ukai is moving aggravatingly slowly, just to tease you. it takes him double the time it should to put three items away, before he finally hands it to the customer. they smile politely and nod, then turn to walk away. and you see out of the corner of your eye ukai is glaring daggers at you, as if to warn you about the consequences of making noise before the customer fully leaves the store.

it takes longer than it should, but when you finally hear the tell-tale noise of the store's door chime, you take it as a signal to let out the brimming moans you've been keeping in. "ngh— keishin, right there! keep going."

ukai rolls his eyes but he knows the inescapable smile gracing his lips always gives him away. he thrusts into your drenched hole even faster, adding an extra digit in too. "what a needy girl, huh. lettin' me finger you while a customer's in the shop. this pussy's got no shame, eh?" he tuts, less focussed on the words falling from his lips, and moreso on his hand's virgous pumping into your hole, and the way your legs begin to quiver in response.

"mmph, no.." you mewl, bracing yourself by resting your arms on the counter and shamelessly arching into hands, so he can get them right knuckles-deep inside you, and hit that delicious spot you were trying to reach with your own fingers all of last night, but to no avail.

"there she is. my slutty doll face." he idles, staring agape at the pornographic expressions you were making while he continued to fingerblast you against the register; your pink tongue poking out of your pretty mouth every so slightly, and your plump cheeks hot with lust.

"you know what i want to do with this tight little body today?" he drones, checking you out from head to toe, "want to make this pussy squirt like it did before. the first time we had sex." he explains, but around mid-way through his sentence, he extends his thumb out to your clit to provide a bit of extra stimulation, and it's around that time where you entirely black out and his chatter falls on deaf ears as you ride out your golden high on his digits.

"nggh! right th— ah, keishin, please." you scream into the vast emptiness of the store, and ukai simply smirks down at you in your newly dishevelled state.

"hmph, only on your first orgasm and i've already got you babbling like a dumb slut." he muses, keeping the power up while slamming into your sopping cunt, without a care for the juices that were splashing around the shop with each harsh impact on your slick-lined folds. "almost there, (y/n). c'mon. 'n let's hear that pretty voice of yours. scream f'me."

perhaps he was the one babbling now, as he had a hand hooked under your chest to idly pinch at your erect nipple, while the other worked virgorously at your hole and clit. and before long, your pussy walls were spasming around his digits, a sensation he had grown plenty used to by now. and he knew not to take it as a sign to cease, but instead, to persevere and fuck you even harder through your climax.

"aghh— keishin!" you screamed, heeding his command of being loud and plenty noisy. you opened your mouth and let your abused pussy yell on your behalf.

"(y/n)." he rasps with his jaw clenched. eyes zeroed in on your dirty hole; despite the fact he could feel your walls convulsing crazily, and could thus tell you had a nice climax, he was disappointed when there wasn't any splashback to accompany it. he was anticipating getting his shoes and clothes soaked again; maybe even his face this time!

but alas, no squirt. so he'll just have to try again.

"this pussy needing dick today?" he asks lowly, slowly leaning forward until his lips are inches away from the shell of your ear, while his hand makes sloppy circles on your labia.

you only mewl quietly in response, burying your face in your arms from embarrassment. at which he chuckles. "fuck's sake, doll. talk to me. don't say i've fucked you stupid already?" he retracts himself from your ear, only so he can kiss down your back, up the curve of your ass and along your inner thigh. until his lips are directly up against your drenched core, and he utters, right between your sticky lips, "or how 'bout eaten? that what she needs?"

"mmh, maybe." you whimper timidly, a slight moan droning at the bottom of your throat from the way his words vibrate against your pussy.

ukai interprets that as an affirmitive, which prompts him to slide his tongue right past your glistening enterence and into your needy hole. it would worm around in there, soaking up all your juices while his lips would massage your supple folds. like the world's horniest french kiss, it was slow and wildly intimate; and he's grasp your thighs as though he was cupping the face of a lover, silently pleading with them not to pull away.

not that you were going anywhere. in fact, you'd only sway your hips in delight and grind back against his face when you were in desperate need of more attention to the hollow parts inside you — urging his tongue even further up and eliciting a deep, erotic moan from your dry throat.

"mmph, tasty pus— fuck!" he grunts against your cunt, not even parting from it to speak, "—so fuckin' good.. tight too.." and there was something about him, where whenever he would dive into your cunt, he just could not shut the fuck up. he's coming out with nonsensical garble every ten seconds, about how delicious you are or how pretty your cunt is. or at least you think that's what he's saying, you can't even make out most of it because he says it while his tongue is engulfed by your hole. not that you are complaining, the vibrations from his mouth when he speaks feels good against your pussy.

occassionally when he became a bit more exicted, he'd yank his tongue out of your warm hole to start feverishly lapping at your slick-coated pussy like a starving pup. "mm, such a perfect cunt. look at that tight little hole. shit." he wanted every last inch of your sweet nectar on his tongue, and he'd glide his tongue over your cunt however many times required until the only thing your skin gleamed with was his own spit.

he was like a monster devouring your pussy. he wasn't the fastest at first — no, he focused more on the intimacy of the kiss — but he built up speed as he went and the entire time, his tongue would work like an expert inside you, knowing exactly what sides to rub and what buttons to press.

that already that the pulsing damn in your abdomen ready to fall, but intertwined with the way one of his hands edges up from groping your ass, to thumbing and teasing your pert asshole — you didn't stand a chance. next thing you knew, your dam had collapsed and your tired cunny was unleashing a crystalline liquid all over ukai's face.

spurts of fluid gushed from your pussy, making a wet mess all around you: the floor, the shelves, your clothes, his clothes. and lest we forget his face, who was right in the splash zone when you reached your second orgasm. his tongue was buried in your cunt, as he was innocently trying to fuck you through your high, but the sheer force pushed him and left him soaked.

not that he minded. in fact, that had been his aim this entire time. so he happily sat back and watched as your pussy clenched around nothing and squirted in front of him.

meanwhile, you were trying desperately to cope with the absurdly strong waves of pleasure that were crashing through you, but it was all too much. even with your toes curled and your whole body tensed, it was still such an overwhelming euphoria that truly rocked you to your core. all you could do was ride it out.

"keishin!!—nghhh, fuck, i--" you shrieked, but ukai hardly paid any mind, he was all too caught up in admiring the obscene sight afore him.

it took you a a minute or so before you properly started to come down, and ukai could tell by your increasingly labored breathes and the way your legs eventually gave out from under you, and you landed on the floor with him, in a shallow pool of your own juices.

"what a messy girl." he tuts, wiping your slick arousal from his chin, "your going t'have to clean this up, y'know."

#ukai keishin #ukai x reader #ukai smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu time skip #haikyuu x reader

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meta-sequoia · 4 months ago

Text

Rose genetics and the law of unintended consequences (or, ten rose bushes, reviewed)

I have a number of longposts in the backlog, including updates on a number of garden improvement projects I undertook over the winter, but I kept putting off posting them because there kept being Horrors. However, spring is here - in California anyway - and plants wait for no one.

Over the winter of 2025, as a coping mechanism for the aforementioned Horrors, I got really into roses. Because of who I am as a person, deciding what roses I wanted to buy also made me feel obliged to reconstruct the history of rose breeding, just to make sense of the teeming confusion of the tens of thousands of named rose varieties. Humans have been raising roses for food, medicine, and beauty for untold centuries, and so they've really grown up with us. The history of the development of roses, it turns out, is the history of the development of humanity in miniature.

This post has it all: history, some light phylogeny discussion, material analysis of English folk ballads, a conceptual framework for understanding how different kinds of roses vary and why, a #haul breakdown of what bare-root roses I got and what I thought of them, and some philosophical musings on what it means for an organism to be subjected to a long-term selective breeding process, to be remade wholly in the image of human desire. All that, and pictures of roses, under the cut.

My general region of California is considered to have a good climate for roses, much good may it do us. It never gets too hot or too cold, so they essentially never go out of season, and even though our winters are wet, the rest of the year is fairly dry. This is absolutely critical, because the main problem that makes garden roses hard to grow is fungal disease. Modern roses are incredibly susceptible to fungal diseases, which are caused, roughly, by Damp. This has typically been combated with toxic sprays (though there are now less-toxic options) and aggressive pruning regimens.

Needless to say, this is a ridiculous fucking problem for a plant to have. California natives, by comparison, hate irrigation - they have a natural life cycle involving being dry in summer and wet in winter, like California itself, so if you grow them in a climate resembling their natural range, without too much added water, they will be mostly OK. Roses, as far as I can tell, actually hate all water, including rain and humidity, which is much worse because gardeners do not control the weather. If it rains too often after, say, noon, the rose's leaves might get wet, fail to dry off, get a fungal disease, and die. If there is too much fog, or it is humid, as it is in most of the country in the summer, the rose's leaves might get wet &c. If you have a sprinkler system - you get the idea.

Fungal disease can also weaken roses and make them more prone to insect infestations. This is bad because modern garden roses are, without any help from The Weather, already incredibly prone to infestations from aphids, mites, beetles, and a mite-borne disease undescriptively called "rose rosette disease", which produces a habitus that I can only describe as "rose bush eldritch horror".

Now, this may all have you asking one question. Probably, that question is "why are you so obsessed with a plant that wants so badly to die?" I will not be answering this question today. Instead, I will be answering a different question, which is "Why do modern garden roses suck so bad?"

Now, if roses are subject to some manner of curse, then it isn't a family curse, phylogenically speaking. Roses - genus Rosa species extremely miscellaneous - are a member of the family Rosaceae, which contains a massive number of useful and delightful plants. It is possibly the most economically important family of plants next to the brassicas. The rose family brings us not just roses, but apples, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, plums, peaches, apricots, and almonds. And the wild rose, untouched by human efforts, is a lot like a raspberry, actually.

Its flowers have only five petals, in pink or white. It’s got thorny stems that form thickets, and oval (or, technically, lanceolate) leaves with lightly serrated edges. Its flowers are fragrant, which is an adaptation to their long and necessary coexistence with pollinators and other insects - fragrance serves as a chemical signal for insects to "come here" or "go away", depending. The wild rose is hardy, like all wild plants, tolerant of various environmental problems that would kill a garden rose: shade, salt, normal levels of ambient insect and fungal disease pressure, drought, being consistently rained on in the afternoon or evening. It may reproduce asexually from suckers - strong shoots from near the base of the plant - and this makes it able to withstand browsing pressure from e.g. deer. (Put a pin in that.) It also can reproduce in the normal way, by having its flowers pollinated and forming seeds, which are borne in prominent reddish-orange fruits called "hips".

This is not a rose I bought, but here’s Rosa gymnocarpa, a California native rose. It’s a wood rose, so it’s shade-tolerant, and it’s often found in redwood forests specifically, so it tolerates relatively dry soil and very acidic soil.

Honorable mention: Rosa gymnocarpa (wood rose)

Source: Calscape

A raspberry plant in flower, for comparison. Source

The wild rose has another trait, which may be surprising to those who have only ever seen garden roses: it blooms once, usually in the summer. This is typical of flowers, which almost always have a season, for the exact same reason fresh fruit has a season. Flowering plants are on a tight schedule: they need to finish up their blooming, so they can set fruit, so they can get their seeds out before winter, in case the frost kills them off. And mostly we’re used to that: tulips are for spring, so you don't expect a tulip to make a second showing in fall, or to flower continuously throughout the summer. But roses have been bred to do this, and have done it for centuries, for so long we barely remember what it was like when "roses blooming" was a time of year, an event.

It's possible that for most of human history, roses were all the more treasured for being fleeting, which simply isn't an aspect of how we moderns understand roses. I am constantly subjected to traditional ballads at home, both in English and German, so I am very aware that multiple Child ballads mention roses as a way of placing the events of the ballad at a particular time of year. In 'Lady Isobel and the Elf-Knight', a song traditionally associated with May Day, one version of the chorus references the events as occurring 'as the rose is blown'. And at the start of 'Tam Lin', the protagonist meets her fairy lover while plucking a double rose, is "laid down among... the roses red" by him, and finishes the ballad on Halloween night heavily pregnant with his child. The course of the ballad is inextricably intertwined with the course of the seasons, and the bloom of roses is synonymous with early summer. (There's so much symbolism in 'Tam Lin', but especially around roses. Can I interest you in tam-lin.org at this time?)

European religious literature even uses "a rose e'er blooming" as a purely figurative phrase, something impossible and magical enough to be a metonym for the Virgin Mary - but in the modern era, most garden roses are ever-blooming. The perpetual-blooming rose is not the natural state of the rose plant, but a kind of technology that had to be developed. And I don't know, I just think that's neat.

So what have we learned? The wild rose is: once-blooming, tough, possibly shade-tolerant depending on species, very thorny, bearing simple pink or white five-petaled flowers, that are fragrant, pollinator-friendly, and produce fruit readily enough. In short, a practical, normal sort of plant.

The garden rose is…not that. There’s no other way to put this: the modern garden rose is the wild rose, but bimboified.

Now, in case today is your first day on the Internet - well, first of all, welcome, it’s bad here - but secondly, bimboification is a niche fetish where someone is transformed into a hypersexualized version of themselves that is also very stupid. Plant domestication is obviously analogous. I didn’t originate this joke; in fact, I reblogged a joke like this just last week.

Roses are like this but even more so. Like, wheat is clearly bimboified. Its sexual parts (seeds) have been remade, swollen to ludicrous proportions, and wheat is probably worse at being a plant than wild grasses. But we created modern wheat from wild grass because it was more useful that way, and wheat could in theory survive and spread without human cultivation. Roses are Like That purely because we wanted to make them a more perfect decorative object. Centuries of intensive selection pressure for appearance have rendered roses useless as an independent plant: they are so disease-prone they need extensive intervention to even survive, and they are often physically incapable of propagating themselves - one of the basic features of plants! - without human aid. That’s plant bimboification.

Source: Heirloom Roses. This one is called 'Oranges 'n' Lemons. Hardly seems like the same plant!

Here are just a few examples, of what we've done to roses. Humans love rose petals - eating them, distilling them into perfume, smelling them, just looking at them - so the garden rose has massive flowers that are so stuffed with petals that pollinators cannot get at their centers, rendering the rose incapable of reproducing except possibly with the help of a human equipped with a paintbrush. Humans love bright colors, so modern roses come in every color their natural pigments allow. Garden roses are often - though not always - less thorny than their wild cousins, because thorns are inconvenient to humans, and so have been somewhat bred out.

And what’s just as important is what was bred out of wild roses in the process of becoming modern roses - by accident. As mentioned above, modern roses are often useless to pollinators, and, not unrelatedly, can’t reproduce without human help. They often lose their fragrance, if not specifically bred for it. They are very susceptible to disease, because gardeners can keep alive, through sheer stubbornness, plants that natural selection would have culled. Likewise, they need full sun where many wild roses can get by even in the shade of big evergreens, and they can't tolerate nearly as much cold, heat, or salt exposure as their wild relatives.

This 'use it or lose it' thing, by the way, is a general principle of selective processes like plant breeding, or like evolution. If you have two independent traits, A and B, and you select hard for A, then B is likely to gradually drop out of the population, simply because the subset of A carriers that also have B is likely to be small. It's pure statistics. (It essentially is a human-created population bottleneck.) The more intense and ruthless the selection pressure, the stronger the effect. Evolution cares a lot about seed production and hardly at all about color, so wild roses are plain but make enormous rose hips; humans like beautiful roses the color of sunsets, and are indifferent to seed production, so modern roses don’t make hips at all. The failure to select for eventually becomes an implicit selection pressure against.

(Highly-bred organisms are thus less, I guess, well-rounded genetically even before you get to issues of inbreeding, and if you assume there is no biological link between your selected-for traits and other ridealong traits, e.g. domestication syndrome. Genetics is complicated!)

One adapted wild-type trait that - I speculate - was not bred out, due to its direct usefulness to humans, was the ability of roses to grow back vigorously from having leaves or branches removed. This is, it seems to me, an adaptation to herbivore browsing - if you are a rose with minimal regrowth ability, and a deer chews on half your canes, it’s curtains for you. But humans also fully remove half of the canes of their garden roses every winter - it’s critical to controlling the fungal disease that so plagues them. Specifically, pruning improves airflow through the plant, which evaporates the water that keeps falling on the leaves from the sky. (You know. The rain, that roses both hate and need to live.) In some sense, we are acting as caretakers here, shaping the plant in inscrutable ways for its own good. But to the plant, we are basically deer: just another in a long line of animals that want to steal its leaves. Unbelievable! It needs those! Fuck you too, buddy: here’s a faceful of thorns.

Truly, a tale as old as time.

This brings me to my first actual rose review, a kind of bridge between wild roses and the world of cultivated roses.

#1: Rosa rugosa, probably "Hansa"

Source: the author's yard.

This is a sucker - a vigorous young ground-level shoot - from an unnamed rosebush from my mother's house. I say "probably 'Hansa'" because we have no idea what this actually is, only that it is a rugosa hybrid, purchased from an unknown nursery in the Midwest sometime during the Bush administration.

'Hybrid rugosas' are crosses between garden-type roses and a wild rose species called Rosa rugosa, which is native to much of Asia. This particular rose bush has many traits carried over from its wild parent: it's violently fragrant, a glorious sweet-spicy combo that smells to me like childhood and home; it has wrinkly leaves (characteristic of Rosa rugosa in particular); its stems are practically coated in prickles; and it's quite tolerant of shade, drought, and salt (Rosa rugosa is a beach rose).

The main virtue evinced by this rose, derived from its wild parent, is the same reason that it is still here in my garden: it is extremely difficult to kill. My mother, after hearing me say I wanted this specific rose bush at my house the same way it had been at my childhood home, dug up a sucker from her instance, put it in a bag with some wet dirt, carried it by hand on a multi-hour cross-country plane flight, and handed it off to me. Once I received it, I stuck it in a pot, because I was ripping up my lawn and had nowhere to plant it, and mostly forgot about it, because I was busy ripping up my entire lawn. It lost its leaves suspiciously early in the fall. ("That's not good," my mother said, over FaceTime, brow furrowed. "Are the rest of your roses doing that?")

But as the saying doesn't go, "where there's green cambium, there's hope", and I continued to take care of it throughout the winter. I eventually even remembered to put it in the ground. It is now March, and in defiance of the mockery of certain judgemental housemates, who said things like "why do you have a stick in a pot?" and "it's giving 'dead', my guy", this "stick" has now decided to become a rosebush, and has a grand total of (approximately) twenty-five leaves.

Like I said: extremely difficult to kill. It is currently planted 10-ish feet from the base of a redwood tree, a tough environment where some hardy garden-style roses have nonetheless been known to thrive. Given that its resurrection has occurred entirely while it was planted under the redwood, it doesn't seem too mad about its environment.

Review: holy shit, it’s alive???

#2: Zéphirine Drouhin, the "old garden rose"

Source: Heirloom Roses

Rosarians have conceived of many groupings of garden roses, based on known ancestry, phenotype, genetic studies, and Vibes, but one major breakpoint is those bred before 1867, the "old garden roses", and after 1867, the "modern garden roses".

The old garden roses were derived mostly from ancient European and Middle Eastern stock, which had themselves been created from wild roses centuries prior. For example, this is Rosa x alba, an ancient European rose strain; it was used as the heraldic badge of the medieval House of York during the English conflict known as the War of the Roses.

Source: not mine

Some of these roses are perpetual-blooming, a trait introduced as late as the eighteenth century, and which is entirely due to trade contact with China: as far as I can tell, the genes for strong reblooming only come from the Chinese rose-breeding tradition, which was itself centuries old by that point. So the modern Western concept of perpetual-blooming roses as the default kind of rose - like so many other aspects of modernity - is a direct result of Europeans cribbing from everybody else.

Interestingly, France was a major center for rose development during the early modern period. You can see it in the way old garden roses are named: overwhelmingly after some eminent madame or monsieur. This is probably connected to the fact that Josephine, Napoleon Bonaparte’s empress, was a rose fiend: she had two hundred and fifty new varieties of rose to be brought to her gardens at Château de Malmaison, which was probably pretty much all the named varieties of rose that existed then, and many of which were new to European cultivation at that time. Again, this represented a massive inflow of rose genes that were previously restricted to other countries or continents entirely. Inextricably, these gardens also represent the proceeds of early modern global trade, and of empire: Napoleon, on campaign abroad, himself sent her hundreds of specimens of flowering plants, and the French navy confiscated plants and seeds from ships captured and sea and sent them to her.

Anyway, Zéphirine Drouhin, created at the end of the "old garden rose" period and named for some now-forgotten madame or mademoiselle, is highly fragrant - one of the few roses said to really perfume the air - with a vibrant but old-fashioned color palette. (Apricot and yellow roses were also characteristic of the Chinese rose gene pool, and so were significantly less common in old garden roses.) Zéphirine Drouhin is also thornless, a rare trait that we nonetheless see in some old-fashioned garden roses, and a few modern garden roses as well.

Old garden roses have a variable but generally good level of disease resistance. Zéphirine Drouhin in particular, gets something of a bad rap for poor disease resistance; English rose breeder David Austin Roses says, tactfully, that it "prefers warmer climates" (versus, one must assume, rainy England) and that "controlling disease can be a problem". By this you should understand them to mean that it is a whiny little pissbaby that constantly gets blackspot, a diva that will defoliate at the drop of a hat (or the drop of, uh, water).

However, unlike certain other newer roses I will mention later, I have found Zéphirine Drouhin to be pretty healthy so far. I received this rose, like many in this post, "bare root", basically a stick, dormant in a bag of wood shavings. Upon being planted in a part-sun area, it has leafed out with only a scattering of aphids to show in terms of disease.

Review: So far, so good. Looking forward to the fragrance.

#3 and 4: 'Mister Lincoln' and 'Fragrant Cloud', the hybrid tea brothers

Remember how I mentioned that 1868 is the breakpoint between "old garden roses" and "modern garden roses"? That year marked the invention of a new type of rose, the 'hybrid tea', that is in some sense THE rose, the ARCHETYPE of a rose. If you ask someone who knows nothing about roses to draw 'a rose' - if you look up clipart of a rose - a hybrid tea rose is what you'll get.

Source: Star Nursery

This is Mister Lincoln, and although it was developed as late as the 1960s, it has the classic hybrid tea rose form. Hybrid teas have a very distinctive shape, described as "high-pointed", with a spiral of unfurling petals that curl at the edges, and they're borne singly on long stems, making them great for cutting and putting into vases and bouquets. They are not always strongly fragrant, and they are not generally very disease-resistant. They come in a very wide variety of colors, intense and subtle. They are reblooming.

Hybrid teas were developed by another East-meets-West cross, when the Chinese tea roses, freshly imported from Guangzhou in the early 19th century, were bred with the old garden roses. Tea roses have the same iconic form as the hybrid teas; they have those unique, pastel shades that were previously quite absent from European rose stocks; they smell like a fresh cup of tea. All these traits they impart to hybrid teas. Hybrid teas have been very popular ever since, and have been subject to a great deal of selective breeding for color and form.

Hybrid teas don't generally spark joy, to me. I find the 'cartoon rose' shape kind of twee, honestly. And the reputation for lack of disease tolerance puts me off. But I heard Mister Lincoln was incredibly fragrant, and that drew me in. Likewise Fragrant Cloud (1967), which also has the charming feature of being a violent neon coral that is allegedly very difficult to photograph.

Source: Heirloom Roses

“It'll be fine," I thought. "How much fungal disease can it get? It's not like it's humid here."

Never again. My trust is destroyed; fuck hybrid teas.

please, my son, he is very sick

This is my poor Mister Lincoln, planted from bare-root in mid-December. It has three different fungal diseases, and also an aphid infestation I can't seem to get it to shake. It looks like one of those diagrams of a liver in a medical textbook that has fatty liver and cirrhosis and liver cancer all at once, just so you can see what all the diseases look like. This is a rose that has every problem! No other rose in this flower bed comes close to having every problem! 'Munstead Wood' is also a modern garden rose (though from a very different lineage - see my review below) and it has no fungal diseases and not a single aphid!

Well, maybe the other hybrid tea I bought is doing better... well, nope, it rained last week and Fragrant Cloud has powdery mildew.

Review: Come on, man.

#5 Unidentified ‘sunset’ rose

I didn’t buy these roses; they came with my house. As a consequence, I have no idea what they are, but I am now intimately familiar with their traits, and I think they are very indicative of both the high and low points of modern garden roses.

On the surface level, the fact that these rose bushes are still with us is an impressive proof of their persistence under adversity. When I bought the house, these roses were being choked to death. Lily-of-the-nile had been planted way too close to them, and then permitted to grow unchecked and undivided for many years; their roots were completely infiltrated and surrounded with lily roots. The lily roots had also damaged the irrigation lines, which were dribbling uncontrolled amounts of water into the shared root zone. So when I excavated these roses, the whole area smelled strongly of rot, with visible mold throughout; the roots were fully wet even in the heat of August. The roses were also infested with blackspot, not surprisingly. I wasn’t sure if what I was doing was too little, too late.

But when they finally got some drainage, some direct sunlight, and some relief from the brutal root competition, they did start growing back, and even blooming. Come winter, I pruned hard, defoliated, and applied neem oil consistently. And they’ve made a comeback!

Source: these blooms are actually my roses.

They bloom, and they’re beautiful. They do this ombre thing, where the buds are bright yellow and as they open they go from yellow, to orange, and finally to red.

The growth is fairly vigorous, with no powdery mildew no matter how rainy it gets. But their foliage definitely suffers from blackspot, and occasional rose rust; the spores are probably ambiently present in the soil now, and they can’t quite seem to defend themselves, even with ample help from organic fungicides like neem oil.

They also have no fragrance. They smell like nothing. And that’s the standard modern garden rose in a nutshell, I think: beautiful color and form, shaky disease resistance, little fragrance. It’s a little sad, honestly.

Review: Okay, this one is really pretty, actually.

Interlude: Pesticides and the law of unintended consequences

So, yeah, you can sort of see how roses got a reputation for being picky divas. I can only imagine how bad this sort of thing must get in places that get (gasp!) rain or humidity in the summer.

Now, having created plants that are too disease-ridden to live, rose-lovers came up with practical and effective solutions to the disease problem they created. For the past century or so, the go-to fix for our increasingly disease-prone rose population has been chemicals: regular applications of synthetic insecticide and fungicide sprays, as well as plenty of fertilizer and herbicide to feed the roses and kill any competing weeds.

However, recall the theme of this post: the law of unintended consequences. In agriculture, the development of modern pesticides and fertilizers has been genuinely miraculous; the Green Revolution is estimated to have saved a billion people from starvation in the latter half of the twentieth century. Saving a billion people! Can you even begin to conceive of what it would be like to save a billion people, even grapple with the moral weight of that act? I know I can't; the number is simply too large for our moral intuitions to handle, I think. So I'm hesitant to bad-mouth pesticides and fertilizers too much.

But they do have massive downsides. Chemical fertilizers leach into the groundwater and cause algal blooms that make entire bodies of water go anoxic, rendering them uninhabitable to fish and the rest of the aquatic food chain. Insecticides are probably responsible for colony collapse, which endangers the pollinators that we rely on for our food supply.

And, well, even if you don't give a shit about the natural world - you are a part of the natural world. You are an animal, with all the frailty that implies. Our bodies use many of the same ancient metabolic pathways as insects and plants; the majority of your DNA is shared with a banana. And because you are an animal, it is very difficult indeed to create an insecticide that will poison other animals without poisoning you too, at least a little. Herbicides are somehow still worse, despite the more distant biological relationship between humans and dandelions: Roundup, for instance, is linked to non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, which has led to Monsanto paying out massive legal settlements to cancer patients who used their products.

So if we can't grow roses without coating them in poison, maybe we should just… not do that? Go back to growing super-hardy nearly-wild roses like rugosas, forgoing forever the elegance and sublime color of a modern rose?

Give up this? ‘Glowing Peace’, Heirloom Roses

Not so fast! Maybe this technological problem has a technological solution. If we bred roses so that they sucked, maybe we should just not do that! Make different roses! Make roses that don't suck!

#6-#8, ‘Ebb Tide', 'Eden', and 'Lavender Crush': roses that don't suck

Over the last fifty years, people have become increasingly aware of the impacts of modern lifestyles upon our health and the health of the planet and its ecosystems. So maybe this has made the public less willing to buy roses that need to be treated constantly with toxic sprays. Or maybe it's just that growing disease-prone roses is an enormous pain in the ass. Spray, prune, spray, defoliate, fertilize, spray, fertilize, spray, water - but not too much! Oops, powdery mildew. Defoliate and spray some more.

So the genetic health of the newer varieties of garden roses is greatly improved. The two hybrid teas I struggled with above were bred in the 1960s. All the named rose varieties in this section were bred since the 1990s or later: Eden in 1997, Ebb Tide in 2004, and Lavender Crush, the baby of the group, was introduced in 2016. All of them are vibrantly healthy and quite vigorous; Ebb Tide and Eden are shade-tolerant too, and Lavender Crush is allegedly very winter-hardy. After a scant two months in the ground, they've started to put out flower buds. And they keep some of the glorious color and form of older roses. Look at them!

Source: Heirloom Roses.

I don't mean to say all 20th century roses are bad and disease-ridden. I also have purchased 'New Dawn' (introduced 1930), due to it being the fifteen-dollarest rose at the Home Depot. (My toxic trait is that I am an absolute sucker for a good deal. I don't go into TJ Maxx anymore; it's too dangerous.) 'New Dawn' has all the ancestral, throwback traits I laud here: shade-tolerance, fragrance, disease resistance. It even brings in the pollinators! But it seems to me there's been a noticeable uptick in the quality of newer rose introductions, particularly when it comes to disease resistance. I'm not wired into the professional rose world to know what that is; I'm Literally Just Some Guy. But it's a good trend.

Review: I am so excited for the buds to open, you have no idea.

#9: 'Double Knockout': the 'landscape' rose

Wait, no, I take that back. These roses have too much ease of care. Put some back.

The Knockout rose has one virtue: you cannot kill it with an axe. Literally.

This rose was planted right at the foot of a redwood tree in my garden, because the previous owner of my house was an idiot. This is a terrifically bad setup for roses and redwoods: redwoods acidify the soil, and suck up water and nutrients aggressively, leaving little for surrounding plants, and of course they provide dense shade. Roses hate the acid, the dry and low-nutrient soil, and the shade; this plant never bloomed all last summer. For their part, the redwoods hate having anything planted in their inner root zone - their roots are relatively shallow for such a large tree. This is not a good situation for anyone, so I hacked this rose back to the ground, dug out as much of the root ball as I dared, and in my naivete thought that would be the end of it. Well, it has grown back. Now I am faced with the dilemma of whether to risk root injury to my redwood tree, or just let the rose be, bloomless as it is. Probably the latter is better for the redwood tree, on the whole. Maybe it’ll get choked out if I don’t water it? Anyone’s guess, really.

The category of landscape roses is a 2000s invention. The first Knockout rose was introduced in 2000 after years of intensive selective breeding for being easy-care, free-flowering, and disease-resistant; the similar Drift line was the product of an amateur rose breeder in 2006 to much the same ends. Landscape roses are so named because instead of being demanding prima donnas suited only to those who love roses enough to take on the Rose Tasks, they’re just another pretty shrub in the landscape.

And I will say this for them: in that bad, fungal spore–inundated flower bed I mentioned, my landscape roses (plus Munstead Wood, see below) are notably free of fungal disease.

Also, I think that's leaf tissue proliferating at the center of the bottom left bloom?? A rare but harmless growth disorder of flowering plants.

This comes at a cost, of course, at least if you’re a snob like me. I don’t think landscape roses are very interesting-looking - though of course they come in a wide variety of colors, the better to coordinate with the color scheme of your house! - and they are generally, tragically, without fragrance. While I can’t complain about anything that gets US gardeners to use less pesticides, they are barely roses to me. They are, in fact, the closest roses come to being an inanimate object, a decorative thing you can just plonk down in your garden wherever, like a tacky concrete statue. They’re a commodity; the enchantment is gone. I wouldn’t rip them out where they’re well-sited, but I sure wouldn’t plant more.

Now, this is incredibly mean to people who love landscape roses, but here goes. I’m reminded of a thread from r/Ceanothus, the California native gardening subreddit, that is now burned into my brain. OP asks for a native shrub recommendation, but not just any native shrub. OP wants a native shrub that will grow very tall, but also stay very narrow - 1’ wide in places. OP needs a native shrub that will grow thick and vigorous, to block out their view of the neighbors. OP needs this thing to be evergreen; OP presumably wants low water inputs. And OP needs all this, in a shrub that will grow in full shade.

In fairness, OP was polite about it, and this is a common problem for urban gardeners. The dark, untended canyon between buildings is a very common phenomenon in Californian cities. I too have a narrow, shaded side yard containing a tiny strip of crappy, gravelly dirt, that I’d love to grow something in: how do you think I found this post? Dear reader, I am very much at that devil's sacrament.

And the ceanothusheads of r/Ceanothus tried gamely. But one commenter replied with something that fully changed how I think about gardening:

Source: Reddit

Sometimes, what you need is not a living organism, with its own needs, that will change over time in ways you may not endorse, that interacts with the world around it. Sometimes what you really want is a man-made object. Sometimes what you want to grow in your tall, narrow, lightless, bone-dry side yard, for your privacy requirements, is a fence. And that’s what I think about landscape roses. In Mediterranean and desert climates, as long as there's enough sun, you can always fall back on planting a succulent. But not every location can grow succulents outdoors year-round. In temperate climates, landscape roses could probably be successfully replaced with a particularly attractive boulder. Or, if what you want is a smart-looking, easy-care hedge: consider a fence.

Review: I’d maybe rather plant a fence a succulent.

#10: 'Munstead Wood': the old English rose, reloaded

‘Munstead Wood’, my final acquisition, is a credit to another major modern rose breeding program, this time out of England: David Austin Roses. The main idea of the David Austin rose-breeding project seems to be combining the particular charms of traditional English old garden roses - their fragrance, their romantic, sophisticated forms - with the virtues of modern roses - continuous blooming, a wide range of highly Instagrammable colors - plus disease-tolerance that twenty-first century gardeners now expect. And judging by their singular impact on the contemporary rose market, they seem to have been very successful at that goal. The Reddit reviews are glowing, the forums are abuzz for their hottest new releases (Dannahue restock wen?), their most popular roses are often sold out, and other rose sellers have catalog filters for 'English shrub roses' that allegedly share the looks and fragrance of David Austin's best.

From the author's camera roll. 'I can't believe it's not Dave [sic] Austin!'

Their marketing is also very slick. Their website is very informative, with separate filters for various kinds of roses you might want to buy ('Best for fragrance', 'For a shady spot', 'Thornless or nearly so'), all the rose varieties have literary or historical names or else are named after charming British locations, and are all beautifully photographed in their idyllic show garden, and the prose is carefully engineered to incite lust in the winter-weary gardener. They even do periodic drops of new roses, like a sneaker company.

So last November, I allowed myself to buy one David Austin rose, 'Munstead Wood'.

Source: David Austin Roses

'Munstead Wood' is really gorgeous, I think, blooming in a deep burgundy color. The website claims the fragrance is "Old Rose, with fruity notes of blackberry, blueberry and damson".

An interesting fact about 'Munstead Wood' is that it is actually region-locked. David Austin Roses sells roses in both the US and UK (and maybe other places; sorry I am so American), but the climate of the UK has been changing, with more extreme weather events and even more rain. And you know how it is with roses and the rain. 'Munstead Wood' was no longer able to thrive, and has packed up its little rucksack and gone out to explore the world as a lone vagabond - specifically, America.

So how is it doing here? Great, actually. It may have been rained on every day for the past week, but at least it's not in England, I guess.

'Munstead Wood' has no fungal disease. It looks like it's never even heard of fungal disease. I'm pretty impressed! I can't actually tell you whether the roses are good, but this is a pretty good plant, which is a good start.

Review: I'm holding myself back from buying more David Austin roses right now. God help me, I have two more open full- to part-sun spots in my garden right now.

David Austin, "Lady of Shalott". Call me the Lady of Shalott the way I'm languishing in my tower, gazing only at the mere reflections of the real world (stuck inside, looking at my phone, because of the rain) and am about to throw myself in the river with longing (to be out in the garden)

#this was mostly written like a week and a half ago #delighted to report it has now stopped raining :)#gardening #plantblr #roses #botany #...kind of. not a botanist i just like reading about it #longpost #original content #(i hesitate to call this an 'effortpost': aside from spending an hour on wikipedia trying to graph out the various old garden roses #and their relationships with the species roses that spawned them - it just kind of happened.)

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sparrowsgarden · 5 months ago

Text

As I have been promising for years, the eye color chart is all cleaned up and ready to be shared! I'm totally ok with this being saved and passed around, that's why all my info is on it.

Basic image description is in alt, and a full transcript of all text in the image is under the cut.

This model has been in a process of expansion and tweaking for a very long time. Huge huge thanks to all the folks who contributed and hunted down photos, helped me name all the colors, and gave the final proofs!

Sparrow's Eye Color Chart 2025 Edition

Eye colors in cats are difficult to model because they vary to a significant extent on two axes. This is my best attempt at a general model of cat eye color based on observation and research into how eye color works across species.

Pigmentation refers to the amount of pigment in the colored layer of the iris. Higher pigmentation causes darker colors.

Refraction means the extent to which light is scattered in the structures of the iris. Higher refraction causes deeper blues or greens.

Eye colors are related to coat color, but not as closely as breed standards might have you believe! Most coat colors can have most eye colors outside of purebred lines selected to meet breed standard.

What Color Are My Cat's Eyes?

Color names are descriptive of the actual color of the cat's eyes - I chose them all to sound nice so that breeders can use them if desired. Note that breed standards have a much broader use of color names - "Amber", for example, may include much of the golden to orange range.

Colors are based on pictures of cats in full white light (such as midday sun fully illuminating the eye), and tweaked to look good on properly color-calibrated screens. Always determine eye colors based on how they look in full light.

Main Block

standard eye colors possible with most pelts

Every cat is assumed to have genes that specify some genetic eye color in the main block, but certain other alleles can depigment the eyes partially or completely, creating the lower block.

Pigmentation and Refraction are modeled here as dependent on multiple genes, which seems to best fit the wide spectrum of possibilities in cats. The actual number of genes is unknown and could be very many, but for simplicity they are shown here on a scale from 1-7.

In theory, the genetic eye colors of the offspring should tend to fall somewhere between the genetic eye colors of the parents. Then, any depigmentation factors are applied, which may result in an actual eye color somewhere below the genetic eye color.

Lower Block

occur with phenotypes which cause depigmentation of the iris.

Gray-blues: Fairly rare coloration. The cause of gray eyes in humans is not well understood, but one theory is that collagen or very small amounts of pigment in the eye alter the scattering of light.

Blues: Most common depigmented colors. Can be caused by white spotting/dominant white, colorpoint, and sometimes mocha. There are also multiple Dominant Blue-eye (DBE) mutations known which cause blue eyes as the main effect.

Albinistic: Caused by complete albinism, which also fully depigments the back layer of the iris meant to keep light from getting through. This allows the red color from the retinal blood vessels to bleed through, and also causes poor visual acuity.

Following is a list of all eye colors shown on the main diagram. Rows are pigmentation levels starting from the highest pigmentation, refraction increases from left to right.

Main Block: Copper, Chestnut, Umber, Walnut, Earthen, Olive, Moss; Ochre, Caramel, Bronze, Serpentine, Artichoke, Fern, Forest; Orange, Amber, Brass, Peridot, Avocado, Clover, Malachite; Saffron, Butterscotch, Shrub, Spring, Jade, Pine, Emerald; Gold, Citron, Pear, Lime, Mantis, Grass, Viridian; Yellow, Chartreuse, Sprout, Laurel, Mint, Turquoise, Teal; Canary, Chiffon, Honeydew, Sage, Celadon, Aqua, Cerulean.

Lower Block: Gray-blues: Frost, Opal, Flint, Storm, Steel, Slate, Cadet. Blues: Ice, Powder, Celeste, Sky, Azure, Lapis, Cobalt. Albinistic: Pink, Mauve, Lavender, Periwinkle, Cornflower, Royal, Indigo.

Combo Colors

Cats can exhibit a few different heterochromia types, most commonly a blue with a non-blue. The other most common cause for heterochromia appears to be localized hyperpigmentation, which can be caused by damage to the eye. It can also happen simply due to differing iris structure or unusual pigment migration within the iris.

It is also relatively common for the center of the eye to be a slightly different color, without being marked enough to constitute full heterochromia. My provisionary term for this is "dual-toned". The boundary between this and "true" central heterochromia is somewhat subjective.

For any form of heterochromia or dual-toned eyes, my recommendation for describing them is to note both colors with a slash. For dual-tones, I generally write the outer color before the center one.

Complete Heterochromia Blue/non-blue is commonly caused by white spotting/dominant white, other combos are rare.

Sectoral Heterochromia Blue/non-blue sometimes occurs with white spotting/dominant white. Can also be from hyperpigmentation.

Central Heterochromia Can occur due to hyperpigmentation, uneven pigment distribution, or iris structure. More common in certain breeds.

Dual-toned Irises Relatively small differences in central eye color are common in cats.

Iris Atrophy Iris atrophy due to old age can cause a distinctive lighter ring in the center of the iris.

Icon designs are released to the Creative Commons under a CC-BY-SA license and will be made available for download.

Go to sparrows-garden.com for more genetics resources!

#cat genetics #eye colors #cat eye color #sparrow's garden #infographic #cats

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dark-konohagakure2 · 9 months ago

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INDRA YOU SAY?!?!??!

indra with an arranged marriage, and he is nice at the start, not wanting to scare his pretty darling but then she does smth that pisses him of and then it goes all down hill from there, he turns into a pretty abusive husband, forced breeding, noncon, coercion, ALL OF THAT

SENDING YOU MY LOVE 🫂

tw: noncon, marital noncon, arranged marriage, abuse, breeding, coercion, manipulation, misogyny, power imbalance, jealousy, rough sex

All characters depicted are 18+

Indra isn't very interested in women or dating, much less a commitment like marriage, but the Otsutsuki clan needs two heirs around the same age, and Ashura has recently gotten married himself, so pressure falls onto Indra to find a suitable mate, but unlike Ashura, Indra is yet to find anyone he's interested in, so instead he has a bride chosen for him.

While not in his nature, Indra will at least try to be kind to the woman selected for him, he can't go scaring her away before he even gets a baby or two out of her, so he'll speak to her in soft tones, keeping his distance from her both physically and emotionally, even partaking in small niceties such as pulling her chair out and walking beside her instead of in front of her like he does with most people who are beneath him.

This honeymoon phase doesn't last very long however. Indra isn't incredibly quick to anger, that is unless it involves his idiotic younger brother. So Indra won't take very kindly to his wife talking to his brother so politely, even if its just her trying to be nice to her brother in law. Indra has to restrain himself from dragging her away right then and there, but he can't lash out just yet. He's going to wait until he gets her alone.

The very moment the two of them are alone, he'll drag her back to their shared bedroom, his Sharingan active out of anger. His sudden change in demeanor will come as a shock to his new bride, who is used to her husband being distant, yet stoic and calm, never raising his voice or laying hands on her, but now he's dragging her away while angrily letting her know exactly what she did to evoke his anger.

"You forget yourself, woman! Fraternizing so shamelessly with my own brother?! Don't forget you're only here for one purpose, and fulfill that purpose you shall..."

He's not gentle with her anymore, she's lost that privilege, he'll throw her down onto the bed hard enough to disorient her before getting on top or her, hissing angry words into her ear as he begins to pull down her bottoms, making it clear that he's finally going to force her to make herself useful to both him and the clan.

Indra is not only rough with his words, but with his movements too, thrusting into her unprepared cunt with ruthless abandon. He's disappointed really, he wanted the consummation of their marriage to be special and romantic even, but she just had to go and ruin it. She angered him into this state, she should have known the consequences, she brought this upon herself, or at least that's what Indra will tell her as he's bullying her womb with his cock.

Indra is going to cum inside of her, that fact is obvious given how he's made it clear that this marriage is mainly for reproductive purposes, and as such he's not going to stop after just one orgasm, he's going to cum inside of her as much as possible. Indra isn't one hundred percent human, so he has better stamina than most men, which means he can be fucking her for hours straight and hardly break a sweat, much less grow tired, even as her walls are overflowing and leaking with his cum whilst she begs him to show some mercy to her poor overused pussy.

But alas, all good things must come to an end at some point, but that will only be when Indra it's completely certain that he's impregnated his wifey with at least one child, leaving her cunt leaking and stomach slightly distended from all the seed pumped into her. This session of theirs had two purposes; to get her thoroughly bred, and to assert who's really in charge in this marriage.

"There... You've finally atoned for that bratty behavior of yours, hopefully our children don't inherent your disobedience, because I utterly loathe obstinate children..."

Indra hopes that this lesson was sufficient, because there will be much more just like it in the future. He's not going to coddle or spoil his wife anymore, she lost that privilege the very moment she decided to speak to a man that wasn't him, and now she'll never get to speak to anyone else ever again, at least not until they've had their beautiful children that is.

#naruto #naruto shippuden #boruto #naruto x reader #naruto smut #headcanon #x reader #naruto headcanons #indra #indra otsutsuki #indra x reader #indra smut #uchiha #uchiha x reader #uchiha smut #otsutsuki

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gloomwitchwrites · 9 months ago

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Remember that time I said last one? Oops...

What If 141...trying for baby. Rawr.

I remember when you said it would be your last one. And no "oops"! You know what you've done. And trying for baby? Are you trying to activate my breeding kink?

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings: swearing, established relationship, oral sex, fertility treatment, dirty talk, breeding, creampie, arranged marriage, Viking AU, Post-Apocalyptic AU, dubcon (Ghost only), rough kissing, desk sex

Word Count: 4.6k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Your foot tap tap taps against the linoleum floor.

Kyle is in another room—a private room. The reproductive endocrinologist you’re working with already ran your tests. Now it’s Kyle’s turn. They want a sample, but he’s been gone too long.

You’re no stranger to Kyle’s masturbation sessions. Rarely does he do it alone. He likes when you watch. But he never takes this long.

A buzzing comes from your purse. Retrieving your phone, you check the message.

It’s from Kyle.

I can’t do it.

Frowning, you stare at the text, confusing creeping in. Gripping the phone in your fist, you push up from your chair, and exit the small exam room.

“Excuse me,” you say, approaching the nurses station. “Can you tell me what room my husband is in. He’s collecting a…sample.”

The two nurses exchange a knowing look.

“All the way down the hall. Last door on the left,” one of them directs, pointing.

“Thank you.”

You try not to rush, but your feet carry you swiftly and with purpose. Following the nurse’s direction, you come to a stop right outside the correct door.

“Kyle?” you call out, knocking.

There’s a brief pause, but then the door opens, and your husband stands there, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Sorry, love,” shrugs Kyle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can I come in?”

He glances back into the room and then steps aside, holding the door open.

You step into the small space. It’s clinical and cold. There is one window on the opposite side of the room with the blinds down. Next to the window is a lounge chair that looks completely uncomfortable. Next to it is a table of magazines with partially-nude women on the front. Beside that is a row of video selections if the magazines don’t seem to do the trick.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. Kyle slumps into the chair, clearly defeated. You place your purse on the hook and then kneel beside him. “Talk to me.”

Kyle shakes his head. “I—can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

He nods toward his groin. “Doesn’t seem all that interested.”

Oh. Oh.

You glance around the room, and then turn back to him. “Let me help.”

The confusion on his face is entirely too funny. “Help me?”

Shifting on your knees, you settle between his legs. The confusion melts away, and Kyle leans back in the chair, his hips flexing slightly as he makes himself comfortable.

The front of his jeans is already loose, and it’s not difficult to ease them down a bit more. Your hand slips beneath the band of his boxer briefs. The moment your fingers wrap around him, Kyle softly groans, eyelids fluttering as you start to stroke him.

“Is the door locked?” he asks, voice already turning husky.

“Does that matter?” you counter. “Do you care that someone might walk in? That they’ll see me pleasuring my husband?”

His softened cock begins to harden, and your words only spur him on. With another few strokes, Kyle is rock hard and throbbing. Adjusting your position, you release his cock, and then grab hold of his boxer brief, yanking them down until he’s free of it.

Kyle’s heavy lids open at the same moment your mouth suctions around the head. Tongue swirling around the crown, you take a bit more of him into your mouth. Retreating, you hollow your cheeks, suctioning until you come off him with a wet pop.

“How’s this?” you ask.

“Much better,” he replies, reaching for you.

Kyle’s hand finds the back of your head, and you grin as he urges you back.

Taking him into your mouth again, your throat him completely, bobbing up and down his cock with intention. You need him to come. Not in your mouth, but in the goddamn sample cup. If that means you need to suck him off to do it, you’ll happily do so.

While you’d love to give into to pleasing him utterly, you still have to focus on why you’re doing this. The cup is on the table beside him. The seal is unbroken. The lid still on.

Hollowing your cheeks again, you suck—hard—and then release him.

His breathing is heavy, and his thighs are tense. Kyle is close, and you’re not going to ruin this by having him come down your throat.

“The cup, Kyle.”

Kyle runs his hand over the top of his head, the lust-tinged haze retreating slightly as he reaches for it. He twists the lid, breaking the seal, and sets it aside, holding the plastic cup in a vice grip.

Returning to him, you throat him again, bringing your hand into the mix.

“Fuck,” whispers Kyle. Then, louder, “fuck.”

Saliva pools in your mouth and slips past your lips, dripping onto your hand as you continue your ministrations.

“Fuck,” he bites out. “Back, love. Back off.”

You immediately release him, retreating.

Kyle grips his cock and aims it, bringing the cup in close. He strokes once. Twice. And then his entire body shakes as he explodes, emptying his release into the cup.

Wiping the back of your hand over your mouth, you push up to standing using the armrest of the chair. Kyle is smiling—almost smug.

“Did I help?” you tease, and his grin only widens.

John Price

"What's wrong?" John's voice is laced with concern. You rarely come to see him at work. "Everything okay? The guard at the front gate paged me. Said you were here.”

Whenever you’re around him, John’s entire demeanor changes. It doesn’t matter that he’s at work. You’re here, and that takes priority.

As he approaches, John reaches out with both hands. They seek, grabbing hold of your upper arms just above the elbow. He draws you close, his head tilting forward slightly as his gaze intensifies, focusing on you.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?” you ask, briefly glancing over his shoulder.

There are members of his team lingering in the background. Though they talk quietly with each other, they keep glancing this way.

“Of course,” murmurs John. Placing one arm over your shoulders, he turns back to the rest of his team. “Give me a few minutes,” he says to them, before leading you away.

The entire walk to his office, John keeps one hand on you at all times. He doesn’t say much, only stopping to briefly address others that pass.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks again once the door is shut.

“Is it locked?”

John blinks. “Is what locked?”

You reach past him and fiddle with the handle. Frowning, John gently grasps your wrist and locks the door. “What—”

But the question never comes. You wrap your arms around his neck and bring him to your lips, claiming his mouth in desperation. John groans softly, returning your kisses with equal enthusiasm. His hands fall upon your hips, squeezing, drawing you closer.

“You didn’t come just to kiss me,” murmurs John, retreating just enough to allow a sliver of space.

“No,” you breathe. “I’m ovulating.”

“Is that what your app says?" he teases.

You hum an agreement and John pushes in, guiding you backward toward his desk. You don't feel the wood until he lifts, and places you atop it. Leaning back, you spread your legs and present yourself.

“Open your present,” you tease, nodding toward the length of your body.

You came prepared. The large coat is made to go down to your knees, hiding everything when buttoned and tied. John reaches out. Tugging, he releases the band, and then he goes for the buttons, popping them open one by one.

He pushes the coat wide, and a growl escapes him. “You’ve been walking around base in nothing but a bloody coat?”

“And boots,” you add, kicking your feet.

Grabbing your thighs, John drags you to the edge of the desk. You greedily shimmy the coat off your shoulders.

His fingers explore, trailing over inner thigh to exposed pussy. One finger parts you, and then sinks in easily.

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans as he inserts another finger. “Already so wet for me.”

“Couldn’t wait,” you moan as John’s thumb rubs softly against your clit.

Another pump and then his fingers are gone. Through the haze, you watch as John undoes the front of his pants. He pushes them down just enough for his thick cock to spring free. Reaching for him, you stroke his cock, only for John to drag you close and align himself.

With one sharp thrust, John enters to the hilt. Keeping one hand on your right thigh, and the other planted firmly on the desk, John begins to thrust. It’s not a soft, gentle rhythm, but sharp and heavy. Every time your pelvis makes contact with his abdomen, the desk squeaks loudly.

“So fucking wet,” mutters John, his eyelids closing slightly as he gives in to the pleasure. “When I come home tonight, you better be naked. On your back. And in our bed.”

With your elbows propping you up, your head falls back in ecstasy as John returns his attention to your clit, circling it in soft strokes that send ripples of pleasure outward.

"I needed you," you groan.

"Greedy thing," purrs John, slipping an arm behind your back and lifting.

Your arms drape over his shoulders, one hand grasping his neck as John adjusts you into a new position. At this angle, you're held tightly against him. John firmly squeezes your ass with both hands.

He drives into you, the legs of the desk scraping against the carpet. A curling, buzzing sensation bubbles up, twisting low in your belly. The orgasm creeps up quickly, surging forward. Your nails dig into John's neck, and a throat moan escapes you.

John silences you with a kiss, swallowing that sound for himself, his hands gripping you so tightly you're sure he'll leave bruises behind.

With a low grunt, John holds you to him, sealing your bodies together. A warmth floods your pussy, his cum coating your insides.

"Think we made a baby?" teases John, nipping at your bottom lip.

"Not sure."

"Better try again then." He rocks his hips, and you whimper.

"You told your team you'd only be a few minutes."

He shrugs. "They can wait."

John "Soap" MacTavish

The youth of maidenhood is shed.

Your kransen is delicately wrapped in cloth and tucked away for a future daughter. The bridal crown you wore during the ceremony is still on your head. A delicate thing made of interwoven bands of silver; its shine slightly eclipsed by flakes of dried goat blood upon the metal. The droplets that landed on your face are long gone, cleaned by cold water and cloth.

Belly full from feasting, and skin buzzing with the consumption of mead, there is nothing left of the evening but the small dark of your new home, of the bedroom you will now share with your husband.

Anticipation is like a hidden viper. The women of your family told you all that would happen after, explained it in detail so that you would understand. You are eager to experience the good, but also know that your new husband might be completely inept.

You don't believe that to be the case though. During the ceremony he appeared calm and kind. He led but was not overbearing, and during the feast, he made sure your plate and glass were full before he even thought of himself. If that is how the marriage starts, then that must be what it is to come.

You hear your name, and you turn.

Your husband stands in the doorway, still in his wedding attire. He softly shuts the door behind him and finds the nearest chair, sinking down into it to remove his boots. Once off, he groans softly, standing again, removing the fur cape and draping it over the back of the chair.

He removes a few other articles of clothing until he's in nothing but his tunic and trousers. He saunters over, fingers lightly brushing against the hemline of your dressing gown.

"There is still blood on your face," you observe. "Let me wash it away."

"No," he says. "Reminds me of a good fight. I can imagine that you’re my war prize."

You laugh, and he smiles. In a way, you are a war prize. Your two clans have been feuding for years. This marriage is a way to make peace.

"Is being your wife not enough?" you tease.

"It is."

His fingers catch on the neckline, pulling the loose fabric over one shoulder. Leaning forward, he places a kiss between neck and shoulder. You shiver, one hand reaching out for him.

"We don't,” he begins but you shake your head.

"It's fine. I... want to."

He cradles your cheek in his palm. It is warm. Comforting. You sigh and lean into it.

The kiss is soft and delicate. There is nothing demanding in it. It is simple and pure. Even in this, he is not pushing. You follow his lead, giving a little more each time until you're reaching for him, hands pressing firmly against his chest.

He sighs, and then the gentle softness recedes, and the kisses deepen. Both of his hands hold your face. You are trapped but it feels wonderful. You give in, pressing your bodies together beside the fire, only understanding and learning these things about one another.

He removes the crown from your head, gently placing it aside.

The dress falls away and you are left bare. His gaze observers but it's brief. John's hands rest on your hips. They squeeze gently, guiding you backward. The soft furs brush that backs of your legs, and then John guides you down onto the bed, relishing every touch and kiss until you're breathless.

Is this how it's supposed to be? Will it always be like this?

John gives you one last kiss before pulling away, standing at full height, towering over you. He removes the last of his garment, his gaze never leaving your prone form. And you are unable to look away either, everything about him an enticing offer you don't wish to walk away from.

All muscle. All strength.

You reach out, grasping the one thing that now belongs to you. John groans softly as you make contact, wrapping your fingers around it. This is new to you, and you're not sure what you're supposed to do with it.

You gently stroke, thumb gracing the underside. John makes another small sound and you know you're on the right path. You sit up a bit, questioning whether you should taste him. The urge is too strong. You lean in, the tip of your tongue swirling over the head.

"No," he growls, grasping the back of your neck. "I won't last if you do that."

He guides you back and then starts to kneel, covering your body with his. You're on your back and he drapes himself across, hands roaming, exploring. His mouth descends, and then it is you making little sounds of pleasure.

"You can know me that way," he murmurs. "But first." His mouth descends and licks between your thighs, teasing and tasting until you're undone with pleasure, hips bucking off the bed and pressing against his mouth.

His hand glides over your stomach. "But first," he repeats. "We have a son to make."

He slides between your legs, guiding your legs wide. The head of him enters, and then there is a quiet sting that shudders through you.

"Breathe," he murmurs. "Relax."

You sigh, follow his instruction. The sting evaporates, and he retreats a bit before adding more. The stretch is tight but no longer painful. Each gentle thrusts gives you more before he's fully seated inside.

Your hands start at his waist and then explore to his back, down to just above his buttocks to ascend at his shoulders. John's forearms rest on either side of your head, his forehead coming to rest against your own. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, lips nearly touching as he rolls his hips, thrusting lightly.

"How long will it take?" he asks, rocking against, this time with a little more force. "If I keep you here, beneath me, full of my cock. How long?"

He thrusts again, and your whole body clings to him, the friction unbearably good. Your only response is a whimper.

His lips lightly brush over yours and then your chin.

"Should I tie you to this bed? Use the leathers that hold my armor together." He nips at your shoulder. "I can pretend you are my war prize."

"I am your war prize," you breathe, as he thrusts in earnest.

"Aye. You are. Separate clans. A marriage for peace. An enemy no longer."

Your arms tighten around him. You are pinned beneath him, unable to move, and yet completely willing in satiating both your desires.

You are lost to his movements, of the fullness, of the growing pleasure that is seconds from exploding outward. He rocks his hips forward, his pelvis pressing against that tender flesh.

You clench down, drowning in a wave that consumes.

You hear his inhalation, feel his muscles bunching under your hands, and then he's grinding forward, keeping still as he floods your womb with warmth.

But he does not pull out. Does not retreat. Instead, he kisses you softly, hips rocking before you feel that fullness blooming again.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The world is fractured. Broken.

And you have been thrust right into the thick of it. Taken by people unknown, signed off and given to a stranger.

Lieutenant Simon Riley.

Your new...what? Husband? Minder?

He stands before you, arms at his sides, observing but not speaking. As if pulled directly from duty, he's still in his all-black fatigues. The weapons are gone. They rest on the small table in the kitchen area of the tiny apartment.

But you smell blood on him. Musk. The dirt and grime of the brutality that is now home to the last remaining humans.

"What?" you snap, his gaze unnerving.

The defensiveness is just an illusion—a coping mechanism.

Simon wears a black balaclava, and all you can make out about him are his eyes. They are deep pools of dark brown that reflect the light like whiskey in a clear bottle. He is tall too and solid muscle.

The idea of him pinning you to the bed, of his weight keeping you in place as he has his way with you, makes your pussy clench involuntarily. You shouldn’t feel that way—to think of him as anything but your captor.

"You understand what's happened?" he asks.

Yes.

"I'm to be your whore."

You notice the slight twitch at the corner of Simon's eye at the word.

"Neither of us wanted this," he replies slowly, his gaze just as languid as it surveys your body.

"Winning me over with your charm," you mutter.

Simon grunts, and then brushes past you into the bathroom. He shuts the door and seconds later you hear the shower running.

Making a run for it isn't an option. The moment you leave, they'll be after you. Would they take you away from Simon? Give you to someone else? Or would they just think you're too much trouble and a bullet would be a mercy.

Your thoughts race, and when Simon emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a towel, you're momentarily stunned into silence. It is not just his body that is hard but everything about him. And now, you have a clear view of his face. He is handsome. Pleasing to the eye even with the scars.

Maybe it won't be all bad.

"It's all yours." He nods toward the bathroom where steam slowly rolls out through the crack in the door.

You follow suit, washing away the stress of the day.

Emerging is the hard part. There are no clothes for you to change in to, but that's the point. You are to remain in this apartment, stay in his bed, and allow Simon to breed you until there's no doubt you carry his child.

All the lights are off except for one. The bedroom isn't a separate room but an area sectioned off by a large curtain. From behind the curtain is a dim glow. You head for it, towel wrapped around body like armor. You push it back only to find Simon reclining, the top sheet covering his lower-half as he reads from a folder.

The rings on the curtain clink and he glances up. Simon closes the folder and tosses it off to the side.

That needy feeling returns. You shouldn’t indulge it or yourself, but it is there, lingering beneath the surface.

For a time, there is only silence, the two of you simply staring at each other.

"Are you joining me?" Simon finally asks.

You sigh. "I have to."

"You do," he agrees. You don't move closer. "I won't hurt you."

"Very reassuring,” you mutter, clutching the towel tighter.

Simon runs his hand through his hair. “Either we do this or you’re given to someone else. Did they tell you that?”

“I know the expectation.”

Simon leans forward into a more seated position. “Then you know I can keep you safe.”

It’s not untrue. You are his now.

You gaze narrows. “You don’t even know me.”

"I know you're going to carry my son or daughter. And that bloody well fucking matters to me."

"Will I?"

"You will."

You clutch the towel to you tighter, unable to part with it. Simon’s gaze remains unmoved. It is an intensity that worms its way inside, slithering beneath your skin to curl around your ribs. Every bit of him is on full display. Your mind drifts—imagining what might be underneath the sheet.

It’s not what you want for yourself, but there are worse men in this compound. There are worse fates. He’s not particularly happy about the arrangement either, something the two of you have in common. But he’s not ugly, and hasn’t been brutish.

Simon sighs, and it sounds like defeat.

He reaches across himself, turning off the small light next to the bed, plunging the two of into darkness.

“Better?”

You grumble but drop the towel. In the dark, your nakedness feels less isolating. As you step up to the bed, you glimpse Simon’s shadow as he draws the bedding back to give you space to slip in.

The bedsheets are cold, and as your grab them to cover yourself and create space, Simon’s hand comes down on your waist, dragging you close to him.

Your hand darts out, pressing against his chest.

Simon gently grasps your wrist and guides your hand away from his chest. "Said I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know," you murmur.

He smells clean and fresh, not like the dirt and blood from earlier. And yet, he feels dangerous, his hold an intense grip that teases surrender and tells you to give in.

What will he do with you?

Will he simply put you on your back?

Will you just have to take it?

Simon lightly squeezes, and then his hand descends, exploring. It lingers on your upper thigh, and then travels upward, learning the curve of your hip and angles of your arm. Simon cups one breast, thumb brushing over the nipple.

A little shudder follows that stroke. A sigh passes your lips and Simon shifts closer.

"I won't hurt you," he murmurs.

Simons’ teeth graze the hardening peak, as you groan loudly, surprised at how your body reacts to him. Answering with a groan of his own, Simon’s other hand delves between your thighs.

Exploring your sex, Simon’s fingers part your pussy, navigating and learning as much as he can. One finger plays with your clit as another teases your entrance, swirling the slickness around that blooms there with each stroke.

“But I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”

With that one admission, Simon rolls you onto your back. When he spreads your legs, he does not settle between. He drapes a leg over each of his shoulders, and then his mouth is on your pussy, licking ravenously. His large hands slide up your stomach to tenderly grasp and tease both breasts.

His mouth and hands are full of you, and there is only pleasure.

Simon is right.

He does not harm, but he is not gentle.

Each swirl and tease of his tongue is harsh, sending you quickly to your end. The orgasm is bright and bursting—consuming. Yet, Simon remains steadfast, tasting until the first becomes a second and your thighs shake against the sides of his head.

“They assigned you to me,” he growls, shifting position, settling his hips between your spread thighs. “Made it an order.” The head of his cock presses in, and in one movement, Simon slides home. “And I’ll follow that order.”

His breathing is ragged. Even in the dark, you notice the gentle swell of his chest as he takes in air. “But fuck,” he groans, testing with a steady roll of his hips. “I’m gonna make sure we both enjoy ourselves.”

Simon casts his full weight over you, and there is nothing left for you to do but cling to him. Your feet rest against the back of his calves, and your fingers dig into his lower back as Simon thrusts without mercy.

He is brutal in this—but it does not hurt. It’s only rough, and within you, some primal piece is fracturing, feeding into what he’s giving.

Simon’s hands descend to squeeze your ass. He holds firm, lifting your pelvis upward at the same moment he holds himself tightly to your body. Growling against your throat, he shudders, and you feel his release flood your pussy.

This one deed seals it.

You are forever his.

Even if you try to leave, he’s never letting you go.

Simon’s lips pause at the pulse in your throat. He lingers there and then lightly kisses the spot. It’s a tender, nearly intimate touch. He ascends to the line of your jaw, and then his lips are on yours in a gentle caress.

You part for him, and his tongue slides inside. With a low groan, Simon lightly thrusts, his hardness returning with each stroke. The kisses deepen, and Simon eases you back to the bed, his cock sliding out of your pussy.

“Simon,” you murmur, one hand stroking over his chest.

His hand goes around your throat while the other dips between your legs. He finds your pussy, two fingers pushing into the mess.

“Give me one more, love. Tonight. One more.”

Simon withdraws, and with one quick movement, he rolls you onto your stomach.

“Open,” he commands, and you do so.

His two fingers that were just in your pussy slide into your mouth. Guiding your legs wide, Simon enters you again. The stretch is perfect, and his thrusts only push your mouth further down his fingers.

His hand slips between your body and the bed, seeking until he finds what he's after. With a few quick swirls of Simon's fingers against your clit, you scream around the ones in your mouth.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Come for me."

Your pussy squeezes around him and Simon moans his pleasure.

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