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meowdei · 2 months ago

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(temporary) birthday blues — ft. sylus

tara doesn’t mean any harm when she tries to set you up on a blind date—she doesn’t know it’s sylus’s birthday, or that he’s yours. but the thought of you sitting across from someone you’re actually allowed to be seen with hits him harder than he wants to admit

word count. ❤︎ 6.6k words — at least it’s an even number

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; takes place after sylus bday card but you don’t need it to understand ; reader is a hunter and is implied to have his myth’s lore ; jealous and slightly insecure sylus ; hurt/comfort ; praise (lots actually. almost corny amounts) ; reader wears lingerie ; he picks reader up ; cunnilingus ; hand jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; painfully soft sex ; not proof read

commentary. ❤︎ happy birthday to my angel boy ever. but more importantly — I MADE IT IN TIME LETS GOOOOO

You and Sylus return home from his birthday date just a couple of hours after the sun sets.

By Sylus-standards, the day has hardly begun—he still has roughly a little under half the day left before it’s his (ridiculously late) bedtime. By your standards, since it’s your boyfriend’s birthday, you have to spend his entire day with him, even if his clock works a little differently than yours.

Will you be staying up until six in the morning? Yes. But you planned accordingly. You took an entire extra day off just to sleep in with him tomorrow and spend as much time together as possible. It’s your first birthday with Sylus. You’re the only one who knows it’s his birthday at all. Work is important, sure, but sometimes you have to reevaluate your priorities a little.

Boyfriends are a pretty important priority—well, only if they’re Sylus. He’s the only boyfriend that matters. The rest of the boyfriends in the world are not quite so impressive, so they don’t deserve the same privileges as your uniquely, one-of-a-kind special one.

“Did you have a good day today?” you ask softly, curling your arms around his neck as soon as you both enter his bedroom. (Your bedroom—you practically share it like it’s co-owned. The only thing that fully stops you from moving in with Sylus is that it would make your work commute a very tiresome one. Other than that, you’re here every chance you get.)

He hums, hands planting themselves on your hips and giving them a gentle squeeze, pulling you close and flush against his chest as he pecks the corner of your mouth. “I did,” he murmurs, “although I don’t think having a bad day is possible with you—unless you’re being moody. That’s another story.”

“I would get moody with you just for saying that, but I am a firm believer in being nice to birthday boys. Wait until I get my hands on you once today is over.”

“Oh?” he grins, chuckling as he kisses along your jaw, “I should prepare myself for the claws of a feisty little kitten, then?”

“You should prepare yourself for some groveling to get on my good side again,” you huff. “And maybe some expensive gifts.”

He laughs—not that low, deep, rumbling sound that sounds like light amusement. It’s that loud, booming laugh that sounds like joy and warmth and falling in love over and over again every day. Feeling it start to bubble and fizz as the sun rises, and watching it overflow from the top by the time the moon is out. You grin at the sound, pulling him into a kiss where you giggle in between the presses of your mouth to his, and he laughs because your joy is too infectious not to fall victim to.

“I have to shower,” you whisper between his hungry bites on your lips. He hums in protest.

“Is that really a necessity right now?”

“Yes, I rolled in the grass with you.”

“Fine, we can—”

“No, no,” you push his mouth away with a palm, feeling his lips practically pout against your skin as you do, “we are not going in there together. That will take way too long because you never behave, and I still have plans we have to get through.”

“What sort of plans,” he grumbles, “surely they can’t be that different from what the shower would bring.”

“You are shameless, Sylus,” you scold, slapping his shoulder with hardly any bite at all, “you don’t get to know until it’s time. Now be good while you wait—and charge my phone while you’re at it. It’s about to die.”

With that, you leave him sulking alone in his room, watching your figure as it retreats into the bathroom without him. Grumbling to himself, he grabs your phone to charge it like you asked—he knows better than to make you hiss at him when he wants things. (He wants a lot of things tonight. Quite a lot of things that require your good side, and he intends to milk this nice, spoiled treatment out of you with that innocent birthday boy charm, so staying in your good graces is his wisest option at the moment.)

He grabs your phone and plugs it in…and then he wishes he didn’t. As soon as he does, and the screen lights up, he thinks his birthday is ruined for the next decade with how bitter a taste the messages on your screen leave in his mouth.

Tara💗: don’t be mad. i set u up on a blind date

Tara💗: well not exactly a blind date. a double date with me and that guy i met when we were out the other day. he has a friend

Tara💗: u can’t say no he’s cute and he has a cat. you’ll like him i promise

It’s official. Sylus does not like this Tara girl anymore.

He’s met her briefly before, and vaguely, he’s introduced himself, too. She doesn’t know he’s your boyfriend because Sylus is at the top of your job’s wanted list. Telling a girl who is, arguably at this point, your closest friend that you have a boyfriend while having to keep that boyfriend hidden to a certain degree is not a plausible set of wishes. Tara will naturally want to know more. She’ll ask to see pictures of your dates, perhaps. She’ll invite him for drinks, and activities, and parties, and after-work events because she’s the kind of person who cares about the people her friends care about. And Sylus? Well…again, he’s at the top of your job’s wanted list. You can’t let Tara, who is your coworker first and foremost, get to know your boyfriend’s voice and face too closely unless you’re asking—practically pleading—for trouble.

So she doesn’t know you have a boyfriend.

It’s a lie that is for the betterment of everything all around. Instead, she meets him once fleetingly, and she thinks he’s your friend who sells fruit and makes a pretty penny off his business that’s taken off. That’s about all she knows.

At first glimpse, she seemed like a nice girl. A friend whom Sylus was grateful you had and could count on if things got heavy in your line of work. She seemed kind. Dependable. Trustworthy. Maybe not the strongest physically, but certainly a good friend to ease his mind that you have good people in your circle. (Although, he does hate your stupid partner—but at least that loathsome sleepy bastard who rots in bed for half the day is strong. If worst comes to worst, Sylus can at least bet that the boy would sooner let his own head get ripped off than let anything happen to yours. He’s at least grateful for that.)

But he hates this Tara girl deeply now, and hatred for someone he hardly knows is not a common feeling for Sylus. That’s irrational, and he’s hardly irrational. In fact, it’s because he is so rational that he’s so level-headed when he deals with threats. He hardly hates his “enemies.” Most of the people who make an enemy out of him amuse him—they don’t particularly pose a threat to him, and he has quite a bit of fun making an example out of them for the next bothersome bunch that wants to try something with him. Being enemies with Sylus is usually a one-sided thing—he may be someone else’s enemy, but they’ll always just be a fool to him. A regular sorry little idiot who got a bit too cocky and decided to try their luck against him.

He barely has enemies. The few people he does hate are people who deserve it. Terrible, evil, sinister people who go beyond an ethical code that even Sylus will not cross.

He barely has enemies. He’s a businessman. A leader. A good fighter. A good boyfriend, too, if he gives himself a little bit of extra (but honest) credit. All of which require a good head on his shoulders, a calm demeanor, and a very, very adequate sense of rationality. Sylus is rarely ever irrationally emotional—unless it has to do with you, of course. And this time, it does.

So he hates this Tara girl. He hates her deeply. She’s landed herself on his enemy list.

Just as he sets your phone down, you step out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel as your skin glistens from the fancy little lotions and body care items he has lying around in his bathroom that you help yourself to. Any other day, he’d tease you about it. About using him for his fancy, lavish lifestyle. About that skimpy little towel that you choose to step out in when half of his loungewear is in that bathroom for you to also help yourself to. About how cute you look when you walk out looking like a small, wet kitten.

But none of those things happen—red flag number one. Red flag number two is that when you go to poke at his side and give it a pinch, he doesn’t stop you right away before you can.

Something’s on his mind. You know that as soon as you see him.

“Hey,” you cup his cheeks, “miss me that bad for fifteen minutes? You look like you’ve aged ten years instead of one with that expression.”

“Very funny, sweetie,” he hums, clearly still distracted, “I thought you made it a point to be nice to the birthday boy.”

“I am being nice to the birthday boy,” you say to him, cheekily leaning up and kissing his jaw, “this is a very nice view to give to a birthday boy.”

He smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Something is wrong—something so, so painfully obvious happened while you were in that fifteen-minute shower. As far as showers go, it might not be the shortest amount of time, but it’s certainly not a long one. What could have possibly happened in fifteen whole minutes to make his eyes clouded with that look? A look that looks so stormy and upset and irritated.

Something’s on his mind. You know it by simply looking at him.

“Hey,” you pull him closer by the hands on his face, pressing his forehead to yours, “Sylus, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” he breathes, hands squeezing your hips as he pulls you close. “Just distracted by what a pretty little kitten I have.”

And then he kisses you. It’s…a kiss unlike any you’ve ever had with him. Not bad, of course, but different. Sylus is a confident guy. A terribly cocky, self-assured, and secure guy. He knows he’s handsome by most people’s standards (and definitely by yours), he knows he’s smart and intelligent, he knows he’s strong and capable, and he knows he’s stable in his lifestyle. He’s a confident guy, and you’ve always known him to be.

But he’s kissing you pretty desperately. Not the kind of desperation when he’s just plain needy, or when he’s been worried about you, and rescues you just in time, or when you’ve been away for too long.

No.

This kind of desperation feels like he has something to prove. Like he needs to kiss you so well, you never want to kiss anything else. It’s a sort of desperation that almost feels…scared.

“You’re not yourself,” you breathe in between presses of his mouth, gasping when he leans down to nip at your collarbone. “Hey—”

“You’re overthinking it,” he mumbles, “just let me have you to myself, sweetheart—”

“Sylus,” you say firmly. He pauses. “No.”

He lets go as soon as you say the word, letting his hands drop while you gently take them off your hips. He looks unhappy about it—maybe even a little rejected, but he doesn’t protest. He never does. Not if it’s something you say. Some boundary you set. Some line you draw.

“What happened?” you ask gently, hands returning to his cheeks and gently rubbing the skin tenderly with your thumb, “this is supposed to be your day. I…I didn’t mean to upset you if I did. I’m sorry. I just…I just wanted it to be special—”

“It is,” he interrupts, planting his hands on top of yours and keeping them in place, “it’s been great. It always is with you—I promise.”

“Then what changed?” you frown, “and don’t say it’s nothing. Don’t give me that unbothered, nonchalant attitude and pretend to shrug it off—I know you. I know you better than anyone else does, so don’t even think about lying to me like I won’t see right through it.”

He’s silent. For a second, you think he’s not going to say a word. That he’s not going to open up and share and trust you like you wish he would when things are clearly sitting heavily on his mind. Sometimes he gets a look—one that feels like he’s lived a life you don’t even know about. Like it haunts him and curses him and weighs down on his chest. He never shares. Not about his burdens—not with you. You don’t think it’s because he doesn’t trust you, but because he thinks he shouldn’t have to. That he shouldn’t trouble you with things about him because he lives for you.

You wish he didn’t do that. You wish he’d change that habit. You wish he’d live for himself and let you live for him, too.

But then, he quietly asks, “Do you ever wish you could tell your friends about…us?”

“Huh?” you frown.

“We go back and forth between the outskirts of Linkon and the N-109 zone, and we don’t ever get to do things that involve the people you care about—doesn’t that bother you?”

“...No?” you say in confusion, “does it…does it bother you?”

“Of course not,” he says instantly. He throws on that smug, carefree face again, even though you see right through it. Some people just don’t like putting their defenses down when they’re cornered, no matter how safe they are. Sylus is one of them. “Now, why would I want to share my little kitten? Not everyone can handle her sharp claws.”

“Sy,” you let out a breath, “you know I can see right through you. Just talk to me—telling me how you feel is something you’re usually good at. It’s what I like most about you…why’s it so different this time?”

Telling you how he feels about you is easy. It comes naturally like breathing. It’s as simple as using his evol to move something through the air, manipulating energy to surround you and show you the depths of his feelings. Telling you he loves you and cares for you is a vulnerability that he takes as a privilege. Telling you that the thought of you being with someone more practical, more fitting than him…it’s not as easy. It’s too vulnerable in a way that makes him pathetic, not devoted. You chose him, after all, didn’t you? Isn’t it questioning your own devotion and your own loyalty to him to tell you: I hate the idea of someone deserving you more than I?

That’s what he’d be doing, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t it be to question you, to doubt you and your love and your choice, all on the same day that you went out of your way to make him feel special?

Telling you this is not so simple. Not to him. Not when you love him, and he knows it, and yet, for some reason, he can’t help but feel like you’re making a mistake by loving him. Him. The top wanted criminal on your organization’s list. Most targeted person in the N-109 zone with the most “enemies” after his back. A guy that, against every principle that tells you: no, you choose to be with.

He should just be grateful that you say yes. And he is. But also, he can’t help but wonder if you’d be happier if you didn’t.

“Don’t you trust me?” you whisper.

He breathes—slow, shaky. “I do,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “I trust you the most. You know that.”

“Then tell me. Please? I just…I worry about you.”

You shouldn’t. But you also should. You were always meant to, right?—even if it wasn’t always supposed to be that way. You did. Once upon a time, you only worried about him. And you do. And you will. And he wants it. Needs it. Craves it. Craves you and your attention and your care and your concern. He should be the one you’re concerned about—but maybe concern is all he ever brings over.

It’s silent for a moment longer before you gently kiss the tip of his nose and say sweetly, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I love you, so if you ever want to share something, I will always—”

“Your friend Tara seems to be tired of your stagnant love life, sweetheart,” he interrupts. He doesn’t really mean to blurt it out like that—Sylus is usually rational about what he says and when he says it. But…well, the idea of you sitting across from some normal guy with a normal life alongside your normal friend on a normal date has him acting very abnormal. “She’s…well, you go ahead and see for yourself.”

Your phone is pressed to your hands. You look at him in confusion, but his eyes all but beg for you to just look at the screen and end his pure misery by not making him say the words out loud. So you look. The first things you see are her messages on your screen, sitting there as unopened notifications.

Oh, you think as you read them. Oh.

“Oh, Sy,” you say softly, setting your phone down. “You know I’d turn that date down in a heartbeat for you—”

“It’s not about that,” he grumbles, swallowing thickly. This is a type of vulnerability he hates. The type of vulnerability he doesn’t ever have to feel. The type of vulnerability where he feels less than—not deeply devoted and open, but just…not enough, despite his devotion. He isn’t used to ever being not enough. At least not when it’s with you.

“Then what’s it about?”

“Your friend is a meddler.”

“She doesn’t know about us,” you defend Tara gently, “you know she’d never if she did.”

“Well, sweetie,” he drawls with a tight, bitter smile, “I suppose she never will, so I might have to get used to worrying that you’ll need to save a few dresses for some other blind dates here and there, don’t I?”

“I’d never go on a date with someone else,” you reason, “you know that, right?”

“How long are you going to pretend to be single?” he points out blandly.

“Forever,” you say confidently. He wavers, eyeing you in weariness. You cup his cheeks and squeeze them together as you murmur, “I would pretend to be single for the rest of my life for you if that’s what it takes. As long as you’re mine, as long as you stay mine, I don’t care what I have to tell everyone else.”

“That’s not very practical,” he grunts.

“I don’t think we’re a very practical couple, but I don’t think that’s ever been bad,” you chuckle, “I think we’re good. Really good. As good as things ever get.”

“But not great?” he teases, cracking a small, taunting little smile. You know him well enough to soothe him with another kiss to his nose.

“Perfect,” you hum, fingers toying with the small hairs at the nape of his neck, touching him so casually, so absent-mindedly, it’s almost like it’s ingrained in your nature. In your DNA. In your biology to be his and to want him. “You’re perfect. To me. For me. With me. You’re perfect and I love you. I love us. We are perfect, and it doesn’t matter if other people see that or know about it. As long as you know, then I’m good.”

“I don’t like your friend Tara,” he breathes, burying his head into your neck, “she seems like trouble.”

“She’s harmless, you big baby,” you tease. Because that’s what he needs—to be teased into knowing he’s not so fragile. Too much of it makes him turn around and retreat, like an animal that’s shown its belly for too long and is at risk of its fragile, precious organs being torn apart from limb to limb.

You give him a teasing little nibble on his nose, and he cracks a small smile that pulls him out of that weird space in his head. Because that’s you and that’s him. That teasing banter that folds love and devotion in between every taunting remark and every smart little retort. Every second you spend getting under the other’s skin is spent making home there—nestling under that layer of each other, and crawling into the parts that no one else has ever seen. No one else has ever been in. No one else has ever been allowed in.

“Oh?” he murmurs, “you’d side with your friend over your boyfriend on his birthday? Your priorities are intriguing, sweetheart.”

You’d say something equally as playful back, but instead, you say: “I love you.” You remind him with an awed smile as you take him in. Him and his brute strength and his carefully built empire and untouchable self. Him and his gentleness and all that love he holds in his large hands that no one can take away before he slips it into yours. You remind him. You don’t want him to ever forget.

“I love you, too,” he chuckles, closing his eyes as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses to his jaw. Your hands grab his own from your waist, pulling them up to the top of your chest where the towel wraps around you.

“You have one more present for tonight, you know—if you’re up for opening it.”

“Is that right?” he grins, “I’d never turn something down from my sweet little kitten. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“You’ll like this one,” you beam, “I picked it out just for you.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he eyes the small, peeking bit of red lace as his hands slowly unwrap the towel, pupils dilating as he slowly exposes you from its coverings. “You always do know me so well, don’t you?”

A red lace set that hugs your curves perfectly. The stockings are just tight enough around the middle of your thigh that the skin bulges just a bit at the top, spilling over it with pillowy flesh that he wants to spend hours digging his fingers into as he holds you close. Here. With him, right where you belong. Where, whether anyone knows it or not, you are happiest and safest and tailor-made to belong. You always belonged with him—alongside him, where you can be his and he can be yours, and the world would have to stop spinning on its axis before he was convinced that it was wrong.

“Well,” you pout playfully, “you’re not saying anything—do you like it? There’s still a return period, I think I could make an exchange if—”

“Don’t always be such a tease, sweetheart,” he breathes, leaning down to pull you into a slow, meticulous kiss. Unlike that last one, this one is desperate to know you exist. To be slow and take his sweet time and know that you’re here and you exist in the same timeline as him, and you’re not going anywhere. To rush it would be to waste the seconds he was given to savor.

Sylus is a man who savors things he likes. Good wine. Good music. Good company—he savors every little part of you like it’s a luxury he shouldn’t take for granted.

“Happy birthday, my birthday boy,” you whisper, “I’m all yours tonight. Every night. All yours, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he groans, nipping at your collarbone. “All mine—aren’t I just lucky?”

Suddenly, you’re picked up with one strong, muscled arm, the bicep curling around your thighs and hoisting you up faster than you can process as the world is suddenly lower than you remember it. Two seconds later, and your world shifts some more as you’re suddenly eye to eye with the ceiling, and there are soft, satin sheets under your back with a soft mattress to curve around your spine.

Sylus is hovering over you, hungry and excited, and his eyes lit up like a kid ready to blow out candles. You giggle, holding his face and bringing him close, pressing a kiss to his nose, to both of his cheeks, to the corners of his mouth before the center of his lips, to his forehead until he’s laughing that sweet, happy little laugh that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I love you,” you confess, so quietly, it’s like you don’t want anyone but him to know because it’s only for him. Only for him to hear those words because no one else should know what your love feels like, what it sounds like. “Love you so much, Sy. My perfect boy.”

“If I told you my birthday was actually tomorrow, would you be this sweet to me all over again?” he grins in amusement. You huff, and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss the purse of your lips before he mumbles against them, “I love you, too. No one will love you as pure as I do, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, “I know.”

That’s all it takes for him to finally snap into Sylus. Your Sylus. Cocky, self-assured, confident Sylus. Sylus, who takes what he wants because he knows nothing can stop him from having it. He wants you—and you’ll never tell him no.

He’s moved to bury himself between your legs in a split second, so that you hardly have time to process that he’s moved in the first place at all. By the time you attempt to argue that it’s his birthday, and it’s about him, he’s already huffed something about getting the final say as the birthday boy, and this is what he wants.

And…well, who are you to deny him?

“Fuck, sweetie,” he groans, pressing his nose against your clit through the fabric. He plants a gentle kiss on the delicate bundle of nerves, smiling when you twitch and whimper at the sensitivity. “All this for me? I’m a spoiled man, aren’t I?”

“S-Sylus—”

“You smell good,” he breathes, inhaling the sweet, rich scent of you, “bet you taste even better.”

With that, he gently peels the lace panties down your legs, little by little, inch by inch, discarding them from you before carefully tossing them to the ground as your bare cunt is exposed to him. He runs a large hand up and down your thigh, squeezing the plush skin just where it collects at the top of the stockings.

“Mine,” he breathes, “just for me, huh?”

“Only for you,” you pant, impatiently bucking up into the air and waiting for his touch.

He chuckles, but doesn’t have the heart to tease anymore. With a quick motion, he’s throwing your legs over his shoulders, hands cupping your thighs and holding them in place as he buries himself into your core. You’re dripping—the sweet slick pooling and coating your inner legs that he licks off before licking a stripe between your folds.

“Fuck, Sy,” you gasp, “o-oh—”

He’s good with his tongue. Expert at devouring you the way you need to be devoured and going between fucking his tongue into you and lapping away, and flicking it over your clit and teasing it with his wet, warm muscle. You squeeze your legs around his head, and he groans in approval at the pressure to his skull like it’s a gift to be crushed between your thighs. (It is. To him, anything you give him when you’re pleased is a gift. He likes gifts from you—he takes them readily.)

“You’re sweet, you know,” he sings against your heat, “taste good—we should skip the cake next year. I just want this, yeah? I’ll lick you clean.”

“Stop,” you whine, “you’re being filthy!”

He laughs, the low, deep rumble of his voice vibrating against you and making you shudder. “Yeah? If you don’t like that, then why are you pulling me closer?”

He’s right—you are. Your hands are tangled into his hair and you’re pulling him impossibly closer to your pussy, grinding against his face so his nose bumps against your clit as his tongue fucks into you and explores your folds and licks them from the dripping essence of your arousal.

“S-Sylus, ‘m…‘m s-so close—”

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he groans, “that’s exactly what I need. Can you do that for me? Let go? Let me taste you, yeah?”

Those words against your cunt, spoken through warm breath that lingers over your sensitive heat makes the steadily building pressure in the pit of your belly snap, a soft, delicious ache spreading through your walls as they quiver, through your lower belly as it flutters, through your spine and every nerve as your back arches off the mattress and you whine into your mouth and chant his name.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—’s so good, make me feel so good, Sy. Hah—”

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he moans, licking the last drops of your release and pressing a kiss to your fluttering cunt before the waves of your high finally retreat.

Your ears are ringing, and your eyes are blurry, but you can still hear the praise and make out his contented, dazed expression as he rests his cheek against your thigh and looks up at you. Your fingers card through his hair, smoothing through the soft locks as you ground yourself with the feeling of them while you catch your breath.

“Hi,” you breathe, staring at him in awe.

He grins, lazy, smug, and bright. “Hi. Back down to Earth with us?”

“Don’t be so arrogant,” you huff. And then, with a gentle tug to his locks, you signal him to crawl up, face to face and eye to eye with you as his body hovers over yours.

You reach over, rubbing over his clothed erection and feeling him shiver as his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a soft, breathy moan. He’s so pretty like that—when pleasure is easy to see on his face, and he feels good, and he lets you see it. You love it when you get to see him. All of him.

It’s a slow, intimate thing, removing his clothes. You bring his shirt up over his abs, gently pulling the fabric over his shoulders, before he helps you tug his arms through the sleeves and expose that chiseled, slightly tanned skin (despite never being in the sun) to you. He’s pretty. Gorgeous. You hum in appreciation as your hands run along the planes of his muscles, raking your nails along his abs and rubbing up and down his sides while he breathes heavily over you. It’s slow—there’s no rush despite the lingering, building ache between both of your legs. You want to admire him, and he wants to let you.

You want to feel him, and he wants to bask in the feeling of being wanted.

“You’re perfect,” you murmur, “happy birthday. I’m glad it’s me, you know? That gets to say that. And be here.”

“It was never going to be anyone else,” he pants, groaning as your hand finds the tent in his pants and gives a soft squeeze.

Unbuckling his belt and taking his pants and boxers off is less of a slower ordeal than his shirt—he’s a little more quick to get rid of them and let his hard, leaking cock finally be free of its confinements. He hisses when the cool air hits the warmth of his length, but you’re quick to bring the warmth right back as your hand wraps around him, smearing his pre cum along the tip and shaft, stroking slowly as he shudders over you and moans.

“Feel good?” you kiss his nose.

“Mmh,” he nods, swallowing thickly as you run your thumb through the slit and feel him twitch in your hand. “Y-yeah. Good.”

“Good,” you smile, “it’s about you tonight. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grunts in time with a squeeze of your fist around him.

He lets you stroke him like that for a bit, just the feeling of you touching him. Just the feeling of you surrounding him and undoing him slowly, gradually, just the way you know he likes. You know him so well, and he likes being reminded. Know what makes it feel good for him and what doesn’t—know that he likes when you speed up and focus around the tip for a bit before switching to long, languid strokes along the entirety of his length before giving his base a small squeeze.

“Ngh,” he pants, shuddering over you as his face twists into a pretty little scrunch of pleasure, “I…I think that’s—that’s enough, sweetheart. I want you now—the real thing.”

He’s close when he says it. You can tell because there’s a small twitch in your hand of his heavy cock that lets you know the build-up is about to hit the crest of good and fall over the edge and into better. You stop, looking at him fondly as he shivers at the feeling of it all coming to a halt before you press a kiss between his furrowed brows to soothe him as he holds onto his composure.

“Then take me, my birthday boy,” you coo.

“You want it, sweetheart?” he asks softly, just to be sure. “Tell me now before I lose my mind.”

“I want you,” you plead, “want you so bad—give it to me. Please.”

He does. As soon as you say it, it’s like a switch is flipped and he can finally do as he pleases—so he grabs your hips and leans in to kiss you deeply, a hot, open-mouthed clash of lips and teeth and tongue as his fat tip presses against your entrance. He’s pressing into you and splitting your folds open—one inch, then two, then three, and slowly, he’s fully filling you to the brim. His tip presses delicately against that soft, spongy part of your walls that’s especially sensitive, and you mewl at the feeling while he groans at the tight fit.

“Fuck,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight—take me so well. Fit me like I was made for you. I was, wasn’t I? Tell me I was—that we were made for each other.”

“We were,” you whine, nodding as your fingers dig into his shoulders and leave small crescent indents into his skin, “we were—we were made for each other. You’re mine, Sy.”

“I am,” he inhales sharply, “all yours. Always.”

The first snap of his hips is slow. He pulls out almost fully, until just barely the tip is still buried into you, before he slides back in with a firm, swift thrust of his hips. It leaves you lightheaded, wind knocked from your lungs by how good it feels to be split open by him and feel every ridge of his cock drag along your walls. You feel like you’re floating—suspended somewhere between pleasure and bliss as nothing but his body cages you into the mattress, and nothing but him invades your senses.

Then the second snap of his hips comes in, hard and fast and rougher than the initial, and he starts to set a pace that’s not as gentle. You don’t want it to be—you want to feel him raw and hard and fast.

“Fuck, baby,” you whimper, “like that…just like that—hah.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles breathlessly, “already so fucked out? You feel that, don’t you? How good you take my cock? You’re taking it so well—that’s a good girl. My good girl.”

“S-so deep, Sy,” you sob, “more. Please, more—more!”

“More?” he raises a brow, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply as you clamp down on him at a particularly rough thrust. He groans, the sound tapering off into a shaky little exhale. “You want more, huh?”

“Yes,” you stare up at him with plump, pouty lips and wet, teary lashes. It’s enough to make him snap and lose the last bits of his composure.

Sylus has always needed you.

He was born into this world to find you, and he needs you before he can leave this world, too. He needs you if he wants to find something worth living for. He needs you if his heart wants to find some form of peace and rest. He’s just half of a soul tethered to this planet with longing and no purpose without you. He’s always needed you—body, mind, soul, heart, everything. When you’re gone, he hears the echoes of your laughter in his empty halls. When you’re here, he feels human only when you smile and press your skin to his. It feels like his flesh is not rotten or tainted, only when it has the privilege of touching the soft, precious silk of yours.

Sylus has always needed you. His purpose in this world is to love you. To be loved by you. To do it right because that’s what you both deserve. He’s nothing if not an empty body with a broken soul taking up the space of him without you.

Shakily, he whispers, “I love you. You’re all that I love—I…I love you.”

Distantly, he hears you repeat the words back to him. Soft hands are roaming his skin, gliding along the curves and dips and contours of his body, and mapping every detail to memory through your warm palms. Gentle pressure coaxes his head into your neck, letting him take sanctuary in that spot that lets him hide away and be free of whatever clings to his back like a second, haunting skin.

“I love you,” you both whisper in breathless, heated exchanges. Because there is nothing left in your brains—no other coherent thought besides the fact that there is love and that’s it. You love and he loves, and that’s all that holds you together.

It’s enough. This time, in this life, it’s enough.

You come undone first—when his thumb finds your clit and rubs a few quick circles, you fall apart while whining with your head pressing back into the pillow. Your legs wrap around his hips and pull him forward, further and deeper into you as his thick, blunt tip drills into your sweet spot and pulls yet another orgasm out of you. This one is more devastating—this one makes your body still, quivering under him with a force that almost makes it hard to breathe.

The pressure of your walls spasming around him pulls him into his own release, a low, deep groan that draws out as the first few twitches of his cock start to fill you with thick, hot ropes of his cum. He pants, rolling his hips in messy, rhythmless motions as he desperately tries to work you both through the highs of your pleasure.

“S-so perfect,” his voice comes out strained, “you…you feel so perfect—ngh.”

“S-Sylus—oh.”

He paints your walls white with more of his seed, spilled into you and fucked deep into the back of your cunt with every sharp slam of his hips until finally, with a shaky little breath, he finishes and rides out the last earth-shattering waves of his orgasm.

He slumps over you. You welcome his weight with open arms, rubbing over his back with shaky fingertips.

“I love you,” you remind him again—because really, you can never remind him enough. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder blade, nestled close and deep where only he fits.

Next year, he’ll fit just as well—maybe even better.

FOR ONCE I POST A BDAY FIC ACTUALLY ON THE BDAY HAHAHAHAHA I WIN

#meowdei.writing #meowdei.longfics #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus smut #lads x reader #lads x you #lads smut #lads x y/n #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds x reader #love and deepspace x reader

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okwonyo · 2 months ago

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TOUCH ! 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎

🍴 clingy boyfriends ᧓

手紙 boyfriend—enhypen & fem ! reader 🍮 fluff kissing skinship ꒰𓏼◜ ᴗ ◝ 𓏼 ྀིᥩ ji says : mwah to jenn for riki’s ><

REBLOG FOR A KISS ! DAILY

HEEEUNG

his favorite thing to do is kissing your neck. when his eyes fall of you exposed, alluring, kissable neck— the thought of having a taste of it comes to him naturally. it’s his favorite place to kiss, his favorite thing to do.

he likes to sit close to you, with his arm wrapped around you waist. he leans in, reaching your ear and whispering a seducing, “you look so good, angel,” he kissing behind your ear as you giggle. then goes down, more and more, until he slightly bite your neck.

you have to push him away with a quiet laugh before he gets too excited and leaves a mark. with your hand on his chest, you smile, “hee, behave.”

JAY

no matter in what social setting you are or how much room there is left for you to sit— he is never going to let you sit anywhere but on his lap. he acts as if it was your destined sit, as if he was shaped for you to sit on him, the closest to him as humanly possible.

“c’mere,” is all he says before he grabs your wrist and pulls you onto your assigned sit. it is not the first time— and surely not the last— but you are always a bit surprised by his antics, which make you yelp as you land on his lap.

he adjusts your position, so you can be comfortable on his left lap. he wraps his arm around you, his hand resting on your thigh while you naturally lean against him, “perfect.”

JAKE

your boyfriend has multiple obsessions that are directly tied to you. however, there are some that outrank the other ones and if you had to give one of his silly fascination in the first place— it would honestly be touching your hair.

he likes to twirl one of your hair around his finger as he listens to you talk. he likes to tuck your hair behind your ear, making you look away shyly. but his favorite thing to do, if he had to choose, would be patting your head— a gentle praise leaving his mouth.

“that’s great, princess,” he says, his hand on the back of your head, caressing your hair in the softest way possible. you didn’t tell him anything in particular, if it’s not that you ate fries for lunch. nonetheless, he gives you a kiss on the forehead.

SUNGHOON

looking at him, you would have never guessed how big of a public display of affection he was. the fact that he is the one initiating any form of intimacy in public is almost ridiculous, even more so when you are the one who gets shy at the end.

the worst is that he never warns you when he decides to cup your face and pepper its surface with unwavering pecks. you fall weak under his attack, you are not able to fight, only frail protests leave the barrier of your lips. “hoon, stop—”

your words are swallowed by his mouth connecting with yours. you let yourself be kissed, unable to hide your smile. “what?” he pulls away a bit before kissing you again. “i can’t kiss my girl?”

SUNOO

he loves to hug you. he can’t really explain why, but he adores having you in his arms, jailed by his embrace. he feels at ease when your body is pressed against his, when he is able to hide his face in the crook of your neck.

he observes you for a really long time as you look at the cafe’s menu displayed on the big televisions behind the counter. he looks at how adorable you look with those clothes, with this haircut, with this face of yours.

he is hugging you before you can see anything coming. his weight is on you in mere seconds, interrupting your important decision taking. “you’re so cute,” he tells you, then he kisses your cheek sweetly.

JUGWON

his hand is always somewhere close to your waist. there is not a movement, when you are outside, where his palm isn’t pressed against your waist– holding it firmly as if it was his property.

his favorite thing to do is to make you move everywhere and anywhere. he likes to hold your waits and move you out of the way gently, he likes to hold your waist and lead you through the crowd, he likes to hold your waist and pull you closer to him—where you belong.

but of course, he always needs to be a little extra. which is why he doesn’t hesitate to manhandle you without warning you— he sweeps your feet off the floor in a swift motion and in one second you are on the opposite side of where you stood next to him.

RIKI

the boy is often here when you leave school— even if his classes finished hours ago, he always waits for you to finish yours. his favorite thing about coming to school is doing the way back home by your side.

he giggles when you run towards him with full enthusiasm. he lower himself with open arms to welcome you in his embrace. he doesn’t budge when you jump on him at full speed, effortlessly carrying you as if you weight nothing.

he doesn’t let you get back on your feet just yet. he enjoys having you this close to him. and even when he lets you touch the floor again, he takes your backpack and carries it for you. just so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders, just so he can keep you close.

taglist. ( open )

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22ayla21 · 3 months ago

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Harassment Part I

No matter how well-mannered the guys are, within the walls of Night Raven College, there are those who will start harassing guests from another world.

Warning: unpleasant content, mentions of harassment, if you are uncomfortable, do not read. Fem! Reader.

Third year Second year First year

Trey Clover

Trey would definitely not remain indifferent to what was happening to his crush, even if he was being discreet. He would most likely approach the situation wisely, so as not to attract unnecessary attention, but still act effectively. He could intervene by talking to those who were behaving inappropriately, and if that did not produce results, he would take more drastic measures.

He is very caring, providing her with safety and confidence that he is there and she can always count on him. He would tell her not to worry and always ask him for help when she needs it. Perhaps he would suggest safer routes around the college to avoid such situations.

Trey, as a person who values order, would probably also contact the other dorm leaders or teachers to resolve the problem on a more official level. He would carefully collect evidence and convey the information to the right people in order to protect his crush, while remaining calm and avoiding aggressive actions.

In moments of personal interaction with her, he would subtly but firmly show that he is concerned and that her safety is important to him. He can be very empathetic, trying to support her morally, especially in such a new situation for her. Trey is unlikely to be aggressive, rather he would use his intelligence and organization to protect his beloved and ensure that she does not become the object of further harassment.

Cater Diamond

Cater, despite his easy-going personality and obsession with social media, knew exactly how to protect his crush. He would probably try to resolve the situation with humor at first, making the harassers look ridiculous in front of other students, maybe even filming them for his Magicam followers. However, if the situation became more serious, he would not hesitate to step in, using his intuitive abilities to resolve the conflict without physical violence.

Despite his easy-going manner, Cater would not only be adept at social situations, but also empathetic enough to notice if his crush was uncomfortable. He would have a conversation with these guys, manipulating them with words, emphasizing that their behavior was not only inappropriate, but also uncool in the eyes of others. He would use his popularity and influence to create pressure on those who tried to violate her boundaries, even if it meant exposing their actions publicly. If the harassment continued, Cater would likely bring it to attention on the Magicam platform, not hesitating to share the situation with large numbers of people, which would result in considerable public shaming and punishment for the perpetrators.

Cater would likely use his charm and conversational skills to calm his lover down. He might start with a lighthearted and relaxing approach to make her feel safe. If jokes fail, he would quickly switch to a more serious tone. He might reassure her that she should not be bothered by such people, reminding her that she is the most important thing to him. Cater would be gentle in his approach, trying not to make her feel too vulnerable or helpless. He would quickly redirect her attention to something pleasant or positive, so that she does not remain in a stressed state.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona may seem lazy and apathetic, but if someone approaches his woman with inappropriate intentions, the predator in him awakens. He does not tolerate encroachment on what he considers his. He is not one to openly restrict the freedom of his beloved or hang a label on her "belongs to me", but in his presence, no one would dare even hint at something like that. One look is enough to scare off unwanted admirers.

If someone dares to cross the line, Leona will not take long to sort it out. The intruder can "accidentally" fall under the influence of his special magic, temporarily losing the ability to move, speak, or even be in school without fear. Leona is a master of strategy and knows how to eliminate the problem discreetly.

Outwardly, he may seem indifferent to the situation, but this is only an illusion. He watches everyone who tries to approach her inappropriately. If his beloved does not resist the attention, he can pretend that it is none of his business. But if she is not delighted, this is already his territory. And lions, as you know, are very territorial.

A warning without words - those who once made a mistake will not have to repeat it again. There is a feeling of hidden threat in the air next to Leona - like a lion lazily lying in the shade, but ready to bite her throat at any moment.

Although he is harsh to others, Leona can be surprisingly gentle next to his beloved. It is important to him that she feels safe, but not weak. He trusts her to deal with the situation while she can, but if the boundaries are crossed, he takes matters into his own hands. In a world where he is used to fighting for a place in the sun, she is his exception, his quiet corner. And he will not allow anyone to disturb her peace.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil, despite his arrogance and confidence, has a strong sense of responsibility for his loved ones. If one of the less well-mannered students allowed himself to harass his beloved, he would immediately intervene. However, he would prefer to do this discreetly, expressing his displeasure not through rudeness, but through confident but cold remarks. He could stare at the offender and dryly warn that such actions are unacceptable.

Vil, as a person with a sharp mind and a tendency to manipulate, could decide to use his connections and influence to get rid of such people. He would try to surround his beloved with care and support, but at the same time he would covertly eliminate the threat, without attracting attention. For example, he could secretly indicate to other more well-mannered students how to help in this situation.

Despite his outward coldness, Vil shows concern for the people he values. If his lover were to find himself in a difficult situation, he would use his actions to make her feel comfortable and safe, providing support whenever he felt she was in danger. He would console her in a discreet but gentle manner, perhaps saying something like, "You're under my protection, don't worry."

Overall, Vil would act discreetly but decisively in such a situation, using a combination of his confidence, manipulative abilities, and caring to protect his lover, while still maintaining his subtle style and manner.

Rook Hunt

Rook, as an experienced hunter, has a strong instinct to protect those he cares about. If he noticed someone making advances toward his lover, he would likely react immediately, but with a touch of grace. He might quietly observe the situation until he realized the situation was becoming threatening, and then intervene, displaying his protective nature.

He might not simply approach the aggressor with threats, but use his charisma and intellectual skills to manipulate the situation. He might feign conversation with the offender, while politely but firmly demonstrating that he will not tolerate such behavior, perhaps pretending that the situation is not so serious, but hiding a deep threat behind it.

Being very considerate of his lover's feelings, Rook would make sure that she does not feel guilty or ashamed about what is happening. He can reassure her, say something like: "You don't need to worry, I'll take care of it. You don't deserve to be treated like this."

In general, Rook in such a situation, being both a protector and an eccentric person, would try to act quickly, but with humor and chic, showing his affection and care for his beloved.

Idia Shroud

Idia will most likely try to pretend nothing is happening at first. He will panic and lock himself in a room, convincing himself that “it’s none of his business” or that “she can handle it herself.” But the more he thinks about it, the angrier he will get — primarily at himself for his indecisiveness.

If he finds out about it online (for example, through messages from Ortho or anonymous rumors), he will start writing emotionally in the chat, using caps lock and a lot of slang. But in real life, he will still be afraid to do anything in person.

At some point, his anger will overcome his fear, and he will use his engineering skills. For example, he will set a trap that will make the bullies look like idiots in front of everyone. Or he will create a device that will scare them with a holographic illusion of a scary monster. If the situation is too serious, he can send Ortho to sort it out.

If the harassment reaches a dangerous point, another side of Idia will turn on. He is used to the worst, but when it comes to HIS beloved, he cannot just sit back. He can appear in person (yes, by force), hiding his face with a hood, and in a sharp, but still stuttering tone, threaten the offenders. Perhaps he will back up his words with a demonstration of his magic. The blue flames hovering around are very frightening for ordinary students.

Afterwards, Idia will of course be super embarrassed. He will try to downplay his reaction. If the girl thanks him or says something cute, he will immediately wilt in embarrassment and run back to his room. If the incident was serious, Idia may set up a tracking system on her to always know where she is or even create a security drone to follow her around school (which will probably annoy her a little). He will get paranoid if she takes too long to respond to his messages and bombard her with memes like "If you're being held hostage, send this emoji."

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is not one to resort to aggression right away, but if he learns of inappropriate behavior, he will first try to resolve the situation with words. However, his words and presence alone inspire fear. Even the most self-confident boors will feel a chill run down their spine.

If someone dares to disobey or try again, Malleus will not stand on ceremony. His magical power is so great that he can easily create an atmosphere of intimidating pressure, from which the legs of those around him will begin to buckle. The electricity in the entire building will begin to flicker, and the air will be filled with discharges. Nature will simply begin to rage.

In the end, the most important thing for Malleus is the comfort and safety of his beloved. If she is upset or scared, he will surround her with care, try to console her - perhaps even offer her to spend the night in Diasomnia, where no one will dare to touch her. And, of course, he will be very happy if she asks for his protection herself.

Malleus is not someone who will scream and immediately rush into a fight, but he inspires such strong fear that his presence alone is enough to stop any attempts at harassment. However, if the offenders do not take the hint, they risk encountering the true power of the heir of dragon blood - and are unlikely to want to repeat their mistakes.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia always smiles, and even in potentially unpleasant situations, his first impulse is to turn everything into a joke. But as soon as someone crosses the line, his gaze becomes dangerously cold. He can be intimidating when he wants to be, because years spent in the court of the fairies have taught him that a true threat does not always scream - sometimes it just silently watches until you realize your mistake.

Lilia can be patient, but he has clear boundaries. He will take a warning step - a gentle reminder that he sees everything and knows everything. Perhaps his magic will manifest itself imperceptibly: strange but frightening things will begin to happen to the offender. Books will fall on their own, potions will suddenly give an unexpected effect, and at night they think that someone is watching them from the darkness.

If someone dares to continue, Lilia will show that the fairies can be much more dangerous than they seem. He won't resort to brute force - why would he, when he can make a person regret their actions in more sophisticated ways? Maybe their voice will suddenly disappear for a few days, or maybe their shadow will start moving on its own. In general, jokes are jokes, but the consequences will be quite tangible.

After any incident, the first thing he will do is make sure that his beloved is okay. Lilia will not just support her - he will make sure that she does not feel lonely for a second in this strange world. Perhaps he will invite her for a night walk, tell her another legend, just sit next to her until she feels better.

Lilia can be playful, cheerful and even frivolous at first glance, but when it comes to his loved ones - especially his beloved - he knows no mercy. Even if he himself does not take harsh measures, his magic and intellect will make sure that no one else dares to disturb her peace.

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littlejackles · 2 months ago

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you loved the gasp dean gave when he saw the receipt—lace, silk, and more ridiculous things he can’t pronounce. the scratch off he'd grumbled about at the gas station had hit three hundred big ones, which made you look at him with those eyes, wide and twinkling like you didn’t know exactly how to wrap him around your finger. now here you were in the cheap motel, panties like floss and a babydoll dress clinging to your tits.

"alright, bunny," dean drawled from the rickety cushioned chair in the corner, his voice low with a cocky smirk, painted on his face. “show and tell....turn around slow, yeah?”

you bite your lip, swaying just enough to make the hem flutter up your thighs. you know he’s watching the shift of the soft fabric across your ass.

sam lays on the bed, arms folded behind his head and looong legs spread. "you gonna model all of it, bunny? or just tease us like that all night?"

"mmm, well depends if you boys behave," you murmur, stepping into the fluorescent light. this set....powder pink, with a lace so sheer it might as well be painted on. your nipples are hard, visible through the cups and your thighs glisten from lotion and oil, dean so happily rubbed into your skin after your shower.

you twirl, slow, hands in your hair, and when your back’s to them you hear dean’s chair creak forward.

“bend over,” dean says (which was definitely not a question).

you glance back over your shoulder, feigning innocence, but your cunt clenches just hearing the shift in his tone, command. you bend slow and exaggerated with your hands on your knees, ass high, the lace wedging between your cheeks.

there's a low whistle behind you. then, sam’s voice, groans “you’re lucky i’m not closer, bunny....that’s a dangerous view.”

you arch a little more because you want them to see the little bow on the back of your cheeksters, the strip of fabric that hides almost nothing. you hear dean's breath hitch. "fuckin' hell," he mutters. "that ass should be illegal."

after a couple minutes, you feel it—someone's hands, large and warm. dean's palms smoothing over your hips, thumbs dipping dangerously low on your body. “you wear this shit for us?” he growls, low and rough against your ear. “or just cause you like makin’ us hard and not gettin’ dicked down?”

sam stands behind you now, silent till you feel his hands on your shoulders, slowly massaging them. “c’mon, bunny,” he hums. “you love when we look at you like this. makes you wet, doesn’t it?”

you moan, a small thing sound,very involuntary.

sam chuckles, low. “uh huh....knew it.”

you’re sandwiched now. dean’s fingers tugging the lace down, super slowly teasing you with the friction. while sam, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck while his hands smooth down your sides, gripping, mapping every curve and dip.

“this one’s cute,” dean mutters, snapping the waistband and making you jump. “but i wanna see the black one next....the crotchless one.”

sam makes a noise, dark and approving. “that the one with the garters?”

“fuck yeah, sammy.”

your knees wobble. but you like it. the attention, the heat, the way they look at you like you’re dessert.

"better change fast, bunny," dean says, smacking your ass once, very rough. “or we’ll help you outta it.”

sam adds, "and we won’t be gentle."

you straighten, cheeks flushed, thighs slick, and heartbeat in your cunt.

“okay,” you whisper, turning with a smile so saccharine it could kill. “but you’re not allowed to touch...just watch.”

both of them groan. but they sit obedinantly watching as you changed into the next set—this one even worse. black mesh, no modesty, and lace stockings that cling to your thighs.

"bend again," they both say, and you obey, because you like when they look at you like that. because you’re their bunny.

tags: @soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @bittersweetfig @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @zepskies @liiiilsss

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delugyu · 3 months ago

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not that same og anon but *i* am ovulating right now and i think if pt3 never sees the light of day i *will* cry

here u go bae!! each of these parts are just gonna get longer and longer until it’s ridiculous to call it a drabble 😭

part one / part two / part three

(wc: 4.7k / warnings: searing hot jealousy, possessiveness, corruption kink, oral (f rec.), lots of heavy petting, marking, grinding, overstimulation, cumming in pants yayyy)

when beomgyu sees taehyun’s caller id on his phone, he almost doesn’t pick up. he knows that would be awful, though, and that maybe he shouldn’t ruin one of his closest friendships over you, so he puts his pride aside and accepts the call. it doesn’t make it any easier to listen to taehyun’s voice, though.

he’s zoning out, just letting taehyun ramble without really processing his words, until he hears him say your name. his full attention snaps to taehyun’s words, suddenly completely interested in whatever he has to say.

it sounds a lot like taehyun’s bragging. he’s going on and on about this light festival he took you to last night, how much you loved it, how you just adored your time there.

beomgyu might be a maniac. he’s scared of how bad his urge is to fight taehyun, all because he got a little too hung up on you. taehyun probably has no clue you were with beomgyu just a few days ago, that you had his dick in your mouth, that you swallowed his cum and behaved so well for him. he wonders if that would piss taehyun off. he wants to do a hell of a lot more that would piss him off, too.

it’s when taehyun tells him that he kissed you for the first time yesterday that beomgyu decides he’s had enough. he really doesn’t need or want to listen to this shit. there’s an ugly and confusing feeling sprouting in his chest that he doesn’t care to foster any longer, so beomgyu makes up some excuse and tells taehyun he has to go.

he hangs up and puts his phone down on the table with more force than necessary, holding his head in his hands. he lets out a heavy sigh as he tries to summon tranquility back to him, willing away the bitter jealousy that made itself way too comfortable inside of him.

beomgyu’s not even a jealous person. he doesn’t even care. it’s your life—if you want to go make heart eyes at taehyun all day, then you can go on your merry way and do just that. it doesn’t concern him at all, seriously.

he thinks about taehyun stealing your lips for a quick kiss, and he tells himself that it only makes him feel sick because taehyun’s his friend, and thinking about your friend kissing anyone is gross. but he didn’t care when it was taehyun kissing mina. he didn’t care when it was yujin, or chaewon, or minji. he only cares cause it’s you.

you haven’t even talked to beomgyu since you left him that day. he’s been stuck replaying memories of his tongue inside your mouth, your hands on his body, your legs shaking with pleasure, your little gasps and whimpers as you came with your fingers over your cunt. he’s been dying here, and you haven’t reached out once.

it’s not like you guys talked that much before this, but he figured that maybe you’d care a little more now. he wants you to ask him to spend time with you, wants to hear your voice and touch your skin. he wants you to want him half as bad as he wants you. if he’s being really honest, he wants you to need him more than he needs you.

he pictures you in tears, clawing at your clothes, shoving your hand between your thighs as his name falls from your lips. you’d be a desperate little thing, waiting impatiently for beomgyu to come save you with his gentle touch on your bare skin. only he’d be able to give you what you need. no other man—and certainly not taehyun—would be able to satisfy you enough.

you prove yourself yet again to be the thief of his sanity, because he finds himself staring at your contact profile, thinking of what to say if he calls you. do you want to come over? ugh, no, that’s so sleazy. what are you doing? let’s hang out right now. that’s one way to make himself sound desperate. he doesn’t want to stoop quite that low.

his fantasies of you are just going to get worse and torment him more if he doesn’t grow a pair and call you. maybe he could do something productive with all this pent up energy instead. go to the gym, hang with some friends, get some work done…

his leg bounces rapidly as his phone rings, waiting for you to pick up. to hell with productivity, you’re more important.

“hello?” the second your voice reaches beomgyu’s ears, his cock throbs in his pants. you’ve got him conditioned like some animal. he doesn’t have it in him to feel humiliated by that, but he knows he should be.

when your name spills from beomgyu’s lips, it sounds absurdly close to something like a moan. he holds his head in his hands, exhausted and frustrated, unable to take this anymore. it’s disgusting how much of beomgyu’s energy is being used toward not fisting his cock right now. just knowing you're on the other end is enough to get him going. fuck, he hopes you’re all hot and bothered too.

“are you doing anything right now?” beomgyu asks. he knows you’re smart enough to understand why he’s asking. he shouldn’t have to elaborate.

“not really,” you answer. he hears you shuffling around—you must be getting ready to head out. he likes to think that you’re just as excited and ready to jump at the opportunity to be with him as he is with you. “why?” you ask.

are you serious? he’s not going to spell it out for you. “you know why,” he says. he can’t sit still now, itching to get his hands on you. he paces around his apartment and convinces himself you’ll be here soon.

“i can’t,” you say, and it makes beomgyu freeze. “i’m going to see taehyun tonight.”

beomgyu’s quiet as he processes your words. this is probably some test from the universe to see how good of a person he is. he should laugh it off and tell you to go have fun, but seriously? you fucking saw taehyun yesterday! it’s been days since beomgyu last saw you! so no, beomgyu’s not going to be a good person. the universe can condemn him to however many eternities in hell it pleases. he’ll take his twenty minutes with you.

“don’t,” he urges. “don’t see him. come here tonight instead.” you wouldn’t have half as much fun with taehyun as you would with him, beomgyu knows it. he’s got so much to show you. frankly, at this point it’s going to ruin his pride if you choose taehyun again.

“i just texted him though.”

“i don’t care. please come here.” he’s reduced to having to beg for you again.

you sigh. you must be contemplating it. beomgyu worries for a second that he’s going to have a heart attack if you say no.

“alright. this is the only time i’m cancelling plans for you, though.” beomgyu feels his soul return to his body. god, he needs you to hurry up and get here.

the minutes spent waiting for you might as well have been hours. his dick is fully hard just from the anticipation of getting you to himself again, of being able to touch you in ways no one else has. the moment he hears you open the door to his place, he’s bolting to you and getting his fix. you barely even get to shut the door behind you before he’s on you like some fiend. he’s got no time to waste.

you look surprised when he captures your face in his hands, kissing you so hard that your body’s forced back against the door. he sucks at your lips like it will be enough to erase taehyun’s traces from them, to replace any memory of what his lips felt like on yours. you moan into beomgyu’s mouth, and it only makes his wanting worse.

“fuck,” he growls out, pulling away only long enough to talk. he kisses you again quickly. “i need you right now. i need you all the time.” he dives right back in, coaxing your lips open and forcing his tongue inside. he wants to burn his name inside your mouth and keep anyone else from kissing you again.

he’s not in control of himself, letting his instincts take over and throwing rationale to the wind. he leaves one hand on your jaw to keep your mouth open and pliant while the other travels down to squeeze your hip and run wildly across your thigh. you’re wearing another one of those stupidly short skirts, giving him the easiest access to your core. it’s like you wanted this just as badly as him. the thought makes his lips tilt up in amusement.

you jump when beomgyu’s hand cups your core over your panties, pressing his fingertips against you needily. “gyu..!” you sound scandalized, like he’s taking things further than you expected, like you didn’t know he’s been dying to feel your cunt in his hands. you must be lying to yourself if you really think that. beomgyu’s been making his intentions more than clear.

you bring your hand to his wrist, holding it but not pulling it away. beomgyu takes that as a sign to keep going, continuing to rub against your clothed folds. he brings his mouth to your jaw, sucking the skin and trailing his lips down to your neck. he’s been waiting for so long to feel your pussy, even just touching you through your panties is getting him lightheaded.

you’d think he’s a sick freak if you knew how much he thought about you. you’d run away if you found out what kinds of things he fantasized about when he can’t fall asleep at night. he’d try everything, play around with your body as he pleases, work you past your breaking point, leave you ruined for anyone else forever—anything he could possibly do, he wants to.

his tongue laves over your skin as he pants into your neck. he has to keep himself from rutting against your thigh, getting too heady at the feeling of finally touching you. he’s been so patient. he’ll show you everything, you’ll never want to leave his side again. he’ll turn you into something more desperate than himself, make sure you’re the one left haunted and longing. the idea of it all makes him whimper, dick aching in his pants.

he wants to see your knees buckle, wants to watch your eyes get glossy and wet. he wants you trembling and begging for mercy, wants to give you more and more because he knows that you’ll be good and take it. he’s sick, he can’t help it, you did this to him.

he feels your panties dampen up, and some evil sense of satisfaction hits him knowing that he did this to you. you cancelled your plans with taehyun to get your virgin pussy played with by him. something like a power rush gets to him, and it makes him want to wreck you all the more.

“how is it, baby?” he asks, smiling meanly at you because he knows you can’t give a proper response. he presses down on your clit, watching your mouth drop open as he swipes it fervently, needing to get you dripping and ready. he steals your lips for another kiss, letting you pant into his mouth as he takes everything he wants from you.

he holds your hip still when your legs start getting unsteady. he thinks it’s so cute how you’re already wobbling—you really are that inexperienced. it’s so entertaining to watch you fall apart over something so simple. he wishes taehyun could see you now, getting beomgyu’s hand all wet and giving him all your little gasps and mewls.

he wants to rip his hand away and watch you cry, but he thinks that might be too mean. he’s got something better to show you, though. he can’t rip his hands or lips off of you as he walks you into his room, coaxing you down against his bed until he’s hovering over you.

he’s reminded of the last time you two were in this position, when you left him to go straight to taehyun. did he know that you were just with beomgyu that night? that your hand was wrapped around his dick, that you were so eager to milk him dry? he’ll make sure you don’t head straight to taehyun again.

he holds your legs open, staring at your center with a wicked grin. your skirt is useless—it covers nothing when you’re spread out like this, soaked panties on full display. he wants those as a keepsake. he might be able to pocket them if he’s discrete and you’re delirious enough.

his stomach is in knots, he almost can’t believe this. he feels the way your legs keep shaking in his hands, and he knows you must be feeling so needy. you don’t even know what to do with yourself. your hips roll up, trying to seek pleasure that isn’t there, and it almost makes him want to keep you like this until you go crazy. it wouldn’t take long, you’re already whimpering and whining like you can’t handle a minute without his touch.

“let me go down on you,” beomgyu says, dropping his head between your thighs. he kisses up your leg until he gets to your core, ghosting his lips over your heat and blinking up at you. you’re holding yourself up on your elbows so you can stare at him, and he smiles up at you reassuringly when he sees how unsure you look.

he eases his hands up and down your thighs, calming your nerves. he has to remember that this is all so new to you. as much as he wants to go wild and do everything the way he wants, he needs to make sure you’re comfortable. he wants you to be all in on this too.

“how does it feel?” you ask, something in your voice sounding a little shaky. “i mean, i just heard from my friends that it’s not even… that good. for a girl, anyway.”

beomgyu laughs at your nervous rambling. he gives a gentle kiss to your thigh again and rubs his thumbs soothingly across your skin. “it will feel good,” he says.

you look away meekly. it’s sweet how shy you get, but beomgyu is very needy and wants your attention back on him. he kisses your clothed cunt just barely, so lightly that he’s not even sure you feel it. your eyes are back on him, though, so he supposes it worked. he runs his finger gently over your folds, waiting for you to tell him to go further.

“wouldn’t it be wrong?” you ask. your body jolts a bit when he applies some pressure to your clit.

“why?” beomgyu doesn’t see why you think it’s fine to give him head, but he can’t do the same for you.

“cause of taehyun,” you answer, voice dying out at the end. any sort of amusement leaves beomgyu in a heartbeat.

“he’d probably care a hell of a lot more if he found out about you sucking my dick and jerking me off.” his fingers get a little angrier against your cunt, dipping down to push at your entrance through your panties. your eyes widen, thighs clamping shut. all it does is trap his hand right where it is, though.

“t-that was cause i was learning!” you defend. beomgyu draws his hand back and studies your face. he’s trying to see if you really don’t want this or if you’re just being difficult.

“so why’d you come over then?” he asks.

that seems to shut you up. you stare at him all guilty, no answer even attempting to leave your lips.

“that’s what i thought,” beomgyu continues, hand creeping back up your thigh. “will you let me eat you out now?”

your thighs stay pressed together, and beomgyu thinks it’s so cute. you must be embarrassed now. he feels a little bad for you.

“i’m sorry,” he says, a gentle hand on your shoulder guiding you to lay flat against the mattress. “i’m sorry, that was mean.” he pecks your cheek in apology, then looks back at you with a smile. he peppers a few more kisses across your face for good measure.

beomgyu grins when you open your legs back up a little, making room for him. he steals a quick kiss from you before descending down your body, stopping every now and then to nibble at your collarbone, push up your shirt and lick at your waist, suck a mark into your thigh.

his hands sneak under your skirt to find the hem of your panties, tugging at them slightly. “can i take this off?” he asks, watching you blink sweetly at him. you nod eagerly, and it makes his heart skip a beat for some reason.

he peels your panties off slowly, but it feels more like he’s teasing himself than he is you. his head is spinning as soon as he sees your cunt, hands forcing your legs further apart so he can get a better view. he’s salivating like a dog, abandoning all his patience and smothering his face between your legs without a care in the world.

he’s already thrusting against the mattress, he can’t help himself, he doesn’t care how pathetic it is. his tongue is desperate as it works over you, slobbering over your cunt as you writhe and squeal beneath him. he keeps a strong grip on your thighs, not letting you dare try to close them even a little. you’re gasping and lacing your fingers in his hair, motivating him with every little tug you deliver.

“you’re going—nngh, gyu! fuck! going really fast..!” you cry out. he feels how much you’re shaking already, even your hand is unsteady against his scalp. it just turns him on so much fucking more, though. he needs to see you ruined, see how far he can push you.

his tongue pushes into your tight little hole, and his eyes almost roll back from how much resistance he’s met with. fuck, you really are inexperienced. he can’t imagine how he’ll even fit his fingers in there, let alone his dick.

his nose is right against your clit as he fucks his tongue into you. you’re moaning out much whinier than he’s heard from you before, and it does crazy things to him. he wants to fuck you so bad. he’d ram his dick into you, relentless and mean, and you’d take it so well because you’re so wet and so good to him.

he has to make you cum, he needs to feel you fall apart over his tongue. shit—you’ve never even had a guy make you cum before, he’s gonna be the first. the thought fuels him further, doubling his efforts, fingers digging into your skin to keep you still. he feels your walls start clenching down on his tongue, and he wonders how much more it will take before you’re spasming wildly around him.

he pushes his face further against you, desperate to get as close as he possibly can, reach as far into your cunt as his tongue will allow. he needs this more than he needs air, aching to finally taste your orgasm after days of longing for it.

“oh my god, gyu—gyu! i’m..!” you can’t even form coherent sentences, and your words are barely decipherable with how high pitched and whiny they are. you're putting up a hell of a fight against his hold on your thighs, but he doesn’t give. he moans into your pussy once he feels your cunt clamp down on his tongue like a vice, trapping him in so all he can do is curl his tongue up inside you. you’re squirming beneath him, sounding so beautiful and pathetic that he almost cums in his pants.

he only stops once you’re pulling hard at his hair, forcing his head off of you before he can overstimulate you any more. he pulls away panting, catching his breath and licking his lips, staring at your cunt like he’s entranced. the way your arousal still leaks from your entrance is teasing him, making his brain get all foggy.

he has to pull himself away before he gets too ahead of himself and dives into you again. he hovers over your, smiling at how fucked out you look. pride fills his chest knowing that he did this to you. your hand falls onto his shoulder, trailing up his neck and landing on his jaw, cupping his face gently. he decides to kiss you then, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you must have used up a lot of energy when you came, cause your lips move against his much slower than before.

beomgyu’s still just as needy, though, dick throbbing almost painfully in his pants as he grinds against your thigh. he wishes he had some shame, but that left him the moment you let him take off your panties. he pulls away from your mouth to suck your neck instead, unable to control himself, barely able to cling onto reality right now at all.

“not too hard, don’t mark me there,” you say, trying to pull his face away. he doesn’t even really register your words, too far off in his own world in which you’re some pretty little virgin lying on his bed waiting for him to fuck you.

he just wants to get you all cute and bruised, purple hues all over your body from his mouth or his fingers gripping you tight. you’d never be able to go back to taehyun like that. you’d have to stay right here with beomgyu, be his pretty little toy to use whenever he wants to get you wet and pliant.

you successfully tug him off of you when you pull his hair particularly hard. he pouts at you, finally coming back to reality as he watches your eyes dart across his face. he wonders what you must be searching for.

“how was it?” he asks.

“really good,” you say with an innocent smile that doesn’t match the situation.

“told you,” he laughs, tugging you up and moving you around until you’re sitting in his lap, your back to his chest.

“what are you doing?” you look over your shoulder, eyes big and shiny, and it’s almost like you’re tempting him to kiss you again. he rolls his hips up and grinds against your ass, pulling a gasp from you.

“can’t i get off too?” he asks with a grin, guiding your head back to lean against his shoulder, wanting you to get comfortable. his hands smooth up your thighs and stop at your hips, holding you tight there to keep you in place while he thrusts against you.

he’s obsessed with this, could stay in this moment forever with you. some domestic feeling comes over him, something that urges him to keep you happy, keep you feeling like this all the time. his hands get greedy on your thighs, drawing closer and closer to your core, wanting to feel your heat once again.

he brings a gentle hand to your center, spreading your folds and collecting your arousal. you sigh dreamily, tucking your face into his neck. he feels your lashes flutter as your eyes close, and he wants nothing more than to please you again. he brings his fingers to your clit, rubbing soft circles there, carefully watching your face.

you look so peaceful like this. his heart is aching now and he doesn’t know why. you’re painfully beautiful. why can’t this last forever?

he wraps an arm around your waist, pressing you right into him so he can grind against you deliciously. he moans at the feeling, hastening his pace as he chases his high with more determination. his fingers tease your entrance, wondering what you’d do if he just pushed in a little, only up to his first knuckle. he doesn’t, though, because he wants you to trust him.

“a-are you close?” you ask, hand reaching blindly behind you until it tangles in his hair. he pecks your nose, finding you awfully cute like this.

“yeah. are you?” he returns his attention to your clit, rubbing a little more wildly now. you let out a strangled moan as you nod. he watches your stomach clench and your hips roll. he’s so greedy; he wants to pull away just to keep you here a little longer. anything to keep you from leaving.

his hips work harder against you, blinded by the need to make you his and take you from anyone else. you're twitching uncontrollably, and he realizes that you’re cumming again, which satisfies him so much that he crashes right into his own orgasm. his arm fastens around you tighter, pressing himself as close to you as he can while his seed spills out of his cock.

“so good, so good,” he babbles, fingers flying over your clit, not listening to your protests and whines. he can’t let you go. he doesn’t want this to end.

“too much!” you gasp out, body defenseless to his ministrations. he hushes you with a kiss to your forehead.

“don’t leave yet,” he begs. “there’s still more i wanna do.” he’s selfish, he won’t hide it. he’ll wear his desperation on his sleeve now if that’s what will work.

“gyu!” he doesn’t even know if you’re registering his words. you might be too busy running away from the next orgasm he’s trying to bring you to. he feels how you keep getting wetter—you’re soaking his hand, dripping down your thighs.

“could show you so much,” he rambles, letting his mouth run wild. “i have some vibes we could use. those feel nice, you’d like those. i could get my fingers in you, stretch you out. whatever you want.”

you’re a mess of moans, and your body’s trembling more than he’s ever felt before. you must be getting close again.

“could teach you how to take dick,” he says into your ear, grinning when he feels you shudder. his fingers continue to rub recklessly at your pussy. he doesn’t care about being sweet or gentle or slow—he wants you to be blinded by your need for him, to ache for him so bad you’d shed tears.

“ah, fuck—i’m cumming!” you moan, body going limp as you finally succumb to the feeling. beomgyu feels so proud.

“good job, fuck, just like that. what a good pussy, so perfect,” he praises, words falling past his lips without a thought in the world. he wonders if you’ll be worn down enough to spend the night with him. that’s much more than he should be asking for, but he wants it just as badly as anything else he wants from you.

he finally lets up once you come down, smoothing your skirt back into place. you look so tired as your chest heaves, getting your breathing back to normal. he thinks you’re pretty like this, too.

“do you wanna sleep here?” beomgyu offers, testing his luck. he’s summoning any spirit that wants to be on his side today, chanting prayers in his head that you’ll give in without him having to beg.

you blink up at him slowly. god, you’re already falling asleep. he’s not letting you walk back home like this.

“i shouldn’t…” you say, but you’re already lying back against his mattress. he grins at you and pulls a blanket over your body.

“yeah, you shouldn’t,” he teases. your eyes flutter shut, and he almost wants to take a picture of this. “i’ll get you some water,” he says quietly, walking out of the room to do just that.

he comes back to your sleeping figure, slow breaths filling the room as he places your cup on his nightstand. he might have to buy some lottery tickets tomorrow, he’s feeling insanely lucky.

he changes out of his soiled boxers and sweatpants, quickly throwing on new ones so he can hurry up and lay with you. before he can get in bed beside you, he spots your panties on the floor. he looks back at you, making sure you’re asleep before bending down and swiping them up. he wonders if you’ll believe him tomorrow morning when he says you must’ve lost them.

this is unedited so plz excuse any errors lmfao

#txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard hours #beomgyu hard hours #delugyu drabbles

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flangore · 1 year ago

Text

❥ scarlet plumes

feat.: Valentino/f!reader

warnings: nsfw content, noncon, physical + psychological abuse, unhealthy relationships, violence, drugging, rough sex, choking, punishments, manipulation, Valentino is his own warning

You were not the type to get into trouble.

Being confrontational, at least attempting to have things go your way through protests and complaints, had never seemed worth it; not when the one you were up against was Valentino, who always got what he wanted in the end, one way or another.

All too often, you had seen the way he punished disobedient whores; all too often, you had watched the way they were still limping days after, bruises blooming on skin if they had been lucky, bullet wounds trying to heal, oozing blood, if they had been less so.

There was no reason to willingly go through the struggle of disobeying when simply giving in, caving to Val's wishes and orders, was so much easier.

When Valentino told you to bend over, you did so readily, spreading your thighs apart in offering; when Valentino ordered you down onto your knees, you went obediently, lips dropping open, praying he wasn't in a bad mood, unpredictable as his sudden bursts of anger often made him.

You were not the type to get into trouble, and yet you currently found yourself on the floor, crumpled in front of Valentino's boots, cheek warm and stinging.

“Now, why don't you tell me what happened, baby?” His tone was a low coo, almost gentle enough to soothe your sobs. “You've never acted out like this before. What happened to my well-behaved girl, hm?”

In your defense, it really hadn't been your fault — you hadn't meant to do it.

Your night shift had been supposed to be a simple session for a well-known client, consisting of some lap dancing and a blow job; that was what he had paid for, at least. Your surprise when he had begun ripping your skimpy panties off you, forcing your legs apart, hands greedy, mouth drooling, high on some drug, was therefore understandable in your eyes; as was the way you, in your shock, had lashed out, claws scratching at his chest in order to push him off you. A split second later, the side of your face had ached with pain, his flat palm having met your cheek before he had stormed out of the room, screaming and spitting.

Valentino had been with you after barely any time at all.

“I didn't—”, you choked out, voice trembling, “I didn't mean to do it, sir, I swear, he just startled me, and, I mean, he didn't pay for more, he wanted to —, he wanted to—”

One hand of his cupped your cheek, golden claw gently tracing over your jaw. Even with him crouched down in front of you, he seemed ridiculously tall. “Hey—, relax, sweetheart.” At an exhale, red smoke coiled around you, assaulting your senses. Instinctively, your raised shoulders fell as tension bled from your muscles. “I get it. I understand.”

With how utterly merciless Valentino was known to be, it took a few moments for you to actually understand the meaning of his words. Even then, you barely dared to let go of the dreadful fear curled in your stomach. “You do?”

“Of course I do”, he said, eyes half-lidded behind heart-shaped glasses. His voice was soft enough to cause more tears, now of relief, to drip down your cheeks. “You know, I was really surprised when that patron came up to me, demanding to have you fired, if not killed for your disobedience. You're usually such an obedient girl — I was wondering what actually happened. Good job for being honest with me.”

Hope bloomed in your chest, your eyes widening. Streaks of mascara and eyeshadow, black and colourful, ran down your wet cheeks. “So you're not upset with me?”

“Upset with you? Of course not, amorcito. You were scared, that's alright. It happens, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your breath hitched in a stifled sob, lips, the gloss now smudged, curling up into a pitiful mockery of a smile. “Yeah. Thank you, Val.”

This could have gone much worse. Your hands were still shaking, anxiety thrumming underneath your skin, and yet Valentino didn't even seem particularly upset. Some higher being — whether that was Lucifer or God, you didn't really care — must have blessed you, somehow.

“Of course, baby.” The moment Valentino stood once more, he towered over you, his shadow swallowing you up. “Now, follow me, yeah?”

Your legs struggled to support your weight, knees feeling weak as you trailed behind him through corridors you didn't recognise. Your steps were unsure, the heels, ridiculously high, only adding to your troubles. You have half a mind to stop yourself from asking where you're going.

It's entirely unnecessary, either way.

You arrive but a moment later, the noise of a heavy door falling shut causing you to flinch; where Valentino was in front of you just a second ago, he was now behind you, a looming presence at your back.

It was a studio; not the fancy kind actual stars like Angel Dust filmed in, but a smaller one, the light bulb flickering, the sheets on the bed stained. Voxtech cameras were pointed at the mattress.

“Val—?”

“Bend over, baby.”

“You said you're not angry with me.” The words tumbled out of your mouth without your permission, a panicked high-pitched tone. “You said you're not—”

“And I'm not, as long as you hurry the fuck up and do what I tell you to.” His voice was sharp. Instinctively, you obeyed, bending over the edge of the bed, nausea churning in your stomach. “See, that guy you were a bitch to was a regular. Good money. I gotta show him you're sorry, sweetheart. You understand that, right?”

For a moment, you didn't get a word out, throat tight as tears spilled past your lashes. Eventually, you managed a shaky; “Yes, Valentino.”

“There we go. Knew you'd get why I have to do this.”

Large hands settled on your thighs, the touch making you flinch; his claws, all too sharp, teased at your skin, leaving faint scratch marks, before they prodded at your folds.

This, by now, should have been routine. It was; and yet, the idea of this being a punishment had you tensing, muscles locking up while Valentino thrust one claw into you, only to grunt, irritated.

“Ungrateful bitch”, he spat, one hand settling on your lower back, pinning you to the bed while another fumbled with his belt, metal clinking. “That's what I get for tryin' to be nice and preparing you — tightest cunt I've ever seen. Loosen the fuck up or deal with it.”

“I'm sorry.” Your voice shook, though the threat of violence, of pain, didn't help with relaxing in the slightest. Instead, you instinctively clenched around the digit, only to whimper when he yanked it back out.

“Sure doesn't seem like it.”

The fat head of his cock, pierced, the metal cold, pressed against you, then pushed inside; you were unable to stop yourself from letting out a pitiful noise, sounding more like a wounded animal than a practiced porn star.

Valentino didn't seem to mind it one bit.

Your vision blackened out for a moment when he bottomed out inside of you, the pain agonising. For a moment, you were certain he was tearing you from the inside out. His hips slapped against your plush ones, building up a steady rhythm; one set of his hands grabbed onto your hips, claws digging into your skin, using his grip for leverage to pull you back against him

“Some wetness would help us out here, y'know”, Valentino mumbled, complaining, bitching, like this was your fault. It probably was.

The only response you were able to come up with was a choked out sob, a dull ache steadily present in your abdomen, only interrupted by sharp stabbing pain whenever Valentino's tip hit an impossibly deep spot inside of you.

This couldn't have possibly gotten worse — or so you thought, tears dripping down your face, your claws ripping the sheets as you scrambled for purchase, only for it to get so much more agonising when, all of a sudden, his hand closed around your throat, squeezing.

You weren't able to breathe.

Instinctively, you clenched around him, thighs shaking. If he wasn't still holding you up, you would have collapsed.

“Fuck, you're so damn tight.” Valentino groaned, low and raspy. His tongue lapped at your neck, leaving trails of pink saliva to drip down your shoulders, your chest. “We could've had such a pleasant time together, baby, if only you hadn't been such a disobedient slut. Hate that you're making me do this.”

His pace was unforgiving, the metal of his belt buckle hitting your hip with every other thrust, surely leaving bruises. Not that it mattered — Valentino did provide you with full coverage makeup, after all.

Out of the corner of your eye, you focused on the red dots of the many cameras, blinking, recording. By now, numbness spread through you, a small blessing. You weren't certain just how long it went on; only that, eventually, Valentino came with a groan, filling you up, making you whimper.

When his grip on your throat loosened for a split second, allowing you to suck a burning breath into your lungs, it felt like Heaven.

“Use your words, baby. Talk to me.”

“Val, 'm sorry—”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry”, you repeated, the words barely audible through sobs, “I'm sorry, Val, I'm sorry—”

Suddenly, his hand, still on your throat, yanked your head up, his lips clashing against yours; the very moment you opened your mouth, pliant with submission, with exhaustion, smoke flooded it, you choking on it.

Your mind felt muddled, mouth dry even as saliva trickled out of your lips, jaw slack.

Faintly, you were able to feel his cum drip out of your cunt and down your thighs, sticky.

“Now”, Valentino said, voice a sultry purr, “Why don't you wait here, I'll send you your client and you apologise properly to him?”

Mind filled with scarlet plumes, you barely knew what you were agreeing to, nodding mindlessly. “Yes, Valentino.”

“That's what I like to hear. Good girl.”

When multiple pairs of footsteps echoed through the room, you, even in your hazy state, had the bad feeling that you were going to be having a long night.

i won't lie i didn't proofread this yet.. tomorrow... ALSO FIRST POST YIPPEEE

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cloudnineminusnine · 2 months ago

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MDNI

you got a kicked-puppy-like caleb resting his head on your lap and he just won't let you concentrate on answering any of your messages in peace, he keeps sighing loud on purpose while pouting nonstop as he side-eyes you, behaving like a brat until he finally got to your nerves. yes, you know exactly what this menace is trying to get from you and, well, after a brief negotiation with him you settle that it would only be permitted if it's under your terms, which are simply: no hands allowed. while ruffling his soft locks you gradually let your thighs go separate ways causing him to lift his chin off your knee in anticipation, almost drooling himself like the loser he is once he locks his gaze with your tiny baby blue panties which the frilly bar of your mini skirt is exposing provocatively as it's fabric rolls up your opened legs. like you presumed, that little prick that was pestering you a few seconds ago left as soon as you agreed on letting him eat you out.

you shouldn't just take advantage of his submissive behavior so deliberately but that's what you're gonna do, after all, that's what he deserves after leaving your cunt so sore that it feels like he's still thumping deep inside you, each pulsating vein and the curve of his cock precisely memorized by your swollen aching hole. that serves him right! — even though you were the one who provoked caleb until his possessiveness consumed him entirely to the point of fucking you into a mess of nonstop moaning and crying.

of course, you tried to keep your cool by pretending not to be affected by neither his hoarse sexy groaning nor the heaviness of caleb's hips rutting against your feet so that you'd be aware of his growing erection, doing your best to keep yourself as composed as possible, but your stupid spoiled pussy is just so honest that it can't keep up with your evil plan, leaking excitedly once he pokes your core through the cotton fabric, slowly dragging his nose over the valley in between the restrained lips. he's getting kinky and it takes you everything not to go dumb with horniness when he deeply inhales your still covered sex, almost howling at the mouth-watering scent.

you wish the way you instinctively grinded your hips against his pretty face could pass unnoticed but unfortunately it bumped not so softly into his nose's tip — his ridiculous smug expression causing a shy tear of pleasure to run down between your pussy lips, staining your panties even more, leaking through the weave of the light fabric.

an audible snort leaves caleb lips and those lilac joyful eyes are suddenly glued to your face, he seems to be more than amused by your reactions and seeing your brows furrowing in pleasure as you bit down on your bottom lip to keep any beautiful sounds that could escape you only fueled his neverending fire, you're so pretty that it makes him sick. while he obediently keeps both wrists tied by a imaginary knot behind his back, his mouth leaves open mouthed wet kisses all over your groin, taking time to spread the warmth of his gentle lips all over. with your terms still ruling poor caleb, unable to use his hands, drags the tip of his tongue alongside the elastic of your panties in a attempt to push it out of his way, moaning against your wet skin once his tastebuds catch a sample of the abundant slick, the more he tries to set you free the more he gets distracted by your taste satiating his lustful thirst, fuck, at this point the thin blueish piece of cotton is all drenched in both your fluids and his saliva while he pathetically makes out with your barely dressed pussy, the tight elastic constantly rubbing right in the middle of the puffy folds, stimulating your aching clit in a delirious way.

a round of shivers ripples through your heated body, it's delightfulness concentrating around the aureolas of your perky nipples, and both your hands drown into his brownish hair, at first smashing his face into your drooling starving pussy, letting him have his way, french-kissing the hell out of your cunt, then pulling him away right when he starts to tongue-fuck you, it is too much, you cannot hide a frustrated moan, caleb is a threat even with no help of his skilled hands, the irises gleaming in a feral hunger combinated with the way he stick his tongue out trying to get to your hole once again lure you into giving up on your sadistic little plan, he's being such a good boy that you must allow him to make the best use of those long rough fingers, but not only that, you make it clear that he can use your pussy to get rid of his pent up frustration — which you collaborated — as long as nothing more than the reddish leaky tip of his dewy pulsating hadrness slips inside, promising to let him take your soaked baby blue panty as a prize if he can do exactly as told.

#love and deepspace #lads caleb #l&ds caleb #lads smut #l&ds smut #caleb smut #caleb x you #caleb x reader

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bradleysass · 3 months ago

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Visit - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 852

Barty’s phone rang just as he was in the middle of an important task—throwing grapes at Evan from across the kitchen counter to see how many he could land in his coffee mug. The moment he saw Pandora’s name flashing on the screen, he smirked and answered, leaning back against his chair.

"Pandora! To what do I owe the pleasure—"

"Barty, I need you to be on your best behavior when I visit later today."

No greeting. No explanation. Just a demand.

Barty blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Best. Behavior." Her tone was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

Evan snorted, sipping his now grape-infused coffee. "Sounds serious. What’d you do this time?"

"Nothing!" Barty shot back before returning to the phone. "What exactly do you mean by 'best behavior'? Because that’s pretty subjective, and I need some parameters."

"Just… be nice. No swearing. No threats. No crime."

"Well, now you’re just asking for a miracle."

Pandora sighed. "Barty."

"Fine, fine, I’ll be good. But only because I’m curious."

Pandora hung up without another word, and Barty frowned. "What the hell was that about?"

Evan, already resigned to whatever chaos awaited them, merely shrugged. "Guess we’ll find out."

—

A few hours later, there was a knock at the door.

Barty, ever dramatic, swung it open with a flourish. "Pandora, my dearest—oh. Oh."

Standing next to Pandora was a tiny blonde girl, staring up at him with wide, dreamy eyes. Little Luna, clutching a well-loved stuffed rabbit, beamed at him.

"Uncle Barty!"

Barty, the same man who had once gleefully threatened a man over taking the last good parking spot, melted on the spot. "Lulu!"

Evan watched in horror as Barty crouched down, holding his arms open. Luna ran to him, and he scooped her up, spinning her in a circle while she giggled. The sight was nothing short of jarring.

Pandora gave Evan a knowing smirk. "And now you understand."

Barty was speaking in a tone Evan had never heard from him before—soft, gentle, doting. "You’ve gotten taller, kiddo. What’s the verdict? Am I still your favorite?"

Luna nodded solemnly. "Yes, but only if you have cookies."

"I would never disappoint you like that," Barty swore, carrying her inside as if she were royalty. "Evan, fetch the cookies for our esteemed guest."

Evan arched an eyebrow. "Fetch?"

"Evan," Barty whispered harshly, "she’s a baby. I am a man on a mission. Don’t ruin this for me."

Evan sighed but complied, watching as Barty set Luna down and immediately began playing whatever ridiculous game she had in mind. Within minutes, Barty—who normally thrived on chaos and destruction—was helping Luna arrange her stuffed animals in a meticulous tea party setup, pouring imaginary tea and complimenting Mr. Bun-Bun on his exceptional taste in scarves.

Pandora leaned in to Evan. "It’s like watching a wolf raise a lamb, isn’t it?"

Evan shook his head in disbelief. "I’m honestly a little scared."

Luna, perched on Barty’s lap, offered him a tiny plastic teacup. "Uncle Barty, do you take sugar in your tea?"

Barty gasped. "Lulu, you know me so well. Two lumps, please."

Evan was struggling to process the sight of his terrifying, unpredictable boyfriend pretending to sip tea from a plastic cup, nodding seriously as Luna explained the importance of proper tea etiquette. It was, in a word, ridiculous.

But also… kind of adorable.

Barty caught Evan staring. "What?"

Evan smirked. "You’re a menace to society, but put a kid in front of you, and suddenly you’re a girl dad."

Barty huffed. "It’s called range, Evan. Look it up."

Pandora grinned. "I knew you’d behave."

Barty shot her a look before returning his full attention to Luna. "So, Lulu, what’s the plan for today? More tea parties? Perhaps we start a revolution? Overthrow the oppressive toy monarchy?"

Luna clapped her hands. "A revolution!"

Barty gasped. "That’s my girl!"

Evan groaned. "Oh no."

"Oh yes!" Barty grinned, already pulling a blanket from the couch to fashion into a makeshift royal cape. "Every revolution needs a fearless leader. Luna, you shall be Queen Luna the First, Ruler of Stuffed Animals and Guardian of the Cookie Jar."

Luna giggled, clearly delighted. "And Uncle Barty is my knight!"

Barty nodded solemnly. "At your service, my queen."

Pandora sighed with a fond shake of her head. "I should have known it would escalate."

By the time the so-called revolution was in full swing, the living room had been transformed into a war room. Stuffed animals lined the couch like an army, and Barty, donning a pot as a makeshift helmet, was dramatically recounting the injustices of the evil toy king—a particularly lumpy teddy bear named Sir Fluffington.

"Sir Fluffington has ruled with an iron paw for too long!" Barty declared. "It is time for change!"

Luna, perched atop the couch like a throne, raised her tiny fist. "Down with Sir Fluffington!"

"DOWN WITH SIR FLUFFINGTON!" Barty echoed, fist in the air.

Evan, watching all of this unfold, turned to Pandora. "I can’t believe this is my life."

Pandora just laughed. "At least he’s on his best behavior."

#rosekillermicrofic #rosekiller microfic #rosekiller #marauders #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #pandora rosier #pandora lovegood #luna lovegood #microfic

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thesassypadawan · 1 year ago

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Beloved Master (Unburnt Darth Vader x FemPadawanReader)

Summary: After a traumatic series of events, you find yourself being held captive by the sith lord known as Darth Vader. Alone and unarmed, you wish so badly for your beloved master to be here with you. Be careful of what you wish for.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut.Size difference, hint of a breeding kink, and Vader’s big dick. Padawan reader is of age.

Notes: The 'What If' Version: Beloved Master *Fragmented*

Part 2: Beloved Husband

This is a non-burnt Vader fic. Everything is still intact and has been ‘enhanced’ by the dark side of the force.

“Now behave yourself, jedi, the lord will be with you shortly.” The male attendant sneered, taking great joy in your current predicament.

Standing there, wearing nearly nothing; you tried your best to maintain what little dignity you had left. You gave him a small nod and muttered a quick thanks, before stepping inside the room.

“Try not to have too much fun,” he chuckled darkly and closed the door behind him.

Hearing the locks hiss into place, you began to reflect on the events that led up to this moment.

It had only been a few nights ago that you stood in the temple’s meditation garden. Waiting patiently for your beloved master to return from an ‘emergency meeting’. When your private comlink was hailed, his voice ringing out from it. “Run. Run swiftly. Run to me.”

Everything was fragmented and hazy after that.

The night sky was orange. There were cries of agony and pain all around you. The temple, your home, was engulfed in flames.

You felt utterly hopeless. Worried horribly about your master. Completely devastated at the thought of not saying those words to him one last time.

You tried to run, but someone tugged hard on your arm. Yelling at you to come with them, to ignore his call. Something happened to that someone in a blaze of blue light.

You were no longer being pulled, but carried away from the chaos. Being whispered to that it was ‘all going to be okay, you’re safe’.

That’s when your whole world went dark.

When you awoke, you found yourself locked up in a holding cell. Dressed in the most ridiculous outfit you have ever seen. One that left very little to the imagination.

You did not remain there long. Soon after, the male attendant had arrived. He, along with a pair of clone troopers, then escorted you swiftly to their lord’s private quarters. Apparently, this Vader fellow wanted to have an audience with you rather badly.

It was with this grim thought in mind that the weight of your situation truly set in.

You were alone. Stuck on an unknown planet, which you could feel was entirely encompassed in the dark side of the force. You were without your saber, it’s comforting presence no longer hanging from your hip. And, most gravely, you were about to presumably meet a sith lord.

Scanning your surroundings, you hoped to find something you could possibly use to defend yourself. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the lavish bed chamber that would provide much help.

You heard the door behind you slide open and then close.

Swallowing hard, you tried to compose yourself. Your master had always said to keep your wits about you when facing down an enemy. To stay centered within the force. To keep your mind clear.

How you so wished he was here with you now.

“I am, padawan of mine.”

Your eyes grew wide. “Master?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Is that really you?”

Not waiting for an answer, you quickly whirled around. Instantly, a wave of relief washed over you. Standing before you, a gentle smile on his face, was…

“It’s me”, Anakin muttered.

Without a second thought you ran to him. And he easily scooped you up into his strong arms.

Burying your face into his tunic; you finally let the hot tears flow free. “Ani, it was horrible!” You sobbed softly.

Stroking your hair, he gently swayed back and forth with you. “Ssh, it’s okay. It’s all over.”

You squeezed him tight and whimpered. “I thought I had lost you.”

“Hey, look at me.” Hooking two fingers under your chin, he tilted your face upwards. “We’re never going to lose each other.”

Placing his hand on your cheek, he wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. “I made sure that we will always be together…no matter what,” he said malevolently.

Hearing his tone, it was as if you were suddenly released from sort of spell. Anakin was no longer the same, in oh so many ways.

His entire form had changed. He once only stood a head and a half taller, and now he absolutely dwarfed you. His hands were huge. His muscles blown enormous. He looked like an absolute beast, with yellow eyes and a heavy dark aura to match.

Maker, help you. He was the sith lord and you were finding it hard to resist him.

“Ani,” you spoke slowly, reaching to place a tiny hand on his chiseled chest. “What have you done?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, angel,” he replied nonchalantly. “I did what was necessary.”

Tightening his arm around your waist, he somehow pulled you in even closer. “You should be more worried about what I’m going to do to you in that outfit,” he whispered huskily.

A small squeak escaped you as you were suddenly swept off your feet and whisked over to the bed.

Trapped underneath him, it truly sunk in how utterly massive he had become…and how tiny you were in comparison. You shivered at the thought. Whether it was from fear or excitement, you weren’t quite sure.

“What is it, padawan?” He chuckled, hovering above menacingly. “Afraid of your master?”

You shuddered once more as Anakin brushed his clothed length against your inner thigh. Stars, he felt gigantic. “No, master,” you whimpered.

A wide grin spread across his handsome face. “Good, because this is where the fun begins.”

He crashed his lips into yours. The kiss was hungry and passionate. The kind that made you wrap your arms around his thick neck and desperately pulled him closer, deepening it.

You could hear a rumble of approval in his chest. The sound causes a warmth to spread throughout your entire body.

Parting for air, Anakin gave you a mischievous look before burying his face into your neck. He kissed and bit at the sensitive flesh. Making you purr. Marking you as his for all to see.

His hand, all the while, lazily slid down your form. Coming to rest on your breast, he cupped and gave it a firm squeeze. Eliciting a soft moan from you.

“I love the sounds you make for me,” he muttered against your skin.

“Ani,” you mewled, hands tangling in his golden curls.

“I wonder,” he murmured, his lips trailing down your body. “What kind you’ll make when I do this?”

“Kriff!” You cried out as his warm mouth wrapped around your nipple. Sucking and nibbling at it through the paper-thin fabric. Causing your back to arch, your hips glancing one another in a fiery touch. You both groaned.

“Or better yet,” he whispered, sitting back on his legs. “What delicious sound will escape you when I do this?” With the wave of his two fingers, Anakin used the force to…

You let out a frightened squeal as the meager clothes were torn from your form. Instinctively you tried to cover yourself up with your hands, but he easily captured them in his much large one.

Pinning your arms above your head, he playfully scolded. “Now, now, don’t be shy. Let me see that beautiful body, little one.”

That name, it made you shiver. You could feel the dampness and you both knew it had shot straight to your soaking core.

“Oh? You liked that didn’t you?” He taunted, running his other big hand up and down your leg.

Wriggling beneath him, your cheeks burned hot. “I-I did, master,” you replied weakly.

He laughed darkly at your embarrassment and gave your hip a firm squeeze. “Tell me, tiny padawan of mine, what else would you like?”

“Your cock,” you whimpered. “I would like your cock inside of me.”

“Are you sure about that?” He mocked, flashing you a smirk.

Anakin used the force once more. This time removing his own clothes. Revealing…

Your eyes widened and your mouth went dry. He was absolutely massive, a true monster. And yet, you wanted him oh so badly.

“Please!” You begged; your voice laced with need. “Want it!”

“I don’t know.” He laid his heavy cock on your pussy, dragging it slowly between your folds. “You were barely able to take me before I became like this. Aren’t you afraid of what will happen now?”

You moaned softly as you found yourself slipping into a haze. “Don’t care! Need it!”

Suddenly, he removed all friction. You were about to whine in protest, until you felt him lining himself up with your entrance.

“All right, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

In a single, fluid motion, he pushed inside of you.

The two of hissed together, as you took every thick inch.

“So tight,” he growled as he bottomed out.

“So big,” you mewled. Relishing how full it made you feel. How his tip was dangerously pressed against your cervix.

Hiking your thighs onto his hips, he snaps them forward. Pounding into you at a brutal pace. Giving you no time to adjust to his colossal size.

“A-Ani…” You slurred, eyes going crossed from the stretch. “S-So big, An-Ani…”

He groaned at seeing your tummy bulge every time he thrusted back into you. “Yes, so big and yet your tiny cunt is taking me so well. Tell me, hatari, how much do you love it?”

You could feel the heat beginning to build in your core, tugging at you. “I love it! Love it so much!”

“Needy little thing,” he grunted. “Be a good girl now, let me into that perfect womb of yours. Going to fill you up so full. Going to make you heavy with the heir to my new empire.”

“M-Master…” You could barely form a sentence; you were so overwhelmed.

With a few more deep thrusts, he breached past the tight rim. Getting exactly what he wanted. “That’s it, that’s my sweet padawan,” he cooed.

You could feel the tears of ecstasy running down your cheeks. Your pussy clenching around him from the extra stretch. You were so painfully close and Anakin could tell.

“Let go,” he panted. “We’ll cum together, just like always.”

You went crashing over the edge. Mind blanking as waves of pleasure rolled through you.

His cock twitched inside of you. Filling you to the brim and beyond with his seed. Making your stomach round.

Catching your breath. Smiling warmly at one another. You both basked in the afterglow of it all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, still buried deep within you. Anakin placed a tender kiss on your forehead and whispered. “I love you. You’re going to look so beautiful carrying our child, my empress.”

A cold chill ran through you as you came back down from your high. You knew you should be terrified. That you should be distraught over the events that led up to this.

But as you gazed up into those yellow eyes…none of that mattered anymore. All that did was you being right by his side.

“I love you too, Lord Vader.”

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thef1diary · 6 months ago

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after the visit of the paranormal investigators max was even more cheeky. he wanted you to figure out a way so he can directly communicate with you so he was behaving like a cat, knocking over your water bottle, stealing your hair ties from the night stand and scratching on the door when it was closed. he wanted your attention and to talk to you, properly. to finally whisper all the sweet nothings when you're busy working or trying to get chores done...😵‍💫

🩵

— oh he’d make you feel as though he’s everywhere, always touching you, always reminding you of his presence. After he got a taste of communicating with you, he wants more. 18+ content below

It started after the investigators left—Max had become relentless. At first, it was playful: your water bottle tipping off the counter just as you reached for it, your hair ties mysteriously disappearing from the nightstand. He messed with you and most of the time you chuckled, trying to tell him off. But then, he had also turned up the dial on the filthier antics—constantly touching you.

The warm press of phantom fingers trailed across your inner thighs when you sat at your desk to work. Ghostly hands slid beneath your shirt while you tried to complete mundane daily tasks. Washing dishes became a challenge when you’d feel his touch slither between your legs, stroking over your bare cunt just to watch you squirm.

He didn’t let up when you tried to ignore him, either. Every time you clenched your thighs together, his touch grew firmer, hungrier.

Even during the night, he didn’t hold back. You jolted awake to the sensation of your blanket being peeled away, the cool air kissing your skin. His hands skimming up your legs as you felt his presence curling around you.

You gasped, clawing at the sheets as his invisible grip spread your thighs wide. He wasn’t gentle anymore; his touch was demanding, confident, and dripping with intent. His hands roamed over your body like he owned it, teasing every curve, every sensitive spot. When his fingers circled your nipple, pinching just enough to make your breath hitch, you swore if you strained your hearing, you could hear a low, guttural groan echo in the silence of your bedroom.

It was as though Max was everywhere, teasing you, urging you to acknowledge him.

You could feel his frustration building, the way he pressed against you, almost begging to be heard. You wanted it, too. God, you wanted it so badly—his voice murmuring dirty promises into your ear, telling you exactly what he’d do instead of simply touching you.

One afternoon, as you braced yourself against the kitchen counter, your breath hitching from the sensation of his hands sliding under your waistband, you knew you couldn’t take it anymore. Max wasn’t going to stop until you found another way to communicate with him.

Panting, you pushed yourself up, your knees weak as you muttered air, hoping he was listening. “Alright, fine, Max. You win.” You’d find a way to let him talk to you—really talk to you. If that meant buying a spirit box or some other ridiculous gadget, so be it.

And you’d do it immediately, because the next time his hands slipped between your legs, teasing you to the brink, you wanted to hear every filthy thing he’d whisper while you came undone.

want more ghost!max? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

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cirilla-fiona-riannon · 4 months ago

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ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀᴛ ᴄʟᴜᴍꜱɪʟʏ ꜱʜᴏᴡꜱ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Not proofread.

Emma: "Prince Kagari's birthday is today?"

Townswoman: "Yes, it's become a tradition for the whole town to celebrate."

Emma: "So that's why it's so lively today."

(I had no idea it was Kagari's birthday.)

The townspeople were particularly excited, and the sweet smell of dorayaki filled the air from every direction.

Townswoman: "You should celebrate Prince Kagari too."

Townswoman: "I'm sure he'd be thrilled if someone as special as you sent him good wishes."

A woman I'd gotten to know since coming to Kogyoku flashed me a cheerful smile and gave me a gentle push.

Townswoman: "If you're having trouble picking a gift, I'll help you out!"

Emma: "Thanks, but since it's a special occasion, I'd like to come up with something myself."

(This feels kind of weirdly pressuring. Or is it just me?)

Satisfied with my response, the woman cheerfully left after offering a few words of encouragement.

(Kagari's helped me more times than I can count since I got to Kogyoku. Whether or not I'm special to him, I can't just ignore his birthday now that I know about it.)

(Alright.)

(Wait, what's this ridiculously long line?!)

When I packed my gift and made my way to the castle, I found the square completely packed with people who had come to celebrate Kagari.

(Swordsmen, nobles, commoners—wow, that's a huge crowd.)

At the front of the line, a striking figure with red hair caught my eye.

He was expressionless, silently receiving greetings and tributes one after another.

(Prince Kagari looks completely detached, like it has nothing to do with him. He doesn't seem happy at all.)

I stood on my toes to get a better look, and our eyes met.

(Did he just catch me staring? He's always quick to notice when someone's looking at him.)

I looked away and took cover by a nearby cherry blossom tree.

(What should I do? It's going to be difficult to celebrate with this many people around.)

(I really wanted to celebrate on his actual birthday, but maybe I should come back tomorrow. Wait, what?)

When I glanced back, Prince Kagari was gone.

Instead, his attendant was standing there, and despite not being the prince, people were still offering celebratory words and gifts.

It was a weird sight.

Kagari: "You're wide open, Princess."

(!?)

I turned toward the voice, and a hand suddenly covered my mouth.

Before I could react, he pulled me into the shadows beneath the tree, my back gently pressed against the trunk.

Emma: "Mmph!"

(When did he even get behind me?!)

I struggled, but he effortlessly pinned me against the tree, his face now dangerously close to mine.

For a second, I thought my heart would stop.

Kagari: "Will you behave?"

I nodded frantically, and only then did he finally let go of my mouth.

But the distance between us didn't change. He placed his hands on the tree, keeping me trapped.

(Calm down, Emma.)

(He's probably just staying this close to avoid being seen by others.)

I instinctively lowered my voice, careful not to let my breath brush against him.

Emma: "Why are you here?"

Kagari: "I saw you."

Emma: "So you came to see me?"

Kagari: "You called me."

(Is that how he saw it?)

A mix of guilt and a strange, fluttering warmth settled in my chest.

Kagari: "If you were planning to stand in line, you should give up."

Kagari: "That line won't die down until nightfall."

Emma: "That long…?"

Kagari: "And at night, there's a banquet. It'll go on until dawn."

(Spending an entire day celebrating… The Yaksha of Kogyoku really goes all out.)

I was impressed, but his expression remained blank as always.

He gazed at the never-ending line of people as if it had nothing to do with him, his detached demeanor unfitting for someone being celebrated.

(I feel like Kagari doesn't care much about his birthday.)

(What if he finds it annoying that I came?)

Kagari: "So? Why are you here?"

I instinctively looked away.

Emma: "I was just curious since there are so many people."

(I can't bring myself to say I also came to celebrate.)

I hid the bag with the present behind my back.

Kagari was silent for a while.

An awkward silence fell between us, making the noise around us feel distant.

(I hid it, but I wonder if he noticed.)

But Kagari didn't say anything more about it and just grabbed my arm.

Kagari: "Princess, will you come with me?"

Emma: "Huh? W-Wait, Prince Kagari?"

He stealthily led me toward the castle, barely giving me a choice. Once inside, he unceremoniously shoved me into a room before disappearing and returning with a large basket.

Kagari: "First, put this on."

Emma: "A hakama?"

Kagari: "Next, wrap this around your face."

Emma: "A scarf?"

Kagari: "Lastly, wear this at your waist."

Emma: "A… sword!?"

Kagari: "Tie your hair into a single ponytail."

Emma: "Um…?"

(Why are we suddenly having a dress-up session?)

I accepted each item as he handed them to me, tilting my head in confusion. But then, without hesitation, he picked up the hakama and reached for my clothes.

Kagari: "If you don't know how to wear it, I'll help."

Emma: "N-No! I got this!"

(I have no idea what's going on, but this can't possibly be bad, right?)

#ikepri jp #ikemen prince #ikepri kagari #ikepri #kagari amagase #ikepri translations #cybird

159 notes · View notes

28harryssunflower · 4 months ago

Text

Royal scandal - a mini series: Part 1/4

Royal scandal: Part 1

The grand dining hall of Buckingham Palace was oppressively silent, save for the sound of silverware clinking against fine china. Candlelight flickered off the polished mahogany table, casting long shadows across the velvet-draped walls.

Harry pushed the food around on his plate, barely listening to his mother’s polite small talk with one of the visiting dignitaries. His father sat at the head of the table, regal as always, his expression unreadable.

Then, with a deliberate clearing of his throat, King Edward turned his attention to Harry.

“It’s time we discuss something important,” the King said, setting his wine glass down with a soft clink. The conversation around them quieted instantly.

Harry sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Do we have to?”

“Yes.” His father’s tone was firm. “You are twenty-one, Harry. It’s time you start taking your responsibilities seriously.”

Harry exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair. “I am taking my responsibilities seriously.”

The King scoffed. “Is that what you call the drunken outings? The constant presence of your name in the tabloids? The string of women you leave behind without a second thought?”

A muscle in Harry’s jaw tightened. “What I do in my personal life is my business.”

“Not when you are the Prince of England.” The King’s voice grew sharper. “You cannot behave like some reckless commoner with no obligations. Your duty is to this country, to your people. It is time to act like it.”

Queen Anne sighed softly, placing a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “Perhaps we should discuss this privately.”

“No, we will discuss this now,” the King said. “Harry needs to understand the weight of his position.” He turned back to Harry, eyes cold and unwavering. “You will be married within the next six months.”

Harry froze.

His fork clattered against his plate, the sound echoing through the silent room.

“What?”

“You heard me,” his father continued. “You are of age, and it is time you settle down. If you do not find a suitable wife soon, I will choose one for you.”

Harry let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “You can’t be serious.”

The King’s expression didn’t waver. “I am.”

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t just force me into a marriage.”

“You are a prince, Harry. This is how things work. A marriage will stabilize your image and strengthen alliances. You will choose a woman of noble standing, someone with grace, intelligence, and the ability to uphold the duties of a princess. No more scandals, no more reckless behavior.”

Harry pushed his chair back abruptly, the legs scraping against the marble floor. “And what if I refuse?”

His father’s eyes darkened. “Then I will make the decision for you.”

Harry clenched his fists, rage bubbling beneath his skin. “So that’s it? You’d just hand me off to some woman I don’t even love? Someone who only cares about the title, the money, the power?”

His father’s gaze remained hard. “Love is a luxury, not a necessity.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say. You already have everything you want.”

Queen Anne frowned, her voice softer. “Harry, I know this may seem unfair, but-“

“No.” He cut her off, his voice sharp. “It’s not fair. It’s my life.”

His father stood, his towering presence only adding to the tension. “You are a prince before you are a man. And you will do what is required of you.”

Harry’s hands curled into fists at his sides. His entire life had been dictated by duty, by expectations, by rules. But this? This was too far.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the dining hall, ignoring the calls of his mother and the murmurs of the guests. He needed air. He needed an escape.

That was how he found himself in the heart of London hours later, dressed in worn jeans and a hoodie, stepping into a dimly lit bar.

The place smelled of whiskey and cigarette smoke, the low hum of conversation blending with the faint sound of a jukebox playing an old rock song. It was exactly what he needed.

Behind the bar, you were wiping down the counter when he approached. You recognized him immediately - how could you not? He was the Prince of England, his face plastered across tabloids and news outlets constantly.

But instead of gawking or treating him like royalty, you simply raised an eyebrow.

“What’ll it be?”

Harry smirked, but there was a bitterness to it. “You’re not gonna bow or curtsy?”

You snorted, leaning on the counter. “You want me to? ’Cause I’m pretty sure you came in here looking like a regular bloke for a reason.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. Most people fawned over him, desperate for a selfie or a conversation that they could brag about later. But you… you didn’t seem to care.

And for the first time that day, Harry felt like he could breathe.

So he told you everything. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the way you just listened, nodding along without judgment. You even did a few shots with him, making sure he had a good time. He didn’t have to be Prince Harry here - he could just be Harry.

And when the night ended, it didn’t feel like a mistake when he ended up in your bed.

One night turned into two. Then three. Then a routine.

Harry kept coming back, and you never asked for anything more than what he was willing to give. No expectations, no pressure. Just him.

But that all came crashing down one night when, at nearly 3AM, frantic knocking at your door jolted you awake.

You barely had time to open it before Harry barreled inside, his face streaked with tears, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

“I can’t do this,” he choked out, collapsing into your arms. “My father’s going to start looking for a wife for me. I can’t- I won’t… be forced into some loveless marriage with a woman who only wants the title. I just want-“ He sucked in a breath. “I just want to be happy. I want love. A real family. Not something arranged for me like I’m some pawn.”

You held him, running soothing circles along his back. You wanted to say something comforting, but what words could possibly fix this?

And then, an idea struck.

“Harry,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look into his red-rimmed eyes. “What if… what if you introduced me to them?”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“What if we got married?” You swallowed hard, nervous about his reaction. “I mean, at least we like each other. It wouldn’t be forced. And it’d buy you time - keep you from being stuck with someone awful.”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “They’d never let me marry a bartender.”

“Then I won’t be a bartender.” You took a breath. “I’ll tell them I’m in college, that I’d drop out for you. We can make this work - we just have to convince them.”

He stared at you, searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

Then, against all odds, a small, breathless laugh escaped his lips.

“You’re mad.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But so are you for coming here at 3AM crying in my arms.”

Harry let out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, he looked at you again - really looked at you.

“Alright,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s do it.”

The plan was simple.

Well, as simple as introducing a commoner bartender to the King and Queen of England under the guise of being a respectable college student could be.

Harry sat across from you in your small apartment, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as he stared at the floor. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of the world pressing down on him.

“This is crazy,” he muttered.

You leaned back against the couch, crossing your arms. “A little.”

“They’ll never go for it.”

You shrugged. “Not if you walk in there doubting it. You have to make them believe it.”

Harry let out a deep sigh and dragged his hands through his curls. You could tell he was struggling. He wanted a way out of this marriage arrangement, but deceiving his family - especially his mother - wasn’t something he took lightly.

“You know they’ll do a background check on you, right?” he asked.

“Obviously,” you said. “Which is why we have to be smart. I’ll tell them I’m in school, that I study… something impressive.”

“Political science,” Harry said quickly. “That would make sense. It would explain why we met - maybe at some charity event or lecture I attended.”

You nodded. “Right. And we’ve been seeing each other for months now, just keeping it quiet.”

Harry exhaled sharply, glancing over at you. “And you’d really do this?”

You looked at him, taking in the uncertainty in his eyes. This wasn’t just about helping him avoid a loveless marriage. It was more than that. Somewhere along the way, what started as casual hookups and late-night conversations had turned into something deeper. You liked him - more than you should have, more than you were willing to admit.

So you swallowed down the nerves creeping up your spine and nodded. “Yeah. I would.”

His lips parted slightly, his gaze searching yours. You weren’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he must have found it.

Because he whispered, “Okay.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparation.

Harry took care of the logistics, ensuring that you were given the right credentials, setting up a believable history of your supposed time at university. He even had someone help polish up your online presence - social media accounts cleaned up, LinkedIn updated with impressive details that made you sound like a brilliant up-and-coming scholar rather than a bartender slinging drinks to London’s rowdiest crowds.

Meanwhile, you practiced.

You memorized details about your “studies,” learned the etiquette of addressing royals properly (even though Harry assured you that his parents wouldn’t expect you to bow or curtsy), and prepared answers for the inevitable questions about your background.

But the hardest part wasn’t the preparation.

It was the waiting.

The night before you were supposed to meet them, Harry stayed over. You sat together on your couch, both nursing glasses of whiskey, the air between you heavy with unspoken thoughts.

“If this goes wrong…” Harry murmured, staring at his glass.

You shifted closer to him. “Then we deal with it.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Maybe it is.”

Harry turned his head toward you, his green eyes filled with something unreadable. His gaze flickered to your lips for the briefest moment before he shook his head and looked away.

“I don’t deserve this,” he muttered.

You frowned. “Don’t deserve what?”

“This. You.” He swallowed. “I dragged you into this mess, and you’re willing to lie to my entire family just to help me.”

Your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t just about helping him.

But instead, you smirked and nudged his shoulder. “Well, I’m not doing it for free. I expect lifetime access to the palace’s wine collection.”

Harry huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Deal.”

Buckingham Palace was even more intimidating in person.

You had never been inside before, and now, standing in the grand foyer with its towering ceilings and ornate chandeliers, you felt very, very small.

Harry stood beside you, dressed in a sharp navy suit, looking every bit the prince he was. He had told you not to be nervous, that his mother would be kind and his father would be fair.

But none of that mattered when the King and Queen of England entered the room.

Queen Anne was graceful and poised, her smile warm as she took you in. She was beautiful, elegant in a way that made you understand why the country adored her.

King Edward, on the other hand, was… intimidating. His gaze was sharp, assessing, his posture rigid as he studied you.

“So,” the King said, his voice deep and measured. “You are the woman my son has been seeing.”

You straightened your spine, keeping your expression polite but neutral. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

There was a pause. The tension in the room was thick, like everyone was waiting for someone to say something that would determine the entire outcome of this meeting.

Queen Anne smiled. “Harry has spoken highly of you.”

You glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched.

You turned back to her. “That’s very kind of him.”

“What is it you study?” the King asked.

“Political science,” you answered smoothly. “I’ve always been passionate about government and international relations.”

The Queen tilted her head. “How did you two meet?”

Harry stepped in. “At a private charity event. We got to talking about politics, and we just… connected.”

The King didn’t seem convinced. He studied you for a long moment before finally saying, “And tell me, if this were to continue - if it were to become official - would you be willing to give up your personal ambitions to stand by my son’s side?”

Your stomach twisted. This was the moment.

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “If it meant supporting Harry, then yes.”

The Queen seemed pleased with that answer. The King, however, remained unreadable.

Finally, he looked at Harry. “A word. Alone.”

Harry stiffened, but nodded.

You watched as he followed his father out of the room, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Queen Anne turned to you with a kind smile. “Would you like some tea while they talk?”

You managed a smile, but your mind was racing.

The moment the King led Harry out of the room, your stomach twisted into knots.

Queen Anne, ever the picture of warmth and grace, poured you a cup of tea with delicate hands, as if this were nothing more than an afternoon social call. You tried to steady your nerves, tried to ignore the fact that just beyond these walls, Harry was being confronted by one of the most powerful men in the world.

You wrapped your hands around the fine china cup, more for something to hold than to actually drink from it.

The Queen studied you for a moment before speaking. “I must say, I was quite surprised when Harry told us about you.”

You forced a polite smile. “I imagine so.”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Not because of who you are, but because Harry has never been one to commit. Not to anything that wasn’t forced upon him.”

Your throat tightened. Was this a test? A warning?

“You must mean a great deal to him if he brought you here,” she continued.

You hesitated before responding. “I’d like to think so.”

The Queen smiled knowingly, but there was something sharp in her eyes, something that told you she wasn’t as easily convinced as she seemed.

You were about to say something else when the doors swung open, and Harry reentered. You barely had time to assess his expression before he turned to you.

“We should go.”

Something was wrong.

You set down your tea and rose to your feet, glancing at the Queen, who simply nodded in farewell. As you followed Harry out of the room, you kept your voice low.

“What happened?”

He didn’t respond until you were outside, stepping into the sleek black car waiting to take you away from Buckingham Palace. The second the doors shut, Harry let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“He doesn’t believe it,” he muttered.

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“My father. He doesn’t believe us.”

You swallowed hard. “What did he say?”

Harry let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He said I’m lying. That this is all an act to get out of my arranged marriage. That you’re nothing more than an excuse.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “So what now?”

Harry turned to you, his jaw tight, his green eyes dark with frustration. “Now? Now he’s going to do everything in his power to prove I’m lying.”

Over the next week, the scrutiny was relentless.

The palace had people digging into your past, scouring every detail of your life, looking for any reason to dismiss you. Paparazzi started sniffing around, and before long, tabloids were already speculating about Harry’s “mystery woman.”

You’d never been under this kind of microscope before. At work, people whispered when they saw you. Your coworkers asked questions. And when the first grainy photos of you and Harry surfaced online - him walking you to your door, his hand lingering on your waist - the media frenzy only grew worse.

But the real pressure came from within the palace itself.

Queen Anne invited you to lunch three days after your meeting, her expression as gentle as ever but her words careful. “You must understand,” she said, her hands folded neatly on the table, “this isn’t just about Harry. It’s about the monarchy, about the future of the country. If you truly care for him, you must be prepared for what this life entails.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge.

And then there was the King.

He summoned you alone one evening, without Harry’s knowledge. The meeting took place in one of the palace’s smaller sitting rooms, the air thick with unspoken tension.

The King sat across from you, his sharp eyes assessing, calculating. “You think this will work?” he asked bluntly.

You held his gaze. “I think Harry should be allowed to choose his own future.”

A small, humorless smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And you believe you are that future?

You swallowed, keeping your expression steady. “I believe I care about him enough to try.”

The King leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “Tell me, how much is he paying you?”

The words struck like a slap. Your breath caught in your throat, but you refused to let the shock show.

“I’m sorry?”

The King’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so cold. “I know my son. He is desperate to escape the obligations placed upon him, desperate enough to go to great lengths to do so.” He tilted his head. “So tell me - how much did he offer you? Money? Status? What was the deal?”

Your blood ran cold.

Your entire life, you had been underestimated, dismissed by people who thought they were better than you. But this - this was the King of England accusing you of being a gold-digger, a liar, a pawn in his son’s game.

And you wouldn’t stand for it.

You straightened your shoulders and met his gaze head-on. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don’t need Harry’s money. I don’t need his title. I don’t need anything from him.”

The King studied you, but you weren’t done.

“I didn’t come into his life looking for a way out of mine. And I certainly didn’t agree to this relationship because of what he could offer me. I care about him. I see him as a person, not just a prince. And if that’s not good enough for you, then I don’t know what is.”

A beat of silence passed.

And then, to your utter shock, the King chuckled.

It was a deep, knowing sound, like he had expected you to break and was almost impressed that you hadn’t. He stood, brushing nonexistent dust off his perfectly tailored suit.

“Well then,” he said. “I suppose we’ll see how long you last.”

And just like that, he walked out, leaving you alone in the vast, empty room.

Your hands trembled slightly as you exhaled.

This wasn’t just a test anymore.

This was war.

When you told Harry about the conversation later that night, he was furious.

“He what?” Harry’s voice was sharp, his hands clenched into fists as he paced your apartment. “He accused you of- bloody hell.”

You sat on the couch, watching him wear a hole into your floor. “Harry, calm down.”

“No.” He stopped, turning to you with fire in his eyes. “He had no right to do that. No right to treat you like-” He cut himself off, his jaw tight.

You stood, walking over to him and resting a hand on his arm. “I handled it.”

Harry’s expression softened slightly, but the frustration didn’t leave his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You sighed. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy. And honestly? I think your dad respects me more now.”

Harry let out a breath, dragging a hand through his curls. “That makes one of us.”

You smirked. “Oh, come on. What would be the fun in this if there wasn’t a bit of royal drama?”

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

Harry exhaled and cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Here we are.”

And as he kissed you, slow and deep, you realized something terrifying.

This wasn’t just a plan anymore.

You were falling for him.

And if this all went wrong, you weren’t sure your heart would survive it.

It had been two weeks since your confrontation with the King.

Two weeks of scrutiny, of whispered meetings with Harry in your apartment, of watching the media dissect every little movement you made. The palace hadn’t officially acknowledged your relationship, but the press had already put the pieces together. Every tabloid ran their own version of the story - some calling you a mystery scholar, others labeling you a gold-digger who had seduced the prince.

And through it all, Harry had been by your side.

He showed up at your apartment almost every night, exhausted and frustrated, but unwilling to let this fight go. You’d stay up for hours, strategizing your next move, trying to find a way to win his father over. But as much as you prepared, you knew one thing - if the King had already made up his mind, nothing would change it.

And that became painfully clear when Harry got the news.

The King had begun the search for his future wife.

Harry stormed into your apartment that night, his face red with anger, his curls a mess from running his hands through them. The moment he saw you, he grabbed your face and kissed you - desperate, urgent, like he needed to remind himself that you were real.

When he pulled away, he was breathing heavily.

“He’s doing it,” he spat. “He’s already selecting candidates. He’s meeting with their families, setting up discreet meetings.”

You felt your stomach drop.

“Harry-“

“I won’t do it.” His voice was sharp, unwavering. “I won’t marry some aristocrat I don’t know. I won’t be forced into a life I don’t want.”

You swallowed, reaching for his hands. “Then we have to do something.”

He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening around yours. “Like what?”

And that’s when the idea hit you.

“An engagement.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

You took a deep breath. “If we announce our engagement first - publicly - then your father will have no choice but to acknowledge us. He can’t force you into another marriage if the world already sees you as taken.”

Harry stared at you, his green eyes searching yours. “That’s insane.”

You shrugged. “A little.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, to your shock, Harry let out a small, breathless laugh.

“You’re serious.”

You lifted a brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He ran a hand down his face. “Because this isn’t just pretending anymore. This would mean… forever.”

Something in your chest tightened, but you kept your voice steady. “Is that really so bad?”

Harry’s expression shifted. He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not if it’s with you.”

Your breath caught.

And then, just like that, the decision was made.

The palace was in chaos.

The moment Harry posted a simple photo on Instagram - his hand wrapped around yours, a stunning engagement ring on your finger - the world erupted.

News outlets scrambled for statements. Social media went into a frenzy. And within an hour, Buckingham Palace was forced to issue a public response.

You sat in your apartment, your phone buzzing nonstop, watching the royal spokesperson deliver a carefully worded statement on TV.

“His Royal Highness Prince Henry has announced his engagement. The Royal Family was not made aware of this decision beforehand, but we offer our congratulations and will provide further statements in due course.”

Not exactly the warmest endorsement.

But it didn’t matter. Because now, the entire world knew.

And that meant the King couldn’t erase you.

Harry had warned you that the palace would summon you soon.

He just didn’t expect it to happen the next morning.

You barely had time to process the news before a sleek black car arrived at your apartment, and suddenly, you were being driven straight to Buckingham Palace.

By the time you entered the grand hall, your nerves were on fire.

Harry was already there, standing tall in front of his parents. Queen Anne looked composed, her lips pressed together as she studied you. But King Edward…

He was furious.

His gaze cut through you like a blade. “So this is how you do things?” he said coldly. “Announcing an engagement without our approval? Trapping us into accepting this circus?”

Your heart pounded, but you refused to back down. You lifted your chin. “Harry made his choice.”

The King scoffed. “A choice? No, this is manipulation. A desperate attempt to back us into a corner.” His sharp eyes turned to Harry. “And you. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice unwavering. “I chose her.”

The King clenched his jaw. “Do you even understand the consequences of this? You think you can just marry some commoner and expect the world to accept it?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Maybe the world would accept it if you did.”

The tension was suffocating.

And then, for the first time, Queen Anne spoke.

“I’d like a moment alone with her.”

Everyone turned to look at her. The King frowned, but after a long pause, he nodded. “Fine.”

Harry hesitated before turning to you. His fingers brushed against yours in a silent reassurance before he followed his father out of the room.

And then it was just you and the Queen.

She studied you for a long moment before finally speaking. “Are you in love with him?”

The question caught you off guard. You opened your mouth, then closed it.

Were you?

This had started as a plan - a way to protect Harry from an arranged marriage. But somewhere along the way, you had fallen. Fallen for his laughter, his late-night rants about music, the way he looked at you like you were the only person who had ever really seen him.

So you took a deep breath and told the truth.

“Yes.”

Queen Anne’s expression didn’t change. “And do you truly believe you can handle this life?”

You swallowed. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.”

She was silent for a moment. Then, to your shock, she let out a soft chuckle.

“You remind me of myself,” she murmured.

You blinked. “What?”

She smiled, but there was a knowing sadness in her eyes. “When I married Edward, I wasn’t what the world expected, either. I was too bold, too outspoken, too… untraditional.” She sighed. “But I loved him. And I fought for my place here.”

She met your gaze.

“So if you truly love my son, then fight for him.”

Your breath caught. “Does that mean…?”

The Queen smiled faintly. “It means I won’t stand in your way.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

She wasn’t giving you full approval. Not yet.

But she was giving you a chance.

And right now, that was more than enough.

When you walked out of the room, Harry was waiting.

The moment he saw you, he rushed forward, his hands finding yours. “What happened?”

You took a deep breath, then smiled.

“She’s on our side.”

Harry’s lips parted in shock. Then, without thinking, he pulled you into his arms, lifting you slightly off the ground.

And as he kissed you - right there in the halls of Buckingham Palace - you realized something.

This wasn’t a plan anymore.

This was real.

And you were ready to fight for it.

You weren’t surprised when the King requested to see you alone.

After all, Queen Anne may have been willing to give you a chance, but King Edward? He wasn’t one to accept things so easily.

So when a royal advisor arrived at your apartment with the summons, you didn’t hesitate. You knew what this was. A test. A final attempt to break you, to make you doubt yourself, to push you into walking away.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

You were led through the grand halls of Buckingham Palace, your footsteps echoing against the marble floors. Every corner of this place reminded you that you didn’t belong here - not yet. But if the King thought he could intimidate you into submission, he was about to be very disappointed.

The advisor finally stopped in front of a massive oak door. “He’s waiting inside,” he said stiffly.

You nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped in.

King Edward was seated in a large armchair near the fireplace, his posture straight, his hands folded neatly over his knee. The room was dimly lit, the flickering flames casting shadows across his face. He didn’t look up immediately, instead staring at the fire as if deep in thought.

You didn’t speak first. If there was one thing you’d learned from watching him, it was that he commanded every room he was in. He expected obedience. Expected people to fold under his silence.

So you waited.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled sharply through his nose and turned his gaze toward you.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

But you stayed standing.

“I’d rather not.”

His brow arched slightly, the first sign of surprise. “Is that so?”

You lifted your chin. “If you called me here just to intimidate me, Your Majesty, I’d rather skip the formalities.”

Something flickered in his eyes - annoyance, amusement, you weren’t sure. He studied you for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair.

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”

You shrugged. “I think I love your son.”

His jaw tightened. “Love.” He let the word linger in the air before scoffing. “Do you have any idea what it means to love someone like Harry? What it means to be part of this family?”

“I understand more than you think.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Then you understand that this isn’t a fairy tale. You are not a princess. You are not meant for this life.”

You clenched your fists. “Who decides that? You?”

“Yes.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. “I decide. Because I have spent my entire life protecting this family, this monarchy, from people like you.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “People like me?”

“People who don’t understand what this life requires. People who think love is enough to survive it. People who will break under the weight of it.” His eyes burned into yours. “You think you’re ready for this? Ready to be scrutinized, criticized, torn apart by the press? Ready to be hated by the people who don’t believe you deserve to stand beside him? Ready to sacrifice your life, your privacy, your freedom?”

Your throat tightened. You had thought about it. But hearing it like this - so brutally, so coldly - made it real.

Still, you didn’t back down.

“I don’t care what the press says about me,” you said firmly. “I don’t care about the public’s approval. I don’t care about titles or palaces or any of this.” You took a step forward, your voice unwavering. “The only thing I care about is Harry. And I won’t walk away just because you think I should.”

The King’s expression darkened. “You are playing a dangerous game.”

“So are you.” You met his gaze without flinching. “Because if you keep pushing Harry away, you’ll lose him.”

The muscles in his jaw tensed. “You think he’d leave his family?”

“I think he’s already considering it.”

That hit its mark.

For the first time, King Edward looked genuinely unsettled.

Good.

You took another step forward, your voice softening just enough. “I don’t want to take him from you. I don’t want to be the reason he walks away. But if you force him into a life he doesn’t want… if you push him into a marriage that will make him miserable… he will leave.”

Silence.

The King stared at you, his expression unreadable.

And then, in a voice so low it was almost a whisper, he said, “Do you truly love him?”

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He exhaled slowly, his eyes closing for a brief moment. When he looked at you again, something in his gaze had shifted.

Not acceptance. Not approval.

But understanding.

“Then prove it.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“If you truly love my son,” the King said, standing to his full height, towering over you, “then prove it. Prove that you can handle this life. That you can handle me.”

You squared your shoulders. “I already have.”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk but refused to.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked past you, leaving the room.

The moment the door shut behind him, you finally exhaled, your hands shaking.

You had won - for now.

But this war wasn’t over.

Not yet.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before the door finally opened again.

Harry rushed in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. His brows were furrowed, his jaw tense. “What did he say to you?”

You swallowed, still feeling the weight of the conversation. “He tested me.”

Harry stepped closer, reaching for your hands. His were warm, steady - grounding. “What do you mean?”

You met his gaze. “He wanted me to back down. To walk away. To prove that I wasn’t strong enough for this.”

Harry exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Of course he did.” His grip tightened around yours. “And?”

You let out a slow breath. “I didn’t.”

His expression softened, something like admiration flickering in his green eyes. “You stood up to him.”

You gave a small, tired smile. “For you? Always.”

Harry cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “You shouldn’t have to fight for me.”

“But I will.” You held his gaze, unwavering. “If that’s what it takes, I will.”

Harry let out a breathy laugh, but there was something vulnerable in it. Like he wasn’t used to being fought for. Like he had spent his whole life being treated as an asset, a pawn in the monarchy’s game. And now, here you were, standing in front of him - defying the King himself - just to be with him.

His lips met yours, slow and lingering, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken word into the kiss. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you.” His voice was hoarse, like the words had been sitting on his tongue for too long.

Your breath hitched. You had known it - felt it - but hearing it was something else entirely.

You smiled, your fingers curling around his collar. “I love you too.”

A soft knock at the door made you both pull apart.

A royal advisor stepped in, looking as stiff as ever. “His Majesty requests an audience with the Prince.”

Harry frowned. “Alone?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Harry looked back at you, hesitation flickering across his face. You squeezed his hand. “Go,” you whispered. “See what he wants.”

He exhaled through his nose, clearly reluctant, but nodded. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before following the advisor out of the room.

And you?

You stayed behind, your mind spinning.

Because while you had won the first battle, you knew the war was far from over.

Harry returned hours later, his face unreadable as he shut the door behind him.

You stood from the couch immediately. “What happened?”

Harry dragged a hand through his curls before finally looking at you. “He gave me a choice.”

Your stomach dropped. “What choice?”

His jaw clenched. “Stay in the royal family and marry someone of his choosing… or leave it all behind.”

Silence.

Your heart pounded. “Harry…”

His eyes softened as he stepped forward, his hands settling on your waist. “I told him my answer before he even finished speaking.”

You swallowed hard. “Which is?”

His thumb brushed against your hip. “You.”

Your breath caught.

Harry took a deep breath, his voice steady. “I’d rather walk away from the crown than lose you.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His hands moved to cradle your face. “I was born into this, but it’s not my life. It’s theirs. And if I have to give it up to be happy, then so be it.”

You shook your head, emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “I don’t want you to resent me-“

“I could never resent you.” His gaze was fierce, unwavering. “You are the only thing in my life that feels real. And I won’t let my father take that from me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “What happens now?”

Harry’s lips pressed into a firm line. “We fight.”

And looking into his eyes, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren’t fighting alone.

You weren’t going to stand by and let this happen.

The moment Harry told you what his father had said - what he was threatening - something inside you snapped.

You knew the King didn’t approve of you. That he wanted you gone. But to go as far as to force Harry to choose between you and his entire family?

No. Absolutely not.

So while Harry was in another wing of the palace, distracted in a meeting, you stormed through the halls of Buckingham Palace with a fire in your veins. The staff gawked as you passed, but no one dared to stop you. Maybe it was the determination in your stride, or maybe they were simply too stunned to believe what they were seeing - a commoner marching straight toward the King’s office unannounced.

You didn’t knock.

You pushed open the heavy oak doors with more force than necessary, making them slam against the walls.

King Edward looked up from his desk, startled for only a second before his expression turned to cold disapproval.

“You are out of line,” he said sharply.

You didn’t care.

You stepped inside, shutting the doors behind you. “You can’t do this to him.”

The King leaned back in his chair, regarding you with a blank expression. “Do what?”

“Don’t play games with me.” Your voice shook with anger. “You know what. You can’t just kick your own son out of the family because he refuses to be your puppet.”

Edward’s eyes darkened. “You think this is my doing? Harry made his own choice.”

“No, you forced his hand.” You stepped closer, slamming your hands onto his desk. “You gave him an impossible choice: abandon me or abandon his entire family. Do you even hear yourself?”

His jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

Your chest heaved, your voice growing desperate. “You’re supposed to be his father. His family. And instead of supporting him, you’re pushing him away. You’re punishing him for wanting to be happy.”

King Edward let out a slow breath, his gaze sharp. “And what would you have me do? Let him throw away centuries of tradition for a woman who doesn’t belong in this world?”

You clenched your fists. “I don’t give a damn about tradition. What I care about is Harry. And whether you like it or not, he’s still your son. You can’t just cut him off because he refuses to live his life according to your rules.”

The King studied you, his eyes cold. “And why do you care so much? Is it because you fear losing your new luxurious lifestyle?”

Your anger flared so hot it nearly burned.

“You think this is about money?” Your voice rose, filled with frustration. “You think I’m doing all of this because I want a title? A palace? You have no idea who I am.”

The King arched a brow. “Enlighten me, then.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to steady. “I love Harry. Not because he’s a prince. Not because of his wealth or his status. I love him because he’s kind. Because he’s funny and stubborn and passionate. Because he’s the only person who has ever truly seen me.” You swallowed hard, eyes burning. “And I refuse to let you take him away from the people who love him just because he refuses to be your perfect prince.”

Silence.

You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in the air so thick it was suffocating.

But you didn’t back down.

“I will fight for him,” you continued, voice unwavering. “I will fight for his happiness, for his right to choose his own life. Even if it means standing against you, I won’t give up on him.”

For a moment, the King just stared at you.

And then-

He grinned.

A slow, amused grin that made your stomach twist.

“Welcome to the family.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

The King leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “You passed.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

His smirk deepened. “You think I was really going to cast my own son out?” He scoffed. “Harry may be reckless, but he’s still mine. I needed to see if you were strong enough to stand by him. If you’d crumble under pressure… or if you’d fight for him.”

Realization hit you like a freight train.

“This was all a test?” you said in disbelief.

The King’s expression turned knowing. “Did you really think I’d let my son marry someone who wouldn’t protect him?” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Harry is emotional. Impulsive. He needs someone who will stand their ground, someone who won’t walk away when things get difficult.” He gave you a pointed look. “And you just proved that you’re exactly that person.”

You were still reeling. “So… you approve?”

The King chuckled, standing from his chair. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He smirked. “But I’ll allow it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. After everything - every argument, every moment of doubt - he was letting you stay.

You had won.

Just as you were about to respond, the doors suddenly flew open again.

Harry stormed in, his green eyes wide with panic. “What the hell is going on?” His gaze darted between you and his father, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I leave for one hour and suddenly you’re having a meeting without me?”

You turned to him, still stunned. “Harry…”

The King smirked. “Relax, son. Your little spitfire here just proved herself.”

Harry blinked, completely thrown. “Proved herself?”

The King clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “She’s a fighter. You chose well.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Wait- you mean?-“

“I won’t stand in your way,” Edward said simply. Then he turned to you, eyes glinting with something almost… proud. “But be warned, young lady - being part of this family is no easy task.”

You lifted your chin. “I never expected it to be.”

The King studied you for a final moment before nodding. “Good.” He glanced at Harry. “Try not to embarrass me, son.”

And with that, he strode past both of you, leaving the office like nothing had happened.

Harry stared after him, then turned to you. “What the hell just happened?”

You let out a breathless laugh, still processing. “I think… we won.”

Harry blinked. Then, without warning, he grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around. You shrieked in surprise, laughing as he kissed you - deep, desperate, filled with relief.

When he set you back down, he pressed his forehead against yours. “You did this for me?”

You smiled. “I’d do anything for you.”

His green eyes burned with love. “God, I love you so much.”

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you knew - this was just the beginning.

The moment the King gave his reluctant approval, everything changed.

There was no more hiding, no more sneaking around. The press exploded with headlines about Prince Harry’s shocking engagement to a commoner, the royal advisors scrambled to prepare the public for the news, and the palace staff suddenly had to make space for you in Buckingham Palace.

And you?

You were caught in the middle of a whirlwind.

Standing in your tiny apartment, surrounded by half-filled boxes, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness.

This place had been yours. A space that belonged to no one else, where you had lived freely, without the weight of the crown pressing down on you.

Now, you were about to trade it all for a palace.

For him.

Harry sat on your couch, watching as you folded a sweater into a box labeled clothes. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers playing with the rings on his hand.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You exhaled, forcing a smile. “Yeah. It’s just… weird.”

Harry nodded, understanding. “I get it. This is a big change.”

You looked at him, searching his face. “Are you sure about this? About me moving in?”

Harry scoffed, standing up and wrapping his arms around you. “Are you kidding? I’ve been dreaming about this since the first time I woke up in your bed.” His lips brushed against your temple. “I want you there. I want to fall asleep with you every night. Wake up with you every morning.”

Your heart melted a little. “You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you, love.” He smirked before looking around the apartment. “Do you want to keep this place?”

You hesitated.

“I mean… it’s not like I need it,” you admitted. “But it’s the first place that ever felt like mine, you know?”

Harry nodded in understanding. “Then keep it.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

His smile was soft. “You don’t have to live here, but it can still be yours. Somewhere to escape when the palace gets too much.”

Your chest tightened. How did he always know exactly what you needed?

You wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “I love you so much.”

He chuckled. “I know.”

Walking into the palace with your belongings felt surreal.

The grand halls, the expensive paintings, the endless corridors - it still didn’t feel real. You weren’t just visiting anymore. You lived here now.

Staff members were already bringing in your boxes, setting them in the suite you’d now share with Harry. It was massive, more like an apartment within the palace itself, with high ceilings, antique furniture, and a balcony overlooking the royal gardens.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

“This is insane,” you whispered.

Harry grinned, leaning against the doorway. “A bit different from your apartment, huh?”

You shot him a playful glare. “Just a bit.”

He walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “You’ll get used to it.”

You leaned into him, sighing. “I don’t want to lose myself, Harry.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “You won’t. You’re you - the woman who stormed into my father’s office and yelled at the King of England.” He chuckled. “Trust me, no palace is gonna change you.”

You smiled, relaxing into his embrace.

Maybe he was right.

The next few weeks were absolute chaos.

Meetings with royal advisors, endless dress fittings, security briefings, and etiquette lessons that made your head spin. There were rules to follow now - how to sit, how to speak, how to wave (yes, there’s an actual royal wave).

Every day was another step closer to the wedding.

And every day, it felt more real.

One afternoon, you sat in the Queen’s private sitting room, flipping through a massive book of wedding venue options. Queen Anne sat across from you, poised and elegant as ever, but her gaze was warm.

“You must be exhausted,” she said knowingly.

You exhaled, nodding. “There’s just… a lot to take in.”

She smiled. “That’s an understatement.”

You hesitated before speaking. “How did you handle it? When you married the King?”

Her smile faltered just slightly, as if she were recalling something distant. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “I had to fight for my place, just like you.” She studied you for a moment. “But I see now why Harry chose you. You’re stronger than you realize.”

Warmth bloomed in your chest. “Thank you.”

She nodded, flipping to another page in the book. “Now, let’s pick a venue before the King takes over and insists on Westminster Abbey.”

You laughed. “God forbid.”

She smirked. “Exactly.”

For the first time, you felt like you truly belonged.

This wedding - this life - was yours. And you were ready.

The morning of your wedding dawned with a golden sunrise spilling through the palace windows. The air buzzed with nervous excitement, and the entire world seemed to be watching.

Today, you would officially become a member of the royal family.

#harry styles #one direction #short story #headcanon #one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n

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artethyst · 1 year ago

Text

~ Leaves In A Sky Full Of Stars ~

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s Sister!Reader/OC

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

“Remind me again why we are here?” Eris grumbled, signature frown plastered upon his unamused face.

“Because,” you enunciated, turning you attention to the babbling bundle secured in your Mate’s arms, his innocent eyes drinking up the frosty scenery around him in awe. “Just look at how happy he is!”

As if to further your argument, little Silas appeared squeal in agreement, his tiny legs kicking in glee as the High Lord carefully adjusted his hold on his delighted son- the boy’s excitable wriggling sending his already paranoid heart racing.

He thought he looked ridiculous.

Togged up in Winter attire- even though he could regulate his own temperature, you had insisted he don the furs of the Court you had travelled to as it would be “courteous”.

You thought he looked adorable.

His pale cheeks flushed, the rosiness only serving to bring attention to the delicate spattering of freckles across his tall nose- the fluffy material over his ears.

“My son looks absurd.”

“Our son looks absolutely darling!”

The boy in question too was swaddled, though instead in a mini snowsuit- little tufts of his red curls peeking from the soft fur that lined his puffy hood.

If he was squishable before, he was absolutely coddle worthy now.

His grabby hands were warm as ever, being unable to regulate his powers so young, the familiar heart emanating from his small body was a welcome comfort in Kallias’ court.

At first you were worried he was overheating, absolutely terrifying Eris one night when you shook him awake, frantic and near tears over the sleeping babe who was content as could be- his father’s curls wild with sleep and chubby cheeks flushed in innocent delight.

“Eris he’s burning up!” You were hanging off your groggy husband’s bicep in terror, watching his tired face meld into one of exasperation as you both were comically peering over the babe. “I-I think he has a fever- we must get the Healer-”

“My Love,” he let out, a tired smile on his wearied face, “it is normal for an Autumn babe. Ask my mother, it was the same for me as was with all of my brothers.”

“But-“

“Darling, he is fine,” he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple whilst securing his hand around your waist, his other moving to hover over the baby’s rosy cheeks, absorbing some of the heat so his little face became a complexion your heart could handle. “See?”

You sighed, your thumb coming to skin over the perfect cheek of your infant, not wanting to leave him.

“Can…Can we have him in our room?”

Eris sighed, unable to prevent a tender half smile gracing his features.

“I thought we agreed with the Healers that it was best for him to remain in his own chambers, hmmm?”

You huffed, pouting up at your husband with those twinkling violet eyes he had never once had the strength to deny.

“I am High Lady am I not? I can do as a like.” You stuck your nose in the air as Eris chuckled lowly, careful to not disturb the cooing babe who gently stirred in his cot, with an attitude he could only compare to your brother’s.

“If it will settle your ridiculous fears, My Star, I will bring him to our chambers.”

“You’re only saying that because you wish to go to back sleep.”

“Who am I to argue with my High Lady, hmm?”

That seemed like so long ago, the babe in question now able to babble in almost intelligible sentences and hold up the weight of his own head.

“Viviane and Kallias are our friends-“

“Your friends. Frankly, I would much rather-“

“High Lord. High Lady.” Eris was cut off by a warm voice- starkly opposed to his icy appearance. Kallias’ strong hand was mirthfully brought to Eris’, who shook it back with a mirroring fervour despite his earlier words.

You had to fight back a laugh, struggling to ignore the vexation he was hurtling down the bond.

Behave, you spoke into his mind, you should be grateful they invited such a grumpy Firehead as you into their home.

You didn’t have to look back at your husband to know he had rolled his eyes, adjusting Silas on his hip as he begrudgingly followed Kallias, an undeniable ghost of smile on his downturned lips as his son began cooing in awe at the glimmering structure they were entering.

“Dada!” He grinned, his little dimple pulling Eris from his mood, “brrrr!” A chubby finger pointed at the glacial carvings as he mimicked the noise you had been teaching him to help learn the seasons.

“Yes Silas, very clever. It is indeed cold.” Eris pressed a light kiss to Silas’ head, causing the babe to giggle, the noise a welcome salvation to the High Lord.

“Brrr!Brrr!”

“Precisely why I wanted to stay in Autumn…” Eris mumbled, agreeing with his son continued to note how freezing the temperature was.

“Brrr!”

At the sweet sound, you smiled back at the pair, pausing your conversation with Kallias to look upon your favourite boys, so alike in appearance it was sometimes scary.

“He wants you to say it,” you watched as the older male’s face contorted, perhaps finally understanding why his son kept repeating the noise. “He likes it when you copy him.”

“Brrr!” The boy said again, his wide eyes hopeful as he stared up at his father who, if anyone, could never deny his son.

“Yes Silas…Brrrr.” Eris relented, his voice notably dropping in volume as he made the noise, refusing to look you in the eye as you gave the other High Lord a wicked grin.

“You were not wrong High Lady,” Kallias smiled, “the High Lord of Autumn truly is powerless when it comes to his family.”

After a lengthy stroll around the grounds, you all joined Viviane in the drawing room. She squealed and brought you into a vivacious embrace, words tumbling from her mouth before you’d even had the chance to remove yourself from her iron grip.

“Oh I have missed you so! I have so much to tell you-“ it was then she let out a soft gasp, spotting Silas squirming in Eris’ arms. “Oh my! He has gotten so big!” She cried, moving to swoop him from Eris’ arms who you noticed was especially reluctant to hand him over.

You had noted that he had become increasingly territorial and protective over his son since his birth, at first thinking it was only because there had been a chance he was going to die, but even after Madja had saved him- you both, his worries had only grown.

You knew why.

Even if he never admitted it out loud. That despite everything- all his efforts to undo the suffering his father had caused, he still had many enemies.

Enemies that would love nothing more than to hurt him by taking away the things he loved most.

Silas frowned as he was transferred into the loud woman’s arms, his father’s infamous frown plastered ridiculously on his teeny tiny face.

Viviane attempted to make him smile, bouncing him on her hip and giving his little freckled cheek a gentle, cool peck.

“Do not mind him Vi,” you teased, finding your place in Eris’ free arms as he secured you against his chest immediately out of habit. “He has inherited more than just his looks from his father.”

And your words appeared to have a double meaning when your son’s grumpiness fell apart just as quickly as Viviane could coax it out of him with extra cuddles- just like The Lady of Autumn had assured you her own son had been a complete softie for at that age.

Eris payed little attention to the words Kallias was spewing- a proposed trade agreement that would be advantageous for both sides involved. He was far more focused on the glass of alcohol that was rather difficult to source in Autumn, hoping to be done sooner rather than later so he could spend some time with you and Silas without politics looming over his already troubled mind.

He took a small swig from his goblet, relaxing as the liquid warmed his throat, his slender hand coming to skim against his jaw as he read over the papers he had been presented with.

“You are lucky Eris,” Kallias spoke with honesty, causing the auburn haired male to look up at him and follow the other male’s eye-line to the grand window which displayed the winter gardens below where the two females and young boy were playing. “I remember a time where many High Lords- myself included, would have done anything for the Princess’ hand.”

Though a harmless comment, it made Eris’ blood boil. His possessiveness never once dwindling since the bond had first snapped for him all those centuries ago.

“I know.” Was all he replied, a smugness to his tone which complimented his signature smirk which did not fail to falter his façade. “I am a very lucky male indeed.”

“Years ago my wife told me she wished she possessed the kind of love you both do,” his tone was wistful as he watched his own mate with a biting fondness in his eye. “A passionate, suffocating kind of bond. One I was once afraid might melt a heart such as mine.”

“Careful, High Lord,” Eris’ smirk grew, “from experience, I must advise you. It is never wise to deny a lady’s desires.”

Kallias laughed, removing his gaze from Viviane who was making delicate snowflakes and sending them gently whirring against Silas’ button nose which had turned pink from the cold.

“We are trying for one ourselves…” Eris interpreted from his tone that it was a difficult subject, Fae pregnancies were rare and testing, even without the stresses of ruling a Court. “We can only hope they will be as much as a blessing as young Silas.”

It was Eris’ turn to become wistful then, focusing on his own Mate, even from afar catching the charming blush atop her fresh complexion as she twirled about the snow with their son.

Their son.

A phrase he had never thought he’d have the pleasure of saying.

“You are a steadfast man, Kallias. Your wife brings so much joy to my own I can only begin to imagine what a delight your offspring would bring her.”

Kallias knew that was as close as any compliment he could wrangle from the man, so clasped him on the shoulder with a heartfelt nod as Eris moved beside him, freshly signed papers left on the desk as they both stared at their entire worlds.

Eris knew, in that moment, watching as his son waddled across the pale terrain to his mother, who crouched down with awaiting arms, the expression he loved most written all over her breathtaking face, that there was nothing worth living for, if not them.

#fanfic #eris vandaddy #acotar #acotar fic #acotar x oc #eris vanserra #acotar x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris acotar #eris vanserra x oc #dad!eris #acotar fanfiction #eris x reader #eris x oc

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