#guest oc ruby

[robottocs]

Remember this post? Feel old yet? (I drew more of my friend's idv OCs)

[hyukalyptus]

the willow tree — prince!yeonjun x servant!oc (mira)

cw. brief mention of the death of a grandparent, chubby!reader (rarely self conscious), exes to ???, unsupportive parents, dual POV, classism, mira is described as chubby and has long wavy hair, mira often wears dresses/thongs/etc, smut, sir kink, sneakin around, pet names (darling, babe, baby, love, my girl), lots of cunnilingus/bjs/handjobs, more specific content warnings before each chapter, NSFW/MDNI!!! notes. this has taken me forever!! i know i've been talking about this for so long and i really hope you love it. the poll said to post everything at once, but i put chapter headers so you wouldn't lose your place since its so goddamn long. anyway, enjoy!! wc. 26K im so sry

cw. yeonjun is a bit of a jerk in a flashback, classism, yj is an environmental activist and if u are a climate change denier, feel free to block <3, mira (oc) is described as chubby, yeonjun sneaks into mira's room (but not in a pervy way).

YEONJUN'S POV

Open your heart to the adventure ahead. I glare back at the cheesy quote slapped across the page-a-day calendar resting on my desk Mother gifted me last Christmas. The phrases usually amount to nothing more than fortune cookie wisdom or elementary classroom poster encouragements, and today's offering is no exception.

It’s plastered in meetings and to-dos I have today. One meeting is with a new landscape architect for the garden, another with Gemma about the upcoming quarterly dinner, and another with our ambassador about an upcoming international environmental meeting I’m attending later this year. 

Philanthropy has always been a forte of mine. No matter the cause, I can persuade the richest of the rich to contribute to the cause, I host grand fundraising events, and love speaking for what I care about. My pursuits have evolved over time, ranging from childhood health to advocating for mental wellness and combating food scarcity. 

It’s been difficult to choose what I cared about most, but I simply can’t commit all of my focus to every cause, no matter how hard I try. Within the last few years, my focus has been the environment—an urgent matter demanding action, even if I’m not a major contributor to the problem. Nonetheless, I certainly have influence over large corporations that do, not to mention my political influence. I've also cultivated a deep appreciation for the arts, advocating for universal access. Last year, I facilitated the donation of $125,000 worth of instruments to local public schools.

Outside of work, I like learning new instruments and artforms—right now, pottery and piano—and reading. And I love to travel. I always fly commercial—never private. 

“Honey, be in the common room in fifteen minutes,” Mother—the Queen—says at my door. She glows as her deep ruby chiffon dress flows with her movements, exuding royal, elegance, and authority. She finishes putting in her gold earring before adding, “We have a new hire.” 

Ah, the customary introduction of new staff. I finish watering the peace lily on my window bench before heading down the hallway.

Our castle is opulent yet sophisticated and contemporary. I genuinely love the peacock-green walls, the gold trim, the myriad of photos on the walls—memories of the Queen presenting awards, snapshots from my trips, simple portraits. Despite the grandeur of it all, it’s home.

The common room is large and well-lit thanks to the floor to ceiling windows. Lots of comfortable seating scatters the floor for when guests are over. A large Morisot painting hangs on the wall opposite the windows—brushstrokes full of energy and splashes of rich greens and blues. But it’s the simplicity I love about it. It’s why I bought it. 

“Good morning, Your Majesties,” Gemma states as she enters the room, fifteen staff people following behind her. Everyone does their obligatory bows and curtsies, something I never particularly liked. But I understand the purpose behind it. 

The staff stand in a straight line facing us, Gemma being the stiffest of all—she commands the room, adores perfection, and keeps everything in order. She isn’t my personal favorite staff person, but I don’t know what we’d do without her. 

They’re all wearing their boring uniforms—half are in drab grey frocks with white aprons and the other half are in drab grey suits. I’d rather they wear whatever they want.

Formal introductions like these aren’t to my taste. I like getting to know the staff on our own terms. Organically. But this is important to Gemma. It’s a sort of initiation, a welcome into the family. So I let her do what she needs to do, but I’m busy reminding myself of my to-do list.

Email Princess Everly about the upcoming benefitReschedule interview with Philanthropy DailyOutline Climate Week keynote speech

“As you know,” Gemma startles me out of my thoughts. “We’ve welcomed a new person to our team. I want everyone to give her a warm welcome.” Walking to the end of the line, she introduces her, “This is Mira.” 

Mira smiles softly with a curtsy that I’m assuming she learned to do in the kitchen moments earlier. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ma’am,” she says, tilting her head toward Mother. “And you too, Sir.”

“Nice to—oh.” My mouth hangs open. What am I supposed to say again? Oh right, “Um…it’s nice to meet you too,” I finally murmur. That was embarrassing. 

Everything flashes across the movie screen in my mind—memories with her. The girl I fell in love with when I was a stupid teenager. The girl who stole my first kiss. The girl that was so sweet to me and treated me like any other kid because that’s all I was—a kid.

But she wasn’t just a girl to me. She was the first—only—person I was in love with. The girl I snuck out of the castle at night to go stargazing with. The girl I told all my secrets to. The girl I never thought I’d see again. How could I have forgotten her? 

Do you remember me?

Perhaps that’s all I was to her, though—a boy. Another insignificant teenage romance. Then again…how could she forget? We’d talk for hours about spending our lives together. She’d even picked out her favorite room in the castle that we’d move into together when the time came. It’s now the music room, complete with a piano among other instruments. 

We’d sit under her favorite willow tree in the garden eating red bean buns she’d brought back from the next town over when she’d visit her cousins. 

Have you forgotten? To be fair, It has been six…seven years. Wow. 

The room soon clears, except for Mira and myself. She paces around and smooths her skirt.

“Oh!” Mira gasps. “I’m so sorry. I thought everyone had left,” she says with an awkward curtsy. Simply shaking my head, I stay put. “...Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?”

“Nope…uh, no,” I start, fiddling with the edge of one of the couches before finally speaking up again. “Where are you from?” I’m testing the waters. Trying to see if she remembers me without coming straight out and asking. Honestly, I do this with all our staff: ask where they’re from, get to know them a bit. I don’t like having robots I know nothing about doing everything for me. 

“I’m originally from the next town over.”

Hm. Am I wrong? Maybe she simply looks a lot like my Mira. And has the same name. And the same gorgeous brown eyes. Perhaps I shouldn’t refer to her as my Mira anymore. 

“I’ve lived here since I was a kid though,” she adds. Ah, okay. That seems like something I should’ve known. Nodding, I open my mouth to say something else, but Mother calls me from a distance.

“Yep.” I stand up straight as a pin, turning to exit the room. “Be right there.” 

-

Rummaging through my drawers, I finally find it. The necklace I’d bought Mira all those years ago—a delicate circle pendant with an “M” stamped in the middle hanging from a delicate gold chain. She wore it everyday for six months. I can’t remember how I ended up with it, though. 

So, she’s real. At least that’s true. What should I do with it? I pace up and down the hallways clutching it, brainstorming about what to do with it. Perhaps I should simply walk up to her and ask her about it. Should I wrap it for her and give it to her as a present? Should I give it to Gemma to return to her?

“Oh, Gemma, I’m sorry,” I say, apologizing for almost bumping into her. 

“Not a problem, sir.” She curtsies and begins to walk away, but—

“Gemma?” She turns, holding her hands behind her back, awaiting my instruction. “Can you tell me where the new hire stays? I want to make sure I’ve got everyone’s rooms in order in my head.”

“Mira?” I nod. “She lives in room number six, sir.”

“Thank you.” I smile, but she simply waits. Ah— “Dismissed.” 

As I nonchalantly make my way to the staff wing, I keep an eye out for anyone who might be watching. Not that anyone would question me, but I don’t like people in my business. I eventually find her room in the same hallway as everyone else’s—a basic wooden door painted white with a brass “6” nailed to it—I hesitate before knocking softly. No response. I try again, slightly louder. Still nothing. On the third attempt, I test the door handle and find it unlocked. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m just gonna get in, put the necklace somewhere, then get out. I won’t bother any of her stuff. 

But her room is so sweet. Plain and organized since she just moved in. A single photograph of her and her parents with who I’m assuming is her grandmother rests on the dresser. The bed’s made neatly. There’s a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. 

Ah, the bedside table drawer. That should be a good spot, but I find things that are way too personal in there and decide against it, respecting her privacy despite the fact that I’m breaking and entering. 

Hm…where to put it? Sock drawer? The windowsill catches my eye—a perfect blend of visibility and subtlety. I approach it, careful not to disturb anything, and hang the necklace on the window latch. It’s hiding in plain sight but still easy to find and doesn’t show that I rummaged through her drawers, which is a plus.

Now, we wait. 

-

A week passes. Radio silence. I haven’t gone back to her room to see if it's still hanging on her window, but I haven’t seen it around her neck either. Perhaps she threw it away and I should give up. 

Trudging through my bedroom door, I loosen my tie and toss my phone and wallet onto my bed. I attempt to rub the tiredness out of my eyes, but I’m exhausted. Thankfully, my dinner is already waiting for me on my dresser under a cloche. 

Next to my plate is a glass of ice water dripping in condensation along with a napkin and a set of cutlery. And resting right next to my fork is Mira’s necklace. The sight of it sends a jolt through my system. I knew she came into my room somewhat regularly—all the staff do—but thinking about her in my room makes me tingle. 

I sink onto the edge of my bed with a sigh as the chain slips through my fingers. When I first gave it to her seven years ago, her eyes lit up and her smile made everything feel right. I knew we were supposed to be together. That all seems so distant now.

Why didn’t she simply get rid of it? 

Maybe she hasn’t given up entirely and neither should I. 

It goes back and forth between us for a few weeks. After I found it on my dresser, I slipped it into her apron pocket. Then I found it between the pages of my notebook. The day after I wrapped it around the sugar bowl’s lid handle, it appeared wrapped around the handlebar of my bike. 

We never spoke a word of it. 

Every time I found it, it made me smile, but I knew this couldn't continue forever. I need to see her, to talk to her, to find out what was really going on. Does she want to talk to me? Does she hate me? Does she even remember me?

The next morning, I slip a note under her door. 

Meet me under the willow tree at 8. - Y

Every minute of the day feels like an eternity as I wait for evening to arrive. Doubt gnaws at me, but the thought of seeing and speaking to Mira keeps me sane. 

The evening air is cool and crisp. The sun has dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep blue. Waiting under the willow tree, I think about the many times Mira and I have sat under here and talked for hours, watching the stars as the branches swayed in the wind. We’d talk about our days, places we wanted to visit together, how I wanted to tell everyone about us but she was too hesitant. 

Minutes start to feel like hours as I wait, the silence around me amplifying my racing thoughts. What if she never comes? What if she didn’t get the note? What if she’s avoiding me? Does she hate me?

Finally, soft footsteps approach and I turn to see Mira, her silhouette framed by the dim garden lights. She walks slowly, like she’s dragging it out as long as possible. As she comes up to me, her eyes search mine. My heart races, there’s a lump in my throat. 

"Mira," I start, my voice barely above a whisper. She curtsies. “You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s my job, Sir,” she says flatly. Rocking back on my heels, I press my lips together. 

"I thought I’d return this straight to you,” I say, holding up the necklace. “It seems like it keeps getting lost.” I chuckle nervously, trying to break the tension.

“Thanks,” she replies flatly as she accepts the necklace. Oh my god, she’s gorgeous. I thought I’d memorized every detail about her, but seeing her now under the lamppost, it’s like I’m rediscovering her all over again. She’s beautifully chubby and always has been. Her long, dark brunette hair has a tint of red that makes it look like cinnamon. The wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants paired with an old pair of flip flops tells me she either forgot about our meeting and got dressed in a hurry or wants to get this over with. Or perhaps both. 

“What can I help you with, Sir?” Awkward silence. 

“Mira,” I whisper, her name a fragile plea on my lips. She stares at the ground, avoiding my eyes. What was she expecting? For me to never bring us up? Of course I’d talk to her about it. “Mira Ashenrose, right?” She hums quietly. “I realized I never asked your last name since you started working here.” 

The silence between us is thick with tension. Memories flood my mind and I hope the same is happening to her. The last time we were here, we laid with each other for hours, so long that the sun started rising. She fit so perfectly in my arms. 

“I can’t forget you, Mira,” I say, stepping closer. “Why are you avoiding…us?” The space between us is charged as electricity swirls around us. “Remember us? All those nights we went stargazing? Our picnics? Those daisy chains you made me? You can’t tell me you don’t—”

“Of course I remember,” she interrupts, tears glistening in her eyes. My heart aches at the sight. “I remember everything, Yeonjun.” She wipes a tear from her cheek. “I remember falling asleep under this willow tree with you. I remember dancing with you. I remember kissing you before sneaking back into my house. I remember everything, okay?” Her voice trembles. “But that doesn’t mean I want to.” 

“What? Why wouldn’t you?”

She looks utterly heartbroken. “Don’t do this to me, Yeonjun. Stop being cruel.”

Her words punch me in the gut and everything comes rushing back. The reason we ended. I’d asked her to our annual ball—our first public appearance together. The Queen would find out. My royal friends would find out. The whole country would find out. She was a wreck for weeks leading up to it, but I reassured her every chance I got that it would be okay. 

She was—and still is—smart, incredibly beautiful, but most of all, I loved her. Why should anyone care if she wasn’t a royal as long as I was in love with her? That should’ve been enough. 

"Yeonjun, darling," my mother's voice sliced through the delicate hum of the ballroom. "I'd like you to meet Princess Penelope. She's your esteemed companion for the evening." Always so professional. 

“Nice to meet you,” I said, offering a strained greeting to Penelope before turning to face my mother.  "May I have a word with you in private?"

Graciously excusing herself, she left me to confront my mother amidst the grandeur of the ballroom. "Why would you do this? I told you I didn’t want to be set up.”

"I understand, Yeonjun," my mother replied with a tight-lipped smile. "But it's time you started considering your future—"

"My future?" I scoffed. "I'm eighteen."

"Exactly," she countered, her tone firm. "You need to think about a suitable partner. Someone who embodies the qualities of a Queen—dignity, wisdom, influence. And most importantly: royal,” she pointed a finger at me. “I won’t be around forever, darling.”

“Do they really need to be royal?”

My mother's smile widened, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

I swallowed what I really needed to say. There’s no way I’d win an argument anyway. With a resigned nod, I returned to Princess Penelope, the weight of my mother's expectations—and I suppose my entire country’s—heavy on my shoulders. So heavy I’d forgotten—

“Mira,” I said under my breath. There she was, staring at me in disbelief as I danced with Princess Penelope. Ignoring the questioning from Penelope, I abandoned her mid-step and made a beeline for Mira, my heart pounding with a mixture of dread and urgency. "Mira, wait!" I called out, desperation lacing my voice as I chased after her out of the ballroom and into the moonlit courtyard.

"Why, Yeonjun?" Mira's voice cracked as she finally turned to face me, tears staining her cheeks. "Why would you do this?"

"I had no choice," I confessed, my mother’s expectations running circles in my mind. “My mother made me.” 

"You could've told me," Mira interjected, her voice trembling.

"When?" I demanded, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I only found out thirty minutes ago—"

"You could've texted me.”

"I can't risk—"

"What, people finding out about us?" Mira's voice rose with each word, her anguish palpable in the cool night air. “Are you ever going to tell The Queen about us?” Squeezing the bridge of my nose, my eyes twist shut. “Well?” 

Looking at her—possibly for the last time—she looked absolutely beautiful. Her gown was perfect. Soft lavender satin that caught the light as it cascaded down the skirt, a glimmer of fuschia reflecting in the light. I wanted nothing but to hug her, to feel the satin on my fingertips. The sweetheart neckline was gorgeous on her, accentuating her frame perfectly. The M necklace rested around her neck. Her hair was absolutely perfect—she’d been trying out styles for weeks and the final choice was supposed to be a surprise.

“Answer me, Yeonjun.”

I couldn’t do that anymore. Mother meant what she said to me earlier that night: they must be royal. “Just go home,” I said, turning to leave her there alone. Breaking her heart was the best thing to do in the moment. If I could never truly be with her, breaking it off right then and there was the easiest thing for both of us. 

“What? Why—”

“What do you expect, Mira? You’re not royalty. You’re nothing,” I said. “Now go home.”

Too stunned to speak, I stare at her in disbelief. How could I have been so evil to her? What was I thinking? Why did I forget that? Must’ve blocked it from my memory. And now that I’m older, I’d never let some stupid outdated rule like that stand in our way. 

“I’m so—”

“Save it,” she says flatly. “I should’ve thrown away the necklace the first time I found it.” Straightening her posture, she wipes the final tear rolling down her cheek, shaking her head to rid of the emotions. “Let’s pretend this whole thing never happened, yeah?” 

Fine. If someone did that to me, if someone told me I was nothing after telling them they were in love with me for six months, I’d probably feel the same way, if I’m honest. 

As I accept my fate, I turn to walk away, but halt in my footsteps. “No,” I start. “I don’t want to forget this—that we ever happened.” She stays standing there, arms crossed, trying to control her breathing. But I hover over her, waiting for a response. “Please. I miss—”

“Don’t.” She snaps, shaking her head. “Don’t even think about starting that bullshit with me…Sir.”

“I told you, Mother set me up with her.”

“I don’t care about that. You told me I was nothing.” Speechless again, I can’t move. “You never even tried to contact me again and you expect me to give you a second chance?”

“That was seven years ago.”

“So?”

“I’m…we’re both so different. I used to be a stupid teenager. I would never— Please—”

“Please, what? What do you want from me?”

“I don’t—” Honestly, I thought maybe we could pick up where we left off, but I don’t know if that’s possible at this point. I hadn’t felt lonely until she showed up, drowning in my endless to do lists, barely ever hanging out with anyone that wasn’t on my staff or another royal. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe think about that first.”

cw. eating food. 

MIRA'S POV

On my days off, I hide away in a gazebo in a quiet part of the garden and sketch. It’s a nice place to escape to, away from everyone while staying close to home. Home. It’s still hard to believe this castle is my home, even if I am just a servant. 

The gazebo sits against a stone wall on one side—one of those that looks so old you wonder how it's still standing, withered with moss growing between the stones, vines going up and around it. The bench theoretically offers lots of seating, but most of it is covered in pots, plants, and gardening supplies. It’s more storage than an intended place to rest. 

My spot was bare when I found it and it gives me a full view of the grounds. To the right, our village is on full display—colorful, quaint, and inviting. To the left, a thick forest stands tall, leaves rustling with the wind.

Someone’s foot crunches the gravel as they walk toward me and my little corner, but I don’t react. As long as I stay relatively still and quiet, no one bothers me. I continue my sketch of those cute squirrels running around together under the willow tree I’ve always loved. Although it’s left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth recently. 

But the presence of a person looms behind me. Can’t I have one quiet day to myself? Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. They’ll leave eventually. Maybe. Hopefully. 

“...Mira?” A familiar voice says, slow and undeniably warm. 

“Oh.” I stand up straight, giving my obligatory curtsy Gemma has ingrained in me since day one. 

“I told you not to do that,” Yeonjun—Prince Yeonjun—says. He’s dressed casually today, cute even. But don’t you dare tell anyone I said that. A simple maroon cashmere sweater that fits perfectly with his dark wash jeans that barely gather at his ankles, exposing his black vans. A short necklace of black beads sits around his neck. One of those outfits you’d see him wearing in a magazine with a caption like, ‘Royals – they’re just like us!’ 

“And I told you, it’s my job,” I say, returning to my seat, continuing my drawing. 

“Not right now though,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s your day off, right?”

“You have my schedule memorized?” 

“No,” he chuckles, running his fingers through his shiny, black hair that I can practically feel on my fingertips. “Why else would you be hiding in my corner?”

“I figured you followed me—your corner?” 

“I wasn’t following you,” he says, walking closer before rocking back on his heels as he stops. “I read here sometimes.” He holds up a book. “You thought this spot just happened to be clear on its own?” I hum, scooting over and patting the bench next me. “You’re really okay with me here? I don’t want to bother you,” he says, as genuine as one can sound. But I’m still surprised. Sure, he’s not the demanding type, but I don’t know if I’d act the same if I were royalty. 

“To be fair, I was here first,” I say smugly. Although, he is still my boss. It doesn’t matter that we know each other from that past. I add a quick, “...Sir.” for good measure. “Go ahead and sit.”

“Don’t you hate me?” He asks and I chuckle, but when I look up, I see he’s serious. 

“No, I don’t hate you,” I say. “I’ve moved on, Yeonjun.”

Shrugging, he sits near me, opening his book. I tried to get a peek at the title, but I never got the chance without being too obvious. As he sits next to me, I must admit his presence adds a peaceful comfort to what would typically be a relatively silent, if not boring, morning. There’s even a sort of completeness. Birds seem to be chirping more harmoniously. The clouds have disappeared. Oh, what am I saying? That’s ridiculous. That’s a coincidence, Mira. 

“You still draw?” He perks up, pulling me from my thoughts. 

“Of course,” I answer immediately. 

“What are you working on?” Straightening on the bench, I riffle through some papers quickly, trying to hide any potentially embarrassing sketches I don’t want him to see. 

“Just sketches.”

He nods, curiosity etched on his face. “Can I see?” 

“Uh,” I clear my throat. “Sure,” I say, sitting one of my feet on the ground, turning toward him. Our knees brush each other for a moment, but I quickly move it out of his way. Smiling, he examines my drawing of my favorite willow tree I finished yesterday before bed. My cheeks flush as I remember why it was on my mind while drawing, but I hope he doesn’t draw that conclusion. 

“Ah, you’ve gotten so much better.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I chuckle. 

“I just mean,” he looks at me, eyebrows raised in defense. “I can tell you’ve been working on it, I dunno. How else would I say that?”

“That’s fine,” I say. Awkwardness fills the air as I shift my weight around. 

“I’ve been doing pottery, you know.”

I do know. But I’m not supposed to be listening in on their conversations at dinner. I can’t help I’m nosy. I simply ask, “Really?” Humming, he pulls out his phone. 

“This one just came out of the kiln.” He hands me his phone—I wonder what world secrets are on Prince Yeonjun’s phone—to show me a beautifully hand thrown vase. The body is smooth and cylindrical with a slightly tapered neck that gracefully flares out at the top. White glaze covers the surface, contrasting with the thick organic strokes of black glaze. Small, oval handles are attached on both sides. “I just learned how to do handles.” 

“Oh my gosh, Yeonjun…” My breath is taken away. I had no idea he was such an incredible artist. It looks like it was plucked straight out of a museum. “It’s gorgeous.” He always was one to do things perfectly—an all-or-nothing kinda guy. 

“Thanks,” he smiles, pressing his lips together. 

“Show off,” I say, lightly nudging his arm with my elbow.  

An hour or so passes and I’ve switched sitting positions several times, eventually landing on a classic leaned-back-against-the-wall position with my feet up on the bench so I can use my knees and thighs as a desk. He’s barely moved an inch though, sitting happily with his back pressed against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, reading. 

I barely notice my toes absent-mindedly tucking themselves under his thigh like I used to do when we were—

“Oh!” A servant that I haven’t learned the name of yet stumbles in on us, carrying a tray full of food. “I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s okay,” Yeonjun says, but I’m doing everything I can to hide my face. This can’t get back to the other servants. They’re all such gossips, which I guiltily love, but that doesn’t mean I want them gossiping about me. “Come on over, Natalie.”

“I swear I didn’t tell her about your spot, Sir,” Natalie says nervously.

“I know you didn’t. It’s okay,” he offers a gentle smile, reaching out for the tray, dismissing her after she curtsies, scurrying off quickly. “Don’t worry,” Yeonjun says to me. “She keeps all my secrets—she’s the only one that knows I come out here. She won’t say anything about,” he trails off, gesturing his hand between us.

“There’s nothing to tell.” 

“Alright,” he sighs. “You hungry?”

“No.” My stomach growls at the worst possible moment. 

“I kinda feel like you are.” I ignore him, focusing on my drawing. “I asked her to bring another meal. You can have it if you want.” 

Peeking over my sketchbook, the tray is fully decked out in sandwiches that look absolutely delicious; sides of mac and cheese and fruits, complete with two glasses of water and a little flower.

“I suppose I’m pretty hungry.” My stomach growls again at the sight of it. “Oh, ignore that; she’s been fussy all day.” I scooch closer to him hesitantly accepting the offer. 

“Mira,” Yeonjun starts. I hum, reaching for a pineapple slice. “Why are all the staff afraid of me?”

“Huh?” I look up at him.

“You saw how nervous Natalie was just thinking I might be mad at her.”

“I think you forget you’re a literal prince,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Are you scared of me?”

Hm. That’s an interesting question. No, of course I’m not scared of you. Why would I be? But perhaps the real answer is Yes, but in the way that everyone makes fun of when people say it out loud. Honestly, I am afraid. Afraid of falling for him again. Getting my heart broken again. We’ve barely talked since I started working here, but I know how convincing he can be. If I’m not careful, he’ll have me wrapped around his finger by next week. 

And let’s not forget he told me I was nothing. That kind of thing doesn’t simply go away. 

I wonder if he’s ever said something like that to one of the servants. Does he think all non-royalty are nothing? No, he wouldn’t be like that anymore. But how would I really know?

Shrugging, I finally say, “No.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

I roll my eyes, “I don’t know, Jjun—” I catch myself as that dumb nickname comes out of my stupid fucking mouth. What’s wrong with me? He looks at me with wide eyes. “Uh, Yeonjun…Sir.” Let’s just pretend like nothing happened. “You said some hurtful stuff to me. Have you said anything like that to one of them?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You could ask a servant if they’re scared of you.”

“I just did,” he points out. Right. I’m…a servant. I keep forgetting that bit when we’re alone. When we’re alone, it's like we’re friends. It’s casual and comfortable. See? What did I tell you? A few hours of silence followed by a few minutes of talking and I’m right back to where I was seven years ago. Stop being so pathetic. 

“Ah.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know,” I chuckle. “You’re right. But maybe ask a servant that seems like they’re scared of you. They’re probably scared of Gemma more than anything.”

As we wrap up our lunch, his phone buzzes—a calendar reminder probably. 

"I have to get going," he announces, moving efficiently to gather the remnants of our meal onto the tray. But as he stands to leave, an inexplicable urge pulls at me, begging him to stay. Please don’t do this, Mira. Don’t be stupid. 

With a gentle smile, he suggests, "I'll talk to you later?" It's then that I realize I’ve been staring at him in silence for the past who knows how long. "Oh, you have a leaf in your hair." I attempt to remove it myself, but without a mirror, it’s proving to be difficult. "Here," he offers, leaning down. My mind screams at me to resist, but his closeness sends a rush of warmth through my body. With gentle precision, he plucks the leaf away, discarding it casually.

Yet, instead of stepping away, he stays close. I pretend not to notice the magnetic pull between us. Stop it. Admit it. You want him to stay. Straightening my posture, we’re almost leaning into each other, like we’re about to—no. Our gazes dart between each other's lips, ghosts of his touch haunting my senses. Does he still taste the same?

The cool breeze snaps me back to reality. What were you thinking? "Thanks," I mumble, retreating to reestablish a distinct boundary.

"No worries," he replies. The fading sound of his footsteps on gravel leaves me facepalming.

How can I be this close to him without seeing him? Without falling for him again? There’s only one thing to do. 

Avoid him at all costs.

cw. sexual tension, suggestive.  

MIRA'S POV

“Didn’t you finish Mother’s painting in two weeks?” Prince Yeonjun asks, leaning against the doorframe to the sunroom. It’s become my makeshift painting studio. Once the Queen found out I sometimes do art, she thought it’d be a good idea to commission me for new portraits to replace the old ones in the Great Hall. I like painting and I need the money so I of course said yes. 

“Mm-hmm,” I nod, finishing up the final touches on the pattern of his royal cloak. “I’ve been busier recently,” I lie. In the painting, he sits with an arm resting atop a piano against a backdrop of rich velvet curtains like the ones in the living room. The intricate details of his uniform are perfect if I do say so myself. His face, though, is a grey blob with a basic sketch. I work off photographs for the most part, but for faces, I like them sitting right in front of me to get every detail.

But him sitting a foot away from me while I carefully analyze every detail of his face for hours does not sound like a good idea right now. Even if it does sound appealing. 

“You almost ready for me?” 

I should get it over with, but my hands are tired and I have a lot of tasks for my actual job to do before the end of the day.

“Tomorrow,” I say, walking my paintbrushes to the sink. “Does that work for you?” He’s quiet, so I look over my shoulder to make sure he heard me. Pushing himself off the doorframe, he shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“Y-yeah,” he says. “That should work.”

“Okay.” I wipe my paintbrushes with a towel. “Meet here after lunch?” Smiling gently, he nods. “Well, I’ve gotta get back to my real job. See you tomorrow,” I say with a curtsy. 

Tomorrow comes way too fast. I brush my teeth, floss, use mouthwash, and chew some gum to get rid of any trace of my lunch. Dragging my feet down the hallway, I can’t get there slow enough. 

“Ah, Mira,” he says with a smile that warms me from the inside out. I respond with a simple hello, but I’m already burning up as I gather my brushes and paints while he watches me in silence. I realize I’d forgotten to curtsy, but I decide to omit it this time considering he hates it so much. 

“The Queen sat on this stool when I painted her,” I say, moving the stool into place. “You might need to adjust the height.” While he does that, I mix a base for his skin. Starting by mixing the primary colors to get a deep brown, I add a good amount of white to lighten it up then a good amount of yellow and a touch of red for warmth. “Sit still,” I giggle, holding my palette knife next to his cheek. His shoulders rise and fall with his breathing while I add more brown to darken it a bit. Clasping my hands together, I say, “Alright, I’ll be painting for at least two hours, so do anything else you need to do.” 

“I’m good.” 

Shrugging, I adjust my easel so he’s in my sightline but not too close.

Two minutes into painting, he asks, “So how’s your day been?”

“Good. You?” 

“Good,” he responds. I truly don’t mind silence between us two, but I must admit this silence is deafening. “Do you work in silence or can you talk?”

I giggle and say, “I can talk. Or you can play music if you want.” 

“How about both?” I nod. “Alexa, play classical music to focus,” he pauses, waiting for it to respond and start playing. “Tell me what you’re working on.”

“Well,” I start, swishing my brush into some clean water. “I’d already had a basic sketch of your face, but I made some skin tones first. A base, a highlight, and a shadow,” I say, showing him my palette. “Then I’ll go in and fine tune everything.” 

Time passes by—I’ve honestly always liked simply existing near him. We used to do this all the time back when we were dating. Sit near each other and just be. Quietly. Like the other day in the garden when I was drawing and he was reading. It’s peaceful. I can focus. 

It smells like that day in here—soil and paint. Whoever keeps up with these plants is great at their job. They’re gorgeous even in the winter.

“Now I’m working on your eyes,” I say matter-of-factly. Part of me starts with his eyes to get it over with and avoid them as soon as I can, but the other part counts myself lucky that I have reason to stare at them for the next thirty minutes or so. I mix a deep, cool brown and dip my pinkie into it to hold it up next to his eye. “I’m, um,” I glance down. “I’m gonna touch your face.” My pinkie rests on the apple of his cheek so I can get as close as I can to his eye without touching it. “Open your eyes.” 

Damn. Those eyes are like mirrors reflecting my deepest emotions. The world around us fades. I almost drop my palette. Glimpses of our history, our laughter, tears, and dreams we’ve shared together swirl around in them. They take my breath away. 

Realizing we’re staring at each other, I snap out of it, jerking my hand away from him and dive into painting them instead of gazing into them. 

“First try?” I hum in question. “You got the color of my eyes right on the first try?” My ears warm up.

“Well, you know…” I say, my head hanging low. “They’re the same as the Queen’s.” Lie. The Queen’s are much warmer. Hues of deep mahogany and amber; they’re vibrant with hints of gold and copper that catch the light. They glow in the sun. His, on the other hand, are intensely dark. Deep and rich like shadowy moonlight. You could get lost in them like a maze at night. They’re like reading a book by candlelight. They’re gorgeous. 

“Why do I need to be here again?” He asks and I look jokingly offended. “I mean, you worked off photos up until now.”

“So I can get the details of your face I might otherwise miss,” I say, closely examining his face. “Like this freckle,” I say, poking the freckle on his right cheek with the end of my paintbrush that I would never miss in a million years. It’s one of my favorites. “Or this little birthmark.” He’s got the slightest purple splotch on his cheek that again, I’d never miss. 

“You’re painting those?”

“Of course,” I say. “They’re part of you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him grazing his fingertips over his cheek, smiling to himself. “Move closer.” Examining his features even closer, I’m a few inches from his face. I, again, realize I’m staring at his face and my heartbeat quickens. I snap back and say, “Um…sorry.”

“You’re okay.”

But this keeps happening. I keep getting close to him, our hearts beating together as our breath gets sharp. And fuck, I miss him. I can’t help but think about if I were doing this for fun, not as a staff person. I used to draw him all the time. 

And now, here he is, grown up, mature, tall, and utterly handsome as I’m forced to paint a larger-than-life portrait of the guy I used to love and thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. I was such a stupid eighteen-year-old. 

He doesn’t stop staring at me. Not when I add details to his nose. Not when I clean my brush. Not when I observe my painting from a distance. I catch his glare. 

“Can you stop staring at me like that?” I ask, a smile teasing my lips. 

“Like what?”

“Like…” I cock my head to the side. 

“Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?” Ah, fuck you. The warmth that rushes through my body is overwhelming and I swear my knees are ready to buckle. My hands tremble as I fight the urge to drop everything. “I don’t think I can stop that, Mira,” he adds softly. 

“You can’t say shit like that to me, Yeonjun,” I manage to say, my smile stubbornly betraying my attempt to stay cool. I keep my eyes on the brush, pretending I’m not seconds away from screaming. 

“Why not?” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his breath warm against my ear.

“Because…” I finally look over at him, incredibly close to me, eyes flitting all over my face, indiscreetly hovering on my lips. Admittedly, my eyes do the same: land on his lips and suddenly the only thing I’m thinking about is kissing him. “Because…” I repeat, trying to get me to do literally anything but kiss him in this moment, but we both know that’s the only thing either of us want. Each other. To be together. 

I try to remember what his lips feel like. Strong and passionate. At least they used to be. 

How have they changed now that he’s older and has most likely gone through a few serious partners and several hook-ups? Are they softer and more loving now that he’s not a dumb ego-ridden eighteen-year-old? Are they even stronger now that he’s found himself and has solidified his position as a Prince? I wonder. No. Don’t do this. Oh, but why not? 

In one ear, the wise and cautious version of me begs me to refrain from kissing him. Don’t do this, Mira. Remember how heartbroken you were. Mixing romance with your boss is a terrible idea. 

The more rebellious, lust-ridden version of me counters, Look how much hotter he’s gotten. Just make out with him. The Queen is your boss, not him. You could always make out with him, maybe even fuck him, and pretend like nothing happened. 

Wise Mira gasps, That’s mean! 

Right, Lustful Mira says. But he was mean to her. 

Listen to me, Wise Mira chirps up. Don’t kiss him at all. 

Lustful Mira chimes in again, But Mira…look how absolutely delicious his lips look. You want him. He clearly wants you. Don’t you wanna—

“Because I said so.”

He chuckles, “Fair enough.” 

cw. brief mentions of alcohol, cunnilingus, fingering, mira briefly feels self conscious about her body and pubic hair, mira lies to a stranger, begging, yj sneaks into a room she's in, sir kink. 

MIRA'S POV

"What are you wearing friday?" Hyomin casually asks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she effortlessly dusts the coffee table while I clean the windows—the newbie’s job. 

"Aren't we supposed to wear our uniforms?"

"Oh no, darling! The quarterly dinners are the sacred day we break free from the uniform chains—as long as it’s formal." Hyomin is one of few servants I genuinely like. Most of the others are constantly trying to play the game to move up the ladder—none of them really want to be friends. 

The ones that aren’t too busy playing the game are too on edge, following each rule to the letter. 

Yeonjun—Prince Yeonjun, I correct myself for the millionth time—unexpectedly knocks on the door. I, Hyomin, and Natalie perform our obligatory curtsies, even though I know he hates it. If we don’t though, Gemma fusses at us, which he also knows, so he plays along.

"Excuse me," he says, clearing his throat. "Could I trouble someone for a refill on my coffee?"

Natalie, always willing to volunteer, seizes the opportunity and responds quickly. "Certainly, Sir." She breezes by the coffee table to scoop up the metal coffee pot resting on it, returning to the Prince to pour him a fresh mug. 

Our eyes catch each other, a small yet obnoxiously noticeable smile appears on both our faces. Hyomin nudges my arm and mumbles, "And you've gotta wear something extra special for him, right?" What? My eyes widen, shock and annoyance evident in my expression. Shooting a piercing glare at her, I’m rendered momentarily speechless. Hyomin persists, her voice low, "Oh, don't act all innocent. I've seen how you two look at each other.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A mischievous smile plays on her lips, "It's adorable, really. The blushing, the hair-tucking when he says hello, the clumsy encounters,” she says, tilting her head toward him. “Look how red his ears are.” I must admit, they are pretty pink. “We all talk about it, you know.”

“Did Natalie say something?”

“No,” she says confused, but her look soon turns suspicious. “Why would she?” Damn it. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? I avoid eye contact, hoping she’ll give up, but I doubt she ever will. “Mira, why would Natalie say something?”

“No idea.” 

She hums knowingly. "Yeah, right. You two are so obviously dating, it’s ridiculous,” she says, folding the decorative blanket that hangs on the back of the couch while he leaves the room. “We're all waiting for the announcement."

“We are not dating.”

Persistent as ever, Hyomin challenges again, "Look me in the eye right now and swear you haven’t at least kissed him."

I stand tall, smoothing the skirt of my uniform, then take a deep breath and lock eyes with her. “I swear I haven’t kissed him.”

Hyomin narrows her gaze, searching for any crack in my expression. My stomach churns, and before I can stop it, the words spill out in an unfiltered confession.

“…in seven years.”

Damn it. How did she get that out of me?

“What?”

“Shh—!”

“But wh-what do you mean?” She giggles, eager to hear what I’m assuming is the best gossip in years. Although, with royals, there has to have been something juicier than a teenage romance, right?

Motioning for secrecy, I say, “Promise you won’t say anything to the other servants. Please.” Hyomin nods, an expression that practically screams, Spill it. “We knew each other when we were teenagers. We dated then, okay? We broke up seven years ago. I’ve barely spoken to him since.” 

“Oh. My. God. Oh my god, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!”

“Calm down.” I hold my hands up. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? It’s a huge deal,” she exclaims. “Y’all are totally still into each other.” 

“I mean, he’s cute,” I say. “But that ship has sailed.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.” I nod. “We’re just too different.”

“I dunno, I think—”

“Nope.”

“I just mean—”

“Drop it, Hyomin. It will never happen.” My words carry a finality to the discussion.

“Fine,” she concedes, folding her dust rag to place on the table. “The question still stands—what are you wearing Friday?”

Shrugging, I shake my head, “I don’t have anything formal.”

“A perfect excuse for a shopping trip—let’s go into town tomorrow,” she suggests. “I’ll get someone to cover for us for the lunch service.” 

-

“Ah, look at you!” Hyomin cheers. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

“I can’t remember the last time I got this dressed up.” Actually, I do. That night. The night he broke my heart. But I’m not thinking about that right now. In fact, I won’t be thinking about Yeonjun at all tonight. 

Walking down the stairs into the royal hall, the silk of my dress rustles gently as it shimmers in the light. It’s a gorgeous deep viridian that cascades to the floor, creating an ethereal effect with every move I make. The bodice is fitted perfectly, with boning that snatches my waist and makes my tits look amazing. The off-the-shoulder straps elegantly drape across my arms. To complete the look, I’m wearing gold dangle earrings and my hair is styled in loose waves that cascade down one of my shoulders. Around my neck is a delicate circle pendant with a moon stamped into it. 

It’s simply beautiful in here. I’d helped set it up this morning, but seeing the guests dressed up, hearing the musicians playing, the grandeur of it all—it takes my breath away. The air is filled with the soft murmur of conversation with an occasional loud laugh. 

One couple glides along the dancefloor in each other’s arms, both of their dresses flowing gracefully across the dancefloor. A group of young people wearing crowns and tiaras clink their glasses near the champagne tower. Someone else checks their jacket at the front door. 

Deep emerald velvet curtains drape along the walls, adding even more drama. Every detail of the Hall has been meticulously curated to evoke a sense of luxury. 

“Excuse me,” someone says as they brush my shoulder. “Oh.” It’s Yeon—Prince Yeonjun. “Hello.” I nod to him before my obligatory curtsy. Not even trying to hide the fact that he looks me up and down, he makes my cheeks burn. “You look…” He clears his throat. “Um, really pretty.” Well, there goes me not thinking about him at all tonight. How could I put him out of my mind when he looks like this? Positively sexy as hell in his prince uniform. So regal, rich, and powerful. 

“Thank you, Sir,” I say. I catch Hyomin out of the corner of my eye looking stiff as a board with her mouth hanging open. 

Extending his arm out, he asks me, “Care to dance?”

God, I’d fucking love to. How did he do this to me so quickly? We have one nice conversation, maybe a few glances in the hallway and suddenly he’s making my heart race like he did when we were dating. “I don’t think it would look very good for either of us if you were dancing with one of your servants.” Is that even true? I don’t know. 

He nods, pressing his lips together. “I’ll see you later then?”

“When?” I ask as he raises an eyebrow. I hope I didn’t sound too desperate. “I just mean, I don’t know why we would see each other.”

“Right,” he says. “Well, have a good evening.” He nods gently at me and then to Hyomin before walking away. 

Turning to Hyomin, she looks at me with a wide smile and knowing glare. She’s such a smug bitch. “Oh my god,” she gasps under her breath, drawing the edge of her wine glass to her lips. “Look at Prince Sipho over there.” Tilting her head to the side, she adds, “He may be even dreamier than Yeonjun.”

I scoff in my head, but I’d never tell anyone that. Instead, I murmur, “Where?”

“Right over there,” she smirks, tipping her head toward a literal tall, dark, and handsome man. Commanding the room with his height, he undeniably catches my gaze—not an eye contact that stops time in its tracks, but one where we can’t take our eyes off each other. 

Prince Sipho pushes his way through the crowd toward me, but I can’t help but wonder where Yeonjun is. Actually, why do I care at all? Shaking the thought out of my mind, I welcome this new prince’s hand reaching for my own as he delicately touches my knuckles with the poutiest part of his lips. I suppose he’s too much of a gentleman to fully press them to my skin. 

“May I have this dance?” He asks, looking up at me through his eye lashes. So formal. Quickly glancing at Hyomin, she gives me an eager nod. I guess the servants will have something to gossip about later. At least that’ll replace the conversations about me and Yeonjun. 

“Yes, you may,” I say, returning the formality. We do all the obligatory dancing things—hand on my waist, mine around his neck, holding each other’s free hands. Slowly stepping with the classy romantic music of the string quintet, he admittedly looks stunning in his formal wear—baby blue with gold trim. The baby blue brings out the radiant sapphire undertones of his deep brown skin, the gold showcasing the warmth of his amber irises. 

“So,” he starts, his voice deep and rumbling. “Who am I dancing with?” 

Without any hesitation, I lie, “Charlotte.”

“Well, Charlotte,” he says. “You’re on Prince Yeonjun’s staff?” I blink up at him with confusion etched on my face. How did he— “The rose?” He asks, tilting his head toward my chest where a delicate ivory rose is pinned to my dress to differentiate us from the guests in case someone needs something from us. 

“Ah,” I giggle. “Yes. Yes, I am.” Where is he anyway? No. I’m not dancing with Prince Sipho to make Yeonjun jealous—I’m dancing with him because he’s hot, seems sweet, and seems to think I’m hot too. Why would he be watching anyway? This is his party. He’s probably busy schmoozing with some high-stakes donors or some other royals. 

Prince Sipho’s hand glides down to the spot right above my ass—he’s really testing the boundaries, huh? I love it. But guilt twinges my heart. Half of me hopes he isn’t watching this and the other half hopes he is. I don’t know which is worse. 

A loud crash brings the room to a halt and I try to locate where the accident is, but Hyomin waves me over. “Damn it,” I murmur. “I’ve gotta go…clean that up. Excuse me.”

After rushing to clean up the broken glass, I return the broom to the closet that’s three times the size of my bedroom. I take my time putting it back—a break from the hustle and bustle of the party is very much needed right now. The click of the deadbolt jolts my heart. 

A million things run through my mind. A creep is in here with me. Hyomin locked it from the outside and forgot about me and now I’m locked in until someone remembers to come get me. How long am I gonna be in here? Is someone in here with me?

“Hello.”

“Oh,” I say, relieved. “Hello, Sir.” I curtsy, tilting my head toward Prince Yeonjun as he steps into the light. Why is he in here anyway? I’ve been trying so hard to avoid him since the garden when we almost—nevermind. But he’s weaseled his way into my life. Telling the Queen I paint so I’d paint those portraits of them—yeah, I saw right through that bullshit. Bumping into me earlier tonight. But there’s nowhere to run now. We’re utterly alone. 

That’s terrifying. 

He’s never looked at me like this. Dark pupils dilated with lust and desire. It makes my heart race and I stumble back, tripping over some old cardboard boxes, but I catch myself on the countertop. 

Walking toward me, he keeps his hands in his pockets, but manages to box me in, cornering me and standing tall over me, intimidating and somehow…safe. I know he’d never hurt me. Physically at least. But I also can’t wait to see what he does next. 

“So it’s okay for you to dance with Prince Sipho but not me?” His voice grumbles with the low hum of the music right outside the door. 

“I’m not one of his servants,” I say matter-of-factly. “Why do you care anyway?” I ask cheekily as he creeps closer and closer. So close I’m fully backed into this counter now, almost sitting on top of it. “What are you—” 

“Can I kiss you?”

“No,” I answer quickly. 

“Mira…” he sighs. “How can you expect me not to kiss you when you look like that?” That makes me feel things all throughout my body that I definitely shouldn’t be feeling for ex-boyfriends, especially an ex-boyfriend that’s also my boss. And the prince of my country. 

My mouth parts and I swear I tried my best not to lick my lips. “Don’t kiss my mouth,” I say. I told Hyomin I haven’t kissed him in seven years. At least that’ll still be true after whatever happens next. 

Reaching for my hand with his white-glove-clad one, he places a gentle yet devastatingly sensual kiss to the back of it, looking up at me through his eyelashes like Prince Sipho did moments ago. But he had nowhere near the effect Yeonjun has on me. I bet he can smell the nail polish from when Hyomin painted it on my nails a few hours ago. As his perfect pouty lips kiss my hand, I can’t help but wonder how those lips would feel in other places. 

“You look—” he stops for another kiss on my palm. “Absolutely—” then the pulse-point of my wrist. “Stunning.” Then inside my elbow. Making his way up higher, my breath hitches in the back of my throat. “As usual,” he adds. 

That fucker. 

He’s always been like this. Silky smooth then sugary sweet. It gives me whiplash. 

Eventually, his lips explore my collarbone. “You’re so warm.” I don’t know how I got up here, but I’m fully sitting on the counter now. His hands are all over me—brushing my upper arms, grazing the smooth satin of the dress that covers my thighs, digging into the folds of my hips. 

How did this happen? How did I go from dancing with one Prince—a perfectly nice and gentlemanly prince—to sharing this romantic…something with Prince Yeonjun? Something because it’s not a kiss, it’s not more than a kiss, but it’s certainly not less than a kiss. It’s…something. 

His palm brushes the side of my breast and he stops himself from pushing any further before he whispers in my ear, “Can I touch you?”

“I think you already are.”

Firmly squeezing my tit over my dress, I groan as my back arches. Oh my fucking god. Is this real?

Something in his body language switches at the sound of my groaning and he drops everything to get to his knees. He pushes the skirt of my dress up and past my thighs, looking up at me for permission.

Is he…? 

My pussy clenches around nothing at the sheer thought of those gorgeous plump lips around my clit. I let him explore further with his lips without any hesitation whatsoever. Then they’re inside my thighs, slowly moving closer where I desperately need him. Nerves fill my stomach. Flashbacks of other guys going to taste me and not liking what they find enter my mind. Is that gonna happen with him? Is he gonna be turned off by my hair? My stretch marks? The way my fat thighs cover his ears?

As much as my inner feminist hates those thoughts, there’s always that twinge of embarrassment that I still haven’t managed to work through. 

“Yeonjun…” I sigh. “You don’t have to.”

“What if I want to?” He asks. “Do you want me to?” Obviously. I nod. Pressing his lips to the outside of my panties, he breathes me in and I realize he’s never been this close to me. Ever. 

Sure, we’ve kissed, but we were teenagers, we had no idea what we were doing. It never got this far. Never got past the occasional makeout session on my picnic blanket under the willow tree. “You smell so good.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“I’m serious. You smell delicious.” 

Lips delicate and careful, he takes his time. I never thought this is how it would be with him. I always thought of him as the kind of guy to get straight to it. At least that’s how I imagined it—him embracing me because he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed me right then and there. Whisking me off to his bedroom to undress me, never careful, never delicate. 

But I love it. Love taking a deep breath, letting my head lull back onto the wall behind me, my entire body relaxing. The feeling of a tongue flicking my clit for the first time in months, and the first time it’s his tongue. I card my hand through his hair, gripping some strands between my fingers. Mouth dropping open, I sigh, looking down at him, eyes closed, fully entranced by my taste. Thank fuck he knows exactly what he’s doing now. 

The softness of his white cotton gloves feels like heaven against the heat of my thighs, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want his bare hands on me. 

Like a mind-reader, he plucks his gloves off, one finger at a time, putting me under a spell as he goes. I stare at him as he loosens the glove by pulling on the pointer finger, then the middle, the ring, his pinky, then tugging it all the way off. It’s so sexy. I think I caught a small smirk, but it's just dark enough for it to be hidden. 

The tip of his finger teases my entrance and I can tell— “Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so wet, darling.”

Don’t call me that. But I can’t bring myself to say it out loud…I’m not even sure I’d mean it if I did. He finally pushes his finger all the way inside me, curling the tip of it to find just the right spot that makes me absolutely moan. He lets go of my skirt to grip my thighs, finally feeling him squeeze and touch me after all these years of wanting him. I beg myself not to stop him and make him touch me everywhere before continuing. 

My pointer fingers graces his and he intertwines his fingers with mine. Something this intimate only happens between lovers, right? Holding hands while fucking in the closet when there’s a party right outside the door? I can’t decide if this is the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done or if it’s the most romantic thing. 

Arguing with myself internally, a second finger breaches my entrance, filling me even more so than before. He’s incredible…almost skillful with his fingers. It’s sexy. And exciting. 

Expertly flicking his tongue, he finds the perfect spot with his fingertips, forcing me to buck my hips…fuck I’m so close already. How did he do this to me?

“Please…”

Everything comes to a halt. “Please what?”

“Fuck, Yeonjun, don’t do that to me.” 

“Don’t do what to you? Get you to talk to me?” I look down, defeated. How am I supposed to respond to that? Is that the only reason he’s doing this? Because I’ve been avoiding him and this was the only way he could think of to get me to talk to him? “Tell me what you want. What are you asking for?” Oh. It’s like that. Okay. 

“Please…” It’s already unbelievable that we’re doing this in a closet with a party going on outside. Prince Yeonjun is on his knees for me. And he’s making me beg? I can hardly take it. “Uh…” I stutter, trying to close my legs instinctively. He backs off, eyebrows furrowed. He’s worried about me. I didn’t mean it like that. “You’re not finished yet, are you?” I ask, pushing him back closer with my heel. 

“I’ll finish when you tell me what you want.”

Gracing my finger under his chin, I force him to look at me in the eye before saying, “Make me come. I need it so bad. Please.”  

Cocking his head to the side, he says, “I’ve always wanted to hear you beg for me.” 

My chest heaves as he dives back in for more, flicking his tongue the way I love, thrusting his fingers in and out of me. 

“Fuck, you feel good.” 

“You are delicious.” I’d love it if he could talk to me the way I—and hopefully he—likes. Dirty, up close and in my ear, but this’ll have to do for now. He can get to the real good stuff later. Will there be a later though? 

A white-hot feeling that someone hasn’t made me feel in quite some time quickly approaches. Deep in the pit of my stomach, it bubbles as my body tenses, breath shallow and quick. It builds and builds until all I want to hear him say is Come for me, darling. I know you’re so close. But I know he won’t. He has to stick to the matter at hand. 

With a sharp inhale, I moan and whimper, euphoria washing over me as my thighs tighten around his head. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this good. He’s incredibly talented—like I said, he’s an all or nothing kinda guy and I love that about him. 

“Fuck. Oh my god,” I gasp, my hips rolling needing more, more, more. Goddamn, I’m in trouble. “Holy shit.” I trail off, my breathing shallow. My eyes squeeze shut as my head drops back before my body starts flinching. “Thank you, Sir.”

My body goes slack as he slows down. Once I catch my breath, my eyes flutter open to see him looking at me with a cheeky smirk. He’s so fucking smug. 

“Sir?” 

Shit. That is just about the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve been correcting myself for weeks, reminding myself to call him Prince Yeonjun, Your Majesty, Sir. I know he hates when I call him that, even in normal scenarios. I can’t imagine how mad he is now that I’ve called him that while giving me an orgasm. Not just any orgasm, though. One of the best I’ve had in months. All while wearing our formal wear too. Fuck, he looks so sexy in his uniform. Especially with it slightly disheveled, hair messy, gloves off. 

“It must’ve slipped.”

He simply stands, darkness and lust still in his eyes as his hands grip my hips, squeezing harshly before moving them up further to my waist. His right hand trails up even higher, cupping my face to force my ear to line up with his lips. “Call me that again next time.” Next time? There’s gonna be a next time? “Got it?”

Speechless, I compose myself before whispering, “Yes, Sir.”  

cw. cunnilingus, mentions of previous bjs and hand jobs, mira is described as chubby/fat/curvy in a good way, hickeys, biting, masturbation.

YEONJUN'S POV

“Mira,” I say simply as she walks by me looking gorgeous as always. Since our little rendezvous in the butler’s closet last month, we’ve “seen” each other several times since, each meeting ending with at least one of us coming. Nothing beyond oral and hand stuff—we still haven’t kissed or seen each other fully naked yet—but even so, it’s been amazing. She’s so good at it all. The teasing, the touching, the talking, all of it. I don’t think I can pick a favorite moment.

Maybe when she asked me to give her hickeys on the inside of her thighs. Her whispering, Give me hickeys, please…wanna look down and imagine you’re there after you’re gone. Oof. Chills. 

Or maybe when she laid her back against my chest and I rubbed her clit so perfectly, she dug her nails into my forearm for dear life, so hard it broke skin. I had to wear long sleeves for three days. 

Perhaps her seeing my cock for the first time, eyes wide as she said Oh my god, Sir. You have a beautiful cock. No one’s ever called me beautiful before, let alone my dick. That made me giddier than I even thought possible. 

“Yeon—Sir,” she quickly corrects herself in case anyone’s listening. Glancing around, we’re the only ones nearby. “You look nice. New uniform jacket?” I nod. 

Tonight’s occasion is much less grand than our first night together. A simple gathering with a few royals. It was the high-stakes donors I was hoping to get some money from tonight, but they’re all donationed-out it seems. 

“You look…” I look over her, never subtle about ogling her. “Absolutely stunning. New dress?” She subtly tilts her head. I stuff my hands in my pockets. What’s the point of delaying it any more? “I need to taste you again.”

“Already? You ate me out yesterday.”

“What can I say?” I chuckle. “I’ve got a craving.” She takes a deep breath before nodding at me, not changing her facial expression. “Closet, five minutes?” 

The closet isn’t the only place we’ve had our meetings but it is definitely our most frequented spot. Honorable mentions include the library, the sunroom, and under the willow tree where she laid back against me. That was only once but it was magical. 

As she turns away, I can’t help but wonder what the rest of her looks like. She’s got what feels like the most perfect ass, but I still haven’t gotten a good look at it. And her tits…good lord what I’d give to bury my face between her bare tits. 

“Prince Yeonjun?”

“Ah, Prince Sipho,” I say, returning his bow. “Nice to see you again.” He holds his hands behind him and maintains his intimidating eye contact. “I hope you’re enjoying dinner.”

“Can I ask for a favor?” He asks, almost urgently. 

“Sure.”

“I saw you were talking to Charlotte,” he says. “I danced with her last month and I never got her phone number.” His expression softens. “I realize how awkward and potentially inappropriate this is considering she’s on your staff. Would you mind providing me with her phone number?”

“I’m sorry,” I begin. “I don’t think I know a Charlotte.”

“You were just speaking with her,” he says matter-of-factly. “Right over there.” He tilts his head in the direction of…Mira? Happily prancing off in the direction of the closet. Our closet. Oh no. 

I suppose I should’ve seen this coming. Someone was bound to be interested in her at some point. I just didn’t think my competition would be another handsome prince. What am I saying? Competition? Stop being such an ass.

“You can ask her yourself, you know.” 

“Fair enough.”

“I don’t think now’s a good time though,” I rush to say, stopping him in his tracks before he turns around. “She’s busy. I just sent her to do a task.”

“Then I suppose you should give me her number now, then?”

After a few seconds of awkward silence, I finally speak up to say, “I’ll talk to her first. You know, make sure she’s comfortable with me giving out her phone number.”

“Of course.” He tilts his head and walks away. My mind races with questions. Did he sweep her off her feet? Have they slept together? Or worse: have they kissed? Why does he think her name is Charlotte? But I’ve gotta get back to the matter at hand.

“You’re already ready for me, hm?” I ask, seeing her proudly sitting on the countertop, waiting for me. She nods cutely, wiggling her feet back and forth. Locking the door, I take my gloves off one finger at a time before stuffing them in my pocket for safe keeping. Then I loosen my collar a bit, something I know she thinks is hot, so I always make a show out of it just for her. 

As I step closer, she grips the edge of the counter so tightly the veins on the back of her hand pop out. She crosses her ankles and looks down briefly but puts on a brave face to stare me in the eye. Wrapping my arms around her, I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. 

“You smell so good.” I’ve noticed she’s started wearing a specific perfume for special occasions—the gala last month, dinners like these, she even wore it once when she shyly asked me to eat her out again on a random Tuesday. 

“Thank you, Sir.” Never taking my lips off her neck, I feel all over her, albeit over her dress, but she feels lovely. Dropping to my knees, I lift her skirt up to access her thighs with my lips, placing kisses everywhere. And there they are—those gorgeous hickeys I gave her last week. Still there. I swipe my thumb across one before biting her skin gently.

“Can I ask you something?” She hums as I move closer and closer to her center. Glancing up at her, her eyelids have fluttered shut and her hands are in my hair. “Do you know Prince Sipho?” Her hands stop.

“I know of him,” she says plainly. “Why?”

“No reason,” I say, nudging her thigh with my nose to encourage her to open wider. I add, “Said he danced with you and I guess he likes you.” I place a kiss on the outside of her thong right between her pussy lips. “Asked me for your phone number.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“No.”

“...Oh.” She leans back, resting her hands behind her back for support. Is that a good oh or a bad oh?

“He thinks your name’s Charlotte though.” I chuckle. “What’s that about?”

“I don’t know,” she says awkwardly while I dig my fingers into her thong, pulling it down her legs, still watching her body language carefully. “That’s weird.” 

“Mira.”

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, but still welcomes my lips around her pussy. “I dunno—I wasn’t interested so I gave him a fake name. Doesn’t everyone do that?”

“Mm…I suppose,” I say, spreading her lips to flick my tongue against her clit. Fuck, she tastes amazing. Every fucking time. Her hand flies to my hair again, taking quick breaths. “Why wouldn’t you be interested in him?” 

“Can we not talk about Prince Sipho while you’re eating me out, please?”

“I was just curious.” 

Why wouldn’t she be interested, though? He’s definitely her type—tall, handsome, smart, royal. 

Images of them dancing together, arms wrapped around each other, his hand sliding further down her back make my vision red. 

Maybe she’s interested in someone else with those same qualities, perhaps even more devastatingly handsome than him. And hilarious, might I add. 

But thinking about her dancing with Sipho while thinking about me makes me giddy. When else does she think about me? When she’s eating breakfast? Doing her chores? Getting ready to go to bed? In the shower? When she touches herself? Oh. That sends shivers down my spine. 

“How often do you think about me, Mira?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when do you think about me?”

She takes a deep breath, letting her head fall back against the wall, the slightest smile flashing over her lips before she says, “When I’m horny.”

“So you think about me when you touch yourself?” 

Her fingers stop again and she looks up, eyes wide like I caught her doing something she shouldn’t have been. I’d never let her see it, but I’m giggling on the inside. She’s so cute. 

“Um,” she clears her throat. “I guess, yeah.” There’s a looming awkward silence while I keep licking her. She’s trying not to react to how good it feels. Trying not to give in. 

“Well, go on.”

“What?” Mira asks. 

“Tell me,” I say. “Tell me exactly what you think about.” She takes a deep breath to collect herself, like she’s trying to hold back her noises and movements. I don’t like that she feels the need to do that with me. If anything, I crave hearing and feeling them. “It’s okay, you can tell me anything.”

Her breath hitches, eyes flitting away before locking back to mine. "I think about you touching me," she admits quietly, but I can tell she’s gaining confidence. "The way you did the first time.” She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. "I think about your hands on my body," she continues. "The way you knew exactly where to touch me, how to make me feel..."

"How to make you feel what?" I prompt, my hands gently caressing her thighs, urging her to keep going while my mouth is nowhere near her pussy.

"How to make me feel good," she breathes out, her eyes closing as she loses herself in the memory and the feeling of my tongue on her clit. 

“Do you miss it? ” I ask, my breath hot against her skin. "Do you miss me when I’m gone and can’t make you feel good?”

She nods, her breath sharp and quick. "Yes," she murmurs, her voice trembling with desire. "I miss it so much." My hands continue to explore her body, relearning every curve and contour, desperate to rip this dress off her, but we haven’t crossed that boundary yet. 

"What else do you think about?" I ask, my voice a gentle command.

“The way you taste.”

"And how do I taste?" I ask, my lips ghosting over her skin, teasing her with the promise of more.

"Salty," she whispers, her voice hitching. I can’t tell if she means— “That’s a good thing.” I smile against her skin, relieved while my hands squeeze her thighs. “But I mostly think about your mouth. How good you are at this. Those hickeys you gave me have certainly come in handy.” 

“How so?” I slide two fingers inside her and her breath gets quicker. 

Groaning, she says, “Looking down at them turns me on so much.” She swipes her hand across them. “Thinking about us sneaking around like this. It makes me feel…dirty.” She giggles. “Is that cheesy?” I shake my head and start licking her clit again. “They need to stop assigning me tasks while you’re around.” I hum in question. “The other day they made me clean the studio while you were in your pottery lesson—why it couldn’t wait, I don’t know—but it was too much,” she says. “Watching you with your sleeves pushed up, your hands on the clay, oh my god, you were so hot. You had me hot and bothered all day long.”

I genuinely had no idea. She does a great job of hiding that. Little does she know, I was stealing glances of her that whole lesson—I don’t remember a single word my instructor said. The only thing I was looking at was her body, her curvy thighs, full breasts, squishy tummy, the greatest ass I’ve ever seen and I haven’t even seen it bare yet. “What did you do afterward?”

She hesitates, tensing up, holding back. “I don’t wanna say.”

I stop in my tracks. “Tell me.”

“No,” she whines. “Don’t make me.” Refusing to speak or look down at me, I pull away from her, looking at her like, I’m not gonna keep going until you tell me. With an insatiable eye roll, she finally speaks up, “I thought about you.” I look at her again like, That’s not enough and you know it. “Fine,” she says. Of course, if this truly bothered her, she knows our safe word. Tapping her fingers on the counter before bashfully looking away, she admits, “I thought about you while I touched myself.”

Satisfied, I give her a kitten lick on her clit, making her gasp. 

“I, uh…I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, at the hickeys you gave me.” I start licking more and more, rewarding her for talking. “I thought about what it would look like if someone walked in on us while you did this to me. Or what someone would think if they saw the hickeys you gave me.”

Her hips start to roll and I know I can’t speak anymore. Because that would mean taking my mouth off her pussy, which neither of us want. Instead, my grip on the fat of her thighs gets harsher and I stay steady with my mouth, knowing this is the exact speed and pressure she needs. 

“I thought about you ripping my dress off but then slowing down to take my thong and bra off,” she says. Well, that’s new. We’ve never mentioned anything further than this. Does she want something more than this? 

“About you pressing your bare chest against mine,” she adds breathlessly. “You licking my tits.” Her thoughts and words start speeding up, like she’s telling me not to stop no matter what. “You tapping my clit with your cock.” Oh my god. She wants to do things like that with me? Fuck. I can’t show how giddy that makes me, not right now at least. 

Her hands hold onto my hair for dear life. Her moans pitch up and increase speed, like a chant, getting louder and louder. “You fucking me from behind,” she says. “Fucking me so good I can hardly take it.” She’s so close. “Until—until…” She's panting, clearly right on the verge of reaching her orgasm. “I’m coming so good for you,” she whispers breathlessly. I can feel it when her thighs tremble, when her clit pulsates against my tongue, when her nails dig into my scalp. 

Catching her breath after she comes, she finishes off with a sweet, “Thank you, Sir.”

cw. more yeonjun environmental activist, suggestive, cheesy idk. 

MIRA'S POV

“I can’t believe you did this,” I spit at Yeonjun, messily packing my old beat up carry-on. He refolds one of my t-shirts and hands it to me. 

“I thought you’d be excited to go.” 

Scoffing, I put a fist on my hip and face him. “I’m going as your servant.” He rolls his eyes before shoving his hands in his pockets. “All the other servants already think there’s something going on between us. Requesting me for your dumb business trip is gonna look suspicious.”

“Dumb?” He’s visibly offended. “This is an important business trip for me.”

“Still. They won’t shut up about this for months and you know it.”

“I thought you said there was nothing to talk about,” he says smugly, but I ignore him. “Look, I knew you wouldn’t act all servant-y the whole time, okay? Mother insists I take someone, but I’m a grown-up. I can do things on my own,” he says. “I knew you would be…normal, I don’t know. You wouldn’t curtsy, be on edge, or call me Sir.”

I stop in my tracks to look him in the eye and ask, “Except for when you want me to, right?” I hadn’t thought about what we might do at the hotel while we’re gone. Would he invite me to his room so he could taste me? Would he surprise me with a knock on my door? Would he text me to meet him somewhere else? I don’t know but I admit I’m excited to find out. 

The next morning, I hoist my suitcase into the trunk of the town car while the chauffeur, Eston, opens the door for me. I’m greeted with a sleepy “Morning,” from Yeonjun as he hands me a travel mug full of coffee that I didn’t ask for, but I’m definitely grateful for. 

“We’re taking the same car?”

“Of course,” he says. “Less cars on the road.”

Oh my god, he looks so cute with his sleepy eyes and messy hair. Although he flies commercial everywhere he goes, he wears every disguise possible: hat, face mask, hoodie with the hood up, you name it. We get to go through security privately though, which is nice. 

After our long flight, I want nothing more than to crash into a nice, warm bed—actually, any bed will do. It’s still light, but it’s evening and I’m ready to go to bed early. While he handles check-in, I scroll through my phone—international data plan paid for by the Queen, thank you very much. 

On the elevator, I ask , “Which floor am I on?” 

“Seven.” I nod, reaching for the seven button on the elevator, but it only goes up to six. There’s only one above it, which is labeled ‘Penthouse.’

Wait. “Did you only get one room?”

“Well…”

“Yeonjun!” I scream-whisper. “What is wrong with you? What did you think—”

He holds his hands up to clarify, “It has two rooms, okay? I wasn’t trying to…I dunno, make anything happen. It seemed easier.” 

The room is truly magnificent. Luxurious gold silk drapes frame the windows to let light flood the room. Sofas and armchairs surround a marble fireplace—cozy yet regal, just how Yeonjun likes it. An intricately carved coffee table sits in the middle of the room holding a vase of fresh flowers. There’s even a piano sitting in the corner. 

The view from the terrace takes my breath away. The gorgeous blues of Lake Geneva and the snow-capped alps are gorgeous. The air is crisp and clean and refreshes my lungs from the inside out. I lean on the railing, letting the cool breeze brush against my face as calmness washes over me.

“Gorgeous, huh?” Yeonjun asks as he stands beside me, his eyes scanning the horizon. 

“This is fucking incredible,” I say, my gaze never waiving from the beauty of the landscape. 

“I knew you’d like it,” he says. I glance over at him and he gives me a warm smile. 

“You’ve been here?”

“I’ve never stayed in this hotel, but I’ve been to Geneva, yes.” 

There’s a silence. Like we both know we want to do something, but we’re unsure of exactly what. Go in for a hug? No. Let him wrap his arm around me? No. Kiss him? Absolutely not. We can’t fall into that relationship space. The tension presses down on us, unspoken but palpable.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” he says, breaking the silence. “Did you wanna take a shower first or…?” 

“You can go ahead,” I say as I walk through the room, planning to unpack a bit first. Extending my suitcase’s handle, I ask, “Where’s the other room?” He grimaces, avoiding my gaze. “What?”

“Don’t be mad,” he starts, but I’m already visibly mad. “I must’ve looked at the website wrong.” I brace for the inevitable while he braces for my reaction. “This is it.”

“Seriously, Yeonjun? One bed?.” This is not gonna turn into a cheesy only-one-bed-left story. Nope. I won’t let it. “You better get me another room.”

“I already called and they’re out.” I’m fuming. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says. My face softens. I didn’t necessarily want that. “Really, it’s okay.”

“Yeonjun,” I say, guilt in my voice. 

“Mira, it’s fine. Really. It was my mistake, so I’ll take the couch.” 

“Okay,” I say. “I guess you can’t do stuff on your own, then, huh?”

-

The next morning, I wake up in this giant bed. Alone. The smell of coffee is already wafting through the air. Stretching under the covers, I sit up to see Yeonjun on the terrace, reading a newspaper. Not on his phone—a literal printed newspaper. I don't even know where he got it. 

An adorable little prince sitting there with his luxurious silk PJs, fuzzy slippers, messy hair, and the cutest pair of glasses anyone’s ever seen. Before joining him, I pull a hoodie over my tank top.

“Aren’t I supposed to get you your coffee?” I ask, admiring the view of the lake. 

“When you wake up on time, yes,” he says, not looking up from his paper while he pushes up his glasses. 

“I…I’m sorry,” I say, forcing myself back into my professional persona. 

“No, it’s okay,” he chuckles, sitting his coffee on the coaster and looking at me. “I wasn’t trying to be bossy. You seemed like you needed sleep. And I can get my own coffee,” he says. “Besides, today is a day off. You can get me coffee tomorrow.” I nod. “Did you have plans today?”

“I dunno…maybe I’ll draw by the lake or something.” 

“I’m kayaking on the lake and having a picnic lunch if you want to join me,” he suggests. “You can bring your sketchbook.”

-

The lake shimmers like a bed of gems, crystal-clear waters reflecting the sunlight in brilliant shades of blue. As we paddle alongside each other, our rowing is rhythmic until we reach a small pebbled shore on the other side of the lake.

Yeonjun jumps out first, standing up in the water to pull his kayak to shore. He’s so charming with his crocs and shorts short enough to expose his muscular thighs. The t-shirt he’s got on is somehow the hottest thing I’ve ever seen him wear, perfectly accentuating his pecs and clinging to his biceps. And the cutest lake hat sits on his head, making me absolutely giddy. 

Without having to ask, he pulls my kayak in so I don’t need to step in the water or pull it up myself. He offers his hand to me with a smile, my fingers lingering a bit too long after I stand to my feet. 

While I set up the blanket on the pebbled shore, I ask, “What’s tomorrow’s meeting about?”

His eyes light up while he unpacks our picnic. "Tomorrow's meeting is with the Global Environment Facility," he begins, settling back against the kayak, pouring some juice into two glasses. "We're discussing several things, but we’ll be focusing on keeping our water clean.” He tilts his head toward the sparkling Lake Geneva in front of us, its pristine waters a reminder of the importance of this endeavor. "Access to clean water is a fundamental human right," he says passionately. “But there’s so much…crap in them. You know 26% of the world doesn’t have access to safe drinking water?” My eyes widen. “And so many beautiful oceans and rivers and lakes like this one keep getting trashed.” 

His dedication is contagious, and I find myself leaning in, captivated by his words. "It's more than policies and proposals," he continues. "It's about creating real, tangible changes that will protect our planet.” He smiles, a mix of determination and hope in his expression. "I mean, I dunno…it’s a big goal I guess,” he says, glancing down in embarrassment. 

“Seems like you’re actually doing something about it.”

“We’re at least trying to make change happen.”

Sitting on the blanket, I fest my legs out in front of me with my hands supporting me from behind. He hands me a glass while he sits criss-cross next to me. “You seem really passionate about it,” I say. 

“I am,” he nods.

A comfortable silence settles over us as we enjoy our meal. Afterward, he takes his book out of his backpack, reclining back to rest his head against the kayak. I take out my sketchbook and pencils, setting it up against my knees and thighs. 

I try to focus on capturing the serenity of the lake, but my eyes keep drifting to him. His presence is so comforting and I’m reminded of that every time we’re alone like this. Watching him, I can’t help but think about what it would feel like to rest my cheek against his chest. Warm. Strong. Safe. 

“Yeonjun?”

“Hm?” He looks up at me from under his hat, but I don’t know what to say. After a few seconds of silence, he sits up completely and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I stutter, returning to my drawing. 

An hour or so passes—I’ve made great progress on my drawing and it seems like he made a nice dent in his book, but the sun’s setting fast. 

“We should probably go soon,” he notes. “We shouldn’t kayak in the dark and it’ll probably take an hour to get back.”

-

“Everything okay?” Yeonjun asks, startling me on the terrace. I hum, avoiding looking at him. He looks too good after showers—hair damp and skin pink from the hot water—so I better not take a peek. I’ve clipped my wet hair up—it holds its waves better that way. 

“I’m finishing up this drawing I started at the lake. Adding some watercolor.” 

“Is that me?” He asks, pulling the other seat around to sit next to me. 

“Yeah,” I nod awkwardly. “I just drew what I saw.” I say, giving in and glancing at him while he smiles to himself as he examines the art. 

Seconds pass before he adds, “I had a lot of fun today.”

“Me too,” I say, my arms crossed. He’s so, so close to me. 

“Yeah?” I hum. “Since you showed me this,” he says, gesturing to the drawing. “I’ll show you this picture I took of you,” he says, reaching for his phone in his pocket. Leaning even closer to me, I feel his warmth. I must say I look pretty. My hair’s windswept, I have a nice pink in my cheeks, and I look genuinely happy looking out over the water. His fingers mindlessly touch mine while he looks at me. “Thank you for coming with me,” he says. “You know, on the picnic.”

“No worries,” I say. 

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” he says, not moving an inch. Oh my god, he looks so kissable right now. I can’t believe how long we’ve gone without kissing each other even once. I didn’t think we’d last one week after we started…whatever we’re doing. Hooking up? 

Regardless, I’m relieved. We should not be starting something right now. He’s my boss. My boss and my ex that broke my heart. 

But we’re leaning in closer and closer, like we’re about to—don’t you dare. I catch myself first. 

“You can, uh…you can sleep in the bed with me if you want,” I whisper. He shakes his head and starts to protest. “Really, it’s okay. Swear. It’s a huge bed.”

cw. brief mention of the death of a grandparent, yeonjun environmental activist, eating food.

YEONJUN'S POV

As I make my way toward the grand conference hall, the weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders like a heavy cloak. Today's meeting is a pivotal moment in my advocacy work and I need to be right on. I love this though. Speaking for what I believe in. Convincing people. And admittedly, sounding smart, which I am.

Glancing over my shoulder, Mira follows close behind me, which is what she’s meant to be doing. It still sends shivers down my spine. Our return to our professional roles after our idyllic kayaking excursion feels strange, but duty calls and we both have our parts to play. I square my shoulders and quicken my pace, the marble floors echoing under my feet. 

With a final glance back at Mira, she offers an encouraging smile and asks, “Ready?” I take a deep breath. “You’re gonna be great.” She opens the door and I step into the grandeur of the conference room. The air is charged with energy, a palpable sense of purpose radiating throughout the room. 

Taking my place at the head of the table, pride and excitement surges through me. This is it—the moment I’ve been preparing for, the chance to make a real difference.

-

Coming back home—hotel room—I’m exhausted but exhilarated. As I’m about to collapse onto the couch, a knock at the living room entryway wakes me up. 

“You hungry?” Mira asks, flipping through the room service menu. 

“Order whatever you like.”

“What would you like?”

“Anything’s fine. I’m not picky.”

After she places the order on the phone, we chat about the meeting a bit, but it isn’t long before the conversation gets lighter. We laugh about our kayaking adventure yesterday, recalling the near-disaster when I almost tripped into the water face first. The room service arrives promptly, and we dig into our meal. 

"So, tell me," she says between bites of her spaghetti, "what got you interested in environmental advocacy in the first place?"

I lean back, chewing the bite of pizza in thought. "I guess it started when I was a kid. You remember how much I loved nature even back then.” She nods. “Whenever I got stressed, I’d go outside—you know, for a walk, camping, whatever, and one day, I looked around and only saw wealthy people and it was one of those moments where I realized how lucky I am,” I say, not breaking eye contact. “Access to nature is a fundamental human right. It’s already inaccessible to many and it’s only getting worse.”

She nods. “It's easy to take it for granted.”

“It was something I’d never thought about,” I chuckle. “I was a fucking prick back then.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, a little too easily. She’s not wrong though.

“As I got older, I started to see the impact of pollution and climate change. I knew I had to do something, even if it was just a small part."

We continue talking late into the night, sharing stories and dreams, discovering new facets of each other's personalities. It’s in these quiet moments I cherish that I get to see some real parts of her, like in the garden, when she painted my portrait, when we went kayaking. 

“What’s something you’re passionate about?” I ask. She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Nah, come on, you gotta be passionate about something.” Shrugging, she shakes her head. “How about your art?”

Smiling to herself, she asks, “What about it?”

“Why are you an artist?”

She leans back, tracing patterns of the fabric on the couch with her finger. "This is cheesy but when I look around, I see colors, shapes, emotions. When I draw or paint or whatever, it's like I'm putting pieces together, creating something whole. It’s not about making something beautiful, but capturing a moment or a feeling, things I can’t say out loud,” she says, glancing around the room bashfully. “Or whatever.”

“Not or whatever. You need to give yourself more credit.”

She nods shyly, looking down with a grin. "I remember this painting I did. It was of an old barn, you know, out of town a bit. Everyone thought it was just a pretty picture of decay. But it was about resilience, how even in decay, there’s a story that refuses to be forgotten, even if it can’t speak for itself or if no one’s listening but me.” I nod. “That’s what I really love. Finding those moments that only a few people notice. It’s like saying, ‘Hey, I see you and I feel this too.’” That’s amazing. She’s never spoken so candidly like this with me before. “Like when you asked if I was gonna paint your freckle and your birthmark, like, of course I am! That’s a part of you and I see you, you know?”

I chuckle with her. “Do you have a favorite piece?”

She thinks for a moment. “Probably a painting I did of my grandmother’s hands. She was a seamstress, and her hands were always so busy, always creating. When she wasn’t sewing, she was sketching, measuring, creating patterns. It was my way of honoring her, capturing her essence. Her hands have so many stories to tell.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “She was the one person in my family I really wanted you to meet back then.”

“Invite her over for dinner some time,” I suggest. 

“She, uh,” She clears her throat. “She passed a couple years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” She waves her hand. “I would’ve loved to have met her.”

“It’s okay.” But her eyes are tearing up just a bit. She blinks them away and adds, “She meant so much to me, but I guess that’s…how things go.”

“Where’s that painting now?”

“It’s back home, like, my home home, not the castle.” 

“I’d love to see it.”

“I’ll find it the next time I go back home and bring it back with me.” As the conversation winds down, we sit in comfortable silence as the city lights cast a soft glow through the window. "I should probably let you get some rest," Mira says, breaking the silence.

I nod, feeling a pang of reluctance. "Yeah, we have another busy day tomorrow."

She stands up, but before she leaves, she turns to me, her expression gentle. "Goodnight, Yeonjun. And thank you for tonight. It was nice to just...talk."

"It was,” I reply. “Let's do it again sometime."

cw. cunnilingus, protected sex, mira’s body is described as squishy/chubby in a good way, mention of moles and vvv brief mention of armpits, toys, body worship, masturbation, pet names (darling, love, babe, baby).

YEONJUN'S POV

After another grueling meeting, I’ve ditched my tie and unbuttoned a few of my shirt buttons while Mira has completely changed into lounge clothes back at the hotel room. Out of the corner of my eye, I sense her watching me, leaning up against the wall. But I let it slide. I don’t think she realizes how often she does it. 

“How did today’s meeting go?” She asks. 

“You were there.”

“I know, but how did it go from your perspective?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day's events fresh in my mind. "It was intense," I start, a mix of relief and excitement in my voice. "We covered a lot of ground. Like I said, we talked about keeping waters clean.”

“Did you all come up with any new ideas?"

"Actually, yes," I say, a spark of enthusiasm igniting. "We talked about implementing advanced watershed management and enhancing wastewater treatment technologies. But what really stood out was the proposal for a global initiative to reduce industrial runoff. It's ambitious, but the potential impact is huge."

She nods, clearly intrigued. "Was everyone on board?"

"For the most part," I reply, recalling the lively debates. "There were a few moments of contention, especially when it came to funding, so I’ll be doing a lot of fundraising for awhile, but everyone agreed they seem like good ideas.”

Mira's smile is warm and encouraging. "I'm glad it went well.” Her words, simple yet heartfelt, warm me up. She finally pipes up again to add, “You looked hot up there.” 

I chuckle. “Yeah?” She nods. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she starts, walking closer to me. “How smart and passionate you are. That’s hot.” That is exactly what I was hoping she’d say. I kept catching myself stealing glances of her during the meetings. It was hard to tell if she was looking at me to look at me or because that’s technically her job. Even if it is her job, I can tell between her different looks—her checking in look, her secretly admiring me look, and her I need you and I need you now look, which might be my favorite.

The look she’s got on her face is starting to lean toward that last one, but she’s not quite there yet. I only observe, let her fall into that place if she wants to.

“Well, thank you,” I tilt my head in her direction before the piano behind her catches my attention. “You know, I’ve been taking piano lessons.” She hums. Sometimes I forget it's also her job to know everything about me—everything about my schedule and activities at least. “You still like classical music, right?” She nods gently, a slight smile constantly on her lips. 

I’m not the best at piano, so I start fumbling through Moonlight Sonata. Giggling through every wrong note, she brushes some hair away from my face. 

“Ah, I need the sheet music,” I say quietly. Wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs, I know she’s still staring at me with look number three: I need you and I need you now. All professionalism has gone out the window. The biker shorts she’s wearing outlines her stomach perfectly, her thighs barely bulge at the hem, and her tank top accentuates her breasts beautifully. She’s a stunner. 

I reach for her hand and drag my thumb across her knuckles. My hands rest against the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer so she steps between my legs, my hand moving to her backside, squeezing her so deliciously. Her hands rest on my shoulders as I bury my nose between her breasts, taking a deep breath. She always smells so goddamn amazing. 

“I need you,” she whispers as her fingertips drag across my scalp. 

“I know, darling.”

“No,” she chuckles. “I need more from you this time,” she says breathlessly. I stand up straight, looking down at her as she looks at me through her eyelashes. “I need you inside me. Please.” 

“Of course,” I say, diving straight for her lips, but she turns her head, so my lips crash into her cheek. 

“Did I say you could kiss me?” Picking her up, I let my face rest in her chest again as I carry her to the bed, praying I don’t trip over anything along the way. As I sit her down on the mattress, she says, “Kiss me everywhere but my mouth, okay? Everywhere.” 

I don’t wanna argue with the no kissing rule right now, so I simply nod, covering her neck with kisses while I tug her shorts off her legs. Holding her leg by her ankle, I press my lips to it, trailing it all the way up to her thigh while her hand slips under her thong. I’m looking over her body, closing my eyes for a few seconds at a time, but I can feel her eyes on me. 

“Everywhere, babe,” she reminds me. Babe? I decide not to mention it—don’t ruin the moment. I slowly lift her shirt, but she gets impatient and takes it off herself, throwing it somewhere before tugging at the hem of mine, hinting at me to ditch it. 

My lips land right above her bra, kissing and nipping the tops of her breasts. I literally can’t wait to see her completely, so I waste no time in snapping it off and taking a second to admire her. Then, I gently kiss her neck and feel her whole body with my hands. Warm, soft, welcoming, curvy, squishy, perfect. 

When I squeeze her tit for the first time, she moans, arching her back while I sloppily stamp her collarbone with my lips. I want nothing more than to lick her nipples—it’s all I’ve thought about for the last few days—but…I dunno. I’m nervous. 

“Jjun…please,” she starts. There’s that nickname. It made my heart sing when she accidentally called me that a couple months ago. It used to slip past her lips so easily when we were together all those years ago, but now she stays so formal. “Lick my nipples, please.” 

Tongue flicking her nipple, her eyes roll back as her body follows. As I kiss further down her body toward her tummy, she reaches for my hair and pulls, making both our breath quicken. She takes the liberty of taking off her own thong and I get rid of my pants. 

We’ve been desperate for this. Desperate to actually feel each other’s bodies. Not clothing-clad bodies, but bare, vulnerable, warm bodies that want each other. And I can’t get enough. I thought I could taste her forever, but now that I’ve gotten my hands on her, on her squishy, chubby body, I’ll never be able to keep my hands off her.

She starts to get impatient, but I’m not finished with her yet. Landing back on top of her, I say, “Lemme just…kiss on ya for a second, okay?”

“Not my—”

“Not your mouth, I know,” I say, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek, trailing down her jaw and sneaking in to nuzzle her neck. Whispering into her ear, I tell her, “I love making you gasp like that.” She chuckles, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, but I grab them and put them over her head to continue kissing her everywhere, tasting each bit of her with the tip of my tongue before pressing my lips to her. Her collarbone, her shoulders, her underarms. Everywhere.

She’s got the cutest mole on her side of her breast I kiss three times before moving on. 

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips when I gently kiss under her breasts. I lick a stripe up her chest between them, making eye contact with her, followed by a harsh bite of one of them. Reaching for her arm, I kiss her palm, then gently suck on the tip of her pointer finger. 

“Remember when you painted that portrait of me?”

“How could I forget?”

“When you put this pinky on my face,” I say, sucking on the tip of it. “I thought I was gonna explode. Feeling you so close to me like that. You looked so pretty that day too. With the sun shining in through the window and the plants around you.” Okay, shut up dork, too many feelings. I squeeze her tits harshly, burying my face in them. “Fuck, you’re so sexy.” 

Rubbing up and down her sides, she scrunches her shoulders, letting out a giggle. I kiss and bite her tummy—I’ve always loved her stomach, but especially so when she wears biker shorts. The way the fabric pulls, creating an outline of her tummy with rays of fabric going toward her hips. It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. And to finally see her bare tummy right here in front of me, there’s no way I’m not gonna cover it in kisses. 

“Why are you being all touchy?”

Why wouldn’t I be? Spreading her lips, she looks absolutely delicious. I lick her clit, earning one of the most gorgeous moans I’ve ever heard come out of her mouth. 

“I told you, Sir,” she says. “I want all of you this time.” 

“I know. I’m just tasting you, darling.” I glance up at her. “You thought I was gonna fuck you and not taste you first?” 

Grinding against my mouth, she can hardly take it before she starts begging. “Please, please, please, Yeonjun. I need your cock inside me. Please. I need it so bad.” 

“You’ve never had to beg like this before, hm?”

“Nope,” she says. “People usually do what I ask.” Standing, I leave her briefly for a condom that’s in my toiletries bag in the bathroom. When I come back, she asks, “Prepared, huh?” I nod awkwardly. “Wait, wait,” she stops me from rolling the condom down myself. “Let me see you.” I stand back, letting her look at me in awe before she reaches her hands out, rubbing all over my chest and stomach, kissing my hips, squeezing my balls and licking my nipple, making me gasp. 

Taking a deep breath, I admit, “I want to fuck you so bad, Mira.”

Sitting up on her knees, she reaches for my hand and places it on her breast before leaning into my ear to whisper, “Then fuck me, Sir.” Then, she takes the condom and rolls it down my cock, drawing out the process as long as she possibly can. “Your cock is so fucking beautiful,” she says. “I’m still not over it.”

She lays on her back and spreads her legs while I think of all the things I wanna do to her. I really wanna kiss her, but I can’t. She’s right. We shouldn’t. Resting between her legs, I rub my hands over her body again, taking my time contemplating, even if she protests, claiming I’m teasing her too much. But she teased me, so now I get to tease her. 

Honestly, I can’t believe this is happening. I thought we’d never get past oral in the closet. I line myself up with her entrance, bending to press my lips to her neck and whisper, “Are you sure?” 

“Yeonjun,” she says, placing a hand on my cheek to force me to look at her. “I’m sure. Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely.” 

As I push into her slowly, my whole world comes crumbling down around me. She is perfection. The way she wraps around me like a warm blanket, her eyes full of pleasure sparkling up at mine, the noises she’s making. Nothing else matters anymore but her. 

She breathes out like she’s relieved and says, “I’ve been waiting for this for seven years.” My head reels. Our arms wrap around each other as I find a slow and steady pace. Everything is her. She fits right in my arms as her nails claw at my back and her legs wrap around my waist to make sure I won't go anywhere, which I won’t. But I need to see the way her body moves. 

Sitting up, I stare down at her, pumping in and out, her tits bouncing with every move I make. Finding her clit with my thumb, the noise she makes in response is intoxicating. She arches her back, squeezing her own tit, which is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

“That’s my girl.” Can I call her that? I don’t care. I’m going to. 

She giggles and scratches my thigh, whispering, “You feel so good. Faster?” And I can’t help but comply, speeding up my thrusts but maintaining control. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up though. I want…need to go faster and she’s asking me to, but I also want to take things slow, be with her forever. “Faster, please,” she almost sounds like she’s in tears. 

I don’t go much faster, though. This has to be perfect. I can’t be too much. But—

“Hey, stop for a second,” she says genuinely and I oblige, slipping out of her to sit back on my knees. She sits up and reaches for my hands. “Come here,” she says, pulling me closer so our chests are grazing each other’s. “Are you okay?” I nod enthusiastically. “It seems like you’re holding back.” 

“I just…you feel so good and I don’t wanna get carried away. And I don’t know your, like, limits.”

“You can fuck me so hard—no, I want you to fuck me so hard. You don’t have to hold back, okay?” She reaches down and squeezes my cock, waiting for a reaction from me. “I’ve been waiting for this cock and I need you to fuck me and don’t stop until I’m begging you to.” She smiles. “Unless you ever wanna stop, of course.” I nod. “Did you wanna take it slow?”

Without giving my brain time to process, I flip her onto her stomach, yanking her up by her hips so she’s on her knees, ass up. I gather her hair in a makeshift ponytail before thrusting into her so hard it takes her breath away. She feels indescribable—a radiating ache overcomes me and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let her go after this. 

My thrusts reach a speed finally fast enough for her as she’s whimpering on my cock, shuddering from the feeling of me buried deep inside her. The room fills with the sound of my thighs smacking her ass, making ripples roll down her cheeks. My hand tingles wanting to spank her, but that’s a bit much, no? But she said not to hold back.

I decide to indulge myself, spanking her harshly, my hand making a loud smack, earning an irresistible moan from her. She whispers, “Thank you.”

“Thank you, who?”

“Thank you, Sir,” she whimpers. I spank her again, rubbing it to soothe the sting. I’m fucking her so fast and hard that we’re both sweating, skin getting sticky and slick. Pushing on the small of her back to deepen her arch, I find an even deeper spot inside her. “Ohmygod—” Mira gasps. 

“You sound so sexy,” I groan. I don’t want her to hold back either. I want her to be as loud as she wants to be. No one else is on this floor anyway. Pulling her up by her shoulder, I reach in front of her to rub her clit, her head dropping back and onto my shoulder. 

Slipping out of her, she shudders and whines at the sudden loss but I turn her around so she’s on her back before I land on top of her again, pinning her hands above her head. Her knees fall open and I hook my hands under her thighs before thrusting back into her, earning an incredible eye roll from her. 

“Fuck, Yeonjun.”

“I know, darling,” I say lowly. I wonder if she actually likes it when I call her that. Should I call her something else? Baby? Babe? Love? 

The speed of my thrusts increases again, while I massage her tit. She grips her legs by the back of her knees, holding them wide open for me. “Look at you…being such a good girl for me, hm?” Using my body, I push her legs down gently, letting me in even deeper. Our faces are so close to each other, her lips are just begging to be kissed, but I resist. 

She takes a deep breath, her eyebrows stitch together and she looks up at me before saying with the most genuine sounding voice, “You’re so pretty.”

That makes me absolutely gush. My shoulders scrunch as I run my fingers through my hair before I bend to lick one of her nipples so slowly she can hardly stand it. Kissing up her chest, I whisper, “You’re fucking beautiful, Mira.” Her arms wrap around my neck to pull me closer. 

“Wait, Yeonjun,” she says. I stop in my tracks. “Can you, uh…” she asks, pushing me out of her before getting up off the bed. 

“Is everything okay?” I ask. “Did I hurt you?”

She’s rummaging through her bag and replies, “No, Sir.” Returning, she hands me a small clit vibrator. Oh. “Can you, um…can you use that on me?”

“Whatever you wish, darling,” I say, watching her lay on her back again, spreading her legs open for me. I switch her toy on to the lowest setting. “Do you think about me when you use this to make yourself feel good?” Before she can answer, I place it onto her clit. 

Gasping and nodding, she says, “Yes, Sir.” Her fingers grip the sheets before she admits, “I think about you every time.” She sighs. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

“Of course.”

“What do you think about doing to me?”

“I think about licking all over you. About making you feel good,” I say. “About you screaming my name.”

“You like making me feel good?” 

I nod and we’re both desperate as ever now. Desperate to feel each other. To come together. I thrust back into her, quickly reaching a speed we both like, increasing the intensity of the toy along the way. Her mouth drops open as she furrows her eyebrows, her moans getting higher pitched and quicker. 

“Mira, I wanna see you cum.”

Dropping one of her legs, she wraps it around my waist, grabbing my forearm, clearly close to losing it. “Don’t stop, babe,” she whimpers. I shake my head. “Please, Yeonjun, don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop, darling.”

I reach the deepest part of her, and she finally lets go—eyes rolling back, thighs trembling, clit shuddering under the toy. She’s fucking stunning when she cums. Her other leg falls to the bed while she moans out loud, the corners of her mouth curving upward. “Babe, fuck,” she says breathlessly, “You’re making me cum so hard.”

My thrusts get sloppier and I bury my free hand in her soft waves, groaning and whimpering in her ear as I cum inside her, collapsing on her shoulder. That was truly the best I’ve ever felt. 

Forehead glistening with sweat under the moonlight barely shining through the bedroom window, she looks fucking gorgeous. Her post-sex glow would make anyone swoon. My stomach swirls with emotions. I need her. But I just had her. But I need more. No, I need something else. 

“I wanna kiss you,” she says. Fuck, don’t do this to me. “Please?”

I think about it for a second—I really do. That’s what I want, no, that’s exactly what I need, but— “You told me not to.” 

Shaking her head, she admits, “I don’t care.” She looks absolutely kissable right now. I need to feel her lips on mine again. Passing by each other in the hallway and pretending not to be fucking has been miserable. Every time I see her, I refrain from running up and wrapping my arms around her to give her the best kiss she’s ever had. Not being able to do that has been bad enough, but not even kissing her when I’m literally still inside her? Now that’s torture. 

The way she looks at me too—up through her eyelashes, eyes glistening from pure pleasure, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen and utterly plump.

She hooks two fingers under my necklace to pull me closer, tilting her chin up toward me. Fuck, don’t do that. My heart races. “Please,” she says. “I need to kiss you.” 

No. Don’t. She’s the one that initiated the no kissing rule. And for good reason. We shouldn’t get involved right now. I let her tug me a few inches closer, but I dodge her lips and turn to my side to lean on the bed before clearing my throat.

“Let’s go take a shower, yeah?” I suggest. 

She sighs and says, “Okay.” Standing up silently, I watch her walk slowly to the bathroom, her body moving so beautifully, but I can tell she’s upset even from behind. I plop down on my back. Did I do the right thing? I want to kiss her more than anything but she’s told me over and over again not to. I didn’t want her to regret something because of the heat of the moment. I don’t want her to feel like I took advantage of her but I also don’t want her to feel like I don’t want her. 

The shower turns on, making me stand up. I catch her looking at herself in the mirror before she glances down. Without speaking, we both get in the huge shower that luckily has two shower heads. She wets her hair then smiles at me sweetly. 

“Can I at least have a hug?” She asks. I chuckle, opening my arms up to her. She wraps her arms around my waist. We wash the day off each other—stressful meetings, long walks to and from the conference center, the amazing sex we just had. The room is mostly silent with the occasional Can you hand me my soap? 

After drying off, we crawl back into the shared bed. I’m sitting up with my back against the headboard while I flick through the TV channels. Half laying down and half resting against the headboard, she keeps awkwardly moving closer to me, opening her mouth and breathing in like she wants to say something but never does.

I slouch a bit to get to her level before opening up my arm up to her and so she can lay her head on my chest. As she snuggles into me, I swear I could die happy right here. The air is calm and sweet and warm, her presence provides an overwhelming sense of comfort and I can’t help but graze my fingers up and down her arm until she falls asleep. 

As predicted, insomnia is my enemy tonight. Questions swirl around my mind. 

Should I have kissed her? What does she want after this? What’s she gonna be like tomorrow morning? How should I act tomorrow morning? After eating some almonds and a banana to try and induce sleep, I go for a walk around the hotel, trying to tire out my body and mind. Eventually, I lay back down thinking about what I really want between the two of us.

Normally, I’d squeeze my eyes shut to picture her lips and eyelashes, but the real Mira is lying right next to me. But I probably shouldn’t stare at her without her permission. With the warmth of thinking of her, there’s also a tug of uncertainty. What if she doesn’t feel the same way I do? What if she just wanted sex? I couldn’t really be mad at her for that, though. That’s what we both wanted at the beginning, even if there may have been some underlying feelings. That’s at least all we were expecting. 

Sighing, I turn away from her, thoughts tangling into each other, emotions pulling on the threads in every direction. I count my breaths, slow and steady, but each breath is full of her scent, making things worse, the adrenaline of unspoken feelings keeping me awake. 

Time stretches out and I look at my phone, the clock glaring back at me—4:37 AM. Another sigh escapes me, heavier this time. My meetings are done for the week, but I don’t like massive changes in my sleep schedule, even when I'm abroad. 

Pulling the covers over my head, I block out the world before quietly whispering her name, like it’s a confession I hope she may hear. I’m answered only by the faintest of snores that have been steady for hours. Finally, my thoughts blur, exhaustion pulling me into a restless sleep. But even in my dreams, she’s there, a shadow at the edge of consciousness.

-

“Hey,” I say groggily to Mira. “What happened to you?” Mira’s already dressed in her work clothes with her hair neatly tied back. The smell of the coffee she’s pouring wafts through the air and warms me up. I start to hug her from behind, but—

“I made coffee,” she replies, her tone professional and clipped. 

“Why’d you get out of bed?”

“To work. That’s why I’m here.” Her voice is detached and she finally turns to look at me. 

Searching her face for the warmth I’d seen last night, I say, “Yeah, but I thought after—”

“We shouldn’t have done that last night.”

“What?”

“Sex,” she says matter-of-factly. “We should not have had sex last night.”

“I know what you meant, but why not?” I ask, my heart pounding. “We’ve been practically having sex for months now.”

“Last night was different.” 

“So?”

Mira takes a deep breath before sitting the coffee pot back on the table. “Because, Yeonjun, I’m your servant and we used to date and now…”

“And now what? We pretend it didn’t happen?” Anger and frustration bubbles inside me. Whether I consciously knew it or not, I’d made my decision last night. I want to be with her for real and I’m willing to do whatever it takes, as long as she’ll have me. I was hoping she felt the same way, but she’s still not willing to admit the depth of our relationship out loud. “Mira, last night was…it was real. You can’t just ignore that.”

She looks away from me, wrapping her arms around herself. “I can’t do this anymore.”

My heart races faster with each step I take toward her. “It’s okay to have feelings.”

“No, it’s not,” she spits, twisting her head back to look at me. “I cannot do this again. We cannot do this again.” I start to interrupt. “I don’t wanna hear it, Yeonjun.”

“Mira, please—”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice breaking. “We have to end this before it even starts.” Her words bring a finality to us before she walks out of the kitchenette and onto the balcony. I suppose that’s it then. 

The silence left in her wake is deafening. I slump into a chair, running my hands through my hair, the weight of every unspoken word heavy on my shoulders. The morning light filters through the window, casting long shadows across the room. It’s surreal. 

No. This is not how we end.

Following her out onto the balcony, she stands with her back to me, staring blankly at the lake. The same lake we kayaked on together a few days ago. I envy the serenity of the water. “Mira, you can’t just walk away,” I say softly, hoping to reach her through the wall she’s built around herself. 

She doesn’t turn, but her shoulders tense. “You said it yourself, Yeonjun. I’m nothing. We couldn’t even be together even if we wanted to.” 

“Is that what this is about? You’re still upset about something I said seven years ago?” She shakes her head. “Then what is it?” She keeps turning away from me. And ignoring me. “Talk to me. Please.” 

“There’s nothing left to say.”

cw. crying, kissing. 

MIRA'S POV

The rest of our trip to Switzerland was business as usual. I made sure of it. I woke up on time, got his coffee, did everything a servant does and in the manner a servant would do. No smiles. No anger. Just business. 

“What’s been up with you recently?” Hyomin shakes me out of my daydreaming—or daynightmaring, perhaps—replaying that morning with Yeonjun. How hurt he looked. How it felt to break my own heart. How it felt to break his heart. “You haven’t been acting like yourself. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say, glancing over at Yeonjun sitting at the dining table without even realizing it at first. 

Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “Did something happen between you two?”

“No,” I say harshly. 

“You can’t be serious.” I shrug. “You went to Switzerland together for a week and nothing happened? Not even a kiss or a not-so-platonic hug?”

“I have work to do, Hyomin.” Shaking my head, I stomp away in the direction of my room. Slamming my door shut, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the tears from coming but it's no use. My phone buzzes but I already know who it is. 

Yeonjun 3:52 PM Are you ever gonna talk to me again?

It’s been four days since Switzerland but that’s the twelfth message since we got back. 

Can we talk? Can you meet me in our closet tonight? Just to talk, nothing else. I’d really like to talk to you. Please stop ignoring me. 

I have sent zero. I can’t bring myself to. Tossing my phone on my mattress, there’s a black dress bag and a note on my bed. 

For Saturday. –Y

Are you fucking kidding me? He’s buying me gifts now? What kind of relationship does he think we have? We make each other come a few times, have sex in Switzerland once and now he won’t stop texting me and buying me dresses? Fuck this. 

Me. 4:01 PM Closet. Now.

-

“Hello, darling,” Yeonjun says smugly as I slam the door shut. 

“What the fuck is this, Yeonjun?” I scream-whisper, shoving the dress bag into his chest as his face turns horrified. 

“A dress,” he says defensively, trying to not let the dress bag fall to the floor. 

“Don’t patronize me,” I spit. “You think you can buy me or something?” He shakes his head nervously. “Taking me to Switzerland, staying in a fancy hotel, buying me food, now you’re buying me an expensive dress?”

“I took you to Switzerland as a member of my staff,” he reminds me.

“If you think for one second that I’ll just come running back to you because of this—”

He grabs me by my forearm and gently yanks me close to him to stare down at me hungrily, like he wants to take me right then and there. I know this look very well by this point. 

“You’re cute when you’re mad at me.”

“Shut up.” I throw the dress down and attempt to turn away from him. “Leave me alone, Yeonjun.” His grip tightens, not painfully, but firmly enough to prevent me from going anywhere. 

“Why are you so angry, really? Is it the gifts, or is it because you’re scared of what this means?” I glare at him, feeling the anger bubble up again. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I roll my eyes. He sighs, letting go of my arm but not stepping back. 

“I’m not trying to buy you, okay? I just...I like you. And I want to do things for you.”

I cross my arms, trying to maintain the obviousness of my anger but I can’t help I’m shocked. He likes me? Like that? I mean, I was hopeful but I never thought he’d ever say it out loud. Should I say it too? I almost think about it, but instead, I ask, “You think throwing money at me will make me like you more?”

“No,” he says softly, surprising me. “I just don’t know what to do, Mira,” he raises his voice. “You’re ignoring me and I want to show you I care about you.”

“I know you care about me, Yeonjun. I’m telling you to stop caring about me,” I say sternly. “It’s over.”

Over the next few days, he stops texting me, talking to me, I don’t even catch him glancing at me like I usually do several times a day. He must be avoiding me—or doing exactly what I asked him to do, I guess. Which pisses me off too. 

Saturday rolls around and we have yet another fancy dinner to host. The Queen pulled out all the stops for this one too—amazing food, open bar with fancy drinks, great music, even greater decorations. It’s gorgeous. I’d realized I should probably stop being such a bitch and make amends with him. As a gesture, I show up wearing the dress he gave me. 

“Prince Yeonjun?” I ask, watching his ears perk up as he turns around, a clear smile on his face at the sound of my voice. “Can I have a dance, please?” His face relaxes as he nods before he extends his hand to take me to the dancefloor. He performs his customary bow, followed by my curtsy. My tummy tingles a bit at the formality of it all. I feel like a princess. 

As my hand falls into his, nothing matters. Not our history. Not our future. Not his title. Not the lack of mine. I’m with him. We’re together. The soft music from the chamber orchestra is perfect accompaniment for us. 

I’d thought about the idea of us for so long. What we could be, what I want us to be, what I think he wants us to be. I don’t think it’ll ever work, but at least there’s tonight. There’s this dance. 

We sway together, hand in hand, my other hand on his shoulder while his rests around my waist. Eyes locked. His jacket catches the flicker of the chandelier while my gown flows down my waist and onto the floor gracefully. 

Expertly turning me, I can’t help but think back to the first night he broke my heart. Would he do that again? Pressing his hand firmer against my waist, I welcome it by pressing my body more securely against his.  The warmth between us grows stronger by the second. We’re falling in love again. Or maybe we already did. 

He towers over me, much like he did the night of our first kiss. Returning from a night where we’d once again snuck out to see each other, he walked me home. Standing on the front porch of my cottage, we refused to wish each other a good night. The moon was the only light source, but it was enough to see how handsome he was, even back then. 

“Yeonjun…” I whisper as he continues to lead us through a casual dance that lets us focus on a conversation. “I’m sorry.” He looks at me questioningly. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset about the dress. I felt…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I just felt so used, I dunno.” Horror crosses his face. 

“Mira…I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know,” I say. “But I felt like we could never be together, not really anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath and say, “Keeping secrets, never being able to tell everyone…we should probably stop…you know, what we’ve been doing.” I look up at him through my shaky eyes and he frowns but forces himself to nod. 

“If that’s what you want.”

“I just can’t,” I sniffle. “I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t. I’m right here.” He presses his hands even firmer against my waist to prove it. 

“But where were you seven years ago? I’ve—” My eyes can’t hold my tears any longer, breaking free to run down my cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I know. I’m so sorry.” Brushing the apple of my cheek with his thumb, he lifts my face to meet his eyes. “I’ve missed you too.” Pressing my lips together, I blink a tear out of my eye and I shake my head in protest. “Mira…listen.” He never lets me go. “I am so sorry for what I said that night. If I could take it back, I would.” I smile. “You know that doesn’t matter to me. You mean so much to me,” he says genuinely. “That night in Switzerland meant so much to me.” Everything halts. Our eyes meet. “But if you want me to stop, I will. I’ll never bring us up again.” 

“Us?”

“You know I’m yours whenever you’re ready.” The wind’s knocked out of me. My heart races as he inches closer and closer. So close I can see each individual eyelash. “Tell me to stop.” 

“No,” I say, welcoming his lips on top of mine. His lips meet mine softly, a whisper of a kiss that feels like a promise. It's gentle, tentative at first, like we’re both terrified to lose each other. But then, the years of longing we've kept hidden surge forward, and the kiss deepens.

The room around us fades away, the music, the murmurs of the crowd, the flickering candlelight—they all dissolve into a hazy backdrop. All that exists is us, bound together in this moment of rawness. His hands move from my waist to cradle my face, his touch tender yet insistent. My hands rest against his chest. 

His kiss is everything I've ever dreamed of—sweet yet passionate, comforting yet electrifying. It speaks of forgiveness and second chances. The saltiness of my tears mingle with the softness of his lips.

It's as if we're communicating without words. Each movement, each touch, each breath shared between us is a declaration of our feelings for each other. His arms encircle me, holding me close, and I feel safe, cherished, and utterly adored.

When we finally part, breathless and overwhelmed, our foreheads rest against each other, our eyes closed as we savor the moment. The world starts to come back into focus, but it's different now. Everyone’s eyes are on us. The room has come to a halt. Glancing around the room, there isn’t one person that hasn’t stopped what they’re doing to stare at us. Not us. Me. 

“Fuck,” I whisper. “Excuse me.” I scurry off quickly, leaving him there alone.

cw. unsupportive parents, classism, crying, love.

YEONJUN'S POV

Everyone watches as she runs off like it’s a movie. She’s picked up her skirt to avoid tripping, and her head hangs low as she searches for the nearest exit. I awkwardly look around the room, excusing myself with a few head bows.

Running through the castle hallway, I catch up to her right outside my bedroom door. Her forehead’s pressed against the doorframe, arms wrapped around her body while she waits for me. She’s waiting for me. That gives me hope. At least she’s not running from me anymore. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” I whisper, grazing my hand across her shoulder blade. “C’mere.” I pull her into my chest, wrapping one of my arms around her while I open the door with my free hand. I lead her to my bed where she sits awkwardly scrunched into a ball while I rush to flick on some lamps. Then, I sit next to her, my hand resting on her shoulder blade for comfort. 

“I can’t—” she can hardly speak through her tears. 

“It’s okay.”

“I can’t do this, Jjun, I can’t.” She’s shaking her head, tears running down her cheeks. “I really want to but I just…” She trails off. Before I can speak up, she adds, “Your mother—” 

My heart sinks. “My mother? Did she do something to you?” Pressing her lips together, she nods. “Take some deep breaths, love, and tell me what she did.” She does as I say, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, attempting to compose herself. 

“After,” she starts hiccuping and I encourage her to take more deep breaths by modeling the breathing technique she was using earlier. “After that night in Switzerland,” she begins, but it’s too difficult for her to speak. Pulling out her phone, she silently thumbs through her phone to her voice mail box. My mother’s voice, cold and stern, plays from the speaker. 

Mira Ashenrose, the audacious servant who dares aspire beyond her station, it has come to my attention that your eyes linger far too long on my son. Your actions are not only bold but also insolent, as you seem to have forgotten your place within my castle walls.

Let me be clear: the Prince's future is one of sovereignty and grandeur, a path predetermined by bloodline and duty. Any attempts to disrupt or divert his focus with your insignificant presence will be met with severe consequences.

You are a servant, a role you should embrace with humility and gratitude. Your duties do not include entertaining fantasies of a life beyond your given position, especially one involving a royal whom you are unworthy to even address directly.

Cease your imprudent behavior immediately. Should I find even the slightest hint of your infatuation resurfacing, you will discover that my patience is not to be tested. Your continued employment—and indeed, your very well-being—hangs by a thread of my tolerance, a thread that I am fully prepared to cut.

Do not mistake this warning for mere words. You will find that I am a queen of action. Refrain from crossing boundaries that were never meant for you, and remember your place. It is only in your compliance that you will find any semblance of mercy from me.

Consider this your only warning.

By this point, her crying has subsided to sniffles but I’m speechless. How could she have done this? “I woke up that night after we…were together. You were still next to me. I was just checking the time and I had that message waiting for me.” 

“Mira, I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

“I care,” she says. “I can’t be with someone whose mother thinks of me like this,” she says, gesturing to her phone. “And you used to think of me that way. What if you start thinking like that again? Or do you already think of me this way?”

“Of course not,” I say, grabbing her hands. “Look at me.” She puts on a brave face before looking me straight in the eye. “Do you wanna know what I think of you?” She hums. “Perfect. Beautiful. Kind. Caring. Talented.” Smiling to herself, she looks down at our hands. “That’s what I think of you.” She nods gently and I brush some hair back. “You should have told me.” She shakes her head. 

“I decided to quit anyway,” she sniffles. “I already put in my two weeks. That’s why I asked you to dance. I wasn’t gonna leave without dancing with you at least once.” She glances down at my lips. “Or kissing you at least once,” she giggles. 

“Or twice?”

She chuckles again, glancing down at the floor, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “Sure.” I peck her lips gently. 

“Three times?” I ask, barely backing away from her. 

“How about you kiss me over and over until I tell you to stop?”

I don’t waste any more time playing silly games with her. I crash my lips into hers and we melt together, she groans against my lips and I deepen the kiss, my hand against her cheek. But she soon breaks it to ask, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why didn’t you kiss me? You know, when I asked you to.”

“Because I thought if I did, you’d do exactly what you did the next morning,” I say. “I didn't wanna lose you.” 

Nodding, she runs her thumb across my knuckles. “What are we gonna do?” She asks. 

“About what?”

“Us.”

“There’s an us?”

“Ah, shut up,” she laughs, nudging my shoulder. “You know I’m yours whenever you’re ready.”

-

“Yeonjun, what is it? I’m very busy,” Mother says, not bothering to look up from the many papers that are shuffled across her desk. 

“Mother, we need to talk,” I say, my voice steady but firm.

Sliding her glasses off her nose, she drops them on the desk and turns in her chair to make eye contact. “You’re right,” she says and I look confused. “What are these policy proposals you wrote?” Why is she reading those? How did she even find them? “This Freshwater Sustainability Proposal,” she says matter-of-factly. 

“What’s wr—”

“This is some of your worst writing. Half of it doesn’t even make sense,” she says, my stomach dropping. Those were drafts. “I mean, what is this part about ‘aquatic ecosystem revitalization through bioremediation techniques’? You think the council will understand that jargon? And this section on ‘community-based water stewardship programs’? It’s laughably naive. Who’s going to manage these programs? Volunteers?”

“That is a well-researched proposal meant to—”

“Well-researched?” She scoffs, flipping through the pages with a dismissive hand. “It’s idealistic drivel, Yeonjun. We need practical solutions, not fanciful ideas that belong in a classroom.”

“These ideas could make a real difference.”

She waves a hand, brushing off my words. “Idealism is pointless. We can’t gamble on untested theories.”

“Untested theories?” I can’t help but let a note of disbelief slip into my voice. “They’re proven methods many other countries have successfully implemented.”

“Our priority is status and stability.”

“What good is status and stability if our environment collapses?” I challenge.

She glares at me, her eyes cold before she lets out an evil chuckle. “Sometimes I forget how young you are.”

“Is that why you feel the need to control every aspect of my life?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I take a deep breath, preparing for the moment of truth. “When did you find out about Mira?”

The question hangs in the air, catching her completely off guard. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, but she quickly masks her surprise. “Who? Oh, that servant that quit last week? I did see you two kiss at the party.”

“Don’t play games with me, Mother,” I say, my voice hard. “I know you knew about us before that. That voicemail you left her? Where you threatened her, told her she was nothing but a servant, and to stay away from me.”

She recovers quickly, her expression turning cold. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

“How dare you do such a thing?” I shoot back. “Mira is someone I care about and you had no right to interfere with our relationship,” I say.

“Relationship?” She rolls her eyes. “Your relationship is a shallow, pleasant distraction at best. She’s simply a way to blow off steam, to indulge in sexual frustrations.”

Ew. But okay. “It’s more than that, Mother. Mira means something to me.”

She sighs, a mix of impatience and disappointment in her voice. “Yeonjun, you’re too young to understand the complexities involved here. You have a duty to this kingdom, to your people. Mira is not part of that equation.”

“If you can’t find a way to accept the woman I love, then…I don’t know if there’s anything else for us to say to each other.”

“You’ve known her for three months, Yeonjun. You’re not in love.”

I shake my head. “We’ve known each other for seven years.”

“What?” She asks, shocked. “You’ve been seeing her behind my back for seven years?”

“No,” I say. “We used to date a while ago and then we…I dunno, started back up after she started working here.” 

“You think you love her,” she counters sharply. “But what you feel is temporary. It’s not sustainable. And you’re all for sustainability, right?” I roll my eyes. “I will not allow you to jeopardize your future and duty for a fleeting infatuation,” I say. “Your choices affect everyone,” she says, her tone unyielding. “Including the stability of this kingdom.”

“You’re trying to control me,” I accuse, feeling the weight of her authority pressing down on me.

“I’m trying to protect you. You must think beyond your own desires.”

Eventually, I say, “Mother, mind your business.” I storm off, headed in the direction of the garden to get some air. I don’t stop walking until I find myself sitting under the willow tree that Mira and I love so much. She’s always loved it here. 

Maybe Mira’s right—I don't know if it's such a great idea to be with someone whose mother thinks of them like mine does about her. Fuck, this is so unfair. Regardless, Mother’s getting what she wants. Us not together. 

Quiet footsteps approach me. Not now, please. I can’t argue with Mother anymore. 

“The woman you love, huh?”

“Mira,” I say, happiness evident in my voice. “Hi.” She smiles, holding her hands behind her back before she walks closer to me. “Um…” She sticks her hand out for me to grab and helps me to my feet. 

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear,” she says but I wouldn’t care if she were to be honest. “I was getting some water from the kitchen and overheard.” 

“Mira…” I say, an undeniable smile spreading across my face, my hands running down her arms, wrapping around her waist to bring her closer. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Why’s that?” She asks with a sweet smile. 

“I’m always happy to see you,” I say. “I’m sorry you had to hear what she said about you.” She shakes her head. “I do by the way,” I say. “I love you.”

“Fucking finally,” she whispers before reaching her arms around my neck to pull me closer to her, crashing her lips into mine. They move over each other passionately. She tastes so fucking delicious. She feels so fucking warm. She smells so fucking good. “Oh, I love you too,” she giggles, breaking the kiss. “Sorry, I should’ve said it sooner.”

“I love you too too,” I say between kisses. “So much. You have no idea.” She looks so sweet. “I guess we should probably talk about—”

Shaking her head, she says, “Not yet. Let’s just—” She gives me another deep kiss. “We can think about that later, okay?” I nod and press my lips to hers again. 

Everything is so perfect. The way her laugh echoes in my ear like nothing could ever go wrong, the way her body slowly but sensually grinds against my own, the way we know we love each other and can finally say it out loud, even if we don’t know what the future holds for us. 

Breaking the kiss gently, she’s absolutely stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as gorgeous as her. I brush my thumb across her eyebrow and say matter-of-factly, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “So are you.”

The air shifts. We’re alone and we’re hyper aware of that fact. I doubt anyone could even hear us. Our eyelids get heavy as we lean into each other, our lips touching in a fiery kiss that leaves me needing more. Holding her cheek in my hand, it grows deeper and hotter until a tiny moan leaves her mouth. “Fuck,” she says under her breath. “You’re such a good kisser.”

“That’s all you, baby,” I say, sliding my hand down to squeeze her amazing ass. 

“Yeonjun,” she whines. “You can’t tell me you love me and then not immediately fuck me.” 

“I can’t even imagine doing such a thing,” I chuckle.

“You think…” she glances behind her. “Think we can sneak into your room together?”

“Absolutely.”

Walking back to the castle makes us all the more giddy. Hands touching each other playfully, giggling and flirting in hushed tones all the way back to my room where I lead her to my bed. 

Landing on top of her, she’s so pretty. Covering every inch of her bare skin with kisses, I can’t stop whispering compliments to her. Real compliments I’ve always wanted to say. 

You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’m so lucky I get to love you. I love every inch of you and I’m gonna show how much I mean it. 

“Please, Jjun, I need you.”

“You know I need to taste you first, though, right?”

“Of course.” She lets me slip her sweatpants off her legs, the cool air making goosebumps prick her skin. Her maroon thong is so sexy. Desperately moving her thong to the side, I take a deep breath, wanting to take my time with her. Letting go of her thong, it snaps back into place, covering her back up. I press my lips to her tummy, peppering her with soft and slow kisses. 

“So perfect,” I whisper against her skin. And I mean it. Every time I say it. “I could worship your body for hours.” 

“We’ve got time, my love.” 

All I know is by the time I’m done covering her body in kisses, the sun has completely set and she’s illuminated only by the lamp on my bedside table. But I can absolutely still see how beautiful she is. I could see her beauty in the pitch black. 

“Yeonjun,” she starts, pulling me up to look her in the eyes. She brushes some of my hair back and says, “Whatever happens after this, I want you to know—” I start to protest. What does she mean? I know what’s gonna happen after this. We’re gonna find a way to be together. “I want you to know that I love you, okay?”

“Mira…I love you too.”

“Just know that…” she takes a deep breath. “I’m yours.”

I give her a long, lingering kiss and say, “And I’m yours.”  

@aduh0308 request a tag :)

[athzhowakar]

Queen of Hidden Evils (Chapter II)

✒️ Maegor × Toxic OC wife

✒️ Summary: Lord Rosby has accepted King Maegor's marriage proposal for his widowed sister. The Rosbys arrive at the Red Keep for the wedding. Rhaena sees Maegor's new wife and feels that she needs a taste of her uncle's new wife too. (Wedding & bedding ceremony)

✒️ Trigger warning: Mature content

✒️ Previous part: Chapter I

✒️ Next part : Chapter III

Red Keep:

The sound of carriages and horses approached the gates of the Red Keep. The carriages finally arrived and the travellers stepped out. The herald announced, “Lord Jon Rosby and Lady Elinor Rosby, the Lord and the Lady of Rosby. Lord Rosby's sister, Lady Lucinda Rosby and his niece, Lady Prunella Stokeworth.”

The guests saw a young silver haired lady standing there to welcome them. She was dressed in a purple silk gown. The lavish dress and the ornaments made it easier for them to recognise her.

Rhaena did not really want to welcome them but Maegor insisted that she should. So as it was planned, Rhaena stood there along with her ladies-in-waiting and watched the newly arrived guests with the eyes of a hawk.

Rhaena did not know how to feel about Lucinda. Her uncle had married several women besides herself. She found Ceryse to be rather stubborn and Alys was an adulteress who tried to betray none other than Maegor himself. Tyanna was an evil sorceress and Jeyne seemed rather uninteresting. Elinor seemed to be full of hatred while lacking courage to kill Maegor herself.

However, Lucinda was not like any of them. Rhaena wondered how she must have felt when she became the cause of her husband's death and why she remained unmarried for so many years.

Rhaena saw Lucinda walking towards her. She had worn a black gown and a grey headdress which was studded with rubies. It was an odd combination of colours but nevertheless, it looked good on her. Lady Lucinda, a woman of eight and twenty years of age, was way older than Rhaena and Elinor, the only surviving wives of Maegor. There was no hint of child-like innocence on her round face. However, she was extremely beautiful in a way that no one else was. “Where was she hiding all these years?” Rhaena wondered.

Soon enough, Rhaena and Lucinda were standing face-to-face. Lucinda greeted Rhaena with a curtsy and a smile on her face.

“Your admirers don't do justice to your beauty, My Lady,” Rhaena said.

Lucinda laughed and said, “You flatter me, Your Grace. My beauty will go begging in front of your youthful face and beauty.”

Rhaena instructed one of the servants to show the guests, their chambers. She then walked to Maegor's chamber and found him wiping the sweat off his body.

Maegor looked at her and smirked. “I was sparring in the training yard. If I had known that my wife was looking for me, I would have returned earlier,” he said.

Rhaena sighed and replied, “I came here to tell you that the Rosbys have arrived. And Uncle, I saw her.”

“Whom?” Maegor asked.

“Lucinda Rosby,” Rhaena replied.

Maegor placed a necklace on her neck and kissed her ears saying, “Do not fuck her before I do.”

Rhaena snapped at him, “What makes you think that I am going to do that?”

In response, Maegor said no word and kissed Rhaena on her lips.

The wedding took place a week later. It was attended by all the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms.

The ceremony took place in the Grand Sept atop Visenya's Hill. When it was time for the ceremony, Lucinda and Maegor stood in front of each other. Lord Rosby removed his sister's cloak and Maegor placed a cloak of his own house colours her shoulders. They took their vows and the septon declared them man and wife.

The wedding feast however, took place in the Red Keep. It was a grand feast with meat of seven kinds, fishes of five kinds and wine of eight kinds. Lucinda sat quietly at the high table beside Maegor and ate only lamb meat. Maegor noticed that his wife did not even drink a single sip of wine. He was curious but still, he did not exchange any word with her during the feast.

Rhaena seemed to be more excited about this wedding than Maegor himself. Maegor knew the reason even if others didn't. As the feast ended, she announced, “My Lords and Ladies, now it is time for the bedding ceremony.”

Everyone started shouting, “Bed them! Bed them! Bed them!”

Rhaena announced, “My Lords, you may escort Queen Lucinda to the King's chamber. My Ladies can help the King. His Grace is more than willing to go if beautiful ladies call him.”

Maegor did not know whether he was supposed to feel embarrassed or angry at Rhaena's words.

The Lords were afraid of touching Lucinda. Who knows what might incur the wrath of Maegor the Cruel? So they just accompanied her as she walked towards Maegor's chamber.

The Ladies weren't interested in disrobing Maegor either. However, Rhaena seemed unnaturally enthusiastic about that. She joked about Ser Bennard Stokeworth, Lucinda's dead husband and his paramour's death as she pinched Maegor and took off his clothing one by one.

Finally, Maegor entered his chamber in only his pants and found his fully dressed wife standing in front of him.

“The Lords weren't interested in disrobing you, it seems,” Maegor remarked.

“Mayhaps it is because, the last man who saw me naked died,” Lucinda replied with a straight face.

Maegor was slightly disturbed by that. With an awkward smile, he said, “And the women who see me naked stay alive all the time. That might have encouraged the ladies to disrobe me.”

With a scary smile on her face, which widened as she approached Maegor, Lucinda asked, “Did it really?”

“Mayhaps,” Maegor replied.

He held his wife's waist and pulled her closer. Lucinda made him sit at the edge of the bed. Then she sat on his lap. Maegor pulled her face closer by holding her chin and kissed her lips. The reciprocal was fierce and Lucinda managed to bite his lower lips and draw blood.

Lucinda's left hand glided on Maegor's bare back. Her right hand was playing with the hair on his chest.

“You seem to like my chest hair a lot,” Maegor said.

“I have never seen anyone with silver chest hair before,” Lucinda replied.

Maegor slowly untied the laces of his wife's gown. Once he was done, he was met with the sight of her milky white teats with pink nipples. Lucinda bit her lips as he began to play with her nipples.

Seeing that, Maegor squeezed her teats which made her gasp. He did that again and she bit his ear and then kissed it. She tried to stand up but Maegor pulled her back to his lap.

“Not so soon, my little berry,” Maegor said.

He started sucking her nipples and Lucinda could not stop herself from moaning. He then placed her on the bed and pulled off her gown completely. She was then fully naked in front of him. He touched the stretch marks on her belly and licked her navel.

Her cunt was properly shaved. However, Maegor could see some tiny sprouts of hair from which he could deduce that her cunt hair was black just like the hair on her head. He pinched the clitoris which made Lucinda scream.

“Your Grace! It hurts!” she screamed.

“Pleasure comes after pain, my little berry. Have patience,” he replied, laughing.

He teased it as she kept wriggling and after sometime, she shot her fluids right at him. Lucinda took heavy breaths. Maegor then left her clitoris which was sore by this point. He then proceeded to put one finger inside her cunt. It slid inside very easily. That one finger was followed by two more. Lucinda grabbed the bedsheet and her nails bore holes into it as Maegor moved his fingers in and out of her cunt. She reached her peak once again. She felt Maegor taking out the three fingers that were inside. She had thought that it was over but just then, Maegor inserted his entire hand into her cunt. She screamed so loudly that it almost burst Maegor's eardrums. But he did not care. He continued to do what he was doing. Soon enough, his wife reached her peak once again and shot a load of fluid right at him.

By this time, Maegor's bed looked so wet that a man would assume that someone had urinated on it.

Maegor took off his pants and let out his cock which looked like a snake which was ready to bite. His cock was painfully hard. He thrust it inside Lucinda's cunt and kept moving it in and out. He lifted her legs and put them on his shoulders for better access. Within no time, his wife reached her peak. Maegor tightened his grip on her thighs and quickened his pace. Lucinda had no control of her throat anymore. Her sounds of pleasure were echoing in the corridors. She screamed as she peaked again.

Maegor loosened his grip a little and taking advantage of that, she tried to pull down her legs from his shoulders. But Maegor tightened his grip, not letting her move. He kept thrusting her as deeper as he reached his own peak of pleasure and spilled his seeds into her womb. Lucinda stayed still so that his seeds may take root.

..

..

..

..

To be continued

[thecrowskitten]

Kitten

Pairing: Sylus/OC (Ameris)

Summary:

Sylus can't hold back anymore, he needs Ameris close to him.

Masterlist

Word count: 3,670

***

No sun greeted the N109 Zone, leaving time to slip through grasping fingers like sand. Shadows stretched endlessly, artificial lighting the only reprieve from the perpetual gloom. Ameris spent her days confined to the guest room, a space as lavish as it was suffocating. The silken sheets clung to her skin like a second layer, expensive and soft, yet foreign. Everything in the room was tailored to her, down to the pink and gold accents mirroring her apartment in Linkon City. Every detail whispered a truth she didn’t want to acknowledge—Sylus had been watching her for longer than she could have ever realized.

The poison had left her system within a day, but its aftermath lingered. Fatigue anchored her to the bed, pulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep. The butterfly rash faded under the steroid cream he had so conveniently placed on the nightstand, yet the stiffness in her joints remained, dull and persistent. At first, rest was a relief, but isolation soon became unbearable. She longed for the hum of city life, for real sunlight rather than the sterile glow of false illumination.

Sylus was a presence that hovered at the edge of her awareness, brief and unreadable. He entered only to ensure she ate and took her medication—a tray of food placed beside her, a book left for entertainment, a quiet insistence that she follow the routine. He lingered just long enough to watch her take the pills, his presence more obligation than comfort. She tested him, prodding at the boundary he had built between them, but he never gave her anything beyond necessity. Once satisfied, he settled into the armchair across from her, eyes scanning the pages of a novel titled Life After Becoming a Mafia Boss, avoiding her gaze. If she asked him something personal, he merely smirked, turned a page, and let the silence stretch. The moment she finished, he was gone. 

When Sylus was absent, Luke or Kieran took his place, their presence just as fleeting. It was a routine that became predictable, and Ameris despised it.

The day she was well enough to stand without feeling like her legs would give out, she dressed in the clothing left in the dresser—designer alternatives to her usual wardrobe, the fabric soft and expensive. The weight of the garments felt curated, as if he had personally ensured they would suit her. Pulling her curls into a ponytail, she stepped into the unknown halls of Onychinus’ base.

The corridors stretched before her, sleek marble underfoot, dim lighting casting elongated shadows against the walls. Expensive art lined the halls—vivid reds and deep blues clashing against the dark, refined aesthetic. Each brushstroke carried a story, some canvases filled with abstract chaos, others haunted by stark depictions of the N109 Zone’s decay. She paused in front of one, fingers ghosting over the gilded frame. The cityscape stared back, both as it once was and as it had become. No signatures marked the paintings, and thought took root—were these commissioned, or had Sylus himself captured these moments?

A murmur of voices cut through the stillness. One belonged to Sylus, his unmistakable baritone smooth and unwavering, amusement curling at the edges of his words. The other was unfamiliar, its tone clipped, used to command.

Curiosity won over caution. She approached the slightly ajar door where Luke and Kieran stood guard. They met her gaze, their masked faces revealing nothing, but they didn’t stop her. Silent permission. Ignoring their warning gestures, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The study was lined with towering bookshelves, the scent of aged pages mingling with whiskey and something distinctly Sylus. He lounged in a wine-red chair behind a sleek obsidian desk, posture relaxed yet calculated. The glass in his hand caught the dim light as he brought it to his lips, those ruby eyes finding her instantly. Across from him sat a man in a black suit, sharp gray eyes narrowing in displeasure at the intrusion.

Ameris felt the weight of scrutiny as the man’s gaze swept over her, lingering where the loose sweater draped over her frame, where the joggers hugged her form.

Sylus set down his glass and extended a hand toward her, an unspoken command she had no choice but to follow. The moment she reached him, he pulled her into his lap with practiced ease. A sharp inhale caught in her throat, but she masked her surprise, keeping her expression composed even as his grip settled firmly around her waist, his free hand trailing the curve of her jaw.

“Well,” he murmured, voice rich with amusement, “Kitten, you’re out of bed.”

Her glare was sharp, but he only smirked, his thumb brushing the hollow of her throat before sliding down to rest against her collarbone. His touch was possessive yet effortless as if he had always known the shape of her. She should have recoiled. Should have pushed him away. But there was something unnervingly familiar in the way he held her as if her body had already memorized the feel of him long before her mind could recall it.

“This is unexpected,” the suited guest observed, his gaze flickering between them, calculating. “I was under the impression she wasn’t—”

“She wasn’t,” Sylus interjected, voice light but edged with finality. “But you see, it would be cruel of me to keep my Kitten locked away when she’s been lost for so long.”

A side glance warned her to stay silent, and she obeyed. Instead, her eyes traced the sharp lines of Sylus’ profile—the elegant slope of his nose, the aristocratic refinement of his jaw, the way the dim lighting cast shifting shadows over his high cheekbones. His features were carved with an unnatural symmetry, something both human and not. Even in stillness, he exuded a quiet predatory grace, like a blade poised for the perfect strike.

Then, without warning, he leaned in.

His lips brushed against the curve of her neck, a whisper of warmth against her skin. The barest hint of pressure sent a ripple through her, but it wasn’t the present that consumed her—it was something else. Something old.

The air thickened. Heat wrapped around her, stifling and electric. The scent of smoke and ozone filled her lungs, firelight reflecting against polished obsidian scales. Massive wings unfurled, their shadow swallowing the chamber whole. Ruby eyes glowed from the darkness, watching her with a hunger that was not human.

Her fingers ghosted over hardened scales, black as the abyss yet gleaming with an unnatural sheen. The creature loomed over her, immense and powerful, its form both terrifying and achingly familiar. It had touched her before. Claimed her before. 

You are mine, it had said, voice a deep rumble that resonated in her bones. You always have been. 

Her vision snapped back. The study returned in a blink, Sylus’ breath still warm against her skin, his presence lingering like a shadow, his gaze fixed on the very spot where phantom fangs had once pressed.

Ameris swallowed, her pulse erratic. Her fingers barely brushed the fresh mark he had left, heat rising to her cheeks against her will. He had found her sweet spot with ease as if this was something they had done countless times before.

His grip on her knee tightened slightly, his voice a low murmur against her ear, lips ghosting over the cold metal of her piercings. “Something wrong, Kitten?”

“No, I’m alright.” The lie slipped easily, her tone calm even as her mind churned. Not yet. Not now. She wasn’t ready to acknowledge what had just happened.

Instead, she leaned into his touch, her head settling in the crook of his neck. She didn’t know who Sylus had been to her. She didn’t know what history existed between them. But right now, in this moment, she knew one thing with certainty—

He would keep her safe.

***

“Do you want to tell me what that was about?” Ameris inquired, her voice deceptively even as she stared at the empty chair where the suited man had sat moments before. Black smoke curled from the edges of the seat, Sylus’ Evol dissipating into the air as though it were ink dissolving in water.

“I killed him.” The words left Sylus’ mouth as easily as an exhale as if it were the most natural conclusion to the meeting.

His hand still rested at her waist, fingers splayed, an anchor that neither held her in place nor let her go. Ameris didn’t move. Instead, she reached up, brushing her fingers along the sharp cut of his jaw before gripping his chin and forcing him to look at her.

A flicker of something passed through his eyes—surprise, amusement, something deeper that vanished behind careful detachment. His lips parted slightly, but he said nothing, watching her with quiet curiosity.

“You’re getting bold, Kitten,” Sylus murmured, his voice dropping into something indulgent. He didn’t resist her touch, allowing her to tilt his chin, ruby eyes locked onto hers, searching, daring.

“Just playing your game, Boss Man.” Her tone was smooth and effortless, but there was weight behind her words, an unspoken challenge between them.

He smirked. “You killed him. Just like that.”

The corner of Sylus’ lips curled, a ghost of satisfaction there. “Surprised?”

“I shouldn’t be,” she admitted. Her fingers slipped from his chin, and his grip at her waist tightened—not restraining, not stopping, just reminding. “I know the kind of person you are.”

His smirk deepened, amused. “Oh? Do tell.”

Ameris narrowed her eyes slightly, the shift in his demeanour was unmistakable. He was enjoying their little game, and Ameris’ ability to match his energy. The tension between them grew with each word, and each action, increasing the stakes every second. 

She exhaled sharply, shifting in his lap, but he didn’t release her. Instead, his fingers traced absent patterns at her waist. The touch was light and deliberate, the soft fabric of her sweater the only barrier between her bare skin and his hand. 

“You barely even spoke to him,” she pressed, willing herself to ignore how her pulse betrayed her. “Why was he here?”

Sylus leaned back against the chair, his posture still impossibly relaxed, but she wasn’t fooled. Every movement, every breath was calculated. “He was an Ever representative.”

Her gaze flickered to the whiskey glass he had abandoned, the ice melting into the amber liquid.

“They’re getting desperate,” he continued, watching her reaction closely. “They wanted to negotiate terms. Something about a peaceful arrangement—ensuring no further ‘unnecessary conflict’ between us.” He paused, deliberating what to say next before deciding it was better to say it: “Told me I’d be compensated handsomely if I handed you over.”

She had known Ever was circling, that their eyes were on her. But hearing it like this, from him, twisted something in her stomach. They weren’t just watching anymore, they were beginning to act. 

“You didn’t take the deal.”

Sylus arched a brow, slow and unbothered. “We struck a deal, sweetie. You’re mine.”

His fingers spread slightly against her side, just enough for her to feel the weight of his words. He wasn’t holding her there, but he was making a point.

She swallowed back the heat curling low in her stomach, meeting his gaze with an even one of her own. “They won’t stop just because you killed their Envoy.”

“They won’t.” His fingers tapped idly against her side, a slow, steady rhythm. “But I sent a message.”

Sylus’ Evol still lingered in the air, faint yet present. It remained the only proof that man ever existed, his death a symbol of quiet, ruthless efficiency. It should have unsettled her, it did unsettle her, though beneath that unease was a sliver of relief. 

Sylus eyed her carefully. “You’re not afraid.”

Ameris inhaled, slow and measured, feeling the weight of his gaze press into her like gravity. She had known fear before—had faced the unknown, the powerful, the unrelenting. Yet here, with him, there was no terror. 

She shook her head. “Fear isn’t something I’ve been able to afford since the attack fourteen years ago. Besides, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that you would do anything to keep me by your side.”

His breath hitched, so subtle that if she hadn’t been this close, she wouldn’t have noticed. Sylus found his resolve slipping with her this close to him. Ameris was as magnetic as she was when they first met, her sense of neutrality when first getting to know someone a refreshing change from the immediate judgement from the rest of the world. Already, Sylus could tell she saw him for who he was, not for the things he’s done. He was falling in love with her all over again. 

A slow, pleased hum rumbled in his chest, deep enough that she felt it against her own. His grip on her waist loosened, fingertips sliding away, granting her space.

“I would burn the world down if it meant having you by my side forever,” he murmured.

She should have moved then. Should have put distance between them, and reclaimed the space that had been theirs before this moment. But something inside her told her to stay, another memory bubbling just below the surface

The memory earlier—flickering firelight, the scent of embers and something ancient, the brush of obsidian scales against bare skin—echoed at the edges of her mind, clawing for acknowledgment. Ameris wanted to know more. Wanted nothing more than to discover who Sylus was to her, and who she was to him. 

Sylus exhaled through his nose, amused. “I wonder, Kitten…” He leaned in, voice brushing over her ear, low enough that only she could hear. “Would you have stopped me?”

Ameris pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.

“No.”

“Good,” Sylus said, eyes narrowing as his fingers brushed over the mark he’d left on her neck, his Evol causing it to form into a wyvern, before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Then get dressed.” 

Ameris blinked, momentarily thrown off by the abrupt shift in tone. “Excuse me?”

He leaned back against the chair, retrieving his whiskey glass with a lazy grace. “We have somewhere to be.”

“Where?” Ameris raised an eyebrow, hating the idea of going in blind. 

Sylus took a slow sip, savouring the taste before answering. “An auction. And before you protest—yes, you’re coming with me.”

Ameris narrowed her eyes, suspicion curling in her chest. “Wasn’t going to protest anything, but why?”

His gaze darkened, sharp and unreadable. “Because I want Ever to see exactly who they failed to take from me.”

She exhaled through her nose, frustration simmering beneath the surface. It wasn’t a request. It never was with him. Still, as she slid off his lap and turned toward the door, she felt the weight of his eyes following her, the ghost of his touch lingering against her skin.

***

Sitting at the vanity in the bedroom, Ameris struggled to pull her hair into a simple updo as she got ready for the auction. Sylus had given her an hour to get dressed, a prepared outfit neatly folded at the foot of her bed. She did a quick, yet elegant, makeup look before trying to figure out her hair. While she managed to keep her curls tamed, it was always difficult to keep them in place when tied back in more than just a simple ponytail. Her shaky hands didn’t help, the lack of grip strength and stability causing her to nearly give up. 

“Sit still,” Sylus commanded, suddenly appearing behind her. His fingers raked through her hair, leading Ameris to settle hers in her lap. She didn’t want to admit it, but she loved the feeling of his hands in her hair—the way they worked with a precision she hadn’t expected, the warmth of his touch grounding her, despite the mounting pressure of the evening. 

“I don’t recall asking for your help.” Ameris stared into the mirror, watching as Sylus worked her hair into two braids before settling the rest of her hair into a low bun, leaving the shorter strands at the front to frame her face. 

“I’m just here to ensure you look perfect, sweetie,” Sylus let his hands trail down her neck, before settling onto her shoulders. He leaned down on the side where his mark lay clear as day – now resembling a tattoo in black ink. It looked as though it was flying up towards her ear, wanting to grab the simple ruby teardrop earrings Sylus had left for her to wear. “Come, it’s time we go.” 

“What? No compliment?” Ameris arched her brow. She inspected his handiwork, impressed with how tight he managed to make the braids. His skill was unexpected, the style perfectly symmetrical without a single hair out of place. Sylus held a hand out to Ameris impatiently, leading her to take it and finally test the new shoes that adorned her feet. the heels were surprisingly comfortable and suited the dress well with the gold chain and red rubies to decorate it. 

“It suits you,” He said with a straight face, looking her up and down. He involuntarily bit his lip as his gaze settled on her bust, pulling out a simple ruby brooch and fastening it onto the left side, near the dress’s strap. “No one can stay wary when there’s a beauty walking around.” 

“Hmph,” Ameris looked at the two of them in the full-length mirror. “This beauty will bash your skull sooner or later.” 

Sylus chuckled, inspecting every inch of her closely. She noticed how gentle his touch was, how he looked at her. Sylus’s lips curved into a slow, almost predatory smile, but his eyes betrayed something more than just desire. There was something softer there, something deeper, almost like tenderness mixed with the heat of his want. He didn’t just want her, though that much was painfully clear. There was an intensity in his gaze that said more, something raw and powerful—a connection that, for a moment, felt like more than the game they played.

His hand brushed the side of her face, his fingers trailing slowly down her neck, lingering just above the mark he’d left on her skin. His touch was almost too tender, his thumb grazing the pulse point beneath her jaw. She could feel it—the warmth of his gaze, the burn of his touch—but she couldn’t allow herself to believe it. 

“I don’t need to remind you, Ameris,” he murmured, his voice hushed, full of dark promise. “You belong to me.” His words were possessive, his lips barely touching her ear as they lingered in the silence between them.

Her chest tightened at the weight of his statement, but it was the look in his eyes that made her stomach flip, that made her heart beat just a little too fast. He was looking at her like no one ever had. Not just with lust, not just with the hunger of someone claiming what they wanted, but with a depth of feeling she wasn’t prepared to face. There was something else in his gaze. Something akin to love.

But no. She couldn’t believe it. Not from him. Not from Sylus. His lust was undeniable, and she understood it, recognized it, revelled in it—but he couldn’t be in love with her. Not when she was dying. 

She shook her head imperceptibly, clenching her jaw as if to force herself to deny it, to push aside that feeling in her chest, the small, dangerous voice that whispered it might be real.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” she said, her voice sharp, as she pulled away from him slightly, keeping her back straight, her expression cool. He chuckled, the sound low and dark, a breath of amusement that came too easily from him. But even as he smirked, the tenderness never left his eyes. 

“You can tell yourself that all you want,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He chuckled, the sound low and dark, a breath of amusement that came too easily from him. But even as he smirked, the tenderness never left his eyes. “But I know you, Ameris. I see what you are trying to hide. You’ve always belonged to me, you just don’t remember it yet.” 

His hand slid from her shoulder down her arm, the contact lingering, possessive in a way that sent a jolt through her. Ameris stiffened, her body reacting before she could force herself to stay calm. She met his gaze once more, trying to find something to counter his words, something to mask the truth of what she was feeling, but his eyes... those eyes full of lust, of longing, of that unspoken love... it all made her want to break away, run, but she couldn’t. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she forced the words out, trying to shove down the rising tide of emotions. 

“You don’t know me,” she said, her voice cold, her tone steady despite the chaos building inside her. Sylus’s smile widened, and there was something unshakably sure in his expression, a quiet certainty that unsettled her. 

“Maybe not. But I will,” he said, stepping closer, his body only inches from hers now. “And one day, you’ll realize it too.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing just above her ear. “You’ll understand that you don’t have to fight it. You belong to me, as much as I belong to you.”

Ameris’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she could almost believe it—believe in the love behind those words, the way his touch was a promise, not just a demand. It scared her more than the danger they were about to enter, bringing Ameris to pull back sharply, breaking the connection, her eyes hardening as she looked at him with a practiced coldness. 

“Let’s get this over with,” she said, her voice firm. “We have an auction to attend.”

[interessanne]

Beneath the Emperor´s gaze

Masterlist - Chapter Three

Chapter 2

Pairing - Caracalla x fem! OC

Summary - At a grand banquet Liva catches Caracalla's unsettling gaze. When she serves him wine his touch linger deliberately. Geta taunts him, but Caracalla only smirks. Calling it an ''Eye for quality.'' As laughter fills the room Livia retreats, sensing that this was just the beginning.

Warning - none

The banquet was a spectacle of indulgence, the kind only emperors could command. It was held in the grand triclinium of the palace, a vast chamber where marble columns stretched toward vaulted ceilings painted with images of Jupiter among the clouds. Golden lamps flickered from every surface, casting a warm glow over the sea of nobles reclining on couches draped in silk. The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted peacock, honeyed dates, and the ever present scent that clung to the palace walls. It was not just a feast it was a display. A declaration of Rome's wealth, its dominance and its ability to turn excess into art.

Senators lounged beside generals, their laughter mixing with the music of harps and flutes. Golden goblets never ran dry as servants were darting between guests to pour the Falernian wine that gleamed like rubies in the firelight. Slave girls were dressed in garments so sheer they might as well have been mist they moved among them offering platters of delicacies like figs stuffed with spiced nuts, oysters drenched in vinegar and fish so perfectly roasted their flesh slid from the bone with the slightest touch.

At the center of it all was a grand table adorned with polished bronze platters piled high with exotic fruits and meats from every corner of the empire. There were pheasants roasted in their own feathers, stuffed dormice glazed with honey and poppy seeds, and eels fattened on figs their flesh melting on the tongue. The air was thick with the heady perfume of spiced garum mingling with the scent of crushed rose petals scattered across the floor.

It was a night of revelry and indulgence where Rome's elite whispered secrets between bites, where alliances were forged and broken over spilled wine and where even the smallest glance could hold the weight of power.

And at the head of it all, like gods among mortals sat Caracalla and Geta. Two emperors. Two wolves forced to share a throne.

Caracalla lounged lazily, one arm draped over the back of his couch. His tunic of deep crimson pooling over his lap. His cloak embroidered with golden laurels was thrown carelessly over one shoulder, the lion-headed brooch barely keeping it in place. His sandals were polished and but well worn and rested heavily against the marble floor as he leaned into the conversation. He had the look of a man both bored and entertained at once, his dark eyes flickering between the guests, searching for something or someone to amuse him.

At times he laughed too loudly at his own jokes, his smirk curling in a way that made those around him laugh as well, though none dared to show hesitation. His fingers, adorned with rings of emerald and onyx, tapped idly against the golden rim of his goblet a restless habit.

There was something unsteady about him, something that made even the most confident senators glance his way with veiled caution. He could be foolish mocking, taunting, toying with those around him as though they were pieces in a game only he understood. But beneath that humor lurked something far more dangerous. There was cruelty in his gaze, a glint of sadism beneath his smirks. The ease with which he switched between amusement and something darker made those around him tread carefully never sure when he might turn his attention on them.

Geta, by contrast was the image of composed authority. His tunic was a deep blue, its edges embroidered in silver and every fold of fabric precisely arranged. Unlike his brother, he did not sprawl or smirk. He sat with the ease of a man accustomed to power but unwilling to indulge in excess. His golden bracelets caught the torchlight as he sipped his wine, his eyes sharp, calculating, watching everything. If Caracalla was a storm wild and chaotic then Geta was the blade that cut through it. Cold. Precise. Dangerous in his own way.

Though they ruled together the tension between them was a silent pulse beneath the revelry. It was there in the way they spoke, in the way Caracalla's jokes at Geta's expense carried just a little too much bite, in the way Geta's smile never quite reached his eyes. The room knew it. The guests knew it. And yet they all pretended not to.

And tonight Livia was among them. She had worked in the palace for months, but never in the emperor's presence. Her tasks had been confined to the lower halls, the kitchens, the storerooms, the quiet corridors where servants whispered amongst themselves so far removed from the world of rulers and gods. But tonight the steward of the household had deemed her ready.

"The emperors tolerate no mistakes," the steward had warned as he examined her with the cold detachment of a man inspecting a new horse. "Your hands must not tremble. Your eyes must not wander. You are to be silent, unseen. Do you understand?" Livia had nodded. She understood better than anyone how to disappear.

And yet, standing here in the great banquet hall surrounded by the glint of gold and the weight of marble columns she felt something unfamiliar pressing against her ribs. Anticipation or perhaps dread. She stepped forward, balancing a silver tray in her hands. A goblet filled to the brim with the finest vintage rested at its center. Her task was simple serve and retreat.

She approached the head of the table, careful to weave between the lounging nobles, careful not to brush against the silk-draped arms of women who would sneer at the mere sight of her.As she neared Caracalla, she thought she felt his gaze on her before she even reached him.

At first, she thought she had imagined it. But when she looked up just for a fraction of a second his dark eyes met hers. Livia's breath caught. Not curiosity. Not indifference. Something else.

She lowered her gaze immediately, but not before she saw the way his expression changed. A flicker of recognition. Had he seen her before? Not just in passing but truly noticed her? Her fingers tightened around the tray. One movement, one smooth tilt of her wrist, and the goblet was in her hand.

Caracalla wasn't looking at her anymore. Not at first. But as she bent forward to present the wine, his gaze flicked upward once more. His fingers brushed against hers. It was not an accident and Livia did not move.

She felt the roughness of his fingertips, the faint scrape of skin against skin, and the deliberate slowness of the gesture. They lingered for a heartbeat too long before the weight of the goblet was lifted from her grasp.

A test. A warning. She stepped back, barely breathing.

Geta, watching lazily from across the table, gave a knowing smirk. "Are even the servants now subject to your scrutiny, brother?" he murmured, his voice carrying just enough for those closest to hear. His tone was light, amused but his eyes held something sharper.

Caracalla did not immediately answer. He lifted the goblet to his lips taking a long, slow sip before lowering it again. Then without looking away from Livia's retreating figure, he finally spoke. "Perhaps I simply have an eye for quality." Laughter rippled through the senators, a few glancing at Livia with renewed interest before turning back to their own conversations.

Livia forced her feet to keep moving disappearing into the sea of servants. Her heart thrummed against her ribs like the beat of a war drum. She had done nothing wrong. And yet, something had shifted in the air. Something unspoken. Something inevitable.

She knew, with a terrible certainty that this would not be the last time the emperor looked at her.

[xxfaithlynxx]

Rubies and Shooting Stars

Pirate!Sylus x OC!Aria Harglow

ENJOY the next installment!

NOT PROOFREAD!

Please DON'T steal or plagiarize my work. Much appreciated! As always. ~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3:

I was enjoying my morning basking in the rays of the sun within our father’s library, reading one of my favorite romance novels. The corners of its pages frayed from how oft the pages had been turned, the binding had begun to wear out, so I’d sheathed the leather cover and spine with another layer. I wasn’t about to lose this book, even if I had to add honey between each page to keep it together, I would.

Caleb arrived surrounded by our cook, René, a tired looking but kind old fellow with an accent that made him sound pomp and above all. His personality, once getting to know him was anything but. Beside the cook and my brother were our two butlers, Wil and Grégoire. Also, on the older side of the coin. The four men burst into the room, causing me to jump, near dropping my beloved book, while they bantered back and forth before all, but Caleb stepped back and tipped their heads forward, argument or... whatever it had been, forgotten as Caleb’s eyes settled on me. I’d not paid much attention through my shock of their entry for what they’d been bickering about.

Sitting in a gleaming robin’s egg blue sarong, I felt my cheeks redden as those same purplish eyes, my mother’s eyes, narrowed as they took in the fabric artfully draped around me while I half lay on the lounge beneath the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, book in hand, and hair falling over one shoulder, small coils and curls of the same ash blonde my mother once had, gleaming in the sunlight.

The silence stretched for an uncomfortable length of time before my mouth couldn’t handle his stare any longer, “Brother, we could request a portrait to be done if you’d like to stare for much longer. What do you need?” My voice sounded far more level than my mind was, I detested being stared at, especially by him. I just knew he’d scrutinize something regarding my chosen outfit, or my hair, my skin, my expression, my lack of decorum. Tedious male…. I watched as his eyes flashed momentarily.

“The outfit brings out your eyes, dear sister. You look more like our beloved mother every day; may she be at peace.” Well, I wasn’t expecting THAT. I blinked, the list of snide remarks dying on my tongue. “I’d… or rather, we’d just been discussing out next little event.” He cast a glance over his shoulder, toward René and the butlers, when I flicked my gaze beyond Caleb, the older gents smiled kindly at me before nodding.

Event? Oh, joy. “Event, you say. What kind of soiree have you befit the house of the Duke this time, dear brother?” I glared at Caleb, he knew I detested anything to do with society, my coming-of-age ball had been strongly argued upon until I was told it was a necessity and that my non-attendance would bring great shame upon the House of Harglow. Shame upon my father… which I wouldn’t stand for, so I’d accepted. Now what was the little fop up to? I thought to myself as I watched a slow rise in color paint my brother’s cheeks.

“You… were…” I watched his jaw working, like he was trying not to throw up, what was happening? “You were right. There, I said it. I was too… mother-hen about the guest list of your coming-of-age ball… and I wanted to rectify my egregious actions that night by offering a ‘do-over’ as it were.”

A ghastly, and extremely unladylike sound rattled from my nose. Did I just snort?! Caleb’s mouth fell open, as well as the other men in the room. I couldn’t help it, the laughter and incredulity burst from my chest in gut wrenching sounds of amusement. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes as I doubled over on the chaise, book resting on the cushion at my hip, my arms now having to hold myself around my waist. “Ari! Control yourself!” I could hear the command in his tone, but there was also amusement in his voice, and through the slits in my wet eyes, I saw the stutters at the corners of his mouth as he desperately tried not to grin back, he’d told me that my laugh was as contagious as a yawn.

Coughing softly as I forced my left hand up to cover my mouth, and then press to my chest, while my right came up to wipe away crystalline tears from my waterlines, I smiled at Caleb. “Oh, brother mine, you know to make me laugh.” As I calmed down, a look of seriousness fell over Caleb’s still splotchy face. Oh no… “You… you are joking, yes? Please, for all the apricot tarts in the kitchen… please tell me that you are indeed joking, brother.” Growing up, those tarts were our bargaining chips for everything, be it getting out of trouble together or offering our shares to the other to hide our misdeeds. My dear brother, my oh so sweet and dear brother… oh how I currently dislike thee. The man was a storm, a relentless coxcomb storm.

“I am afraid he is not, my dear daughter.” I froze, my body taking over ahead of my mind as I stood from my seat and dipped into a curtsey as my father entered the room.

Caleb stepped back, hands now clasped behind his back as he bowed forward a fraction at the hip, before my father strode up to me. He wore his usual dark knee-breeches, puffed at the knee to accommodate his high black leather riding boots. As I rose from my curtsey, I took in the rest of his ensemble. A black and silver waistcoat, done up by a single button over his middle. A soft gray shirt, with puffy sleeves cuffed at the wrists, and finally his white cravat, done in such a way to make his neck seem longer as he stood to his full height. Mother was a tall woman, and father is also quite tall… as is Caleb, where is my height? I questioned myself but cut the thought off when I saw my father smiling down at me. His eyes, my eyes, sparkling down at me. “Father….” I started, but stopped, my mouth clamping shut as I felt something heavy weigh my voice down within my chest.

“Wil, if you please.” My father asked, and I watched as our youngest butler of at least forty-five stepped forward, producing a stack of small notes from a pocket within his waistcoat. He nodded his head, after handing them to my father. “Caleb brought it to my attention, my little melody, that there were a number of young gentlemen that felt spurned for having not been able to dance or garner your attention the night of the ball, and all have sent invitations for luncheons, promenades, and of course visits.” I balked. All of them? “So, Caleb and I, thought it prudent to potentially, instead of running through the list one by one, instead simply host another event. As Caleb said, a ‘do-over’.” He reached out with the hand that held all the notes, and I felt my arm stretch to receive them. Damnit….

~~~~~~

“What’s the deal, Zay… Boss has been off his game lately.” One of the red headed twins asked as they lay across one of the galley tables, flipping a dart in hand, Zayne made a mental note as he ran a cloth over another table’s surface. Right, Kieran… the dart maker. The other twin popped his head over the same table, jostling his brother a bit so the dart fell tip down into the wood next to his shoulder. And that’d be Luke… the troublemaker of the two. “Fucker.” Kieran growled just as his brother dropped off the seat and rolled underneath the table, avoiding the now swinging arms of his counterpart.

“Yeah, what’s up! We’ve been stuck at this port for weeks… with nothing to do.” Luke draped himself across the table that Zayne had just cleaned. The red heads were getting on his final nerves these days.

“It’s Captain to you, and he’s… procuring something.” Luke and Kieran shared a look, wagging their eyebrows, “Don’t get any ideas, you two. He’ll be back when he’s back, and then we’ll get to go home. For now, we stay here… and take care of the ship.” Zayne threw them both a look but drilled his gaze into Luke’s head. “We. Stay. Here. Got it?” He’d been relegated to babysitting the boys since they’d set a fire in an alleyway a day or so prior, and the Captain hadn’t taken very kindly to those two bringing attention to his ship and crew.

They both rolled their eyes and answered in unison, sitting down on the bench seat of the table Kieran had been sprawled on, like they did eerily often, “Yes, Sir.”

~~~

The captain in question, was standing outside of a nearby jewelry shop, just up the main path from the docks, pretending to window shop as he eyed the young woman inside. His eyes roved over her form; her dress today was a simple empire cut gown. Gathered around her shoulder were puffy silver sleeves that stopped just shy of her underarms, he nearly drooled at the sight of her cleavage, not near as ample as some of the ladies he’d seen at the brothel Philip had taken him too, but still delicious looking. He had to start taking deeper breathes to keep himself composed, lest he rush in the building just to drag his tongue over her soft looking flesh just below her collarbone. The skirt started just beneath her bust, falling directly to the surface of the floor, her little slippers poking through the edge of the hem whenever she took a step. His traitorous imagination momentarily pictured her with those pink pearl-colored skirts around her waist, his mouth working between her legs.

He smirked to himself as he felt a rush of heat surge into his ears and further south, and he canted his head forward, feeling the brim of his hat touch the surface of the glass. He murmured to himself, “Get a bloody grip.” When his eyes returned to her form through the window, he took a deep breathe and decided he needed to quit the area soon before he did something drastic… and less than gentlemanly. Not that I am one….

And yet, he remained. His eyes glued to her as she seemed to be gushing over a pair of ruby set earrings, she’d tried on to show her little brown bob haired friend. Mm… those seem familiar. He thought to himself as his reflection came into view, his eyes staring back at him, focusing his eyes again, he tilted his head as he wondered, having seen the little dove’s bedroom, he would’ve thought purple was her go to color, but maybe… red was her color of choice. He’d certainly thought the burgundy she’d wore to her ball had fit her in a more elegant, siren type of way.  Inhaling heavily through his nose and taking one final longing glance into the window just as she went up to the counter to purchase those ruby earrings, he took a deep breath and began to turn to walk away. I’d like to see her only those earrings…. He froze mid-step as she suddenly turned, her eyes meeting his.

His heart nearly stopped, and as much as he wanted to stay, talk to her, get to know her, hear her voice speaking directly to him. He knew his body was betraying him to the highest degree and he didn’t know if he trusted himself right now, even though he knew he’d never compromise her in such a way, no matter what. A sudden thought came to mind, and as she turned to thank the madam behind the counter, he turned and fled. I have a call to make….

~~~~~~

“T-thank you, ma’am.” I’d felt like someone had been watching me since the moment Tara and I had wandered into this shop, and granted I couldn’t have been sure it was the man in the dark attire who stood outside the window to the shop, or someone else, but those eyes… his eyes… they were as red as the earrings I’d just purchased.

“I’m glad you found something to match the dress, Ari! You’re going to look stunning at your next ball!” Tara’s arm slid through mine, fingers clasping my elbow as we too slowly made our way to the front door of the little shop. I’d near run out, but was too stunned by what I saw to make my body cooperate properly. “Are you okay? You seem tense.”

We exited the shop, and I swung my head around, looking for the man I’d seen through the front glass. Where did he go? “I – I… I think….” I paused, what did I think? Those eyes…. I’d been so stunned and rendered breathless, I’d forgotten to take stock of the way his shoulders were, his height… the things I’d memorized the other day as I swore, he walked away from me.

“Ari? What are you looking for?”

“I have no idea.” I finally answered her, my voice barely a whisper as my mind conjured up the image of his eyes, looking right at me. My answer wasn’t a lie, I truly had no idea… he may have been just a passerby looking into the shop, he may not have been even looking at me, maybe something in the window caught his eye. Had he been looking at me? Through me?

I heard Tara make a sound next to me, and when I looked, and I found her smiling behind her hand at me, causing me to blush out of nowhere before biting my lip, only to give into my own fit of giggles alongside her. “You worry me, dear Ari.”

“I worry myself, Tar.” I winked at her before we fell into step next to one another and headed back up the hill of the district, back towards my home.

“So, you were telling me something about how Caleb and His Grace were having some ‘make-up’ soiree for you?” She asked me, I’d been hoping going into that shop would make her forget I’d mentioned it. It’d slipped out on accident.

I sighed heavily, “Yes, apparently, since Caleb admitted that he was of fault for the lack of suitors during the first ball… he and my father spoke, and they want to have another one.” I rolled my eyes skyward. Caleb had mentioned that there was heresy going around about, having originated amongst the shadier ladies of this society, how I was the one who snubbed the men who’d been invited, so the fault obviously fell on my shoulders. Of course….

“That is thrilling, no? I can not wait to see how your brother muddles that one up.” I had to give her smile, for how much I knew she truly liked Caleb, she was always picking on him.

“I suppose we shall see, the invitations were sent out this morning, I know nothing of the guest list, but I am assuming your brother received one, by extension, you.” I nudged her with my elbow as we made our way along one of the many garden lanes leading to my home. Villa, Estate, whatever you wanted to call it. She smiled at me before we stopped in front of the massive metal gates leading into the grounds of my home. Tara rarely came on to the property, so this is typically where we parted ways. Secretly, I loved she let me have some time to myself. Such a good friend.

“I do hope to see you there.” I made sure to add some strain in my voice, You better come… I need my best friend there. I won’t survive without you! I screamed in my head.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” She winked at me before casting her signature shit eating grin, “We’ll be there! Ready to go, Bunny?” She turned to her lady’s maid who’d been walking a few paces behind with Nonny. The little freckled girl nodded, giving her a small smile before Tara gave my hand a squeeze and kept walking on.

I felt Nonny come up behind me and poke my shoulder, I turned and smiled at her. “You may go on ahead if you wish, Nonny. I’ll be okay from here.”

She nodded and turned to head in to the gate. I took an extra moment to watch Tara leave. A soft smile lifted my cheeks as I saw her wave her arms around while she talked to her lady’s maid. I knew the young girl was timid, but Tara’s contagious happiness brought just about anyone out of their shell. It’d worked on me.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to face the tall cast iron gates that lead to the stone pathway leading back home. Where I’m Caleb was eagerly waiting to hear of my outing on the town, see how many suitors stopped me in the street—which was a whopping none. I giggled internally, Caleb would never ask me those things, he’d probably pester me about… something or other.

Stepping through the bars of the gate instead of simply walking to the outer edge to the side gate, I stretched my arms above my head and begun the trek. As I walked, I let my mind wander. Past the sounds of the birds singing in the trees that lined the path. Beyond the wind that rustled the turning leaves and branches of each huge oak, or massive willow mass. Far beyond the stones and sand my sandals crunched over as I stepped. Directly into a set of ruby red eyes.

~~~

“My lady, you really shouldn’t wear nothing beneath your robe, it is most unbecoming.” Jen was back in full force. I sighed, tossing the robe aside before snatching the soft satin eggshell chemise from her outstretched hand and pulled the slip over my head, adjusting it beneath my arms so I was comfortable.

“There’s far more freedom sleeping in the nude, Jenny.” I winked at her and grinned when the usually stoic, straight faced lady’s maid blushed heavily, right up into her hairline. She’s either about to scold me, or about to combust… but which one. I tilted my head, and she closed her eyes, her lips pursed, one of her brows twitched. Oh, she’s annoyed.

“Why must you act so… improper, lady Ari… you are the daughter of His Grace the Duke, I humbly implore you to act as such, I highly doubt your late mother would approve of such behavior.” I sighed as she left my bedchambers, of course… she was right. Mother would not be as kind as Father has been with my tantrums. I am twenty-one now after all. I felt the heat prick the corners of my eyes and couldn’t help the petulant stomp of my foot against the ornate wood flooring.

I started pacing in my room, walking from one end of my balcony window to the other, one hand curved under my chin while the other was pressed beneath the other arm beneath my armpit. My brows furrowed as I mulled over the multitude of things my father and brother… and even Jenna had said to me in the past week and some. Had it truly already been a fortnight since my birthday? I stopped at the center of my window and turned to face the glass.

There was a waning moon tonight, that northeastern quadrant darkening. Even so, the glimmering stars hung brightly in the sky as I swung open the double doors and stepped out on to the stone tile. My arms wrapping around myself as I gazed up into the sky, the breeze cutting through the thin fabrics of my robe and chemise. Similarly to the night of the first ball, I walked to the edge of the railing and turned to stare up into the sky, arms loosening so I could rest my elbows against the surface. Glittering and twinkling, I stared at those cosmic giants, and they stared right back.

A stretch of light shot across the expanse of the ceiling of the sky, fading as fast it appeared. A small smile lifted my cheeks as I closed my eyes, sending my wish out into the void. The same void I so direly wanted to lose myself in, to experience and explore. To have the kind of freedom my soul desperately craved, the very reason I acted out. Why be shackled to a life of mundane banality when there was so much more out there to learn, to find and experience?

Opening my eyes once more, I nodded, hoping beyond hope that something… or someone out there could grant me my wish, but also knowing that that was highly improbable.

~~~~~~

He stood in the shadows, arms crossed over his chest. He’d been leaning against this wall for the better portion of an hour and the parts of his back that the stones dug into were beginning to ache something fierce. It must’ve been some sort of outbuilding to the main portion of the villa. Two thoughts crossed his mind as he stood, his crow perched atop his shoulder, staring up at the same balcony as he was. Her light was still lit, and he could still see movement within.

Should she not be in bed by now? Why do I care so much? Were his two most prominent thoughts, the latter being the one that haunted his mind, ever since the night he’d first spoke to her.

He heard his crow rumble beside his head, the corvid’s feathers ruffling as he cooed a purr into the night. Glancing back up at the balcony, he saw why. Absolutely gorgeous…. His arms fell to his sides as he saw her, staring up at the sky, much like she’d done that first night. She wore a white nightdress, or nightgown. The material shimmering in the dimming moonlight. Her hair was loose, falling down her back in waves of pure pearlescent silver, reflecting the soft golden hue of the moon, almost giving her an aura of the same pure gold. He felt his body take a step, not enough to move him into the moonlight, but enough to draw his attention away from her momentarily as he swallowed thickly before looking back up at her, and then up at the sky.

His jaw popped as his lips parted upon seeing the shimmer of the shooting star streaking across the skyline. A small smile pulling both corners of his mouth upward as his eyes snapped back to her, a soft hum of pleasure escaped him as he saw her eyes close, and her own soft smile grace her lips. Were you wishing for freedom, little one? Of course she was, what else would a caged dove wish for upon seeing the vast expanse of the starlit sky, other than flight.

With his eyes transfixed to her up on that balcony, he leaned back against the wall of the little outbuilding. Letting his mind wander back to earlier that afternoon.

“Gentleman caller for Lady Ari, Your Grace.” The butler had announced, bowing his graying head as he led the captain into a large library or study.

“Show him in.” I walked in, hands clasped behind my back, top hat perched between two fingers as I entered upon this Grégoire’s nod. “Thank you, Grégoire.” As I stood fixed in place, the butler made his exit. “Now, who might come to call on my beloved daughter?” The man claiming to be the father of my new horizon smiled kindly at me from behind a massive mahogany desk, piles of books and papers littered the expanse of its surface, several quills and inkwells lined the furthest edge, a single gilded quill was gripped between his thick fingers. A mustache that angled over a thick upper lip, curving around his mouth into a full beard, far whiter in color than the rest of his hair. I blinked, she had the same eyes.

Mentally, I berated myself for getting caught off-guard, “Your Grace, I am Captain Sylus Qin, and I am here, seeking your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

~~~~~~

[alearicci]

“she looks like a devil” – CL16

pairings: charles leclerc x oc!ann rhine

note: tysm for 35 readers, I'm very VERY happy and I am sure that this is just the beginning

part two?

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Ann Rhine stood in front of a full-length mirror in her lavishly appointed dressing room located in her penthouse. Before her exit to the car waiting for her downstairs, there was very little time left, and she took it to take one last look in the mirror and make sure that she looked good. And she looked really gorgeous.

Her long, loose brown locks were styled in elegant waves that fell easily over her shoulders. The light from the chandeliers above reflected off her perfectly manicured nails, which perfectly matched the ruby red shade of her lipstick and outfit. Her deep brown eyes, accentuated by smoky shadows, shone with anticipation of the upcoming evening.

Having changed her position, Ann could not help but appreciate her choice of evening attire. The dress was a real work of art, carefully selected from her personal collection of designer clothes. It clung to the curves of her perfect body in all the right places, emphasizing her slender figure and radiating sophistication. The dress had a deep neckline that effectively showed off her cleavage area, adding a touch of charm and passion to her image as a whole.

To complete her look, Ann chose a pair of sparkling diamond earrings that gracefully hung from her earlobes. The expensive diamonds were brilliantly cut, reflecting the light and casting a soft glow on her sharp collarbones. Her wrists were decorated with matching diamond bracelets, each of which reflected the light and added an additional touch to her overall image.

She couldn't help but feel excited and anxious as she prepared for the large-scale evening that awaited her today. It wasn't just a party; it was a special event, a charity event where celebrities from many walks of life graced the place to raise money from their visit for a good cause. The organizer was one of the most influential people in the world, which is why Ann's expectations were high. She was especially eager to see the Formula 1 drivers, because their names were also on the guest list.

Ann has attended races more than once because of sponsorship with one of the teams. Her father's company, which passed to her after his death, signed a large contract with AMG Mercedes, which is why she could often be seen in the paddock of this team. Especially, the journalists clung to the fact that she liked to spend time in the company of Lewis Hamilton. There were all kinds of headlines, they were credited with an affair, a fictitious marriage, divorce and many different things, but no one talked about the true reason. Lewis and Ann were very good friends.

And it was Lewis who instilled in her a love of racing. Of course, he very brazenly provided her with a cap with his racing number, which made the rumors grow even stronger around them, but not about that now. Ann really liked the atmosphere of racing, this adrenaline flowing through her veins, this riding at high speeds. She herself dreamed of getting behind the wheel of a car to feel this drive, but doing business did not give her the opportunity to live a little for herself.

When she received an invitation to attend this evening, she initially wanted to refuse, she has no time to attend such events, in principle, she is not a frequent guest of various parties. The duties of the director have other plans for her account. Her assistant convinced her to change her mind, because attending this event would be a good sign in the future PR company of Ann's organization. Therefore, I had to adjust the already tight schedule a little in order to smile and talk with the cream of society for several hours.

Shaking her head, dismissing the sudden thoughts that she might still write that she was ill and not go, Ann picked up her purse, turned off the light and hurriedly left the dressing room, heels clicking on the floor. After warning the housekeeper that she would arrive soon, the girl hurriedly headed for the luxury car.

The personal driver who saw her approach immediately got out of the car and opened the door for her to get in. She threw him a quiet "thank you" to which he nodded seriously and closed the door, returning to the driver's seat.

The whole trip passed in silence. Ann looked out the window and wondered if everyone invited would come. Their number exceeded fifty people, which could not surprise and terrify at the same time.

There were actors, singers, and many other celebrities. Ann wasn't supposed to be there at all, but Toto insisted that she be among the guests. After all, part of their team and part of their budget.

The car stopped in front of a majestic mansion. The red carpet was laid, there were too many photographers and journalists. There was already another car in front of them, which, as Ann realized, belonged to Pierre Gasly, the Alpine F1 team racer. His girlfriend Kika came with him and together they looked very cute and harmonious. The crowd immediately greeted them with enthusiastic sighs, and the photographers did not know how to touch each other in order to be closer to the Frenchman and make the best shots with him and his beloved.

Finally, it was Ann's turn to come out. James, her driver and bodyguard in one person, again helpfully helped her out and she, a little embarrassed, gracefully waved her fingers to everyone present. James offered her an elbow, which she accepted and they went inside.

"Miss, you look just fine. I'm sorry to break our contract of silence, but I couldn't help but say it."

"Thank you, James." Ann smiled gently and continued. "I'll leave you to have fun while I go say hello to the right people."

"Okay, miss, I'm here, remember that."

When they were inside the mansion, the energy in the room changed. The conversations subsided, heads turned, and all eyes were riveted on her exit. No one expected Ann Rhine to be there.

She herself did not expect this and smiled at everyone with the most affected smile in her life.

After examining those at the party, Ann noticed a lot of both familiar and completely unfamiliar faces. The look immediately found Lewis, as always, as if he had stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine, who, surprisingly, stood alone a little apart from everyone. Deciding to join an old acquaintance, Ann takes a glass of champagne and goes to Hamilton.

"Who do I see..."

"Oh my God, Ann!" Lewis exclaimed happily and hurried to hug his girlfriend. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, but did not touch it, so as not to stain it with red lipstick.

"Yes, it's me. I've missed you so much, champ."

***

Two more racers were standing not far from them. The two drivers of the Scuderia Ferrari are Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz. They had a relaxed and friendly conversation while the main celebration had not yet begun.

While Charles was talking to his close friend in the middle of a glamorous evening, his attention couldn't help but be drawn to Ann Rhine. His gaze involuntarily wandered in her direction, captivated by her undeniable beauty and charismatic presence.

When Carlos began to talk about the recent race, Charles found that his thoughts were moving again and again to Ann. He admired how easily she seemed to attract attention, and her aura seemed to radiate confidence and grace. Her every movement was graceful and refined, attracting the attention of everyone around her. He couldn't help but be intrigued by her attractive personality, a unique trait of many celebrities he met.

"It seems to me that if I had stormed later then, everything would have turned out differently."

"Or you would have met your favorite gravel," Charles finally replied and grinned, sipped some champagne from his glass.

"Buddy, don't make me throw the contents of this glass in your face... What do you think about the new updates?"

"I think they're... Mmm... Quite good"

While Charles continued to listen to his friend, his attention remained distracted. He couldn't help but glance at Ann, admiring how easily she blended in with the other guests, making an indelible impression on every person she talked to. Her alluring presence was mesmerizing, drawing people to her like a moth to a fire.

"Wait, who are you looking at so intently and why not at me?" Carlos turned around to look at the one his partner couldn't take his eyes off. "Aah... Ann Rhine. I didn't expect to see her here. Are you surprised too, since you can't take your eyes off her?"

The more Charles watched her from afar, the more his curiosity grew. He wondered what it would be like to share a deeper connection with someone as radiant as Ann. Her sincere smile combined with her intelligent conversation awakened the desire for meaningful communication among the whirlwind of the celebrity world.

"She's absolutely amazing, isn't she? I had the pleasure of talking to her earlier. She is not only beautiful, but also incredibly smart and witty. It's really nice to see her here."

"Really? What was it like talking to her?"

"To be honest, it was quite amazing and short-lived, as she had to return to her duties. Did you hear that a few years ago she had to take responsibility and continue her father's work? We had a great conversation about her work and life in general. I was genuinely impressed by its depth and authenticity."

"She seems to be older than you?"

"Yes, she's 29. Don't ask me how I know that."

"Oh. And she looks younger."

"I agree. But she's an insanely spectacular girl."

"I support it."

"So will you approach her? Or can I get ahead of you and spend the evening in her company?"

"You'll do fine, man. See, she's talking to Lewis."

"I see I have good eyesight. Well, you keep burning her with your eyes, and I'll go to the Lando. Haven't seen him for a long time." Carlos said and, clinking glasses with his friend, hurried to Norris.

Charles had no choice but to temporarily occupy himself with looking at either Ann or the champagne bubbles in his glass.

Finally, fortunately for him, Ann was left alone.

She noticed his eyes on her and winked at him. then, she casually adjusted the hem of her dress, exposing her thigh. Charles swallowed noisily and hurriedly turned away to straighten his trousers carefully.

This was his chance.

But he was quickly overtaken by another man, forcing Monegasque to swear under his breath.

Something had to be done urgently.

[illumiera]

OC in Fifteen

I saw some of my mutuals (💖) posting fifteen lines of dialogue that showcased the personalities of their OCs, so I thought I'd try my hand at doing this for my Elentari in i fear no fate! 🌟

“I have slain the World-Eater, crossed into Sovngarde a living woman, and returned alive. Surely I am beyond fate by now.”

“Devious? You ought to have expected the Arch-Mage to have some tricks up her sleeves.”

"I think we are each the sum of our choices, and mine is to know myself, shadows and all, and to strive each day to be better.”

“Where I grew up, every plant had a meaning, and highborn daughters were expected to know them by rote. Snowdrops are the first flowers to bloom at the end of winter, so they symbolise hope and rebirth. There’s also a myth where a king trapped in a curse sought the aid of the flower-goddess Druagaa, who had him pick a snowdrop at midnight and keep it close to his heart for three days and three nights until the spell broke. There you are: hope, alleged magical properties, or just a nice thing to have. I’m sure you can find some use for it.”

"Thinking of you? I have better things to think about before bed than the latest person out to kill me for one reason or another.”

“In that case, I am glad to be a fool. You should be glad for it, too. If I didn’t keep faith in the face of impossible things, I would be dead—and the world you’re so desperate to return to would have died with me.”

“If you’re planning on waxing poetic about how you’ll have all of that and more when you finally take my life, you may as well save your breath. As unenviable as your situation is, I still have no intention of dying to you.”

“I already told you that you can offer me whatever you like, and none of it—none of it—will be worth the cost of my soul.”

“You want freedom and to be remembered, but how would you go about it, if you had the chance? Would you storm into Solitude or Windhelm and name yourself High King? Seize the Ruby Throne and rule all Tamriel as Emperor? Come up with some scheme or another to become a god? You don’t know, do you? You say you’ve had nothing but your want for thousands of years? I believe you, and I also don’t believe you know who you are without it.”

“What are we if not living bearers of memory? The people you spared won’t last forever unchanged like stalhrim, that’s true, but they’ll learn, and grow, and love, and create. Even if they live the simplest of lives, their children, their friends, those whose hearts they touched over the years—they’ll all go on as a testament to who they were, so that in a century, in a millennium, there’ll be a tiny piece of them left on Nirn still.”

“The winged shape of your soul is a mirror of mine, and the name Stormcrown belongs to me as much as it does to you. Maybe destiny stained you—that much I will not deny. But has it not left the same mark on me, too?”

“I have met many terrible men, men who knew they had fallen and thought only of falling farther. Your actions were not the actions of one of those men."

“I don’t think any of the gods ever forsook you. I once thought the same, a long time ago, and then they showed me just how wrong I was.”

“The food is owed to you as it is to any guest in my home, and if it will assuage you, we’ll call the clothes a gift. You need not repay me other than by putting them on so I can see if they fit. As for your life, Diist Dovahkiin, all I ask is that you live it well.”

"It's all right. I'm a healer. You're safe now."

this was fun! I tag @bostoniangirl21 and @kiir-do-faal-rahhe to do it for their OCs, too! 💖

[rexxdjarin]

Out of Our Element

A Commander Wolffe x Twi'lek OC: Zeeta One Shot

part of the Captain's Log timeline of stories

Summary: Strangers at the Syndulla's have caught the eye of Ryloth most infamous crimson vixen, Zeeta. One brooding, mysterious clone stranger in particular looks like he could use some special attention and she can't wait to figure him out. Our lovely Wolffe (and Gregor who will get his own one of these) has put up with Mari and Rex's x-rated antics on their ship for long enough now. Why not give him some of his own? And boy do I have quite the woman for him 😏

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Twi'lek OC: Zeeta Word Count: 9.6k Rating: Explicit (18+ only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT) Warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT, P in V sex, blowjobs, dirty talk, rough sex, breath play, dom/sub dynamics & switching, Mature Themes, Language, References to Captain's Log Ch 13, most importantly just shamless slutty smut for our favorite commander

[Captain's Log Chapter 13] [Twi'lek OC: Zeeta Face Card] [Crossposted on ao3]

The muggy haze hung in the stuffy air of the Syndulla’s meeting cavern. Smoke from burning incense and the swell of warm bodies crowding together made beads of sweat pool up on Zeeta's ruby skin. The heavy pounding of kick drums and steel pans echoing around the stone walls filled her head, and her long, blue-freckled lekku carried the thrum of the rhythm through her body. She let the music move her, following her fellow Twi’lek dancers as they headed toward the center of the cave to start their performance for their guests. 

Despite all they had suffered at the Empire’s hand, the ancient Twi’lek custom of a large feast and a show for Ryloth’s visitors was something the evil galactic regime could never take from them. 

Although, Zeeta had not expected this group of visitors to be so enticing; a beautiful brunette human woman and three ruggedly handsome clones, like the ones she’d come to know very well in the past two years they had occupied her home planet. 

The woman stood almost possessively close to the assumed leader of the group, a clone with scuffed, blue-painted plastoid and blonde hair. Their hold on each other led Zeeta to believe that the two had likely been together for some time, so she twisted to follow the choreography and to get a better look at the other two clones that accompanied them. 

The first was a slightly wider clone, with massive squared-off shoulders, rounded thighs, and the typical dark hair slicked back on top. He wore a toothy grin, clearly happy to be surrounded by such a culturally rich gathering. The second was as wide and built as the first, but slightly taller and with a deep scar over a silver cybernetic right eye. This clone was definitely less enthused than the other two, his face set in an almost menacing scowl that would intimidate most.

Zeeta knew that she wasn’t like most women, and this clone had her name written all over him. He was edgy, moody, and maybe a little angry if she was reading him right. She was willing to bet he was the kind of intense, brooding man she craved. She could challenge him, endlessly tease him until that scowl broke and he was blubbering her name as he begged for more of her. Oh yes, he was the one she wanted to get to know better tonight.

She watched the four of them converse with the Twi’lek leader, Cham Syndulla, and Captain Howzer, the clone captain assigned to Ryloth. Suddenly, the music and dancing stopped, as Syndulla stood up to address the room. 

“My people! Tonight we welcome our new guests. They have come to help us retake our planet with their brothers. With their assistance, Ryloth will be free once again!” 

The crowd erupted into cheers for a moment before the drums started up again and the dancing resumed, and Zeeta let her body writhe and twirl as the music crescendoed. Her gaze darted over to the three new visitors every so often, and her most alluring looks were targeted at the scowling clone. Every time she looked, she found her bright green eyes meeting his mismatched ones watching her dance with suggestive intrigue. 

Cham’s wife, Eleni had now joined the fold, taking the brunette woman by the hand and guiding her over to join the group of her handmaidens. If there was ever going to be an opportunity for Zeeta to get to know the brooding clone she’d taken a liking to, this was it.

Zeeta quickly separated herself from the dancing troupe in the center of the room and made her way to the group of handmaidens talking excitedly to the new female guest. She could see that the woman was even more striking up close: dark brows highlighting sparkling brown eyes, her face dotted with freckles on her glowing tan skin, and perfectly plush, pink lips in a pleasant smile. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say the woman had the kind of glow one only has when they are carrying life, but she knew better than to ask that of a stranger. 

“Ladies, this is Mari. She is our guest. Make her feel welcome and allow her any of the refreshments she requires.” Eleni nodded graciously and made her way to her husband's side, taking her daughter’s hand and heading off to put her to bed.

“Welcome, Mari. You certainly are a lucky woman getting to travel all around the galaxy with such handsome companions,” Zeeta noted, again glancing over at the man who had piqued her interest and finding him staring right back with increasing intrigue. She could already tell he had noticed her flirting from afar. All she had to do now was seal the deal.

The other women in the group giggled their agreement and whispered amongst themselves about which of the three men suited their tastes. Mari laughed appreciatively and smirked as she looked over at them, “I am quite lucky. They’re wonderful men. You can’t go wrong with a clone, ladies. Trust me, my blondie over there is the best man I’ve ever known.” 

Zeeta smiled to herself knowing that her instincts were right about the couple and laughing at how casually possessive Mari was over her lover. It was impressive. “What about the other two?” she posited, “because that brooding one over there has been staring at me since he walked in here.”

Mari urged them to move closer to her to keep them concealed from the clones’ prying eyes and shrugged matter of factly, “Well, if you really want to know… the two of them haven’t… been with anyone in quite some time, and I promised them I’d help them out tonight. Are any of you down for some fun?”

“Only if you tell us what they’re like,” Zeeta bargained, folding her arms and looking over her shoulder at her target who had clearly been eyeing her backside.

“The one who has been drooling over you is Commander Wolffe. He’s as intense and rough around the edges as he seems. Though, he’s got a soft side to him. A girl like you might be able to give him the run for his credits he needs. He likes a challenge for sure. As long as you’re down for a little bit of anything,” Mari explained, wiggling her brows as if to suggest he was into things that were not for the faint of heart. As she continued explaining the intimate details about the other clone, Gregor, Zeeta drifted into her fantasy.

The more she heard about Wolffe, the stronger the need in Zeeta’s core grew. Those strong clone hands on her body, the strength of his muscular thighs caging her in, the gruff of his voice calling her whatever filthy names he’d like. Stars, she would let him do anything he wanted, and she’d give all the attitude in the world right back to him. She wanted to be the one who took care of the hulking Commander Wolffe tonight and, by the looks he was giving her now, he wanted her, too.

“I can introduce you all if you’d like. The boys will be so happy to have some company tonight. They deserve it,” Mari offered with a genuinely thankful smile, looking around at two other Twi’lek women, Noola and Ryloo, who were clearly interested in something salacious with Gregor.

“Please,” Zeeta agreed eagerly, following Mari and the other two women as they made their way over to the altar Cham was sitting on. The two clones were both devouring their second bowls of nerf stew as the group of women approached. 

Mari waved her hands at her companions, “Boys, this is Noola, Ryloo, and Zeeta. Ladies, this is Wolffe and Gregor. You won’t find better men to keep you company. You can take my word for it.” She turned and winked at her blonde boyfriend suggestively. 

Zeeta barely waited for the words to come out of Mari’s mouth before she sauntered over to the illusive Commander Wolffe. She slipped to within his arm’s length and stared down at him. He had such a handsome face, his jawline covered in black stubble, a broad nose, and a furrowed brow outlining the dark, provocative glare he’d been using on her earlier. 

“Hello, Commander,” she began, drawing out her vowels in a deep drawl thick with lust. She ran her fingers along his shoulder pauldron and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “We’ll see just who’s in charge later, won’t we?” 

Zeeta tucked her dark lower lip between her teeth and pulled back to meet that scowl again only to be met with a devilishly charming smile. His hand shot out to grab her by the waist and he pulled her down onto his thigh.

“Oh, you’re a bad girl,” Wolffe growled playfully as Zeeta began gently writhing in his lap. His hand settled at the exposed small of her back to guide her ministrations. 

She hummed and let out a throaty, bewitching laugh, leaning down to lightly trace the shell of Wolffe’s ear with her tongue. “I am whatever you want me to be, and right now I am awaiting your orders, Commander.”

Wolffe grumbled his delighted approval from deep within his broad, barrel chest, and Zeeta could feel his heart pick up its thrumming pace under her delicate, scarlet hands. 

“You want me in charge, darling? You sure about that?” His hand slid around her waist, stroking the black lace adorning her exposed crimson skin. “Because I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”

Zeeta smiled teasingly and wrapped her hands around his on her waist. “I’m not looking for gentle. I’m begging for a challenge,” she shot back, slowly starting to dig her nails into his grip on her. “Unless you don’t think you can handle me?”

“Oh, cyar’ika,” he laughed, reaching up to rest his hand on her neck to pull her close and hold her gaze, “girls like you are my specialty.” 

The lust darkening his brown eye was all Zeeta needed to know he meant business and it took everything in her not to ask him to tighten his grip on her neck. A few breathless moments passed as they studied each other, and Wolffe’s jaw worked in frustration as she made him wait for her answer.

Zeeta blinked her long lashes at him as she held her own against his captivating intimidation tactics. It was all a game of tooka and womp rat. A meeker woman would have already given in and submitted to him. Not Zeeta. She was determined to make him antsy, to make him want it so badly that he let this dominant facade go and allowed her to take from him as she pleased. Mustering up every ounce of restraint she had, she let her playful demeanor evolve into something darker and needier. The blazing fire of seduction lit her bright, green eyes and she let a sly smirk spread along her dark lips.

She leaned in close, dragging her touch down his strong jaw and hovering her lips inches from his. “Prove it,” she muttered, both her lekku trembling against her back to portray the excitement coursing through her. She slowly sat back, watching the formidable man shake off his need for the kiss dangling tensely between them. She’d cracked him so easily, his entire body eagerly lunging toward her for more.

“I’ve… uhm… got a guest room, I think. Take me there?” he asked, blinking away the haze of rampant lust still clouding his judgment and making him woozy with desire. 

She backed off him and stood up on her feet, watching the man in front of her get taller and taller as he rose to follow her. He was truly a massive man, even amongst clones, and he towered over Zeeta.

She rested her hand on his jaw and laughed, “Just as I thought… desperate boy.” 

Wolffe beamed at her in response, bearing his teeth in a saccharin smirk. Both his hands ran down her sides, pulling her closer as he caged her into his chest. 

“Ah–you better watch that mouth or you’ll regret it.” He arched his scarred brow at her and motioned for the exit. 

“No, I’ll enjoy it,” she teased, letting her fingers trace down his neck, across his shoulder, and down the bulging bicep muscles in his arms until she laced them with hers. He shuddered briefly, holding her hand and patting her on the hip to urge her to move along. “C’mon, your quarters are this way.” she finally relented, dragging him by the hand into the dimly lit corridor they originally entered from.

As the festivities continued loudly behind them, Zeeta navigated down the shadowy halls of the cavernous palace. Just as they turned the corner toward the dwellings, she was pulled backward and pushed up against the wall roughly. The air rushed from her lungs as Wolffe crowded her and stared down at her like a man starved, his chest rising and falling as he huffed. Before she could say another word, he crashed his lips into hers.

Desperately horny and with unrelenting power, he practically consumed her, pressing her hands against the wall when she tried to hold on to him. Her eyes rolled back in her head at him overpowering her so easily, and he broke the mind-numbing kiss with a laugh. 

“Can’t just watch all of you bounce in front of me like that. Need a taste of you first. You’re fucking… gorgeous,” he rambled through each broken kiss, spit-slick tongues brushing together each time he went back for more. “Not so much of a tease when no one can see you, hmm?”

“Don’t… count… on that…” she gasped back between kisses, slipping her face to the side, forcing him to miss her mouth. “I’m not going to make it easy for you, Commander.” She could sense his heart rate escalating, his determination to prove himself to her getting him going faster than he was used to. He bit down on his lower lip and groaned impatiently, his eyes narrowing as he calculated what to do next to up the ante.

Slowly, he eased his wandering hands up to cup her cheek, and chuckled softly, “Zeeta. Not a common name for a Twi’lek.” His brown and cybernetic eyes flitted around her face, studying her blue freckles, her enthralled expression, and her electric eyes. He smiled to himself. It was subtle and most would probably miss it entirely, but it was there. “But red skin and green eyes… you’re rare in a lot of ways, aren’t you? It suits you.”

Zeeta blinked back at him in surprise. He knew a lot more than she thought he would. He wasn’t just some back alley hook-up kind of guy–he had depth and intelligence. He was observant, taking in her every last detail and committing it to memory. However, from his grumpy demeanor down to his cybernetic eye, he wasn’t just some ordinary clone either. Maybe that was why she was so drawn to him in the first place.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but Wolffe had finally found a way to knock her off guard and took his chance to strike. He buried his face in the juncture where her jaw met her neck and laved hot passes of his tongue along the corded vein of her pulse. 

“W-Wolffe.” Zeeta could say nothing else in response as a breathy moan escaped her deep brown lips. 

“Commander,” he corrected, releasing the tension he’d suckled onto her skin with a pop. “I like hearing you call me that. Makes it seem like I have power over you.” 

“Only seems that way if I allow it… mmmm,” she tried to scold him, but her outburst earned her a pleasant nip to her collar bone and it made her eyes hood closed. Blood pounded through her veins and overwhelmed her to the tips of her twin head tails as he worked dark hickies onto her skin.

“I think if it feels this good, I might be able to sway you into behaving for me.” Wolffe pulled back slightly to watch himself draw the pads of his fingers along the lacy bra caging her breasts in. “Want to see what you’ve got under this.”

Zeeta inhaled deeply, making him giddy as her breast filled his palm obscenely. “Room’s… first door on the right… if you’ll let me move–”

“Thank you,” he replied, suddenly scooping her off her feet and wrapping her legs around his waist. “If I had to watch you walk another step, I’d take you right here in this hallway,” he practically purred in her ear. He pulled her body close to his chest with one arm, her lekku swaying in the air as he spun around to take off down the hall.

“Impatient,” she giggled, looping her arms around his head to rest on his shoulders. Zeeta rolled her hips against his lower torso, her center grazing him just enough to create the friction she needed to spur them both on. With both his large hands kneading either side of her ass, he lifted her off him and she groaned in frustration.

“Don’t think I’m the only impatient one, darling,” he teased with a scolding lilt to his tone. He shifted her weight into one of his arms, using the other to shove open the door to his room hurriedly. He rushed inside, kicking the door closed behind them and setting her back down on her feet. Slowly, he glanced around the room, taking in his new surroundings and ensuring there weren’t any other doors he needed to lock before they carried on.

Zeeta cocked her head at him curiously. “What? You’ve never been in your own room before?” She folded her arms and bumped him teasingly with her shoulder.

He ran his hand nervously along the back of his neck and shrugged. “Uh, no I haven’t. Not really. Not this nice anyway. Even the private quarters in our barracks were still uh… you know military barracks. Not exactly ideal for having company.”

“But that never stopped you, I’m sure, Commander,” she smiled, resting her hand on his bicep and stepping close to him again.

He shook off whatever memory he was processing and turned toward her, placing his hands on her hips to steady himself. “No, it didn’t. This is just a lot nicer and we won’t have to worry about getting interrupted. Which means my opportunities to try things are limitless. Does that scare you?” The same dark, carnal glare he’d given her all night reappeared on his handsome face.

“Of course not. I’m down for anything,” Zeeta flirted back, reaching up to hold his cheek as she leaned in to kiss him again. With her lips hovering above his, she muttered softly, “Though from what Mari tells me, we should probably establish some ground rules.”

Wolffe rolled his eyes and worked his jaw in annoyance, “That girl… nosy little thing could learn a thing or two about establishing boundaries,” he chuckled, letting one hand travel up Zeeta’s back and lazily stroking her left lekku affectionately. She shivered at the delicate touch from such a severe man and leaned into him for more. “She is right, though. Need to go over safe words and whatnot. Think you know all about that.”

Zeeta hummed affirmatively, starting to get lost in his touch on such a sensitive part of her. If he was someone she knew a little better, she’d probably enjoy laying around with him and letting him be so domestic and caring like this. That wasn’t what either of them was here to do, though, so she’d have to put how much she was enjoying this tender moment aside and listen to him for now. “Uhm… yeah. Y-yes, right. Rules and safe words.”

“The color system. Does that work for you? Green means we’re in the clear. Yellow, slow down, and red, a hard stop?” he asked, his warm palm shifting to massage the back of her neck in an attempt to continue softening her. He pressed impossibly closer, his thighs brushing up against hers as he guided them both toward the large bed in the center of the room.

“Yes, that’s perfect. Non-verbal stop… I tap you anywhere three times, got it?” She let her hands graze down the front of his sprawling chest. He somehow felt even bigger now that she was this close to having him the way she wanted to. He grumbled deep in his chest, holding her in place as he leaned in to rest his forehead on hers.

“Affirmative. Anything you don’t like that I should know about?” He tenderly kissed her forehead, his adept fingers softly stroking where her left tendril met her neck. His lips grazed her temple and kissed down her jawline, showing an impressive level of restraint for a man who had nearly stripped her in the hallway moments ago.

Zeeta let herself melt into his kisses and laughed affectionately, grabbing at the black duraweave material of his shirt. “Don’t touch my asshole. That’s for men who take me on dates first.” 

Wolffe snorted, nipping at her neck and soothing it with his warm tongue. “Fine,” he agreed, running his hand underneath the silky black strap of her bra and slipping it off her shoulder. “But I will have you there, too… some other time. After you agree to let me take you out, of course.” His touch followed where the strap fell, peeling one side of the lace top off her breast and gazing down at it.

Zeeta bit her bottom lip to hold back her shaky whimpers. His warm mouth on her neck and his touches traveling wherever he damn well pleased were putting her on edge. “What makes you think I’d agree to that?” she teased, but he interrupted by kneading her breast firmly, a satisfied smirk curling his lips at the corners as she let out a gasp.

“Come on now… don’t pretend you don’t like me, cyar’ika.” He nipped her collarbone briefly, his kisses roaming down her chest as he worked the other side of her bra off her shoulder. With two fingers he gently tugged at her nipple, pebbling it to hardness and waiting until she made any sound in response before stopping.

She watched him enjoy her body while she ran her hands up the nape of his neck and tugged at his dark curls defiantly. Zeeta grinned in delight now that he was preoccupied with her chest and muttered, “Please. I barely know you, Wolffe.” At that, he grunted and snapped the delicate lace along her back in half, the bra falling to their feet. 

“You get naked for every guy you barely know? Or just the ones you like?” he challenged, stepping back to stare at her and running his tongue along his lower lip to signal his illicit satisfaction. He exhaled and let out a low whistle. “Fuck… look at you…”

Zeeta stepped up to him and tugged at the hem of his top, urging him to take it off. “Not just guys, Commander,” she muttered seductively “A girl’s got needs, and I’ll satisfy them whether I like someone or not. Now take this off. I can’t be the only one half-clothed, handsome.”

His brows raised in surprise as he pulled his top over his head and let it puddle on the floor beside Zeeta’s. To say he was in impeccable shape would be an understatement. His bronze skin rippled over pronounced pectoral muscles, with shoulders and arms to frame them that were just as gloriously toned and flexing with his every inhale. His lower abs were strong and thick with both his sides carving down into where his hips dipped into his bottoms, but his belly was just soft enough to look lived in, comfortable and healthy. Zeeta would spend all night leaving her mark on every inch of him if she could.

Silvery, faded scars dotted numerous places on his torso making Zeeta ache to think he’d been put in harm’s way this often. A man this jaw-droppingly handsome should be spending all his days between her thighs, not getting his pretty face blasted to smithereens.

“You are quite something, Commander.” She inched closer, tracing down his lower abs to loop her fingers in his waistband. “I could have a lot of fun with all of you.”

“So ask for permission and we will,” Wolffe said, reaching for her waist and dipping down to guide her hand down his bottoms a bit further. Zeeta grinned up at him slyly and spun them both around, pushing him down onto the bed behind him with as much of her strength as she could muster.

“I don’t need your permission,” she laughed tortuously as his eyes went wide, watching as Zeeta slowly hovered down between his legs. “You need mine, baby.” 

Wolffe propped himself up on his elbows and watched through hooded eyelids as she settled herself between his thick thighs. He didn’t have it in him to fight her right this second, not with her so close to where he’d needed her all night. “We’ll see, darling. Remember how impatient I am...” he trailed off, groaning softly as she slipped a hand past his waistband to palm him over his underwear. “Fuck.”

“So mouthy… what am I going to do about that?” Zeeta cooed, palming him agonizingly slowly and watching his chest heaving in an attempt to keep his composure. He looked so sexy all worked up and Zeeta had to keep herself from drooling whenever their eyes met. She was supposed to be the one in control here, she had to focus.

With her other hand, she tugged on his bottoms and slid them down his thighs enough to get them out of her way. Both her lekku trembled with excitement as she leaned forward to press kisses into the soft hair and skin just below his navel. 

“I know what I want you to do with yours,” Wolffe said gruffly with a wicked grin, rolling his hips up into her hand.

Zeeta could feel the ache of him against her palm, every thick vein throbbing with need. He was just as big as she expected and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t eager to see it. 

“I don’t hear you asking me very nicely,” she teased, sucking a deep mark on his v-line. 

He hissed in response, punching his fist into the mattress below him. Relenting and relaxing back onto his right arm, he let his other hand trace her cheekbone. “Suck my cock…” The pads of his fingers caressed her face, slipping underneath her chin to tip her face up to meet his lust-laden gaze. He rolled his eyes and mumbled softly, “Please?”

“That’s a good boy. Now you’ve earned it.” Keeping her eyes locked with his, she hooked her fingers into his waistband and slipped his briefs down. His thick cock sprung free, slapping up against Zeeta’s cheek. She dropped her jaw in awe and smiled excitedly. “You have the right to be a little arrogant, walking around with this.”

He laughed, curling his hand around the side of her neck and guiding her face toward him. Wolffe held her gingerly, doing his best not to push her. “So show me what you can do, gorgeous.”  

Zeeta pressed him down onto his back and helped him slide his briefs the rest of the way off. She brought her fingers to her mouth and twirled her wet tongue between them, her dark lips curling into a teasing smirk as she watched him squirm, and snaked her fingers around the base of him, lazily stroking him with the same rhythm as before as she settled herself between his thighs. 

“You’re so wound up, huh? No one’s touched this pretty cock in a while. I’m so lucky I can make it all mine,” she said softly, carefully bringing his tip to her lips. She kissed it, letting her tongue dart out to flick a bead of precum from his slit. 

“Cyar’ika… fuck–please…please do,” Wolffe panted, scowling down at her as his brows furrowed together in focus. He practically whimpered as she flattened her tongue, pressing his tip on the width of it and glancing up at him feigning innocence. Wolffe grumbled his enthusiastic approval, probably relishing in the sight of her like this before him. “Hmph–don’t tempt me or I’ll stuff that bold little mouth full of me.”

Zeeta arched her brow defiantly, slapping him on her tongue twice before suckling another wet kiss around the sensitive tip and taking him in her hot mouth. He sighed, his jaw dropping and his dominant ire melting away as she bobbed her head gently, swallowing more of him each time. Veins throbbed against her lips as all the blood in his body seemed to swell at his center. She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the pounding sensation of him on her tongue and his desperate grip on her right head tail.

She hollowed her cheeks, increasing the tension pulling on him as her plush lips glided along his shaft. Her hands jerked and twisted the rest of him and she hummed around him to signify how much she was enjoying this. Every so often, her bright green eyes flicked up to meet his, watching her hungrily as his pleasure increased and his muscles flexed as he relaxed into it.

“Filthy fucking girl,” he swore as she swallowed, her throat contracting around him making him outright moan. “You love that cock, don’t you?” he asked, stroking up the back of her neck and trying anything to keep up the battle for control. He certainly knew where to touch her and how to make her brain go fuzzy. 

The heat licking in her core flared up with every press of his fingers into her working muscles. She couldn’t help but give in a little and nod her confirmation as she popped off him.

Saliva trailed from her lower lip to the rim of his tip, leaking down his shaft and coating her fingers obscenely. It was sloppy, explicit, and sexy and Zeeta was sure the wave of desire for him now clouding her thoughts was making her drawn-out worship of his cock even slower. She slipped her tongue over her swollen lips, tasting the remnants of him. 

“I could spend all night swallowing you down until you fill my throat, but now I’m impatient, Commander. I need more.”

Zeeta sat up on her haunches, admiring the astonishing width of his perfectly toned torso and walking herself up to his face. He watched her crawl up to him, stealing a glance at where the globes of her breasts dangled over his chest. She giggled, straddling his center with her own and allowing him to feel her drenched heat through the thin material.

Wolffe groaned at the contact, his hands flying up to grip the plush of her upper thighs. He maneuvered her against his cock, the dragging friction of her still-clothed center intoxicating him. “Then you won’t be needing these.” 

Before she could slow the bucking of her hips, his large hand smacked against the round of her right asscheek and he laughed depravedly as she gasped. He smoothed his hands down the curve of her lower back, slipping her tight bottoms down her legs, panties and all. “If this little pussy’s as good as that mouth… fuck I’m going to pound you. Not used to a sexy little brat ordering me around.”

She shuddered in delight at his words. She was used to taking charge and getting what she wanted, and she was absolutely going to with Wolffe. Yet, something about that deep grit in his tone made Zeeta want to spiral out of control. He was such a cool bastard, so demanding and powerful, exactly how she always felt she was. But for some reason, with him, she felt just as safe letting him be that way for a change, too. He’d have to earn that, of course, because Zeeta would never have sexual relations with anyone without the thrill of ever-shifting power dynamics, but she was starting to consider what it would be like to let him have the reins.

“I thought you knew how important it was to follow orders, Commander,” she replied, resting her palms on his chest and dipping forward to kiss him tenderly. He hummed softly, trying to come up with a response when Zeeta slid her fingers around his neck. “Color?” she reminded in a whisper, stroking his cheekbone with one hand before allowing the other to close any tighter.

“Green, darling,” he winked, bumping her nose affectionately with his to egg her on. His hands roamed down her sides gingerly, making her shudder now that nothing stood between his touch and her crimson skin. ‘But getting more urgent. You’re killing me…” Wolffe smirked, his complaints making her chuckle. 

She tightened her grip on his neck, erotically pressing the pads of her fingers against his pulse points. “Good. The less you listen to me, the longer I’ll drag this out.” Zeeta finished her scolding with a quiet moan, rubbing up against his cock with her slick folds. Her clit throbbed with need as she denied herself, too, trying desperately to ignore the tightening knot of desire in her lower belly. “Bet everyone thinks of you as such a tough man, hmm? Always in charge, doing as you please…” she giggled cruelly just beside his ear.

He shifted to reach for her hip, but she grabbed his arm and pinned it beside his head. “And usually…” his voice strained as he gulped under Zeeta’s grip, “always getting what I want.” Wolffe challenged her, tipping up to kiss her again and whining when she moved out of his reach.

She sat up, her grip on his neck holding him still beneath her, and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Wolffe, you will.” Zeeta turned to watch herself line up her entrance with his tip and then back to face him, maintaining the tantalizing eye contact that had drawn them to each other in the first place. “But not before I get what I want first.” She jerked her hips forward, sinking halfway down onto his cock and eliciting a garbled grunt from Wolffe as her walls suffocated him.

Zeeta’s jaw dropped open and a filthy moan escaped her lips as he split her open. She tested a few shallow bounces on him, letting him sink deeper and deeper within her heat each time. Her chest heaved and her tits bounced, making Wolffe’s mismatched eyes roll back in delight.

“Take… whatever–whatever you want,” Wolffe muttered through gritted teeth as his face hardened to show his restraint. It had been a while for him, she could tell by how viscerally his body was reacting to being touched. It was taking every ounce of strength and discipline within him to stave off the inevitable, which meant he was capable of withstanding her ruthless teasing. He just had to try.

She whimpered in delight, bearing her pointed teeth as she smiled through the mixture of pleasure and pain. “That’s more like it, Commander. I like it when you comply. Such a good boy, for me,” she cooed salaciously, shifting her grip on his neck to instead hold his jaw. Wolffe’s cock twitched inside her and she hummed in surprise. “You like that, huh baby? When I tell you how good you are? How much I love what your big, pretty cock does to me? Tell me…”

“Fuck… yeah I love it. ‘S so hot, Zeeta. Love how much you enjoy me,” Wolffe replied, grinding his hips with hers as she sunk down onto him again. “Ride me fucking harder when you fuck me. I need it… harder.” 

The heat from his mismatched gaze swirled hotter in her belly, so she picked up the pace, lifting and slamming down on him faster. She released his arm from where she’d pinned it on the bed and both his hands quickly found their place on the thick of her round hips. She rose and fell on top of his cock as fast as she could, her hips grinding into his and the lewd slapping sound of skin against skin filled the room.

Zeeta’s heart hammered in her chest as she reveled in the drag of him inside her. He was thick, spreading her swollen walls apart and spearing into her deeper with every thrust. “Gods, Wolffe you’re so good. So good for me,” she huffed between gasps for air, exerting all her energy to bring him closer to his climax.

She brought both her palms to rest on the width of his broad chest again and smiled in satisfaction as she felt his heart pounding beneath them. She could tell he wanted to speak and was probably used to being a lot more chatty when he was in control. Instead, he bit down on his lower lip to hold his tongue and quiet his grunts of ecstasy. 

He watched in silent awe as her body bounced on top of him, alternating between gripping her plush hips to help her ride him and massaging her breasts to make her erupt in goosebumps. 

Wolffe’s quiet confidence and intimidating glare were maddeningly attractive to Zeeta. As much as she wanted to maintain her dominance over him, the coiling pressure he was coaxing tighter with each heavy stroke had her teetering far too close to finishing for her liking. 

She couldn’t help but feel that this was what he wanted—to give her the illusion of control while he got to reap all the benefits of watching her work herself into a frenzy over him. He was quite the mindfuck, even for someone like her, and was so much more than he seemed. 

Suddenly, Wolffe’s large hand spanked her right cheek and gripped hard, shifting her further down on top of him. The delightful sting on her ass made her whine and she dug her nails into his chest. 

“Fuck me like you mean it, darling,” he growled lowly, twisting his hips to grind into her. Zeeta lost her rhythm as his tip speared into the deepest part of her walls, her jaw dropping and his name spilling out. “And if you can’t anymore, I’ll gladly take your role. Though, you do it so beautifully.”

Zeeta scowled down at him, her determination and unbreakable will giving her new strength. “We go until I finish, Commander. You can’t sweet talk your way out of this,” she chuckled devilishly. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here.” She slowly gyrated her hips, relaxing the pace and tightening her walls around him torturously.

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled, continuing to guide her hips. Any other remarks he had queued up melted away as she contracted around him, and he threw his head back into the pillows beneath him, the corded muscles in his neck and shoulders begging to be nibbled.

His hands on her ass pulled her down onto him further, holding her in place as he thrust up into her brutally. He was losing all patience and restraint as his orgasm drew nearer, and his grip tightened on her skin, which would probably leave dots of purple bruises all over her backside. 

Zeeta could feel every ounce of strength he possessed just begging to be unleashed, and his resolve only increased the more she tortured him. She could only hold on a little longer before the drag of him inside her would pull her under the wave building in her belly.

Before she could lift her hips again, Wolffe slid his hand up the curve of her sides, circling his grip around her throat. He smirked up at her, knowing what this would do to her. He knew how much she enjoyed it all along; he was waiting for the right moment to spring it on her. “Cum, cyar’ika. I can feel how much you want to. Let go for me. Give up. Let me take over.” 

Zeeta felt the heated tension boil over inside her, as the pads of his fingers pressed into her pulse just enough to make her head spin delightfully. She dug her nails into his chest, her entire body flexing as she let him crash into her spot one final time.

The lick of fire in her gut exploded into stardust, overheating her from the inside out and making the beads of sweat on her skin tingle as it soothed the sizzle within. He won, bested her without even breaking a sweat. No one had ever done that before. No one ever made her cum first.

Her jaw slackened as she called out his name in a high-pitched whimper. She couldn’t take her eyes off the way he looked at her, ravishing her body with that same passionate gaze. Finally, she relinquished her control and let him take her.

With his grip on her throat grounding her, he buried himself to the hilt and sat up to press his forehead to hers. For just a moment, he let her swim in the dangerously dark lust others were too intimidated to ever experience.

“Love it when you look at me like that. You’re fucking fearless,” he growled, his lips just inches from hers, “and such a good girl, too. Feels so good when you take it so rough huh?” He tipped forward to kiss her tenderly, holding her tight to his lap and biting her lower lip playfully. 

Zeeta moaned into the kiss, resting her hands on his jaw and letting him consume her. As the explosion of tingles slowly eased through her last nerve, she felt the spark between her thighs ignite once again. 

He watched her move now just like he watched her dancing before—as if fucking was an art form and she was his muse. His dark gaze was glued to where their bodies meshed as he watched her desperately rut against him. 

“M-more, Wolffe. More. Please. Please, more,” Zeeta rasped with every exhale. The rush of feeling him all around and inside her was irresistible and addictive.

Wolffe laughed almost cruelly, running his thumb along the underside of her jaw. “Ok, darling. I’ll give you more. I’ll give you everything you could ever want. But we do it my way this time and like I said before, I will not be gentle.” He let go of her throat and held her face in both hands. “Color?”

Through the post-pleasure haze still clouding her head, she flashed Wolffe that same searing, sexy grin and batted her dark lashes at him. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she relished in the anticipation. 

“Green,” she uttered with a shaky exhale.

The wicked grin across Wolffe’s handsome face made all the muscles in Zeeta’s core clench with want. He tipped her forward to kiss him slowly, far more tenderly than what she knew would be coming next. 

“Good girl,” he whispered as he pulled away, stroking her cheekbone with the back of his knuckle. 

In a second, he slipped out of her, rolled her over, and instructed her onto all fours while he rose to his feet against the side of the bed. The wall of hulking muscle that was Commander Wolffe now stood behind her, his large hands stroking down either side of her and massaging circles along the tense muscles of her back. Lower and lower the touches went, making Zeeta keen for more of this unexpectedly gentle side of him. 

Suddenly, his hands gripped the plush of her hips roughly, positioning her center higher into the air and opening her folds up right in front of him. A deep laugh rumbled through his chest as he ran a thumb through the glistening wetness already coating her from before. He brought his glossy digit to his mouth and savored her on his tongue for the first time with a low groan of delight.

Zeeta whined impatiently, turning to get a better view of him behind her threatening to overtake her. Both his eyes rolled back in his head, his eyelids fluttering briefly before noticing her eagerly waiting for him. She rolled her hips back into his thighs, trying to spur him on and make him resume at a faster pace. 

“I thought you weren’t going to be gentle,” she teased, both her lekku slowly entwining together in enjoyment. 

“Is that a challenge, pretty girl?” he groaned, his hand running over the globe of her ass before striking a well-placed slap onto it. 

Zeeta squealed excitedly, the anticipation sizzling over her every goosebump as the pain swelled into pleasure across her skin. “I told you that’s what I wanted,” she retorted, completely unafraid to push her luck with him. Before she could say another word, he pulled her by the hips across the silky sheets and dragged her glistening folds over the width of his throbbing cock. His tip bumped her aching clit perfectly, the pleasure already building in Zeeta’s burning core. She emitted an illicit moan, looking back at him desperately.

“Since you’re such a little brat all of a sudden,” Wolffe scolded, sighing as he felt the pull of her warmth so close to him again, “I’m going to fuck you like one.” He jerked his hips back, notching his tip with her entrance and plowing into her so hard it made her mind blank. The most delightfully sharp pain sent sparks through her system and spots behind her eyes as he bottomed out inside her.

“Wolffe!” she screamed, her fingers digging into the sheets for purchase as she held on for dear life. It was like all the restraint inside him had dissolved. Faster and faster his hips snapped, sending his cock barrelling into her deepest spot so many times Zeeta could no longer remember any other feeling but the burning sting of pleasure.

“Commander,” he corrected, swatting her left cheek this time and leaning over to press his chest to her back. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here,” Wolffe hissed against her neck, mocking her with the same sentiment she’d used on him earlier.

The front of Wolffe’s powerful thighs slapped into the back of Zeeta’s over and over again, filling the room with the explicit slapping sounds of skin against skin. He wrapped his arm around her torso and slid his hand across her belly, feeling for where his tip bulged with his every thrust. 

Zeeta could only cry out in quiet squeaks of ecstasy, feeling the heat in her body flooding to lubricate the length of him prying her open. He groaned and whispered praises along her overheated skin, his hips never slowing and his never-ending endurance keeping up the brutally erotic pace. His kisses traveled down the delicate curve of her slender neck until he bit down on her shoulder hard enough to leave teeth-mark-shaped bruises for days. 

She wanted to mouth off or say anything she could to one-up him and regain control. Yet, there was nothing left of her but the resignation of her will to him. His breath on her neck, hot and heavy, matched the girth of him filling her truly full for the first time. Every time she exhaled, all the space inside her was filled with more of him.

“Harder,” she mewled, reaching back to pull at the curls at the nape of his neck. He let out a drawled groan, gripping her hip tight enough to bruise. “C'mon, Commander. Fuck me like you mean it,” she challenged using his words, teasing him exactly like he did her. He snarled in amused delight and let go of her hips, holding her up with only the strength of his core and thighs.

“You don’t know what you do to me, cyar’ika,” he hissed, lifting himself off of her and running both his hands down the length of her lekku. He had noticed they were sensitive earlier and hadn’t passed up the chance to stroke her there. She gasped at the touch, her body spasming as he gripped either of them in his hands and tugged just hard enough to be pleasurable. 

“Fuck!” Zeeta moaned loud enough for all of Ryloth to hear, dropping to her elbows as her hands slid out from under her with her knees not far behind. “Fuck, right there, Commander. Don’t stop!” she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes and edging down her cheeks. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. You feel too fucking good, my dirty girl,” he laughed affectionately, his thrusts becoming deeper and more languid as he pulled her into him repeatedly. She could feel him pounding into her puffy walls, the squelching sounds of her wet core making her hotter than she could ever recall feeling. The dull ache of his cock thrummed against her collapsing walls, the most beautiful groans she’d ever heard coming from this impossibly handsome man. It was perfect. Way too perfect.

The tension in her belly coiled tighter as she caught sight of them both from the reflection of the mirror across the room. He was menacing, controlling, broad, and gorgeous, the only man she’d ever relinquished control to like this and she fucking loved it. 

Wolffe followed her gaze, guiding her up to a kneeling position by both head tails. “Since you want to enjoy the show so much…” 

Zeeta’s piercing green eyes were clouded with mesmerizing lust and the tension finally snapped the second they made contact with him in the reflection. She screamed, her hands searching for anything to grab onto and finding the strong sanctity of his arm circling around her waist. He bounced her on top of him, balancing her and carrying her to heights unknown. “I’m so close… so close, Commander.”

He buried his head in her neck, groaning curses and nipping along her pulse. “Me too. Little more for me, darling. Just a little more,” he egged her on, his hand sliding down to play with her clit. She turned her face, desperate to lose herself in him, to let him completely consume her. She rested her forehead against the side of his temple, peppering tiny kisses along his clenched durasteel jaw. 

“Be a good boy and cum with me. Together,” she whispered, feeling herself rocketing over the edge toward her climax quickly. She wasn’t going to last much longer with Wolffe’s hips stuttering against her backside. His thrusts were becoming erratic as she begged for him so sweetly. “Cum for me, Wolffe.”

Wolffe let a deep, throaty moan rip through his broad chest and he reached for her face as delicately as he had before. With her chin pinched between his fingers, he rested his forehead on hers and locked eyes with her. “Fuck, cyar’ika.”

He traced another few circles along her clit and Zeeta finally let go. The bright tingles of her climax spread through her, her insides locking down around him as his cock twitched hard. Wolffe’s breathing was ragged, his furrowed brow focused on the ecstasy written all over her beautiful face, and it sent him over the edge. 

A few shallow thrusts in and with one final snap, he buried himself as deep as he could bear and painted her insides full of his warmth. He held her to him, the strength in his bulging biceps refusing to falter even as his climax ripped through him emptying ribbon after ribbon inside her walls and the comforting, steadying warmth collecting there. 

“D-don’t move, Wolffe,” Zeeta panted, stroking his cheekbone with her fingers and kissing him desperately.  She smiled happily and relaxed into his arms as her body went boneless. “Feels so good to be full of you. Fuck.” 

He carefully lowered her to the silk sheets beneath them, balancing his body weight on his forearm and coaxing her still-spasming body through her climax. As he hovered over her, he bit his bottom lip, admiring her curvaceous frame and leaning down to kiss parts of her he’d bruised and bitten. 

He massaged her clit gently, overstimulating her just enough to make her opening quiver as he pulled out, and she finally stilled with a whimper at the loss of him. His spend followed, dripping down through her folds to pool on his bedsheets. 

“Took all of me like that… so fucking hot, Zeeta,” he cooed, running soothing circles across her inner thighs.

She watched him with intrigue as her exposed chest rose and fell in front of him. The brooding man she knew before was gone and replaced by someone even more alluring. He was worshiping every inch of her, kissing wherever he could reach and not wasting a single breath without telling her how beautiful she was. It was the kind of aftercare she always craved. She reached for him silently, whining with what was left of her voice. 

He understood immediately, scooping her up in his arms protectively as he rolled over beside her and pulled the sheets over them for warmth. Zeeta shivered at his featherlight touches along her blue-dappled shoulders.

“You win,” she giggled, resting her head on his shoulder and running her hands through his hair. For the first time, Zeeta realized just how exhausted he looked. His eyelids hooded as he got more and more drowsy in the afterglow of their shared climax.

“Only ‘cause you let me, gorgeous.” Wolffe smiled from ear to ear, affectionately brushing her cheek with his thumb.  

“Maybe,” Zeeta relented, smiling more shyly than she ever had before, even with a partner she had laid naked beside. 

There was something about him that made her giddy and nervous, and it felt so foreign, but she also realized that she had never felt safer with any other partner before either. She had let him win because she wanted him to. Her heart soared as she watched how happy and at ease he was compared to when she first met him. She liked feeling like he needed her or he’d been waiting for her. “I think I like it when you win.”

Wolffe’s eyes had fluttered closed, the groggy pull of sleep threatening to take him away from her so soon. He hummed his agreement, “I knew you would.” He slowly drifted off, his fingers drawing lazy circles along her back. 

For a few quiet moments, Zeeta just watched him breathe with a tender affection for him growing in her chest. He must’ve been through unimaginable pain, given the circumstances, and she was glad she could give him a moment of respite. 

It could only be a moment, though. He would probably have to move on soon because staying on any planet too long couldn’t mean anything good for him. And from the looks of him and his crew, they had a mission to carry out. She couldn’t get in their way even if she wanted to. 

Zeeta sighed, knowing her time with this unbelievable man was quickly coming to an end. She slowly eased forward to trace the line of his strong jaw into her memory before placing a tender kiss on his lips. Just as she began to back away he muttered, “Stay,” and his grip on her waist tightened with desperate need. 

“Please stay.” His eyes cracked open again, and a twinkle of hope shone in his one dark pupil at the gentle admission. He was much softer than he’d like to admit, just like Mari said.

She couldn’t deny this dark, mysterious clone such a beautifully simple request. Not when he looked at her with the innocence of a man who had never quite known love before but was mustering all the courage in the galaxy to ask for it anyway. 

“Okay,” she whispered softly, tucking herself into the crook of his neck. 

Wolffe’s arms curled around her much more delicate frame protectively as if he could keep time itself from taking something so precious away from him. His hand cupped the back of her neck and cradled her into his chest. She could feel the steady beating of his heart beneath his skin and figured if she was the only one he ever exposed his gentle heart to, she might as well safeguard it while she could.

She watched over Wolffe as sleep drifted him away, just as the galaxy would eventually, too. Zeeta knew better than to fall for a man who could never be permanent, and yet watching him before her now, she so wanted him to be. Someday, maybe—when the war with the Empire was over and its warriors, both clone and Twi’lek, were free. 

She lay there with him until the sun started to rise. Slowly, she slid out of his grasp and gathered last night’s clothes off the floor, dressing while he slept peacefully for the first time in perhaps his entire life. Zeeta smoothed a delicate hand along his cheek and kissed his temple. “Take care of yourself, Commander. Find me when this journey ends, I’ll be waiting.” With a quiet spin on her heels, she padded out of the room.

When Wolffe woke a few hours later to an empty bed his heart sank, the sobering truth of the loneliness of war hitting him like a ton of bricks. It was time to move on, with only a few tattered bits of her black negligee and half-moon-shaped claw marks dug into his skin to remember the most amazing woman he’d ever been with. He left for their next mission with an unspoken promise hanging in the air, left unsaid in the dense Ryloth haze. 

--

notes: finally got around to this lil expansion piece from CL ch. 13 as promised for my fave grumpy boy. Zeeta just kinda came to me and honestly? im obsessed with her. she's spicy, sweet, sexy...i mean just perfect companion for wolffe during this time when he's been needing it most. I hope you all love her as much as Mari. 🥺

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the biggest thank you in the world to my beloved bestie and beta reader @sleepingsun501 I literally couldnt do any of this without you honestly💙

tags: @the-cantina @samspenandsword @baba-fett @marierg @ulchabhangorm @queenquazar @wild-karrde @ariadnes-red-thread @inparanormal @aerangi @starstofillmydream @daimyosprincess @literallydontlook @pinkiemme @ashotofspotchka @fett-djarin @thefact0rygirl & of course my wolffe girlies who started it all for me tbh @enigmaticexplorer @cyarbika

[talkingteardrop]

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The Kneeling Queen, ch 11 - Aemond Targaryen x OC

Read on AO3

Summary: Aemond Targaryen and Maelessa Velaryon were childhood lovers. They were each other’s only comfort in a world full of darkness. When they grew up, their love blossomed until they were the only thing the other cared about. Their lives get increasingly complicated due to the fact that they’re supposed to be on opposite sides of the war. Will their love survive or will it burn to ash as the war ensues?

Chapter warnings: Not many, for once! Talk of murder, noncanonical dragons

Chapter 11 - Blood Of Two, Joined As One

Shortly after their return to King’s Landing, Aemond was indeed named prince regent, as Aegon’s injuries were so grave that he couldn’t walk nor talk. The prince regent’s first act was to call upon a septon and summon all of his family, the whole court, as well as a hundred something commoners to the court room. Fires burned to lead a path down the hall and all the way up to the Iron Throne. Aemond and Maelessa stood atop the stairs, clothed in simple black wool capes. On Aemond’s head sat a sapphire crown and on Maelessa’s an ornate headpiece with the same stones indenting it.

They both smiled, giddy with excitement. This was a day they had spoken of and dreamed of since they were children, and it had finally come. Aemond had planned for this in secret, hidden the crowns and the capes in his chamber, a thought that thrilled Maelessa and made her heart swell.

After the septon welcomed the guests, one of whom looked less than thrilled to be here, Aemond picked a shard of dragonglass from the septon’s hand. He brought it up to her lips and the two locked eyes. With a slow and steady hand, Aemond cut Maelessa’s lip with the blade. He then handed it to her and she did the same to his lip.

Watching the ruby red liquid trickle down his lip sent shivers down her spine. After all the years spent pining, she was finally going to be able to call him husband. She would finally be his wife. They took turns marking each other’s foreheads with blood, and then Aemond took the blade and cut his own hand, then hers, and they took each other’s hands and watched their blood mix together. The septon tied their hands together with a silk band. It felt right. Like their two souls that had been one for many years were finally able to come together, this time in front of gods and men.

The septon began to speak in High Valyrian as the combined blood of Aemond and Maelessa dripped down onto the floor and into a goblet held by the maester.

Hen lantoti ānogar 

Va sȳndroti vāedroma 

Mēro perzot gīhoti 

Elēdroma iārza sīr 

Izulī ampā perzī 

When the droplets of blood mixed with the wine inside the goblet, the septon handed it first to Aemond to take a sip, and then to Maelessa.

Prūmī lanti sēteksi 

Hen jenȳ māzīlarion 

Qēlossa ozūndesi 

Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo 

Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi

Finally, the pair of lovers looked into each other’s eyes and brought their lips together in a kiss, sealing their union once and for all. Maelessa wrapped her arms around Aemond’s neck, and he wrapped his around her waist, pulling her close. They sniggered quietly against each other’s lips, hardly believing that they were finally man and wife. He kissed her again, and applause broke out in the court room. First to applaud were the commoners, then the court, and the only one who didn’t partake was Alicent.

Aemond and Maelessa continued holding hands as they walked together down the steps and through the great hall, smiling at the people applauding them as they made their way out. Neither of them paid any mind to Alicent’s scowl. They both were walking on clouds, high on emotions and bursting with love for each other.

To celebrate, they took their dragons out to flight. The huge Vhagar and the little Catlys soared through the sky together, carrying Aemond and Maelessa on their backs. Aemond told her that he was having a saddle fashioned for Catlys, but as it wasn’t done yet, she still held the dragon around her neck, using her horns to steer.

The nickname that Aemond had given Catlys, “The Bat”, began to spread through the city as the common folk grew accustomed to seeing the black dragon barrel through the skies with her endless wing flapping. Maelessa took her out daily, revelling in the feeling on finally being free. She didn’t bear the burden of her family looking down on her for her choices, she didn’t bear the burden of being a not so secret lover, and she didn’t bear the burden of her or her dragon being prisoners. She was now Aemond’s wife, flying over the city which was her home.

As Aemond’s wife, she returned to her hobby of training dogs in Cobbler’s Square. As Aemond’s wife, she served as cupbearer on the small council. As Aemond’s wife, she knelt at his feet when he sat the throne. For this, history would remember her as The Kneeling Queen. He fashioned her a collar of steel that he gently placed around her neck each time they went to court together. Attached to the collar was a chain with a leather handle, one which he toyed with as he sat the throne. Kneeling by his feet when he ruled allowed her to empty her head. A serene silence in her otherwise never-quieting brain. Occasionally, he would lean forward and pet her, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

Alicent berated Aemond for this, of course. She yelled at him that Maelessa was his wife, not his plaything.

“You have made the choice to take her to wife, now honour her!” the dowager queen shouted. Maelessa didn’t butt into the discussion, she simply smiled as she knelt by the throne. Aemond smirked and tilted his head.

“This is how she feels honoured, mother,” he countered. “As my wife, she belongs to me. You have spent many years trying to intervene in our relationship. That time is over now, you may go,” Aemond declared. His mother scoffed at him, but saw no choice but to do as he said.

In the evening they lay together, and late in the night they went over their long planned schemes, adjusting them to the reality they now faced. The fire crackled in Aemond’s chamber, which was now her chamber as well. It was the hour of the owl when they finally came to their conclusion.

“Aegon is unattended only for a few hours in the night. That is when I must act,” Aemond declared, dragging the Valyrian steel blade across Maelessa’s thigh. They sat in the nude, facing each other in two armchairs, her legs draped over his and his free hand caressing her bare skin.

“I’ll keep watch, make sure you aren’t seen,” she answered. Aemond nodded, but then he looked away. She frowned. “What is it, husband?”

“You and I are one soul. We belong together. But if I go through with this… We shall be parted in death,” he said, wiping a stray tear that escaped his eye. Maelessa straightened her back and leaned forward, taking his hand in hers.

“What do you mean?” she asked. Aemond squeezed her hand hard.

“You have a good heart, Maelītsos. It grieves me, but in death we’ll be parted. You’ll be up in the heavens and I’ll be down in the seven hells for my crimes,” he said, entangling their fingers. The fire was the only thing lighting his face, and she saw the guilt weighing on him. He had already burned Aegon half to death, but this was different. This would be a calculated move, and it pained him.

“Then let me slay Aegon for you and join you in the seven hells,” she said without hesitation. Aemond looked up at her in surprise. He shook his head.

“I won’t sully you with these acts-”

“Let me do it, Aemond. Give me the dagger and I will sneak into Aegon’s chamber and take his life. Let me do this for you,” she pleaded, squeezing his hands again. After contemplating her words, he finally nodded in agreement. Then finally, the two of them went to sleep.

The next day, after her cupbearer duties, Maelessa took Catlys out into the Kingswood. She tried out the new saddle for the first time. It was clear that it was Aemond who had fashioned it, it was as black as the dragon itself, with scales carved into the leather and blue sapphires adorning the front. When she was able to strap herself into the saddle, it became a lot easier to handle Catlys’ sharp turns and the way she barrelled through the air and shot through the trees. Now she could ride comfortably even as the dragon turned upside down. Together they soared over the trees, and it was then that a small flying creature shot up from the woods with a roar.

Maelessa whipped her head around and her eyes widened. A small golden dragon emerged from the forest, breathing fire. Catlys roared and turned around, following it without Maelessa’s command. They dove down under the trees after the golden little beast, and there amongst all the greenery sat three more. Two of the dragons were babes, no larger than dogs, one was young, probably the size of Vermax. The fourth one was sizable, though, larger for sure than her mother’s dragon Syrax. The biggest of them was bronze in colour like Vermithor, and the others ranged from gold to pink. The big one stepped in front of the others and screeched as Maelessa landed with Catlys.

Maelessa dismounted her dragon and told her to stay put, then she slowly moved forward, towards the bronze beast. It hissed at her in a way she could only interpret as protective. She supposed it was the mother to the other dragons. In High Valyrian she spoke.

“I’ve not come to harm you. Your children are safe. We come in peace.”

The bronze dragon reared its head, huffing at her. She extended her hand, reaching forward carefully.

“Lykiri,” she whispered, taking another step forward. The dragon blinked, taking a step towards her. “Lykiri,” she said again, and then she reached out, touching the dragon’s warm scales. The beast closed its eyes, leaning into her touch, and she breathed out in relief. The little ones flapped their wings and flew towards her as well, over their mother to circle her head, then they landed by Maelessa’s feet, curious about the human visitor. A feeling spread through her gut not to tell any of these dragons to serve. It was of course unheard of that a rider could claim more than one dragon. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t befriend them.

When she was on Dragonstone, she had on several occasions managed have friendly interactions with Silverwing. She gently lowered herself to her knees and allowed the baby dragons to explore her, and then she sang to the four of them. Most dragons seemed to enjoy Valyrian song, and so did these wild ones. The medium one came to rest by her side, and now Catlys came forward to greet them. When the dragons sniffed each other and went about their greetings, it reminded Maelessa of the dogs she trained in Cobbler’s Square, and she had an epiphany.

Twice daily, once in the morning and once in the evening she would fly down here, spending time with the wild dragons and using the same tactics to train them as she did with the dogs. On the third day she noticed progress.

“Kelīton,” she said firmly and held out her hand to the teenage dragon, the pink one. It stopped in its tracks. “Pālegon,” she said and spun her finger around. The dragon turned and spun, resuming its post and facing her. She threw a hunk of meat at it as a reward and moved on to the other dragons, testing out various commands and instructing them with her body on how to do it. Every time one obeyed she rewarded them with raw meat, and soon enough all of them were happy to be trained. Maelessa kept this discovery to herself, not even sharing it with Aemond. She wanted to be absolutely certain it was a victory before she told anyone.

On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra crumpled up a letter and threw it into the fire. She buried her face in her hands in grief and frustration. During the battle of Rook’s Rest, her daughter had managed to free her dragon and run away, straight into the battle, right into the claws of Aemond Targaryen once more. They were now down one large battle dragon, and Rhaenys, her most trusted advisor was dead. And now her daughter was gone, again.

“The monster has taken her to wife!” she yelled, wrapping her arms around Jacaerys who was there to console her.

“We must account for her in our plans going forward. Maelessa is a threat to us now, mother,” Jace said when when broke apart. Rhaenyra wiped a tear off her cheek and shook her head.

“I cannot believe that, I will not.” “With Aegon injured and Aemond as prince regent, she’s even more inclined to fight for them. At least when Aegon ruled she was willing to give him up as dragon feed, isn’t that what you said?” he asked, and Rhaenyra nodded. “But you know she’ll go to the ends of the earth to protect Aemond, she’s told you as much! And now she’s shown it in her actions. She is not one of us anymore, you have to let her go!” “She’s my only daughter!” she insisted. Jace grew impatient with his mother’s refusal to accept where his sister’s loyalties lay. The way he saw it, she disinherited herself from their family years ago. Marrying the man who killed their brother was just the final nail in the coffin. “Not anymore. She’s Aemond’s wife now. If she chooses to die with him, we must be willing to accept it,” he said, but his mother kept shaking her head.

“No. I will not murder my own daughter, and I will not have you murder your sister. Whatever we do, Maelessa must remained unharmed.” “That’s what they’re counting on!” he interjected, throwing his arms out in frustration. “They’re using her to their advantage to stop you from acting!”

Rhaenyra’s nostrils flared in anger and and she ran her hands through her hair.

“I will act! But I will not allow the death of a child that I once brought to life. This conversation is over, Jace.”

Defeated, Jacaerys left the room, just as a maester came with a letter.

“From King’s Landing,” he said, handing the scroll to Jacaerys, who ripped it open and read it before his mother could catch up with him.

“Impossible,” he whispered.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra asked, coming to read over his shoulder. The letter was from Maelessa.

Mother and brother,

I’m certain you’ve already been informed of my marriage to Aemond, and of Aegon’s injuries. That’s not why I’m writing you. I’m writing to inform you that I’ve found four wild dragons and tamed them. I intend to use them to save the life of my husband, should you try to take it. Burn this letter upon reading it, I don’t wish it to be public knowledge that I’ve warned you of this.

Regards

Lessa

“Wild dragons? In King’s Landing? She must be lying,” Jace insisted, walking back into the room and throwing the letter in the fire.

“Why would she lie?” Rhaenyra asked, crossing her arms. In her eyes, this letter was a kindness from her daughter, a warning of new dragons risen for the greens, or at least for one of them. The letter said nothing of the size or ferocity of the dragons. In fact it held no details at all.

“I may have called my sister a cunt, but I’ve never said she isn’t clever. If we think they have more dragons, we’ll be less inclined to attack. Perhaps she’s lying to stall us,” he suggested. His mother pondered his words carefully.

“Perhaps. But for now we must assume she’s telling the truth. Jace… You say she bears no love for us anymore but look what name she used to sign her letter. Not Mae, not Maelītsos. Lessa. That’s my name for her,” Rhaenyra said, clinging to hope. Jace pouted and pondered it.

“Perhaps she bears love for us, but not as much as for the kinslayer. We need more dragon riders, and we need them now.”

Valyrian wedding words translation:

Blood of two Joined as one Ghostly flame And song of shadows Two hearts as embers Forged in fourteen fires A future promised in glass The stars stand witness The vow spoken through time Of darkness and light

Tag list: @magnificentsapphiresoul @ner-dee @sadgirlxangel

[inspired-aspiring-artist]

I think people would love to read the story cooking up in your head!! I never really wrote either beside one cringey 'horror' story.

Things that can help (imo) is imagining things that happen in real life, whag would their reaction be?

Ex: How would they react if someone was sick?

And i would read it 1 goptillion times over!!

Would love to learn more about this/nf!!!

And my golly was that axolotl royalty?/sj (silly joke)

Alexander Jacob Thunderberkin Kippensquire sounds fancy!!!!

Thanks for the ask @bigsillyyy , let the yapping commence!

Okay so the general premise is that after the events of Ruin, Fazco recovered the pizzaplex animatronics from the ruined plex and built a new pizzaplex with updated animatronics using the programming (and memories) from the old animatronics to save some money. They also decided to separate Sun and Moon into two different animatronics, both would be daycare attendants, but after hours Sun would clean the daycare, and Moon would be security. Fazco wanted to increase the daycare size without having to hire a bunch of people to supervise, which is why they split the dca. To avoid new lawsuits, Fazco made sure to code more secure boundaries on how the animatronics are allowed to interact with staff and guests. As a result, Moon is more of a prankster than a threat to your health (you will be inconvenienced, not dead :3).

I haven’t decided whether to make my oc the main character or just have a y/n; but the plot is that you/oc were hired to be the daycare assistant as the daycare needs at least 1 human supervisor for safety (in actuality they wanted a human so that parents could complain to you directly and not the animatronics). You/oc are trying your best to do your job and befriend the animatronics; but it’s more complicated than you thought it would be.

Both Sun and Moon are dealing with having separate bodies and the fact that they were essentially brought back from the dead, they have an antagonistic relationship with each other and don’t particularly trust Fazco personnel, which makes befriending them tricky (but rewarding!)

Answering your axolotl question: He was royal to me, but I always named my Mudkip starter Alex or Alexander when I played Pokémon alpha ruby/omega saphire, and when I played pixelmon on Minecraft. The Jacob Thunderberkin is a parody reference to a character from Over the Garden Wall, who Greg names the frog after in the last ep (Jason Funderberker) and Kippensquire is a reference to Mudkip and from Pokémon and the fact that Axolotls are eternal youth (they stay in the adolescent stage their entire lives) and so he would never be a adult (knight) and would stay a squire.

[michaelasworlds-blog]

Daddy’s Girl(A Hazbin OC Fanfic)

~~~~~~

Ch. 10: Her

~~~~~~

Word Count: 5.2K

🚨 TRIGGER WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT, DRUG ABUSE!🚨

“Bean.. Bean?” Donnie snapped in a barely conscious Bean’s face. She could barely keep her head up, she groaned.

“Did- did it work?” She slurred.

“I don’t know, but I held up my part; now hold up yours,”

Donnie went over to a medical table, picking up a large syringe filled with blue liquid.

“Now choose, higher electric levels or V-Rage?”

Bean looked between the choices, she lifted her finger to choose..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One week earlier

“Hey baby I hope it’s not too early, I just wanted to thank you,” Bean listened to Valentino on the phone. “You’ve been so good these past few months, I wanted to reward you.”

Bean listened, her head throbbing, why was he shouting? “Um.. no problem, I was glad to help,” she still felt bad about the souls she hurt, even the ones she didn’t kill herself; they had been so scared of being next that they just went back to Val.

“Anyway, I’m having a little party and I want to entertain my guests, think you’d be interested in that?” His voice sounded seductive. She knew what he meant by “entertain”.

Bean sighed, “I don’t know Val, I’m not feeling well.”

“Then get better” He whined. “I need my Sugar here.. Don’t you want to make some extra cash?” Her eyes widened at the thought.

“How much cash would I be making?” She raised an eyebrow.

There was silence, “Uh…” Bean rolled her eyes waiting for an answer.

“How about I make up my mind when you make up yours, okay?”

“Fine but don’t take too long!”

“Okay Val,” She said “nicely” into the phone before ending the call.

Bean held her head feeling intense pain shoot through her head, “Ugh, I need somethin.” She made her way down the elevator to the lobby.

She could hardly remember what happened last night, it was a huge blurred headache. However, it all came rushing back once she saw who was standing in the kitchen. Eugenia.

Flashback

Bean was trying her best to keep herself up, everything turning upside down and then right side up and back to upside down. “Fuck,” She almost tripped, her vision was going in and out. She was not about to fall out in the hallway.

Voices were coming from the kitchen, Bean decided to be nosy to see what was happening, Gigi and Alastor were having a conversation. They also had Donnie’s mask.

“I do make her happy, I’M her mother!” She said loudly. “Ruby is a parasite that sticks to people because she can’t live with the reality that she can’t ACTUALLY be a mother.”

Had Bean heard correctly? She was her what?

“You’re my what?” Bean interrupted. As soon as she said that everything went dark.

End of Flashback

Bean stared at the woman, feeling her blood boiling. She turned around jumping, “Bean, you scared me,” she sighed with relief. She continued to stare, “Come sit, I made you breakfast and something for the hangover.”

Was she serious? Was she crazy? It was like last night didn’t happen to her! She always did this!

Not anymore.

“Okay,” Bean gave her a fake smile before sitting. Eugenia sits down across from her.

“How did you sleep?” She smiled. “You fell pretty hard last night so I brought you to your room, well Alastor did. I made sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit.”

Bean’s eye twitches, “How sweet of you,” she says through her teeth, still smiling.

“Oh shoot! I didn’t get your breakfast!” She gasped.

“It’s okay,” Bean pushed her chair out. “I’ll get it.” She stood up going over to the platter that Eugenia had left on the side of the room. She stares down at it, slipping the knife from the metal and gripping it in her palm. Eugenia comes up behind her and touches her shoulder, placing her other hand on the desk next to the platter.

“You always were a clumsy one,” she said

Bean furrows her brow and forces the blade through the back of Eugenia’s hand into the wooden desk.

“Oh Eugenia, did you think you could get away from me?” she turns and snaps the older woman’s arm behind her back. Eugenia, in shock, stares at her impaled hand in shock. “I didn’t have memory loss you dumb bitch.”

“Bean let me explain-” Eugenia was cut off by Bean yanking a fist full of her hair.

“No, let me explain” she growled. “I will rip you apart then wait for you to come back and do it all over again, I’m gonna rip your head off and play fucking soccer with it, I’m gonna-”

Bean’s phone rang, it’s Vox. She let go of her mother’s hair, “Hold on a minute,” she said before answering the phone. “Hello?” Bean walked away from Eugenia.

“Hey, um how are you?” Vox sounded uncomfortable.

“I’m ok.. did you need something Mr.Vaughn?” She put a hand on her hip.

Vox cleared his throat, “So Val is doing some party to celebrate something I don’t know; and he wants entertainment..apparently he talked to you?”

“Uh huh?”

“Are ya gonna do it?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

“Why-?! what do you mean think-!” He went off on her before taking a breath.

Bean was taken aback, it was too early for all this. She didn’t know what to say or even how to respond, “Are you okay?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes!” He cleared his throat, “Yes.” Vox’s voice was calmer.

“Do you not want me to do it?” Bean asked.

“I mean Val really wants you there, he won’t shut up about it,” the overlord chuckled.

“Okay..what do you want?” She honestly wanted to hear his answer. Did he care enough to tell her not to do it? “If you don’t want me to do it then I won’t.”

“What do you want from me Bean?” He sighed, sounding annoyed.

“I want an answer, do you want me to do this? Yes? Or No?” There was silence, making Bean a bit nervous.

“Yes, it’d be great for the company to ya know.. have younger bodies,” Vox sounded so unsure of himself.

Bean sighed in disappointment, “Okay Vox.”

“We can hang out afterwards if you want, okay?” He offered.

“I don’t know,” she wanted the conversation to be over, she had nothing else to really say to him.

“Don’t be a brat Bean!” His voice became distorted and angry. “If you don’t want to be treated like a child, then stop bitching like one!” The call ended.

She stared at her phone in anger and disbelief, that was the last time he called her a bitch! Bean put her phone away. “Now, where were we?” She turned, to where her mother was supposed to be standing. But all that was there was the bloody knife laying on the desk. Anger filled her body, making her drip toxic waste.

“What the fuck?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Awe..I’m going to miss him being so quiet,” Ruby pinched Donnie’s cheek.

He snatched away from her.

“I don’t mean to be in your business but why is he tied up?” Alastor asked, staring at an angry Donahue tied up on the floor.

“He was being bad so I had to put him in timeout,” Ruby grinned.

Alastor was a very busy man and had no time for her shenanigans.

“Here you are, Eugenia wanted to give it to you herself but I think she might be a bit tied up at the moment,” he threw the mask on the floor in front of Donnie, who looked at the Radio Demon like he was an idiot.

Ruby turned to Alastor, “What do you mean?”

“I won’t say much but apparently Eugenia decided to tell Bean that she was her mother, she wanted to have a chat with her,” Alastor leaned on his cane. “I guess today she’ll find out how specific you have to be with contacts.” He chuckled, Eugenia hadn’t used Bean’s real name in the contract, so it was void, but he wasn’t telling her that.

Ruby laughed along with him, “You can go now,” she waved him away.

Alastor put his hands on his chest, “My my, you could at least say thank you.”

“He owes you a thank you, I wanted to keep him as quiet as a mouse,” she ruffled Donnie’s hair.

“Uh huh, well take care my dear,” Alastor smiled at Ruby then turned to Donnie smirking. “Be a good boy Donnie,” he teased, pinching Donnie’s cheek, then shadowed away laughing maniacally.

Ruby’s smile faded into a frown, she bent to Donnie’s level. “Now, let’s do this again, since you obviously didn’t understand me the first time,” she held his chin. “You will protect your daughter, I don’t care if you have to lock the brat in a closet! You keep her safe from that man! Or the next time you see me this mask is going down your throat! Are we clear?” She put the mask on Donnie.

“Yes Ruby,” he answered in a monotone voice.

She smirked, walking away feeling victorious.

Little did she know Donnie had other plans.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bean: “Oh fuck yes! Take me daddy!”

Porn Actor: “You like that?! You wanna more?!”

Bean: “Yeah! Put another hot dog in my pussy!”

Porn actor: “You want mustard or ketchup baby?”

Bean: “Both!”

Bean sat up under the covers staring at the video, she probably stuck up to 15 hot dogs up there. Well not 15 just 2 but she was proud of herself either way. She went to watch another video, but there were no more. Had she really watched all of them?

She closed her laptop sitting in the dark when her door burst open, Bean snatched the covers off seeing Cherri Bomb in her room.

“Bean what are ya doin?!” She jumped on her bed. “You’ve been up here all day! I thought last night killed ya or somethin’.”

Bean rubs her temples, “I’m sorry I’ve had a morning, I just can’t be around others,” her mind went back to early this morning. Had Eugenia told them what happened? Told them she was her daughter? Bean wanted to know but at the same time she didn’t.

“Well, I got just the cure for that,” Cherri dug in her shirt, pulling out a plastic baggie filled with pills.

“So..your solution for a hangover is to what? Become intoxicated again?” Bean raised an eyebrow.

Cherri looked at the bag confused, “What! No? It’s to get high.”

“Ugh! But I also have that thing for Val this week,” Bean forgot she had called him back telling him she’d do it.

“Why you work for that dick I’ll never know,” She handed Bean six pills. “I’m givin’ you these, be responsible!”

Bean rolled her eyes, “Is Cherri Bomb telling me to be responsible? I don’t know..maybe Voe isn’t the only one that traded up.”

Cherri pushed her head, “Shut up!” She laughed. “Come on, take one and get back to bein social!”

Bean nodded, before swallowing a pill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chicago, Illinois 1983

“I don’t understand! I thought you said I could,” a 10 year old Bean followed Eugenia around the house.

“Do not put words in my mouth Beatrice! I said I’d think about it!” Eugenia snapped at her daughter.

“But the principal said grades were good this year, she recommended me and everything,” Bean stomped her foot.

Eugenia rolled her eyes, “Don’t be a brat, it’s just a camp Bean.”

“It’s a dance camp! And it’d be amazing! We’re going to California, Louisiana, New York, Florida, Texas-”

“I get it Bean!” She interrupted her daughter. “I don’t think you’d appreciate it.”

“I would, I promise!” Bean looked up at her with pleading eyes.

The mother knelt in front of her child, “I know you think you want this, but you don’t. You don’t know what you want. The places you named, those are for stuck up jerks so think they’re better than everyone else, do you think you’re better than everyone else?” Her daughter shook her head. “Exactly.”

“But Stefan said I could go,” Bean whined.

Eugenia stared at her daughter, not knowing what to say. So she said something that was gonna be hard for Bean to swallow.

“I think it’s time you pick up a new hobby, no more dance.”

Present day, Hell

“Wait but why couldn’t she go?” Voe asked examining Eugenia’s hand. Alastor asked her to look at it, why did he think she was a doctor? And she just loved how he was giving her the cold shoulder but found time to ask her to sew up another bitch’s hand, not that Gigi was a bitch- Well she kind of was.. but not to her, to her daughter who was Bean.

“Bean wasn’t the smartest, she wasn’t careful of anything or anyone,” she watched the doe sew her hand. “And back then, it wasn’t really a great time for black people or women.”

Voe scrunched up her face, it wasn’t really a great time for both in the present day either; “Well I don’t think that was fair of you to do.”

“Protecting my daughter from the world?”

She internally screeched, “You can’t protect her from everything, you kept her from succeeding at anything-”

“No I didn’t! She got to study abroad! I never got to do that stuff” Gigi interrupted her, sending Voe into a rage.

Maybe it was this whole pregnancy process or something but she actually screamed, “Gigi! I don’t know if you noticed when you were alive, but the world still isn’t the best place! She could’ve been a rockette or something, instead now she’s spending eternity with the worst people that once walked the earth,” Voe took a breath. “You should’ve given her a chance to see what the world had to offer, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Hm, I never thought about it that way,” Gigi responded. “Is it weird that I kind of expected it?”

“Nope I’m pretty sure everyone’s thought of stabbing their mom,” Voe wrapped her hand.

“Not me.”

“Okay that’s weird.”

The sinners laughed, Gigi examined Voe. “Did you gain weight?”

Voe was about to be offended by the question, but gasped realizing what that could mean, she blushed, touching her stomach.

“Maybe.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being the facility manager for the hotel had many perks. For one, he could do as he pleased and call it “business”. While being one of the most feared overlords, he could get anybody, employee or resident, to do what he wanted; whether he owned them or not. However, what he liked most was the observation of the many sinners he noticed, he noticed what they did every day, how they acted and what they were up to.

But he couldn’t figure his Vera out, couldn’t tell what she was up to, or doing especially with Lucifer. Didn’t she know how much her betrayal the first time hurt him? Did she even care?

Alastor chose to put that thought on the back burner, he pulled his attention to someone else.

Bean.

She was not herself, he rarely saw her. For the past week now the young girl was either intoxicated or someone told Alastor that she was in her room. He didn’t have a chance to introduce her to Rosie, and since she wasn’t gonna even bother trying to annoy him, he had to go to her.

Alastor found the girl laying on the couch, trying to light a rolled up piece of paper. “I thought drugs were Angel’s hobby, glad you’re taking up something.”

“What do you want?” Bean wasn’t looking at him, still trying to light the paper. “Fucking lighter.”

“Well I was hoping we could play one of our little hand games, last time we almost made it to seven in ‘Numbers’,” Alastor never felt prouder.

She looked up at him as if he lost his mind, “No, I have game,” she sat up. “It’s called,‘Why does Alastor own my mother?’” Bean looked upset.

Alastor knew she’d be upset, he’d honestly been waiting for this moment, “I don’t believe I’ve heard of that one,” he joked.

“No? I’ll explain,” she smiled sarcastically. “It’s basically where you don’t speak to me EVER AGAIN! Leave me the hell alone!” Bean stood up, angrily looking up at the Radio Demon.

He was silent for a moment then sighed, she was being dramatic. Did he really think that he’d own Eugenia as some sick joke to her? But he’d give her some space, “I can get behind those rules.”

“Good,” her voice cracked. “Oh! And if you see that fucking coward tell her and we have unfinished business,” She said before walking towards the hotel doors.

“Kind of late to be going out, don’t you think?!” He called after her, but Alastor only got the door slamming as a response. His large grin increased in size.

“Now that’s much better.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So..ya mom is the hotel attendant,” Angel was trying to sort out everything Bean had told him.

“And a bitch,” Bean said, putting on black lipstick in the mirror.

“Hm, so Gigi is the enemy, and the reason you like to be a whore,” he said.

“Well, I don’t know about being a whore but yes she is my number two enemy,” she powdered her nose.

“Alright I’m sold, imma tell Cherri,” Angel texting her the whole time if he was being honest.

Bean turned to the spider demon, “Why?”

“Um..cause she’s my best bitch?” Angel said in a “uh duh” tone. “Anyway, you ready yet?” He stood up.

She turned to him, “How do I look? ” Angel exclaimed her.

“Like a hoe,” He smirked.

“Then let’s go,” she grinned.

Val’s party was amazing! Well, at least that’s what Bean remembered it being. She had taken the rest of the pills Cherri had given her and it honestly felt like she was the client, Bean felt like she wasn’t even on cloud nine anymore, probably on cloud 20 or something.

Almost every sinner the entire night got with Bean, she was on beds, floors, walls even in the hot tubs. She loved how the drugs made her feel, how the sinners told her what a “good girl” she was being. They yanked her hair and pulled on her tail until she screamed, they paid extra if they could draw blood.

Bean knew why some of these freaks were in hell now.

“Sugar baby,” Val sat next to Bean. “You made daddy so much money tonight, I’m so proud of you,” he kissed her cheek.

“I’m happy you’re happy,” was all she could say. She was honestly tired, she needed to close her eyes.

Val’s phone went off, he looked at the message before rolling his eyes, “Es un bebé,” he sighed.

Translation: He’s such a baby.

“Who was that?” Bean asked.

“Just Vox, he’s been up my ass all day, and not in a sexy way! Talking about how you guys had plans and that I ruined everything!” He threw his phone across the room. “He’s throwing a tantrum and it’s not attractive.”

Bean had totally forgotten about Vox, she looked at her phone. There were no texts or missed calls, was he ok? Was he sick? Or hurt? “Maybe I should make sure he’s okay.”

“I don’t care, as long as he doesn’t yell at me again, I’ll kick his ass,” Val crossed his arms.

The sinner rolled her eyes before leaving. They were both dramatic as hell.

Bean made her way to V-Tower, it was quiet in the building, probably because most sinners were at the party. She made her way past some sinners who were rushing back and forth.

Finally making it to Vox’s room she knocked on the door, “Vox? Are you dead? Vox…” Bean waited for a long minute before kicking the door, “VOX!”

The door flew open, “WHAT?!” Vox yelled, his screen glitching. He calmed down seeing Bean, “Oh, what do you want?”

“I came to see how you were, apparently you’ve been pretty grumpy all day so-”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working Val’s little party prostitute thing,” Vox crossed his arms.

Bean felt kind of guilty, she never gave him an answer to hanging out, “Well, I was thinking we could hang out, and talk.”

The overlord laughed, “You think I’d wanna hang with you after you chose Val over me?! You can’t be serious!”

“But you told me to-”

“I didn’t tell you to do shit!” He interrupted her. “You left me alone! And after all I’ve done for you! You wouldn’t even be able to walk if it wasn’t for me!”

Bean’s blood began to boil, what was with everyone today?! Was it “Treat Bean like Shit Day”?!

“You seriously need to get your priorities in order, at least Voe does things for the people she cares about,” He smirked before slamming the door.

She stared at the door enraged, she didn’t know what to do, or what to say! But you know what?! If he was so pissed about this leg! Then he could have it.

Before Bean could even think about it, she pulled out her switchblade and started stabbing her prosthetic leg, she only stopped having accidentally stabbed her thigh, she screamed.

Vox came back out seeing Bean sitting on the floor, holding her leg in pain.

“What the fuck?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bean sat on the bed in silence, her anger had faded making her realize that what she did was stupid.

Vox examined her damaged leg, “How did this even happen? What were you even doing?” Vox complained.

Bean rolled her eyes, “Are you done yet?” She wasn’t gonna tell him anything about stabbing herself.

Vox looked up at her, “I fixed the leg, you might walk funny for a day or two.”

“Fantastic, now all of hell is gonna see me waddle around like a toddler,” she crossed her arms.

🚨TRIGGER WARNING: THIS PART CONTAINS SMUT🚨 (skip bold font if uncomfortable)

“Ya know you don’t have to leave,” Vox smirks.

Bean looks at him with a straight face, “Really? And where should I stay?”

“You can stay here,” he kisses her leg making her blush. “With me,” he continues kissing her thigh.

“Vox…stop..” she looked away from him starting to feel heat form in her face and between her legs. What was he doing? Why was he being like this?

“I miss you,” he smiled up at her.

Bean was still looking away, not saying anything, she couldn’t concentrate. Between feeling Vox slowly lick his way up her skirt, the throbbing sensation coming from her crotch, she didn’t know what to focus on.

Vox starting kissing and licking her crotch through her wet underwear, “You’re fucking soaked baby.” Bean bit her lip, gripping the sheets as she moaned. “I know you can get louder..” he pulled her soaked underwear down before licking from her folds to her clitoris.

She put one of her legs on bed, allowing the tv demon to enter his thick tongue into her vagina. Bean moaned loudly feeling Vox’s tongue lick her walls, “Vox…” was the only word she could muster up.

Vox got on the bed sitting next to Bean, who was looking up at him waiting to see what he was gonna do next; “You’re so beautiful,” he said kissing her neck. She bit her lip feeling him start to bite her, he had his hands through her thick hair before slowly moving a hand towards her nipple. He stopped, pulling her onto his lap, “I bet you missed me too,” he smirked before they started making out.

Vox goes back to her neck making more bite marks in the same spot, “I think I just need to-“ she laughed as he grabbed her sides tickling her for a moment. “Stop..” Bean smiled as he pushed her dress strap down, kissing her shoulder; she giggled and moaned as he squeezed her boob.

“You want me to stop?” Vox stopped what he was doing.

“No don’t-" Bean squealed in pleasure as he bit her shoulder causing her to almost fall off his lap. Vox used one hand to hold her up , while the other one wandered under her dress and began rubbing her soaked throbbing clit; Bean ripped his bow tie off before unbuttoning his shirt while she kissed him.

Vox slipped two fingers into Bean’s vagina, “Fuck!” She gasped gripping onto his back as he started penetrating her. “Vox!” She moaned.

“You like that baby?” He started going faster. “Tell daddy what you think.”

“Shut up,” Bean laughed between moans. “Go faster,” Vox laid them on the bed, his fingers still inside her. He starts licking on one of her nipples that is halfway out of her strapless bra, Bean felt like her body would explode at any moment; she was so close…but she had to stop. “Vox..stop..”

Vox heard the seriousness in her voice and stopped, “Are you kidding?” They both sat up. “What the fuck Bean.” He watched her get dressed, feeling pissed.

“I’m sorry,” was all she said before getting up to leave. However, her arm was grabbed by Vox. “Bean looked at him, “Let me go.”

“What is wrong with you?” He glared at her. “Why are you all of a sudden being so difficult?!”

Bean was shocked, “What? Because I know my worth, I'm difficult?” She snapped.

Anytime anyone needed her she was there. Did whatever anyone wanted! No matter how it made her feel! When was someone going to do anything for her? When would they be there for her?

“Oh please, this isn’t you ‘knowing your worth’,” Vox rolled his eyes, doing air quotes. “This is you throwing a hissy fit because, what? Am I being too mean?! Am I rude?! Disrespectful?! What is it?!” He pulled her closer with each question.

She snatched away from him, crossing her arms. “Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset,” he said through his teeth.

“That was rhetorical! You don’t have the right to be upset! After the week you put me through!”

“Oh please! What exactly did I ‘put you through’?!” The tv demon used air quotes, AGAIN! If he used those quotes again he’d have no fucking fingers.

“Lets see, you blew me off when YOU were the one that planned for us to hang out-”

“That was weeks ago! Next!” He crossed his arms.

“I’m not finished!” She fumed. “I wanted to hang out after I was done with Val! And you berated me for doing it! When you were the one that wanted me to do it!”

“You obviously wanted to do the job! I was just giving you what you wanted!”

“I did it because that’s my job! I work for Val! Sex is literally in the job description! But I asked you Vox! Why didn’t you just say no?! Even Val was talking about you being pissy to him, he would’ve let me leave!”

“Well, maybe you should’ve,” Vox shrugged, looking as if he could care less

“I did- Ugh! You are so frustrating!” Bean yelled. “Why are you pushing me away?! Even after the things I’ve read about you! I am still here! I am standing in front of a guy who can embarrass himself in front of millions of sinners and hellborns alike but can’t just care about someone! Maybe that’s why Voe didn’t want to stay here! At least-”

“AHA!” Vox smiled excitedly. “I knew it! You’re jealous of Voe! All the opportunities I gave her! And the attention!”

Bean stared at him in disbelief, this man was insane! He was completely out of his mind! “I am not jealous of Voe!” Her voice cracked. She might’ve been slightly jealous of her, but Bean wasn’t the type to let it get in the way of her friendships. There was a time she was also jealous of Angel! Even Barktholomew! But she still loved them dearly.

Vox looked at the shorter demon smugly, “I bet you can’t stand that I’d rather fuck her than you.”

Well that hurt, more than hurt, it stung! “Wow, okay.”

“Nothing else?” He put his hands on his hips, smirking.

“Just that, you’re gonna end up alone.” The Overlord looked confused. “You hurt everybody around you.

Vox rolled his eyes, “Whatever,” he walks away and Bean follows.

“Someday everyone will get tired of your shit and how you treat them!” She rages while Vox has his back to her.

“You’re still talking?” He sounds annoyed.

“Is that what happened with you and Alastor? Did he get tired of you because you were always on the same stupid bullshit? Is that why keep trying to get his attention? Newsflash! He doesn’t think about you! He doesn’t even look at you!”

Static was heard from Vox, he chuckles, “Okay, that’s enough,” he grins to mask his building anger.

“He can’t stand you! You’re souls can’t stand you! When you died they threw a party!” That was a lie but they did post about it. “The truth is, if you weren’t a manipulative prick! You wouldn’t have any of the success you have now! No one would give a fuck about you!”

Vox glared at this point, “Be quiet,” he growled.

“Why? You don’t wanna hear about how one day no one's gonna wanna watch your shitty shows? Vox-2-Nite is gonna be the lowest rated show?!”

Vox stood right in front of her, “Shut up!”

“Velvette and Valentino are gonna get tired of you embarrassing them one day and leave you to rot with your sharks! Sooner or later Alastor won’t even remember who you are! Voe could give two shits about you and if I’m being completely honest, I’m starting to care less about you as well!”

Vox grabbed Bean by her arms, “BE QUIET!” His voice became distorted as he used his hypnotic powers. Bean’s mouth immediately shut against her wishes, Vox realizing what he was doing immediately stopped, letting her go. “Fuck,” He looked away from her.

He said nothing, only heard the clicking of her heels getting further and further away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bean walked down the dark streets of Hell sniffling, she tried her best not to cry or even feel sad. Even though there was no one around she was still ashamed to even feel upset.

Maybe she had no right to be upset. Maybe she should’ve just kept going and kept her mouth shut! Why’d she have to ruin everything?!

The worst part about this all was that she wasn’t upset about the betrayal, Bean was upset because she left.

What else could she even say? He wasn’t listening, maybe he’d never listen.

“Help..” Bean heard a voice come from an ally. “Help me please..” the voice was familiar.

“Donnie?” She slowly walked into the dark passageway. Sitting against the wall was Donnie, he was holding his side. Blood was leaking from it. She hurried up to him, “What happened?”

“A..guy..” he mumbled.

“What guy?”

“This one,” at that moment he pulled out a taser, tasing Bean until she was unconscious. Donnie stood up, putting his daughter over his shoulder.

“Gets ‘em every time.”

(Sorry for the late update guys 😭 @nkirukaj thanks for help with the chapter and the title)

[ghost-timelord]

That Damn'd Priest (John Constantine x M!OC) [1/?]

The one where John meets a curious pest of a priest.

1k words.

John doesn't even know what brought him to the damn church. Well, he does- Zatanna had mentioned an “evil feeling presence” there, and since it’s a church he’d wanted to check it out. How, exactly, that led to him having tea with a priest he isn’t quite sure, and on top of that a priest that is somehow completely free of demons and dark impulse. He’d even checked. Twice! Once with a spell at the doorway, another with a touch of holy water slipped into the man’s tea. Looking around, though, it really wasn’t even necessary- the priest’s office and his own being are covered in items that dont even just ward off demons- there’s an iron horseshoe upturned over the door to ward off really anything.

It’s a little weird that a catholic believes in that superstition. There’s also St. John’s Wort growing on the windowsill, to repel the Fae. 

“So,” the priest says, turning back to John with a smile. “We don’t get a lot of visitors here, especially not…eh…ones like you.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Magic users have a look. Demon hunters especially so. What brings you in?” “Ah, you’ve met others then. Who?” “Guy named Kipling, mostly. Keeps trying to buy my cane off me, couldn’t tell you why.”

John’s eyes jump to the ruby-headed cane of the priest’s cane. And it blinks back at him. Bugger. 

“More tea?” John looks up at the priest. “Sure, yeah. What’s your name?” “Loveland, uh- Harry. Harry Loveland. You?” “John Constantine.” Henry stumbles a second, surprised, and grabs the edge of the desk as his left leg seems to briefly collapse. “Ah, so I have a reputation.” Henry chuckles. “Yeah, yeah just a little bit. Kipling and the girl he’d brought with him- I think her name was Raven or something?- told me to watch out, that you’d probably be around. But you’re being a real model guest right now.” Henry hands over the next cup of tea and grabs his cane, the eye darkening and shying away from his touch, the orb-shaped handle turning back to a glossy black. Like it’s avoiding the touch. “Oi, mate, can I see your cane for a second?” Henry looks down at it, confused, before handing it over and leaning back on the desk to take weight off his stiff-seeming left leg again. The demon’s eye opens again, red and angry, trying to get John to break the bauble and promising all sorts of things they can’t deliver on. “...You’re aware this thing is infested with demons, right?” John says, analyzing the man before him and maybe just a little concerned.

“Yeah, Kipling mentioned something about that.” Harry says as he sips his own tea, his brown hair looking a bit golden in the sun. “Found it at a consignment shop, figured I’d better take it before someone else does. Someone who’d free them.” That leaves John a little confused. “So you know that there are multiple demons trapped in it.” “Yeah.” “And you’re not worried about them getting out?” “...I’m confident the magic will hold, I’ve done my research.” "...How so?" Harry looks a little worried before adjusting his collar and taking his cane back. He motions for John to follow, leaving the cramped office and walking across the sacristy behind the altar to the hidden staircase and door to the brownstone apartment building next door. 

Then he sits John down in the little living room and goes off to get something, his cane clicking softly on the hardwood floors.

He comes back soon but slow, carrying a pile of books, and puts them down on the table. “Found these at various charity shops too- I'm trying to get as many as I can so that I know nobody else has them. I even got one from your side of the pond, some Roderick Burgess guy.” John whistles, impressed, and thumbs through one of them. “These are dangerous books, mate, why not let Kip or I take them?” His hand is stopped from picking one up by the suddenly stern priest, using the head of the cane (It's just pulsing with power) to block his hand.

“I don't trust either of you with them. You might know what you're doing but I have no clue how many people around you respect the power of these.” “They aren't safe here.” “I've driven the stakes and made this place too a holy land. They're as safe here as they would be in the church proper.” “Let me rephrase: They aren't safe with someone who doesn't know how to use them. Like your cane.” “I have no interest in learning magic, and have no plan on bending to the cane's will. I…You're free to regularly check in on me if you want, to see that I'm telling the truth. Besides, I'm a collector, I may gain books that could be of use to you.”

John sighs, then stands as he decides to take what he can get in this battle. “Fine,” He says, itching for a cigarette, “But I'm not calling ahead when I do.” 

“That would only be fair.” The priest, Henry, says before checking his watch and swiftly hiding the tomes away behind a false top to a table and his bedroom door. “Now, if you wish to leave you can- I can't imagine a man like you being very interested in the gossip of a knitting circle-” There's a knock at the door. Henry looks nervous for a second before adjusting the collar and putting on a calm demeanor to lead John out. “Just email if you want to see the book again within the next month, the address should be on the church website.” He says with a smile, nudging John out before inviting the small group of older women in and one younger person with a hot pink acrylic cane in. John catches mention of the church's basement needing to be redone and apologies over the cramped space as he walks down the stairs and away.

1 || 2

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 14: "I hate it." "No you don't." - Cutler Beckett/OC [2,799 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

I was trying to figure out how the hell to write Beckett in a romantic setting and my brain gave me toxic power couple, enjoy. This is more hurt/comfort with eventual kinda-sorta fluff than anything else, but I did my best and so no one can judge me xoxo

It was the evening of her husband’s farewell party before he departed for the Caribbean, and Lady Clara Beckett was a woman on a mission. She had been ever since her dear husband had announced he would not be bringing her with him when he set sail, citing that it was too dangerous and that there was no real need for her to be there - wording that had earned him a look that said more than an earful ever might. But good reason had failed, her discussions with him had been for naught, and he had resolved not to listen. So now, there was only time left for dirty tactics.

He had no right to be too cross about that. It was something he often revelled in, and while she couldn’t give him the credit in saying she’d learned it from him, watching his actions certainly encouraged her. Clara suspected he found it charming at times – but she knew tonight would not be one of those times. She wasn’t even sure she wanted it to be one of those times, her annoyance at now being bloody well listened to warring with her fury at how calm and impassive he was as she’d argued her case. No, she couldn’t quite decide if her plan for the night was with the aim of ‘winning’, or just of royally annoying him.

Although with two goals, she was more likely to achieve at least one of them, was she not?

Her maid did not seem to think so, if the silence in which she dressed her was anything to go by. Clara cared little. It at least saved her from any inane conversation – focused instead on the overall effect. Straight from the court of Louis XV, the gown was red silk, simple and sophisticated without frills or lace. Primarily because none was needed, as the neckline spoke for itself, dipping so far down that it exposed the curve of the pale, smooth underside of her breasts. Were she more well-endowed, it would’ve appeared obscene. Thankfully, she was fairly certain she could just get away with it.

Rubies dangled from her ears, bringing out the warmth of her dark locks where they were piled artfully atop her head, but when the maid brought out the matching necklace, Clara waved her away. It would ruin the effect.

With the maid dismissed thereafter, she had a moment alone to steel herself for what lay ahead. Standing, she inspected her reflection one last time and found that she rather liked what she saw, her dark eyes staring cooly back at her. Then, she took in a deep breath – and found it was a good thing they were throwing a dinner party and not a ball, for the dress would never remain in place for something like dancing – and then made for the door.

 A footman was striding down the corridor as she stepped out, and when he saw her, he froze, and then did his utmost to keep his eyes firmly glued upon her face. Clara took that as a good sign, but kept any indication of that to herself.

“Lord Beckett?” she asked.

“His…study, my lady. Seeing to a handful of letters before your guests arrive.”

“Very well, thank you,” she nodded, and made her way there – her shoulders squaring and her chin raising more and more with every step.

Her husband was indeed in his study, alone behind the great mahogany desk, his eyes fixed firmly on whatever it was he was writing now. She knew not why he would leave any correspondence so late, but no doubt there was a reason behind it – there was a reason behind everything he did. They had that in common.

Stepping inside without announcing herself, she swept her way towards the chair before the desk and sank casually into it, leaning back and watching him with great patience. He looked up, his quill stilled, and a great splotch of ink fell down atop the letter.

Clara smiled. Cutler did not.

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly.

Only once he’d managed to lift his gaze to her eyes.

“It’s from Paris,” she said, her tone light.

“Then the French can let their wives wear them. Change, Clara. Immediately.”

“Take me with you to Jamaica. Tomorrow.”

Realisation hit him then – visibly, his jaw clenching as he heaved a great sigh, leaning back in his chair as he considered her like she was some new great opponent. His head was already in whatever games lay ahead, then. Or perhaps he simply saw her as good practise. There was something flattering in that.

“No,” he said.

Clara shrugged.

“Then it appears we’re at an impasse.”

“So that’s your plan, then, is it? To flounce around showing me precisely what it is I’ll be missing, as if I’m not already well aware?”

His tone might’ve been scathing if not for the certain note of excitement threatening to slip through his annoyance. He did so enjoy their little games.

“You, and everybody else,” she smirked.

Annoyance prevailed then, for he seemed to like that notion even less than his first assumption. Much to her delight. It wasn’t so much, she knew, about the prospect of other men seeing and desiring what was his – for what good was a beautiful wife if not for that very purpose? So long as she never let them think they had a chance in hell (and they never did – infuriating as he was, she was rather fond of her husband), he liked that aspect of things. No, his reservations here would lie in what his leaving behind a woman such as her suggested about his wits. Which was exactly what she intended. She wanted everybody to look at him tonight, after looking at her for a good long while, and wonder if he’d lost his mind in deciding to let her out of his sight.

“Change your dress, Clara,” he ordered. “You have countless other very becoming ones. Choose one of them, and wear that instead.”

Flattery would get him nowhere. Downstairs, the sound of the servants admitting the first of their guests into the house echoed throughout, and her smiled shifted into a smirk as she rose to her feet.

“Would you look at that? I’m afraid it’s too late.”

Turning, she strode to the door of his office before pausing and turning back to him, drawing herself up to her full height as she posed with all the elegance she could muster. Which, as it was, happened to be rather a lot.

“You haven’t said what you think of the dress.”

He scowled at her. “I hate it.”

Clara grinned, seeing through the assertion immediately – rather helped by how, despite his protests, his eyes were glued to her figure.

“No you don’t,” she said.

Their guests were more people whom they were supposed to like rather than those they really held in any high regard. Then again, did anybody really like anybody in London? Neighbours, business associates, and not quite anybody who would be offended at the lack of an invite but instead those whose offense would actually matter, should it come to that.

Lady Clara Beckett greeted them all warmly, tittering appropriately over the origins of their silverware, or the sofa on which they sat as they waited for dinner to be served, or the year on the fine bottles of wine served – and, of course, the dress.

If Cutler was still cross with her (which she knew he was) he did it almost immaculately well, engaging in small-talk over his upcoming journey, talking in serious tones about the threat of the pirate problem, and humming with a great deal of false humility over what his chances may or may not have been at stamping it all out.

Of course, she said “almost” immaculately, for there was one sore spot. One of his good friends – or allies, rather – a fellow Lord, had seen fit to bring his son along with him. Said son was but a year older than Clara, and had presented a rather strong case for her hand way back when she’d still had to endure things like courting and what her potential prospects were. Alexander had never had a chance at “winning” her, but he didn’t seem to know that. Nor did he seem to have much care for his own wife – a boring little Blowsabella who scarcely seemed able to say three words without blushing, as though fearing they were the wrong ones, leaving Clara pitying the lobster that had to die to feed such a bore tonight. Instead, Alexander instead spent much of the evening all but glued to Clara instead, doing his utmost to be charming.

To his credit, he was rather good at it.

No doubt he smelled blood in the water, knowing her husband would soon depart and leave her alone for what could be years.

The evening was a roaring success, as all evenings she put together were. The conversation flowed nicely, dinner was impeccable, and the drinks that followed were so jolly that they were all very reluctant to leave thereafter. She had to suppress a smirk when Alexander’s father leaned in close to Cutler as he left, his face flushed with drink, saying in what he likely thought was a whisper.

“You must be out of your mind to leave a woman like that behind, my dear fellow. Out of your mind!”

His son looked very self-satisfied to hear it, shooting her a look that could only be described as scheming as he herded his wife out of the door. It closed behind them, and she knew her husband had caught the look thanks to how his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“That went rather well, I thought,” she said happily.

“I suppose you were particularly pleased with those parting comments at the end, there,” his tone was scathing.

It rather warmed her.

“If the opinions men hold over your decision to leave me behind bothers you so greatly, perhaps you might rethink those very actions in the first place. When has what others said ever bothered you when you knew the course of action you were taking was the right one?”

“Perhaps the opinions of others bother me when those opinions were cajoled by my wife behaving like a common whore! Perhaps it’s not my present decisions that concern me, but instead the decision I made not one full year ago when I chose such a woman over one who would know her place and do as she was damn well told!”

Silence hung in the air when he was finished. Clara was content to let it remain there, watching him without respond, allowing him to fully consider precisely what it was he’d just said to her. For the first time ever – in all the time that she’d known him – her husband looked alarmed, the fury slipping from his face like rain from a windowpane.

“Clara…darling…” he sighed.

Darling, was it? He only broke out the terms of endearment in truly dire circumstances. Her expression must have been thunderous, then.

“I wish you safe passage on your travels, husband. I’m rather tired, so I’m afraid I won’t be awake to see you off come morning. You may write, if you so wish,” her tone was clipped, and there was a finality to her words.

Although it would be a good long while before he got any response beyond what was entirely necessary – information as to the running of the household, and so on.

The only way she allowed her temper to shine through was in how she snatched her hand away when he reached for it, rising to her feet and leaving the room. The maid noted the curl of her lip and her silence well enough, dressing her for bed and binding her thick dark hair into a long plait behind her head with no attempt at chit-chat, finally leaving the room swiftly thereafter.

Once the door clicked shut behind her, Clara rested her elbows atop the vanity and sighed heavily. How dare he? More infuriatingly still, he’d left her feeling as though she had done something wrong. Not in her manner of dress – she would wear whatever she damn well pleased within the bounds of good taste and propriety. And what did men know of fashion, anyhow? No, what she was questioning was the goodbye she'd offered. Paltry. Cold, even, considering it would be at least a year before they saw one another again. More, conceivably.

But what else could a man expect, upon likening his wife to a whore? And as for his other assertion – the mere suggestion that he’d ever be content with some insipid little fool who simpered and smiled and did not know precisely who and what he was. It would have been hilarious, were it not so insulting.

She been lying in her bed, glaring at the canopy for some time when a knock sounded at her door. Instantly she knew it was him, despite the fact that he never knocked. So she rolled over and put her back to the door, just in time for it to open. Footsteps, muffled by the rug, drew near and then the bed behind her sank as he sat down.

“I’ve spoken to your maid. She believes she can have your belongings packed and ready to go come morning.”

Clara scoffed.

“To what end?”

“You are my wife. Your place is by my side.”

“Yes, well I’m sure there’ll be many bored ladies in Port Royal eager to warm your bed when you make port, so you shan’t miss me. You said it yourself, I do not know my place. I should hate to change that now.”

“You know that isn’t true. None of it.”

“An hour ago, I might’ve thought not. Then, however, you likened me to a whore and everything was made quite clear.”

“You’re coming with me to Jamaica. Would I decide that if I thought you a whore?”

“I suppose it depends on the hourly rate. I’m not going.”

“Clara.”

“I’m not. And I’m not just saying it so that you might convince me otherwise, I’m saying it because I know you changed your mind solely to stop me from being cross with you. I don’t want to win – not anymore. Not that way, in any case. I’ll get up in the morning and see you off if that’ll convince you that I mean it. But I will not go.”

The bed behind her rose, indicating he’d stood, and something within Clara seized up – devastation outweighing the relief that he’d finally listened to her. But then he rounded the bed instead, coming to sit before her. She could not roll onto her other side without the display bordering on the ridiculous, so she forced her face to remain stony as she regarded him. He’d undressed before coming here – now in a nightshirt and devoid of his wig. It was almost easy to forget who he was, and what he was capable, without all of the finery and the accoutrements that went into Lord Beckett being Lord Beckett, his dark hair sticking up here and there.

She would not allow herself to be charmed by it; for that was likely his intention.

“Come with me to Jamaica,” he said. “Please. Not because you’re cross, and not because it shall mean you have won, but because you are my wife, and I’ve little wish to spend the next year or more without you. Tonight has shown me that well enough.”

Clara stared, pushing herself up so that she was sitting upright. Because he never said please. He’d proposed with less heart than what he’d just shown now. Her eyes lowered, and she angrily urged herself to get a grip – a fire blazing in her gaze when she met his eye again.

“Never use that word to refer to me again,” she warned.

He weighed the response, nodding slowly and then finding her hand amidst the covers. “So long as you never grow predictable. So long as you never bore me.”

She could promise well enough that she’d never do that. Based on the rueful smirk on his face as she slid over to admit him into her bed, he knew that well enough.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

[divinityunleashed]

Muse List!

If a Character Name is bolded, that means on my 18+ blog: sinfully-divine, they will be featured there.

Dragon Ball:

Zamasu - [ This Is True Justice ]

Goku Black - [ Divine Rage ]

Fused Zamasu - [ Divinity Unleashed ]

Whis - [ Universe 7's Attendant ]

Vados - [ Universe 6's Attendant ]

Hercule - [ Here Comes The Champ! ]

Super Buu - [ Evil Majin ]

Beerus - [ Universe 7's Destroyer ]

Captain Ginyu - [ Illustrious Captain ]

Dr. Gero - [ Red Ribbon Scientist ]

King Cold - [ Frozen King ]

Goku - [ Pure of Heart ]

Perfect Cell - [ Perfect Android ]

Piccolo - [ Namekian Demon ]

Lord Frieza - [ Universal Emperor ]

Krillin - [ Strongest Earthling ]

Hyperdimension Neptunia:

Neptune - [ Protagonist of Protagonists ]

Noire - [ Tsundere Workaholic ]

Blanc - [ Novice Writer ]

Vert - [ Leanbox Beauty ]

Purple Heart - [ Planeptune's CPU ]

Black Heart - [ Lastation's CPU ]

White Heart - [ Lowee's CPU ]

Green Heart - [ Leanbox's CPU ]

Rom - [ Little Snowflake ]

White Sister - [ Lowee's CPU Candidate ]

Ram - [ Rough Snow ]

White Sister - [ Lowee's CPU Candidate ]

Nepgear - [ Deuteragonist of Deuteragonists ]

Purple Sister - [ Planeptune's CPU Candidate ]

Uni - [ Tsundere Sniper ]

Black Sister - [ Lastation's CPU Candidate ]

IF - [ Windwalker of Gamindustri ]

Compa - [ Ditzy Nurse ]

Histoire - [ Record Keeper ]

Arfoire - [ Deity of Sin ]

Iris Heart - [ Sadistic CPU ]

Plutia - [ Sleepy CPU ]

Adult Neptune - [ Dimension Hopper ]

Croire - [ Recorder of Chaos ]

Kurome Ankokuboshi - [ Goddess of Delusion ]

C-Sha - [ Lowee's Gold Third ]

B-Sha - [ Planeptune's Gold Third ]

K-Sha - [ Lastation's Gold Third ]

S-Sha - [ Leanbox's Gold Third ]

Anonydeath - [ Fair Maiden ]

Linda - [ Underling ]

Chika Hakozaki - [ Leanbox's Oracle ]

Rei Ryghts - [ Fallen Goddess ]

RWBY:

Ruby Rose - [ Red Like Roses ]

Yang Xiao Long - [ Blonde Bombshell ]

Weiss Schnee - [ Ice Princess ]

Winter Schnee - [ Ice Queen ]

James Ironwood - [ Hardened General ]

Glynda Goodwitch - [ Beacon Professor ]

Cinder Fall - [ Smoking Cinders ]

Salem - [ Grimm Goddess ]

Transformers (Prime):

Megatron - [ Decepticon Primarch ]

Starscream - [ Incompetent Con ]

Knockout - [ Automobile Enthusiast ]

Optimus Prime - [ Legendary Prime ]

Airachnid - [ Decepticon Spider ]

Star Wars:

Grand Admiral Thrawn - [ Chiss Ascendency ]

Captain Rex - [ Legendary Captain ]

Boba Fett - [ Bounty Hunter ]

Hunter - [ Bad Batch Leader ]

Wrecker - [ Wrecking Ball ]

Tech - [ Tech Savant ]

Echo - [ Loyal Comrade ]

Crosshair - [ Good Soldiers Follow Orders ]

Darth Vader - [ Chosen One ]

Borderlands:

CL4P-TP/Claptrap - [ CL4P-TP ]

Mad Moxxi - [ Top Shelf ]

Handsome Jack - [ Tyrannical Hero ]

Mass Effect:

Commander John Shepard - [ Legendary Soldier ]

Garrus Vakarian - [ Archangel ]

Overwatch:

Widowmaker - [ One Shot One Kill ]

Reaper - [ Die! Die! Die! ]

Cole Cassidy - [ Cowboy Vigilante ]

Soldier 76 - [ We're All Soldier's Now ]

Mauga - [ A Gun In Each Hand And A Smile On My Face~ ]

Misc:

Grim (Grim Misadventures of Billy & Mandy) - [ The Grim Reaper ]

Marcus Fenix (Gears of War) - [ Saviour of Sera ]

Xander (Fire Emblem: Fates Revelations) - [ Nohrian Crown Prince ]

Sans (Undertale) - [ Dunkle ]

Lisa Minci (Genshin Impact) - [ Witch of Purple Roses ]

Senator Armstrong (Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance) - [ Make America Great Again! ]

Deadpool - [ Merc With A Mouth ]

Batman - [ Caped Crusader ]

Doomslayer - [ Rip And Tear ]

Nova (StarCraft) - [ X41882N ]

Tony Stark (Marvel) - [ Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist By Day - The Hero No One Expects By Night ]

Ainz Ooal Goan (Overlord) - [ Nazarick's DM ]

Albedo (Overlord) - [ Nazarick's Succubus ]

OCs:

Tenebris & Xol - [ Demon King's Vassal ]

Ray (Self Insert) (Raylina) - [ Divine SI ]

The Enigma - [ Shapeshifting Mystery ]

Guest Muses:

CFW Magic

CFW Judge

CFW Brave

CFW Greed (OC remake of CFW Trick)

Ragnaros The Firelord (World of Warcraft)

Roman Torchwick (RWBY)