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helenanell · 26 days ago

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Butchered Tongue | Remmick

Remmick x f!reader

(Although, reader is mentioned as having an Irish father, so this does lean towards being an OC.)

Summary: Lost and alone in Mississippi, you go to a bar and sing a song of Irish rebellion. Something follows you home.

Notes: Angst, sexual tension, Remmick being alluringly dangerous, manipulation, heavily features discussion of colonialism and the British Empire.

This story is based upon and inspired by the song ‘Butchered Tongue’ by Hozier, as well as his earlier ‘Foreigner’s God’. I wanted to explore Remmick’s backstory and the pain and history of English colonial rule in Ireland. I have done my best to research, but I am English (I can only apologise) so if you spot a mistake I’ve made in terms of the history please let me know!

WC: 4.4k

I was not going to write for Remmick, but then I read the phenomenal work of @ay0nha and @spikedfearn and was so inspired, so go and read their far superior stories! Here's my attempt.

America will be cruel to you.

That was what you had been told before boarding the ship bound for the New World, dragged, kicking and screaming, by your parents.

You had sneered at those who had warned you with those words. A place was not cruel, only people.

London, your home, held no malice within it; it did not consume with a slavering maw. Yes, the Thames was filled with blood and filth, polluted with the sorrows of the doomed and drowned, but the current had no say over what it carried. It was burdened by the evil acts of men.

That was why your mother and father had wanted to leave: other people. Not because of the earth beneath your feet or the smog-thick air.

That was why you had not listened to the warnings. You would not be wary of America, only the people that you found within it.

New World. That was another lie.

An ancient tree found in the middle of the forest was not new because you had not seen it before. Its roots that were embedded deep within the earth, had likely felt you coming. You were small and insignificant in its shadow. It should be revered. Respected.

But men would see something beautiful and take an axe to it, burn it for warmth and then turn their noses up at the piles of ash left behind. Then they would demand someone else clean it up.

America was not new and it had not been ‘discovered.’ It had been invaded. Stolen.

That was why, when you had found yourself settled in Clarksdale, Mississippi, you had set about asking its true name; the name it had always been known as to its native people.

But no one could or would tell you. No one cared, or thought to care.

A year after you arrived, your mother was taken by sickness, a consuming kind of ailment that left her with barely the skin in her bones by the end.

Then, your father went. Everyone else said that was from the drink, but you knew it was a broken heart: your mother was gone and he was homesick, not for London, but his true home, the place of his birth. He had died yearning for and dreaming of a free Ireland.

It was only when both of them were long-since buried and you were utterly alone, that you finally learnt the origins of the name of the county, Coahoma.

It was derived from the Choctaw word, ‘Co-i-humma’ which meant red panther. According to the old man who had told you, the upper Delta was ‘infested’ with them.

You hated the word infested when he used it, mostly because you had heard it said with the same derision by people speaking of the Choctaw. As with the panthers, it was their home. You couldn’t infest what belonged to you.

You hadn’t wanted to come to America, but how could you leave? And where would you go? Like you father, London had been where you had lived, but it had never felt like home.

But Ireland…you felt you had no claim or connection without your father. You were half English, but that could not be heard in your accent; a reminder of tyranny. You would likely not be welcome.

Nowhere was safe, so you simply stayed put. You stayed trapped in Mississippi.

Your antipathy for your existence was what drove you to the local bar most nights and if you could, you would get up and sing, or recite a poem.

Irish lyrics that told of the joys and despairs of the Irish people and yet all of the words were English.

Irish Gaelic had been cut from your ancestors mouths, which had left your father mute when it came to what should have been his native tongue. And you were too.

Most of the time, your peformances were met with bemusement. Occasionally the locals would cheer or clap, but it never felt right. They didn’t understand; it only ever felt like they were humouring you.

It was why you had stormed out of the bar at closing time in a foul mood.

With the low-light of evening ceding its rights on the landscape, the warm hues vanished from the street as you walked down it. Nothing gold-edged anymore, just shadow-bound.

Also bound to you was a stumbling lecher, who seemed to feel that your reluctant conversation with him in the bar had been an invitation to walk you home.

Benny dragged his feet, kicking up dust that clung to your moisture-slick skin. The sun had departed,but its heat remained and that felt like a dirty-trick to you.

You had never adjusted to the climate and whenever you were in the grip of the sweltering heat, it left you feeling as though you were teetering on the brink of madness.

But something in the air that night had sympathy for you and it thrummed with its own insanity.

Your skin prickled when Benny drew up to your side and your fingers twitched, aching to lash out and slash at his skin.

‘Come on, baby.’ he drawled, hot, disgusting breath on the side of your face as he leaned in. ‘You sang so pretty, but giving me a smile would make you beautiful.’

You kept your eyes forward, grimacing at the stench of him. He had been festering in the back corner of the bar when you arrived, so God only knew how long he’d been there. All day, probably. He was hot and foetid, like something left to ferment.

You had almost reached your home, so you wanted to shake him off. You couldn't be sure that he wouldn’t force his way inside once you unlocked the door.

‘I have a way you can make me smile.’ You said, your voice sickly sweet.

‘Tell me. Anythin’ for you honey.’

It was a struggle not to gag as Benny flung his arm around your shoulder, fingers digging in like you were a peach he was prodding to feel its ripeness.

When you turned your head to glare at him, his nose almost brushed yours. You smirked nastily. ‘I will grin from ear to ear if you stop following me home like a stray dog.’

His smug expression disappeared from his face with a violence, almost as if you had reached out and torn it right off. It gave you a sadistic rush of satisfaction, heart beating a little quicker beneath your flushed skin.

Before he could open his mouth again, you shrugged off Benny's hold and kept walking, picking up your pace.

You had just reached the wooden steps of your front porch when you heard footsteps scrambling to close the distance. You underestimated how fast he could move in his intoxicated state and didn’t turn around before Benny’s hand clamped down on the nape of your neck, fingers twisting into your hair.

‘Now why did you have to go and be so nasty?’ He hissed in your ear, ‘you should be grateful for the attention. Everyone else thinks you're strange. Lonely little girl with her strange songs, parents dead and rotting–’

Benny broke off into a cry when you lifted your elbow up with violent force and slammed it into his stomach. You were released from his hold as he stumbled back, doubled over and gasping. He looked up at your with the promise of retribution in his watering eyes.

‘You whore-’

What happened next unfolded too quickly for your eyes to keep up with. One moment Benny was spitting venom at you, prepared to strike, and the next he was down in the dirt.

There was a man who had appeared like an apparition, pale and lined in spectral moonlight, the edges of him silver and shining. He had his boot pressed against Benny’s neck, who was on his back and scratching madly at his attacker's leg.

‘That is no way to treat a lady.’ The man glowered down at Benny and pressed his boot down even harder. A strangled gurgle came from his captive’s throat. ‘You should apologise.’

You watched with an unmitigated, dangerous thrill when the man's boot lifted off Benny’s neck and he sputtered out a barely coherent apology.

The man who had appeared from nowhere turned to you with a charming grin and a feral glint in his eyes.

‘Miss, did you find that apology sincere? Because in my humble opinion it was severely lackin’.’

On the ground, Benny had raised himself onto his hands and knees, his panicked breaths no doubt had him inhaling yet more dust and dirt. His face was as red as a tomato and seemingly fit to burst like one under the strain.

But some malicious instinct that was foreign to you rose up and took hold of your tongue.

‘No.’ With a smile growing on your face your eyes moved back to the mystery man who was considering you with searing intensity. ‘I don’t think it was good enough.’

The words had barely left your mouth before the man grabbed Benny by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to his feet, the tips of his boots dragging in the dirt. He held him up before you like a scolded puppy.

‘Apologise.’ The man shook his prey in his grip and if you weren’t so perversely entranced by the display, you would have questioned the inhuman strength he seemed to possess.

‘I’m sorry!’ Benny shouted, fear flashing in the whites of his eyes, ‘I’m really sorry! I-I was rude and crass-’

‘And you shouldn’t have laid your filthy fuckin hands on her.’ The man snarled. ‘Go on now, repeat it.’

‘I-I shouldn’t have laid my filthy f-fuckin hands on you!’ Benny was so distressed, he sounded as though he was being choked. A dark patch spread on the crotch of his pants, liquid running down his legs.

‘Really? You're gonna piss yourself now?!’ The man exclaimed derisively. He wasted no more time and tossed Benny away, throwing him as though he weighed no more than a pebble.

You laughed in crazed disbelief, both at the ease the man had thrown Benny and how he then scrambled away, whimpering and mewling.

Your gaze moved over to the man and found him glaring at the fleeing drunk. His lip was curled, his teeth far too pointed to be natu–

‘I’m terribly sorry, I’m afraid I may have gotten a little carried away,’ the man said, sounding far from apologetic as he met your eye.

You had been in the middle of a thought, but his attention had dispelled it.

He was so very handsome, with unruly brown hair that fell just above his eyes which in the darkness seemed to be blue shot through with green, or perhaps the other way around. It was the colour of the roiling ocean. He wore a striped shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing a smooth expanse of chest. Suspenders held up his pants and rested on his broad shoulders.

When he stepped closer to you, he moved with such intention that it was as though he’d long-since charted a course to you. His closing of the distance felt inevitable.

It was the very reason you felt so instantaneously drawn to him that you knew to be wary. When you retreated a step, your heels hitting the edge of your porch, he smiled knowingly and held up his hands.

‘Ma’am, I know my behaviour may suggest otherwise, but I promise you that I come in peace.’

‘Where did you come from?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

You and Benny had been walking the street alone and it was quiet enough that you should have heard any approaching footsteps, especially at the speed at which this man had appeared.

‘If you speak of my physical body, then I came from right here. But if you speak in terms of belongin’ to a place…well, that has a long, painful answer that not even this dark night can outlast.’

Your brow furrowed at the strange winding nature of his words. ‘Were you following us?’

The man hummed impishly. ‘I was followin’ you.’

Your heart faltered in your chest and struggled to regain its rhythm. You knew then that you had not escaped an attack, not really, because this man, whoever he was, was the true assault. An assault on your senses and upon your will.

‘Why?’ You asked tersely, grateful your anxiety could not be heard in your voice.

The man placed a hand on his heart, signalling his supposed sincerity. ‘I just could not bear letting you go without telling you how beautiful I found your singing.’

Caution was supplanted by hostile suspicion as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

‘You weren’t in the bar.’ You said.

It was a small, packed place and you knew you would have remembered seeing a man like him.

‘My name is Remmick.’

While his smooth, sultry voice worked to lull you into submission, you would not let him get away with refusing to answer you.

‘You weren’t in the bar.’ You repeated sternly.

Remmick tilted his head tauntingly. His smile grew. ‘Well, maybe I dreamt of you then and that’s where I heard it.’ He stepped closer, so close the two of you were almost toe-to-toe. ‘Maybe I’m still dreamin’. Yeah, that's the only way to explain it.’

‘Explain what?’

He leant down, eyes set upon yours. There was a flash of something, a firefly against the darkness of his irises, a red glow. So very red. But then you blinked and it was gone.

‘Well, why was an English lass reciting ‘The Wind that Shakes the Barley’?’

Those words snared you, wire tightening around your throat. His voice had changed, no longer a Southern drawl, but an Irish lilt. And his tone had become abrasive, harsh enough to draw blood. There was anger in his eyes.

But, defiance bloomed within you, fed on soil rich with the anger of the last few years of your life. Rebellion unfurled.

‘Why is an Irish boy pretending to be southern?’ You countered heatedly.

His lips pulled back in a sneer, revealing sharp, slightly crooked teeth. ‘Boy, is it? Oh, no darlin’, I’m no boy. I was born beneath an Irish sun that still shone on land that your people hadn’t yet stolen.’

‘Those are the words of a madman.’ You answered, breathing growing ragged at his proximity.

The Empire had first invaded Ireland hundreds and hundreds of years ago.

‘Oh, yes, mad is what I am. Mad with grief.’ You gasped when his hand shot out and grabbed your chin. He moved in closer, lips brushing your cheek until he pressed them to the shell of your ear. ‘And what is a lunatic to do, when he hears a song of Irish rebellion fall from English lips? Full, pretty lips, aye, but English all the same? All your lot know how to do is steal, isn’t that right?’

‘I didn’t steal it,’ you say, finding strength in indignation, ‘my father taught me the poem. He said I should know it, seeing as I was descended from the fighters.’

Your ancestors fought and died in the Rebellion in County Wexford in seventeen ninety-eight, when Irish rebels revolted against oppressive British rule. They were violently struck down, countless ending up in mass graves, barley oats in their pockets that then grew up out of the earth. The poem, named after the rebellion, was written sixty-three years later by the poet Robert Dwyer Joyce.

The poem was one of the first things you remember your father teaching you. He had been born in Ballymurn, not far from Wexford. Hundreds of years had passed and his family hadn’t moved far from the sight of that rebellion.

Remmick's grip tightened for a second, nails digging in as a warning, but then he let go. He pulled back just enough to peer down at you, the sweat-slick front of your dress brushing his shirt.

‘Oh, an Irish girl?’ He taunted. He was evidently still riled, but there was a sort of excitement shimmering in his eyes. ‘An Irish girl with an English accent, singing of rebellion in a bar in Mississippi.’

You narrowed your eyes at the challenge in his voice. He didn’t believe you. Or at least, he didn’t want to.

‘Afraid to get your hopes up?’ You goaded.

‘What exactly would I be hoping for?’

You smile teasingly. ‘A mad Irish boy, who claims to be hundreds of years old, approaches me with anger when truly he is just sad. Sad and alone. You are seeking something, aren’t you? Some piece of home?’

He chuckled, but it was brittle. When he reached out his other hand and took your flushed cheeks into his hold, thumbs brushing the line of your jaw, you found yourself not trying to flee, but fighting the instinct to lean in.

‘Is that what you are to be, love?’ He whispered. ‘Are you to be my piece of home?’

‘You miss it,’ you said, voice hoarse with pain that was not yours, but what you felt from him.

His eyes ran over the curves of your face, mapping them as if he’d find a glimpse of Ireland there.

‘I miss it,’ he affirmed darkly, fingers pressing in, ‘but what I miss I can never return to. I miss living without a foreigner’s God in my mind, without my tongue mutilated to speak the language of the invader. Both mind and body torn apart. I am eternally bloody and bleeding.’

When his voice cracked, you found yourself reaching up, your hands curling around his wrists, not to pull him off you but to keep him there.

Unbidden, the poem poured out of you as it had in the bar, only this time it was without music and your only audience member was him:

‘I sat within a valley green,

I sat there with my true love,

My sad heart strove the two between,

The old love and the new love, -

The old for her, the new that made

Me think of Ireland dearly, –’

You were cut off when Remmick swayed forward, almost as if in a trance. He bent down and dipped his head low, his hot breath fanning against your neck. When your recitation stopped, he let out a disgruntled huff, almost animalistic. When his next words came you felt the shape of them on your neck where he pressed his lips.

‘Don’t stop.’ He murmured, teeth scraping your flesh.

You swallowed down your trepidation and kept speaking. As you did, his lips stayed pressed on your neck as if he was using them to feel your pulse:

‘While soft the wind blew down the glade

And shook the golden barely

‘Twas hard the woeful words to frame

To break the ties that bound us

‘Twas harder still to bear the shame

Of foreign chains around us

And so i said ��The mountain glen

I’ll seek next morning early

And join the brave United Men!” -’

When you stopped, he planted a proper kiss on your neck. Then his tongue met your flesh and he dragged it up teasingly, gathering drops of sweat until he reached that tender spot just below your ear. It was tantalising in its promise, but already a mere promise was not enough.

As if he tasted your impatience on your flesh, Remmick chuckled, the noise vibrating right down into the core of you.

‘Eager little thing.’ He whispered into you ear, nipping at the lobe.

Growing burdened by the heat rising in you, you moved your hands to mirror his on your face and cupped his cheeks. You repaid him in kind by digging your fingers into his skin. That seemed to please him no end and he groaned wantonly, pulling you so closer to him.

‘Remmick,’ you began, ignoring your better sense that was screaming at you to shut your mouth, ‘do you want to come i-’

Before you could finish your request, he pressed a finger to your lips and shushed you, gently, but urgently.

There was unbridled desire in Remmick's eyes, you could practically feel him shake with it. And yet, his expression pinched as he fought against himself.

‘No- no darlin’ you don’t want to do that yet.’ He spoke the last word as if it was a prophecy: you would let him in, but he did not want it to be now.

‘Why don’t I, Remmick?’

You knew why.

Even after only a few minutes spent in his company, you knew there were ample reasons for you to be much more afraid of him than you had been of Benny, and yet you wanted his reasoning. Remmick intrigued you when instinct said you should be horrified.

Remmick pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth and pulled away, but only by a hair's-breadth, to answer you.

‘Because when you invite me in, you will do so knowing all the ways you will be consumed. I will have you in your bed, I will know every inch of your flesh, but when we are truly joined, I will know all you feel and see all that you have seen.’

It shouldn’t have made sense and yet the words brought you clarity. Perhaps not clarity of his meaning, but of yourself. You knew, in that moment, that you would end up letting him subsume you.

Remmick was shattered, but you would let him embed the broken pieces of himself within you if it meant you were no longer alone. You would bleed to escape the despair of solitude.

‘Why wait?’ You asked, grabbing his shirt and twisting the fabric so hard that another of his buttons came undone. ‘Tell me the truth of it now and you will have me now.’

Remmick took your mouth in a bruising kiss and it was soon followed by a sharp pain when he bit down, hard, on your bottom lip. You barely tasted the metallic of your blood before his tongue came and gathered it up, licking you clean. He groaned into your mouth as his hands landed on your hips, coasting down to squeeze your backside.

‘You still don’t understand, do you?' He said, 'My lust isn’t for your body alone. Once I have fucked you, I will not slip out into the night. I will live in the darkness of you and you in mine.’

‘You sound like a madman. Again.’

‘I told you already, I am mad.’

Then, with jarring speed, Remmick pulled away and shoved you back. It sent you sprawling painfully onto the steps of your porch. Spine hitting hard-edged wood.

Equally disorientated and outraged, you looked up at him, prepared to hurl more than a few nasty words, but they all died in your throat.

Remmick's eyes were alight with red, the burning end of a cigarette in the dark. His teeth had changed too, as sharp as dagger. And then there were his hands…instead of nails he had claws.

‘This is what becomes of a boy from Ireland when his soul gets trapped, darlin’, he said darkly, ‘My soul is shaped by the hand of oppressor’s and I cannot be rid of it, even in death. I will never go home and I can never be home, not even in my own mind. I was drawn to your sweet song, the poetry of pain and resistance. Now, you must decide if you want to resist the pain of me.’

‘Would it change anything? If I chose to resist now?’

‘No. But it will be oh so delicious to watch you try. Do that for me, won’t you? It’ll make it so much sweeter when you finally give in.’

‘What are you?’

‘I am exactly what you said. I’m lonely.’ He began to step backward and his eyes did not leave yours. ‘Lock your doors, sweet girl, there’s all sorts of evil that might try to get in. And unlike me, it won’t ask nicely.’

As he was absorbed into the shadows and became one with the darkness, his voice remained reciting another part of ‘The Wind that Shakes the Barley’:

‘While soft winds shook the barley,

While sad I kissed away her tears,

My fond arms ‘round her flinging,

The foeman’s shot burst on our ears,

From out the wildwood ringing, –

A bullet pierced my true loves side,

In life’s young spring so early,

And on my breast in blood she died

While soft winds shook the barley!’

You did not sleep that night. Not true sleep, anyway. Remmick stalked your dreams, remaining in shadow even in your subconscious mind.

You awoke aching. You ached with the desire for him to return. You ached with pain, the same sort of pain when your bones grew as a child: uncomfortable, inevitable and signalling a great change to come.

You did not trust Remmick and knew to fear what he was. Maybe you even resented him. Yet you did want him to return to you.

Maybe you would welcome him in, or maybe you would leave him scratching at the door.

You had a bone-deep knowledge that he would seduce you eventually, but even the illusion of that choice made you feel more alive than you had been in years.

You didn't know it yet, but the man who brought death had reminded you that your heart still beat. He would also be the one to stop it.

But when?

And what would come after life?

Thank you for reading! Comments are so very welcome, author's thrive on feedback!

Part II - Fall On Me Like Night

#remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick sinners #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #jack o'connell #sinners #sinners fanfiction #remmick fanfic

1K notes · View notes

vinnyvamppp · 2 months ago

Note

You know that to be Desired fic you wrote? Would you be willing to write one Where Mainstream Mark finds out about his other versions wanting his childhood, he gets jealous and decides he has to have them in every way possible, and his other versions can go fuck themselves.

To Be Wanted

Note: Great minds think alike, I actually created this the day after the first one blew up and scrapped it. I'm going on a whim and making this as literal as possible before delving into everything.

Synopsis: He was wrong, he was foolish, and he's here to make up for his mistakes. Of course, you were always the better option, and no one else needs you the way he does. (To Be Desired ABRIDGED)

Warnings: Smut, Sub/Dom Dynamics, Multiple Sex Positions, Pussy Eating, Jealousy/Possessive, Porn w a Plot, Mentions of Anal, Slight Foot Fetish, Mentions of Other Variants, Switch!Mark Grayson, Switch!Reader (both are pretty subby), He needs that cookie real bad, etc.

Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,700 (Had to make it equal to the prequel)

Mark's knuckles ached from the last punch he threw— his breathing ragged as he hovered above the city, eyes locked onto him. Another him. He could charge headfirst immediately, but as his eyes landed upon the destruction and chaos wailing around him— he could only think one thing. I want to see her. You were independent and creative on the battlefield, but even he was angered and fearful. What if these versions of him convoluted your impression of him? He never had the chance to fully confess, and right now? he hated this with every fiber of his being.

The city was unrecognizable, reduced to a graveyard of twisted steel and crumbling concrete. While the screams of the dying were drowned beneath the thunderous collapse of once-proud skyscrapers. Ichor slicked the pavement—bodies crushed beneath rubble or torn apart mid-air—and through it all, the Variants rained destruction without hesitation like a merciless plague of living extinction.

He shot forward, propelling through clouds of smoke tickling him. Smoke settled in his mouth, tasting charred wood and something almost metallic, like blood burned to dust. It was acrid and suffocating, but now was a moment of clarity. He was bruised, costume tethered as blood seeped from cuts among his skin, knuckles bruised with his eye threatening to swell shut.

This needed to be the end of their tyranny, and soon.

As Mark’s body cut through the wind with an unparalleled determination, fist meeting bone with a nauseating crunch, the force of the strike vibrating across the man's face. The variant groaned, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth, before turning towards him with that smug, knowing grin. "You don't get it, do you?" he taunted. "I don’t blame you. You weren’t there when she finally realized she didn’t have to wait for you."

Mark’s heart slammed against his ribs. He knew what the man meant, of the power you possessed. The familial ability to pierce a tear in the universe and peak into what the future beheld. This was an opportune time for you to be dissuaded—he didn’t seem to be the only candidate pursuing you—not with them here.

"Shut up."

The Variant only chuckled, tilting his head. "They say the multiverse is infinite, but you know what every version of us wants? Her. And we don’t hesitate. We don’t string her along. We don’t let her slip through our fingers a second—"

A second time. He didn’t wish to acknowledge that he never chose you, even when fate had bound you two together. He was lovesickV that was his biggest fault. Mark grabbed him by the throat and drove him through a building before he could finish. Glass and concrete exploded around them as they crashed through another two stories. "You think I don’t hesitate because I don’t care?" Mark growled, pressing his forearm against his Variant’s windpipe. "You think I don’t want her?!"

The variant only smirked, even with his air supply cut off. "Then why am I the one she's been warming up to?" His eyes widened in pure panic and rage flashed white-hot in Mark’s vision. He reared back, ready to hit him again when—

"Mark?"

The sound of your voice cut through the chaos like a blade. His breath hitched, movements halting as if to show the hold you had on him. Your costume was worn—the usual well-manicured appearance now frazzled from wages of war, and dried blood flaked against your skin. That look on your face… was different from the ones he recalled in his childhood. The difference was that the fuzzy warmth you once had, was slowly fading into something neutral, common, amongst the glances you shared with everyone.

Mark turned, his heart lurching as he saw another variant landing just a few feet from you. This one wasn’t fighting. He was standing too close, looking at you like he already owned you. His lips are pursing to deceive you.

The Variant beside you reached for your hand. You were actually listening to him, just how many had found you by now? How many professed their love? "Come on. You don’t belong with him. Not when we—"

Mark didn't let him finish. In a blink, he was there— yanking the variant away from you and slamming him into the pavement so hard the ground cratered beneath them. "She’s mine," Mark snarled, gripping the Variant by the collar and lifting him up just to punch him back down. The variant spat blood— barely conscious, but Mark wasn’t done. "I don’t care how many of you there are," Mark seethed, throwing the variant across the street. "She’s mine. You want her? Go fuck yourself." His voice cracked with the sheer intensity.

After a long moment of silence, he turned to face you. Even after that display, you were left silenced. Truthfully, you had begun to consider their words— was it bitterness from his previous relationship with Eve? Or perhaps the feelings you forced yourself to bury? Being a hero made it easy to turn a blind eye, once you became resentful enough.

Mark’s breathing is shaky as he approaches you, his hands still trembling from the fight—from watching them try to take you, try to twist your mind into thinking they were better for you. It makes his stomach churn and his blood boil all over again. Because what if you had believed them? What if he’d been too late? When truthfully, they never stood a chance.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice lower now— steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through him. “I don’t care what the others told you. I don’t care what they promised. They’re not me.” He awaited a response. Your lips parted, hesitation flickering in your expression. Not because you didn't feel something for him—he could see it. It was the uncertainty. Maybe even a little of the possessiveness still lingering in his tone.

So he softened. Mark reached out, his fingers barely brushing over yours as a silent question before running his thumb over your knuckles. The warmth nearly caused him to shiver. "I should have told you," he murmurs. "A long time ago. But I kept holding back because I thought—I don’t know, maybe I’d ruin things, maybe you didn’t see me the same way. But I can’t do that anymore. Not after seeing them try to take you away from me." You understood what he meant. This was his apology for abandoning you. Leaving when you received your powers—when he got his first girlfriend— when you needed a friend.

You stare at him, searching his face, your breathing uneven from adrenaline. He leans in, close enough that you can feel the way his breath trembles against your lips. "Tell me you want this," he demands with desperation. Your fingers trace along his jaw— voice a hushed whisper. “You threw a guy into the pavement for me, Mark. What do you think I want?”

Your voice is low but firm as you yanked him against you. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Mark knows he should be careful, knows he shouldn’t let his emotions swallow him, but then you’re pulling him closer, your fingers threading into his hair—body molding against his like you’re giving him the permission he so desperately craves.

And just like that—his restraint snaps.

Your back is against the nearest wall before you can process it, his lips crashing into yours with a fervor that nearly steals your breath. It’s messy, desperate—his hands gripping your waist like he needs proof that you’re his. He makes a noise in the back of his throat—something between a gasp and a holy shit again—before his grip tightens.

He groans into the kiss, his fingers sliding under the torn edges of your costume, skimming over bruised skin. "God, you’re so—" He exhales sharply— lips trailing from your mouth down to the curve of your jaw, then lower— ghosting over the pulse at your throat. He couldn’t stop touching you. He wouldn't stop.

You shudder as his teeth scrape lightly against your skin. "Mark—"

"No, seriously," he mumbles between kisses, words muffled against your collarbone. He found you to be perfect. The light in the muddled mess of his life. He could barely let you speak— just wanting to prove to you that he would always be the better option.

His voice is wrecked now— breathless with want, and when you roll your hips against his just to tease, his breath hitches.

"Oh, my God," he chokes, pressing his forehead against your shoulder for a second. "Okay. Okay,—we should probably go home now because if we keep this up, I won't be stopping.” He was right; it was probably best if the news didn’t catch wind of the actual Invincible getting frisky in public during such a time. You bite your tongue, teasing, "You sure?"

Mark groans, lifting you effortlessly, his hands firm against your thighs as he takes off, propelling you both through the sky in a blur. "I have literally never been more sure of anything in my life," he says, his voice tight as he tries not to focus on the way your body is pressed against his—or how obvious his erection is right now.

But you do notice.

And when you grind down against his lap mid-flight, he lets out a noise so strangled and needy that he nearly forgets to keep flying. "Oh—shit, that’s—okay, wow, you’re evil. You’re actually evil. Holy shit, I’m gonna crash us into a building."

Once you two clumsily entered the sliding door of his home, your clothes were quickly strewn across the kitchen floor. He didn’t waste any time—his lips were on yours like a magnet—the taste of you intoxicating like he’d imagined. At this moment, he realized he would’ve never reacted the same for another woman. Excitement swelled his veins as you two collapsed against the couch. The renewed energy powering his body through its injuries.

Every part of you was his. From your knuckles to your shoulders, to your neck and collarbones, breasts— down to your toes. He’d make sure of it as every part of you was riddled with his saliva-ridden kisses. "I should’ve done this sooner—I should’ve made sure you knew you were mine before they even had the chance to try." He heaved— muscled body appearing from the crevices of your flesh. “No one else gets to touch you like this." His voice had a slight rasp, nearly distracting you from the harsh yank against your panties. At the sight alone he groaned— hands moving at inhuman speeds as he stripped himself of his boxers and the tight confines of your bra.

He moves lower, his lips tracing over your stomach— tongue dipping into your navel. You feel a rush of anticipation as he moves lower, his lips claiming your thighs. He parts your legs, his tongue tracing over your skin, his fingers moving to touch you. That’s when it happens— His tongue, almost hesitant, licks your cunt. Oh. You’re sweet like sugar all over. The realization dawned on him as his pupils dilated— lips messily smushed against your labia, and the rough texture of his dry tongue raked against your clit. The arousal that pooled from you was like water— his tongue seeking hydration. Your hips slowly rolled against his face; the soft mewls vibrating against your throat spurred him further.

It was almost sensual, slow as a reminder of who was between your legs right now. His muscular arms locked your hips into place as his tongue grew brutal. Its rapid— pleasurable lashes had you seeing stars. Just as you approached a quick orgasm, his tongue delved inside you, tongue-fucking you as far as his tongue could possibly reach. His nose nudged rhythmically against the bundle of nerves as his fingers glided up your abdomen— mapping out every curve to his memory. His hips rutting desperately against the now-damp couch cushion.

The quiet sound of the kitchen faucet dripping made your moans sound eerily loud. Your fingers roughly travel across his muscled forearm as your back arches into his mouth. With harsh gasps, your fingers roughly tapped him as he finally ripped the climax he so desired from you, his mouth covered in your scent. Divine.

Bringing himself up, his lips captured yours once more— your groans responding to one another. “You’re mine too, you know. But I like watching you get all worked up about it,” you mused breathlessly. He chortled quietly to himself— reddened and pulsing cock waiting readily in his grasp. Stroking it a few times between gasps, he spoke almost darkly amused. "They thought they could steal you from me, but they don’t know you like I do. They don’t know what you like. But I do." Before you could question him further on his remark, his hips snugly snapped against yours. His dick parted through you with ease as you both whined. The rhythm started slow, purposeful—punctuating with each thrust until he grew consumed with lust. Driving himself forward, the couch rocked from the unnatural movement. He had you completely beneath him, knees tucked against your chest and spread wide as his body pressed flush against yours. The wind was knocked out of you with every pummel, leaving you nearly salivating at the sensation. The raw sensation of your nipples rubbing against his chest adds a pleasurable sting to the mix, your hands now clawing at his shoulders.

"Mine. Mine. Mine," he muttered against the shell of your ear, his jaw unnaturally tight as he fought the urge to cum here and now. You were his—not theirs—just his alone in his suburban neighborhood when he should be putting an end to this. This was his moment to be selfish; to him, his need to defend was over until he devoured every inch of you. "God, I—fuck, I can't stop touching you. I don’t want to stop. You feel too good; you’re—oh my God, you’re everything." He rambled, abruptly pulling out, and a schlick sound echoed from between your legs. Suddenly, you were in his lap—pressed firmly against his torso, his hands wrapping around the width of your shoulders as he resheathed himself once more, his hips pistoning deeper into you. All you could manage was to bounce dumbly against him, the meat of his neck being your sanctuary as the skin absorbed the pornographic sound of your moans. He was breathless, barely able to contain himself as his skin became crowded in a red flush.

Then again—another position change, your bodies tangled together effortlessly, one of his legs hooked over your hip while the other remained stretched out beneath him. The angle was deep, intimate—allowing him to press closer, his body half-wrapped around yours as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Every movement sent a slow, rolling wave of pleasure through you, his hands gripping your waist to pull you even closer. His breath was warm against your skin—lips brushing against your shoulder as he murmured your name between each heated thrust. He slowly came up, hands spreading your ass cheeks as he watched himself be sucked into you willingly. The sight of your puckering hole clenching with each rock made his dick weep for its release. One hand melded against the fat of your ass, the other running up your sculpted calves until his lips mark your ankles and feet, his tongue swirling around your toe. "S... Say it again. Say you’re mine. Please—just say it." He pleaded, more so demanding as his movements became rougher— the couch shifting forward a few inches. “They don’t matter… I’m yours, Mark.” Your words were cut between burying your head in the couch pillows. “T-They don’t matter…” He echoed, a pleased groan vibrating against your foot.

Again. You were suddenly flipped as he stood, his feet backing into a wall as his knees nearly gave out from the sensations. You were hoisted into his arms as he bullied himself inside of you, both of your combined voices growing weak and raw. His neck craned lower as his tongue delved a nipple into his mouth—your skin was cold from a combination of sweat and his saliva. Creamy fluid leaked down his shaft as he unknowingly came from overstimulating himself. His hands gripped you hard enough to bruise, as you scratched up the length of his back, causing him to yelp. His canines finally blossoming their first hickey against your chest. Soon, his lips found yours, the rugged ends of your teeth nipping his lips hard enough to draw blood.

Not that it mattered—every scratch, bite, and pull only cemented one undeniable truth: you were his. And he wasn’t done. Not after feeling the slick warmth of your tongue against him, not after the way his thumb teased your rim while he moved inside you. Not even when he leaned you against the couch— having your legs straddle his as his tip prodded the entrance of your ass.

He seemed truly hellbent on caressing every inch. For further context, the previous two parts are listed in the MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

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cutehoons02 · 2 months ago

Text

Between lust and revenge

*pairing: Leader alpha Heeseung x omega Girl

Between love and revenge pt2

*trope: Forbidden love/Enemies to lovers

*synopsis: In an exclusive academy where alphas, omegas and betas coexist, Y/n, a sweet and pretty omega, is forced to marry Jiwon, an omega who does not love and treats her with contempt. But when she finds herself trapped in a fate she has not chosen, the only way out seems to be Heeseung, an alpha tormented by revenge for his brother’s death, caused by the family of Y/n. In despair, Y/n offers herself to Heeseung, asking him to knot her to escape a loveless marriage and the tyranny of her future husband. Despite his resentment towards his family, Heeseung accepts the proposal, but with one condition: he will never love her. As the bond between the two becomes more and more intense and dangerous, Y/n finds herself fighting not only for her own freedom, but also for a love that seems impossible.

*tags: Heeseung is the leader of his 6 younger brothers and whole alpha of the new generation, at first he is really cold and throws darts to Y/n, Y/n is a sweet omega but with a nice character, preliminaries, a lot of kisses, sucking, masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) knotting,filling, pet names (princess,little omega,slut) (Hee,alpha)

12.7k (♥️)

(English is not my native language)

The golden lights of the sunset filtered through the wide glass windows of the greenhouse, dancing among the climbing plants and blooming flowers that filled the air with sweet notes of jasmine and mint. The air was warm, scented with spring and anticipation. You stood there, behind a half-open glass door, your heartbeat echoing through your temples. On the other side of the greenhouse, among the shadows of the foliage, he was there. The boy with amber eyes who had never spared you a long look, but whose mere gaze on yours could make your knees tremble. Heeseung. Alpha. Damnably untouchable. And yet, there you were, spying on him as if just seeing him could be enough to make you breathe.

Your fiery red dress clung to your curves with elegance, the light silk swaying with every breath as your heels hesitated on the stone floor. Your hair, smooth as silk, slipped over your shoulders, and your lips, tinged with a soft red, trembled with unspoken thoughts. The heart-shaped necklace your mother had given you seemed to glow with its own light as if reminding you where you came from. But the ring… the ring that Jiwon had ordered for you, that one you didn’t wear. You didn’t want it. Only your bracelets, colorful and mismatched, truly spoke of who you were: a girl who dreamed of freedom, carrying with her fragments of every summer, every laugh, every escape.

"I can’t do it… I can’t marry him. Not Jiwon, that damn omega who never respected me, never respected my family’s name, and would have locked me in a cage as if I were an animal."

Your fingers clenched the edge of the door. Your heart was pounding, too loudly. Not because of the imminent wedding, but because of the tall, lean figure immersed among the greenhouse plants. Heeseung looked like a noble, deadly shadow, and yet there was something in him that gave you relief. Perhaps because, despite the resentment he held against your family, he had never looked at you as an object. In truth, he had hardly ever looked at you, but when he did… he saw your soul.

"He hates me. I know. But he's the only alpha who could break this curse. The only one strong enough to mark me. The only one who could not be controlled by Jiwon or my father."

You, a gentle omega, delicate, raised to smile, to not disturb, to say thank you, and remain composed. Your aura was faint, like the scent of lavender on a summer evening. People said your presence calmed the air, that your gaze brought peace. But they had no idea of the fire that smoldered within your heart. Of how your soul screamed every time Jiwon touched you with those predatory eyes.

Heeseung was dangerous, with fire and poison and silence. But he didn’t scare you. Because beneath his cold mask, you felt something. As if he, too, was waiting for a way to save himself.

"I wasn’t born to be a bride. Not for an omega like him. If only Heeseung would touch me... if only he would agree to bind himself to me... I could break it all."

The black tuxedo clung to his broad shoulders with almost cruel precision. The seams traced his form as if they had been stitched directly onto his skin, and the high collar barely revealed a vein that pulsed faintly on his neck. Heeseung stood with his back to you, still, like a statue of black marble planted among the shadows of the greenhouse. He seemed part of the landscape, as though nature itself had embraced him as a sovereign.

You bit your lower lip. A nervous gesture, but also one filled with awareness.

Did he hate me? Probably.

If someone from my family had killed one of my brothers, I would have hated to death anyone who bore that blood too.

Your fingers trembled as they brushed against the iron handle of the glass door. You lowered it carefully, and a faint click broke the silence, heavy with humidity and suspended petals. You stepped inside. No sound from him. Not even a breath. Only your gentle aura, warm and light like a caress in the dark, making its way into his realm. The scent of your skin—vanilla and wild honey—spread slowly throughout the greenhouse.

Then, after a few seconds, his voice.

That voice.

Low. Rich with a dangerous echo. A voice you had only heard during shared lessons, and even then, it made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

“A scent so sweet for an omega… Do you come into my territory? What have I done to deserve the presence of a single omega… unprotected… and, by the way, not even accompanied by anyone?” The air changed around him. As if he had pulled the strings of the world itself with those words. You lifted your gaze slowly. Your wide, shining eyes met his back, still turned. It felt like you were looking at a wall you could never scale. Heeseung was a true alpha. Not just any alpha. His aura was like a silent storm: strong, regal, impenetrable. He could pick up every single scent, every emotion, every nuance of your essence. And you were there, trembling, with your innocent air and humble gaze. A perfect prey. A gentle omega, with an aura soft as a nest of feathers, but a heart full of storms. With a nervous touch on your arms, you brushed against the bracelets you’d worn since childhood. They were your colorful armor. Light memories in a world that now seemed to crush you. You squeezed them tight. Then, with a clear voice, but with a thread of hesitation, you said: “I need your help, Heeseung.” His shoulders stiffened just slightly. Nothing visible to the untrained eye, but you felt it. He felt that voice. Sweet. Polite. Humble. But the same voice he hated with all his being. The voice of the daughter of the man who had taken his brother from him, the voice of enemy blood. Slowly, he turned around, and his gaze was an abyss of amber. Predator’s eyes. Contained coldness, the tuxedo jacket barely moving with his motion, his steps slow, controlled. When his eyes met yours, they didn’t see a threat. They saw a harmless creature. They saw prey, and you, there in your red dress, looked almost out of place, like a delicate flower in the middle of a fire.

What were you doing there? The daughter of the man who killed his brother, a sweet omega who, instead of kneeling to ask for forgiveness, dared to ask for help. From him.

You fiddled with your bracelets, making the beads you had collected over the years softly jingle as if their sound could calm you. But it didn’t work. Not with him in front of you. Not with those eyes. You observed him. Red hair, as if every strand had been kissed by fire. It fell messily over his forehead, but perfectly so. Amber eyes were so intense they seemed to bore into you. And yet… they didn’t scare you. No. They seemed like doe’s eyes, deep, glossy… melancholic. His face was sculpted with almost cruel precision: straight nose, full lips, a jawline that seemed carved by a tired god. His alpha frame made him imposing, much taller than you—and you, at barely 1.70 cm, felt like a feather before a storm. You took a deep breath, then spoke with a calm but sincere voice: “I know you hate me. And I swear… I hate myself too for what my father did to your brother. I don’t forgive him, not even I. But I… I am here to offer you a deal. A revenge you could use against him. Against the entire omega lineage and—” “NO.” His roar hit you like a sudden gust of wind. Sharp. Clear. Inviolable. He turned away as if you were nothing. As if your heart, right there on the table, wasn’t worthy of even a glance. He returned to his herbs, his hands mixing lavender and calendula in a black mortar with precision. The scent of flowers and rare plants filled the greenhouse, and yet you only smelled the rejection in the air. You sighed softly. A part of you wanted to leave, to cry in silence like a well-behaved omega, but the other part… the part that was tired of being commanded… took a step forward. You entered deeper into the wolf’s den. You approached his table and, with a sweet but firm voice, pointed at what he was doing. “You’re mixing lavender to soothe wounds… you’re adding arnica root. It’s for bites. To heal a wounded alpha… or a victim of an attack. Who are you trying to heal, Heeseung?” Finally, he lifted his gaze and he did it with a growl. “Out. Not another word from you. Not in my territory.” His voice was sharp, deep, filled with contained venom. But you…you didn’t move. Your eyes remained locked on his, and your fingers lightly rested on the edge of the table, between his herbs and his silence. “I’m not leaving.” You said, and a heady silence fell, where the only sounds were the distant trickle of a stream and the rustle of animals.

Heeseung stared at you, his aura growing dense, almost suffocating. The king of alphas was beginning to get irritated. Yet… beneath his coldness, something shifted. A tiny crack. A curiosity he didn't want to admit. "You're a problem, you know that?" His voice was as hard as stone. But his eyes… they were studying you. You, however, barely smiled. With sweetness, a smile that wasn't a provocation… it was a gentle challenge. It was that quiet strength only an omega like you could possess. "And you're so good at solving problems. Maybe… I could be your favorite." Heeseung's gaze darkened. But he didn’t speak. His fingers continued to mix the herbs, but the movements were no longer as confident as before. He was disturbed. Annoyed. Intrigued, and you knew it. Heeseung observed you. Not with the distracted look of someone who notices something pretty, but with the cold, calculating gaze of an alpha who scrutinizes, evaluates… and hates himself for what’s stirring inside him. He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself. But you were beautiful: one of those rare omegas, born to make even the most stable alphas tremble. He would have wanted to — with his entire body, but not his mind — nurture you, tame you, mark you, bind you to him with the force of an eternal bond, sink every sign of his power into you. And yes… impregnate you, but he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He knew how delicate the balance between omega and alpha was, how few couples truly worked, how easy it was to ruin a life just to satisfy an impulse. And then… you were the daughter of his enemy. Yet, it wasn’t fear he saw trembling in your fingers, it was awareness. A fear all your own. Not for him… but for what you were about to ask.

“You have two minutes,” he said abruptly, his tone cold but his gaze lit by something he couldn’t extinguish. “And then I want you out of here.” A smile appeared on your face. You clapped your hands softly, like a child who had just been permitted to enter an enchanted forest. He raised an eyebrow, irritated. “You’ve already lost five seconds, now it’s one fifty-five.” You sighed softly, but the smile didn’t completely fade. With a gentle yet firm voice, you spoke. “I don’t want to marry Jiwon. I don’t love him. I don’t respect him. And I already know what awaits me if I become his: a house, a bed, and a future made of nothing but pregnancies and silences. I want to be bound, yes, but I also want the freedom to choose, to study, and to live my life. And the only one strong enough to protect me… the only one Jiwon could never challenge… is you, Lee Heeseung.” He didn’t say anything. You swallowed, your heart racing but your gaze clear. “I know you hate me. And that’s fine. But you can use this resentment, this anger inside you… you can use it against my father. Against my bloodline. You can take revenge… with me.” An incredible silence fell over the greenhouse, the herbs seemed to hold their breath. Heeseung was shocked, staring at you with those amber eyes wide open, his jaw clenched. Then he burst out laughing, but it wasn’t a real laugh. It was a brief, incredulous explosion. “You’re crazy.” You turned slightly, your face serious yet soft, your tone sweet… but sincere. “No, I’m dead serious.”

He looked at you as if trying to find a crack in your apparent calm. But there was none. And that’s what truly unsettled him. “You want to offer me your body… your virginity… as a pact for revenge? Is that what you’re proposing? To be branded by me, tied, used… so that you don’t end up in Jiwon’s hands?” You didn’t look away. “In a sense, yes, and you’re the only way to do it, no alpha has your power, and if I’m tied to you, your scent and your fragrance will be all over my body and no male will approach me, only you, Heeseung.” Heeseung’s lips curled into a half-cynical smile. His eyes narrowed, dangerous. “Too bad I’ve never been the type to save princesses.” He took a step toward you, slow and ethereal. “Especially those who carry the blood of my worst enemy.” You lowered your gaze. Your fingers tightened around your bracelets as if they could save you from yourself. “The only one who can save me… is you,” you whispered. “You can take revenge… on your brother… by tying me to you.” But you didn’t manage to finish. His voice cut you off, sharp like a slap: “Pathetic.” You froze. A silent tear slipped down your cheek slowly. It slid along your face like an unsaid confession. Your omega aura blossomed, finally free, like a sweet and fragile scent that expanded in the room. You felt it, but he thought it much more. It was soft, welcoming, instinctively submissive but with a core of dignity impossible to extinguish. “You’re right…” you whispered, your voice low. “The two minutes are over.”

You turned slowly. And walked away, trying not to give in to the shame, or the pain, but then something happened. “Stop.” His voice was an order. A command, and you… you stopped. Not out of fear. Not because you wanted to. But because something in your omega nature forced you to obey. Omegas live to follow. To feel they belong. And with that voice… your body reacted before your mind. You turned slowly. “You’re pathetic, but also… brave.” He took a few steps toward you, his eyes still burning with distrust, but also something else. Something that tightened his chest. “No one has ever faced me like this. No one. Least of all an omega.” He stopped in front of you, his body just inches away. His warmth was overwhelming, and his eyes, now darker, locked onto yours. “Do you know what happens to an omega… when they’re tied by an alpha?” You swallowed. Your legs trembled. But you didn’t look away. “Yes,” you murmured. “Tell me.” You swallowed again, and with an uncertain but sincere voice, you said: “When an alpha ties an omega, his knot swells inside her… locking in for minutes, sometimes even half an hour. During that time… the omega loses complete control.” You said, looking at him with desperate eyes. “The body opens, surrenders. The scent changes. The orgasm is violent… uncontrollable. The bond forms. And… the omega can get pregnant at the first attempt if the alpha desires. But if the omega isn’t ready… if she’s afraid… her body may react badly. The pain can become too much and yes… in extreme cases… she could die.” The silence that followed was different from all the ones before. Heeseung stared at you as if you were saying the most absurd thing… and at the same time, the truest. “And despite all of that… you want to risk being tied by me?” “Yes.” you said, sure of your words.

Heeseung was stunned. For the first time in years, he didn't know what to do. Your words echoed in his ears, so sweet and desperate that they made him clench his fists. What would his brothers say? Him. Lee Heeseung. The most respected alpha at the Academy. Him, tying an omega. Not just any omega. But the daughter of the man who had wiped out his family. "If I bind you," he said quietly, with a hard voice, "you'll be mine forever, there’s no turning back. The bond will be eternal. Your body, your soul… everything will belong to me." You nodded, the tears threatening to fall, but with your eyes shining. "I know." Then, in an even quieter, almost broken voice, you said: "And I'll do everything you want, Heeseung. Even… even get pregnant. If that’s what you desire from me." The alpha's breath caught in his throat. Those words… offered so sincerely, without malice, without strategy… they were like a blade to the chest. “If you do this,” he thought, “your family will disown you. They’ll cast you out. They’ll cut you off.” But a voice inside him whispered: "Good. Let them. She’ll find a new family. Mine." You looked at him again, standing tall even though your body trembled.

"I… I can become your perfect revenge. Imagine my father’s face when he finds out that an alpha has bound me. That his perfect little girl has been taken, tied, marked… and maybe even impregnated. He’ll be furious. Humiliated, and I… I’ll be free from a forced marriage between two families pretending to support each other." Heeseung gritted his teeth, fighting with himself. "And you think I would give you freedom?" he said bitterly. You smiled, this time bitter but sincere. "I know you don’t like me, Heeseung. You don’t have to. But you… you and I are the best at herbology. No one beats us. And yet they always pit us against each other because they want to see us break. But I’ve always seen you. Always respected you. And I know that when alphas choose a mate, they love her. They protect her. They let her… live. Better than in a gilded cage with Jiwon. Better than being just a breeder to be showcased for my beauty and my calming power over people." Silence.

Heeseung’s breath was broken, his gaze fierce but filled with torment, looking at you as if you were poison and remedy at the same time. Desire and destruction. He took a step closer, then another. Now he was so close you could feel his hot breath on your face. "And if I marked you now?" he whispered. "If I pushed you against that table and bound you mercilessly… in front of these plants… while you cry, but not from fear… just because you’re finally free?" Your breath hitched. Your omega inside was trembling. You looked into his eyes, even though your heart was pounding, and the omega aura crackled in the air, ready to bend, ready to follow… but you didn’t look away. "I'm not ready yet," you murmured. His lips curled into a bitter sneer. "Pathetic," he hissed. "Not even for a kiss?" The tone was venomous and harsh. But you felt it… it wasn’t real. It was self-defense. It was fear. It was broken pride. Heeseung knew you were right. No one was truly ready for the bond of a knot. Not even him. And yet… as your omega scent mixed with his natural alpha fragrance – strong, resinous, with hints of musk and spices – something in the air became dangerously sweet; a mutual intoxication. Lethal but also… irresistible. He took a few steps forward. His voice was low, rasping as if scratched by pain. "Your father… killed my brother. Like a dog. He left him there… eyes open. And blood painting the end on the floor, and you… you’re here. Crying. Asking to be saved." You didn’t answer. You just listened, the tears now free, warm, slipping down your cheeks. Your heart screamed, but your mouth remained silent. He noticed. And for a moment, he softened. He sighed, running a hand through his fiery red hair that he was trying to smother. “…I’ll think about it," he finally said. "I don’t promise anything." Your eyes lit up. And with a light, almost ironic voice, but sincere, you said: “At least it’s not a hard ‘no’…” He looked at you, raising an eyebrow, both irritated and amused at the same time. "I’ve had enough for tonight. Go back to the dance. Surely your ‘perfect omega’ is looking for you. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?" You looked at him sweetly, with that touch of innocent defiance that only an omega like you could afford. "When will you decide?" Heeseung stared at you for a moment, then looked away. But his words struck straight to your chest: "You’ll know soon enough, and prepare yourself mentally, princess… because if I decide to knot you and make you mine, it won’t be for play." You nodded, feeling every word resonate inside you. You bowed, in the ancient silence of the greenhouse, and you left. Light heels, uncertain steps, a heart-pounding wildly, but behind your chest… a small flame had taken a life, and you knew, as you stepped out into the cold night, that not everything was lost.

Three days had passed, seventy-two hours, four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes. Not that you were counting, of course. Every time you crossed paths with him in the Academy's hallways, or during Herbology class, Heeseung didn't even spare you a glance. He was icy, impassive, as if that night in the greenhouse had never happened, yet… you could feel it. His scent. His fleeting gaze. His breath changing every time you entered the room. In the meantime, you had searched for everything there was about knotting between an alpha and an omega.

“The knot can last from twenty to forty-five minutes.”

“During the mating, the omega enters a state of controlled instinctive heat, where the body completely surrenders.”

“The alpha, if compatible, can permanently mark the omega, leaving an irreversible spiritual, emotional, and physical bond.”

“Fertilization is highly likely if the omega does not take the contraceptive pill, even during non-fertile days, due to the high release of pheromones.”

Every time you read something like this, your thighs clenched involuntarily, as if trying to hold something back. A strange, warm, pulsing sensation. Your body knew. Your body wanted. But your mind was scared. Your best friend was an alpha, Heeseung's cousin, and a small genetic miracle: daughter of a male omega and a female alpha. Like you, she had never been knotted. That afternoon, you both lay under the willow in the inner courtyard, your bare feet in the cold grass, talking softly. "My mom told me it's like… being branded by fire. It hurts. It's ecstasy and tearing together. But also that after, you can never live without him, especially if you start to have feelings during the act." You lowered your gaze, playing with the bracelets on your wrist. "I don't know if I'm ready… but I keep thinking about what he had to go through because of my family, the omega bloodline, and I don’t even know if he truly hates me. I just know that… I'm so sorry. Truly sorry. For him. For what he's lived through." She hugged you gently. Her embrace was warm, and reassuring. Familiar. "Heeseung… suffered more than anyone. You have no idea. He was just a boy when it happened. And since then, he hasn’t let anyone touch him. He’s never been close to an omega. Not even one." You looked at her, your eyes misty, but determined. "I know. And you know what the worst part is? That… I’m jealous." She chuckled softly, nudging you with her shoulder. "Jealous of what, idiot?" she laughed, though also intrigued by your candid confession. "That you can choose whoever you want, whenever you want. No one forces you. But I’ve already got a predetermined fate… unless…" you said, looking at the enchanted clearing in front of you. "Unless you rebel," she finished, hugging you. "Unless you choose who you want to be and refuse to give yourself to a man who will never satisfy you. You know that’s the easiest path, but if you give yourself fully to Heeseung, you know it will be the hardest road, but also the one where you can live and show who you are, not just a docile omega." You smiled and, to lighten the mood, teased her: "So, who would you like to knot you or, I don’t know, go out with someone? Come on, tell me. Jake? Jay? Or… Sunghoon? You’ve got three good options!" She blushed up to her ears and covered her face. "Don’t start!" You winked at her at the mention of Sunghoon's name, and she collapsed onto the grass with an exasperated groan, telling you not to start because she couldn’t stand that guy who looked like a human ice cube. Then, as you both laughed, you felt your phone vibrate. A single message.

One sender: Heeseung. "Friday. 21:30 PM. Classroom above the astronomical tower."

Your breath caught in your throat. You had been summoned, like an ancient ritual, a call that could not be ignored. Your mother had always told you that when an alpha wants you… you feel it, but no one had prepared you to feel it like this.

Friday evening had arrived. Too fast, too slow. Every hour that passed that day seemed to melt into your skin like hot wax. Anxiety? No, it was a deeper bubbling. It was the awareness that in just a few hours, your destiny would change forever or perhaps… you would truly become yours for the first time. You wore something simple but carefully chosen: a loose ivory sweater, slightly faded jeans, and your lucky bracelets. Your fingers trembled a little as you closed the door behind you. It wasn’t fear; it was awareness. You arrived before the set time, but he… was already there. The large classroom at the top of the astronomical tower was bathed in silence. Heeseung was sitting on the couch by the huge window, his back straight, hands in his pockets, his gaze lost in the lake where the moon reflected like a broken dream. His silhouette seemed drawn by the light: red hair like domesticated fire, broad shoulders, an imposing back. A true alpha. A king awaiting his new queen. You didn’t say a word. You entered quietly and sat next to him, fiddling with the bracelets on your wrist to hold back the heart that was beating too fast. Then you looked at him. His perfect profile, straight nose, long lashes, taut jaw. “Have you decided?” you asked, your voice low and sincere. He didn’t look at you, not immediately, and continued staring at the water. “Are you sure?” His voice was rough, low, like a dull blade, and you nodded. “Yes, only your cousin knows, my best friend. No one else.” Heeseung slowly turned towards you, his amber eyes piercing through you. “My brothers know. All six of them: Jay, Jake, Hoon, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki.” You swallowed hard. His “brothers,” as Heeseung called them, weren’t his blood brothers, but they had grown up together, seven of them, as a real family. All seven were alphas with true marks and supernatural powers, and Heeseung had been elected as their leader for his aura, his flawless hunting skills, always perfect and borderline survival, but he always made it, one way or another. Two years ago, he had been elected and crowned the leader of the new generation of alphas. You gathered your courage and asked him. “And… what did they say?” You knew some might have turned their noses up, like Sunghoon and Ni-Ki, but others could have pushed him to accept, like Jake, Sunoo, and Jungwon. But the one he trusted most was Jay. He turned fully towards you, leaning against the couch with his arms crossed.

“They said I’d be crazy to do it. That you’re a risk. An emotional bomb. That you carry a dirty past with you. That you don’t deserve a bond with our family.” Your heart clenched… until he added, coldly: “But Jay pointed out something: your family is on the verge of ruin, and they have land in the city that… is worth a lot of money. That’s why they want to marry you off to that scoundrel omega, because with his construction company, he can use his connections, but also benefit from your name. If you were to knot, and then… marry… those lands would become mine, ours, and my family would come out even stronger.” You stayed silent for a moment before interrupting him. “Wait, wait, did you just say Marriage?!”

Heeseung looked at you and shrugged. "You know, after a year of knotting… all bound couples get married. It’s law. It’s culture. It’s biology." You lowered your gaze, your fingers tightening around the bracelets, then lifted your eyes, unsure. "So… is this a yes? Are you telling me yes? That you want to knot me and marry me?" Heeseung studied you carefully for a long time, his gaze so deep it made you tremble inside, as though he could see every crack in you. Then he spoke: "Yes. But I won’t love you. Never. This isn’t a fairytale. There will be no love, no hearts, no ribbons. I’ll give you the freedom you want. I’ll rip you away from your destiny, but my heart… remains mine." His words were a punch to the stomach, but also… salvation. You looked at him with a small spark in your eyes. "I don’t ask for your heart, Heeseung, just the choice, the freedom to be myself." And he nodded. "Then prepare yourself, because when an alpha decides… there’s no turning back." As his words faded between you—cold, sharp, definitive—you didn’t think twice. You hugged him with small, trembling arms but full of courage. He was rigid, cold, like a statue carved from black stone… but you sank into him anyway. You sank into his chest, feeling the tension, the anger… and the heartbeat. That powerful alpha heartbeat that echoed against yours. "Tsk, what’s this, now omegas throw themselves into the arms of their enemies? How pathetic, cliché," he sneered. His tone was cynical, dismissive, but his words didn’t move you. You stayed there. With your forehead resting on his shoulder, eyes closed, and a breath that kicked inside you like a prayer. "I’ll thank you forever, Heeseung… I was more afraid of ending up in the hands of an omega like Jiwon, who doesn’t respect women… than being knotted, fertilized, reproduced, and maybe even dying." Your words were sincere, raw, and the truth made something inside him tremble.

Under his skin, in his blood, and then his heart raced. Unexpectedly, you felt a large hand rest on your back, a hesitant touch, almost instinctive, his fingers moving lightly in small circles.

A caress, a primitive form of contact that felt more like comfort than possession. And it was true what they said about you. A warm aura, made of light and peace, a gentle omega’s touch that soothed the soul, even before the flesh.

When you pulled away, Heeseung immediately felt the emptiness, as though you had torn away an invisible part of him. You lowered your gaze, rummaging in your bag, and handed him a folded sheet of paper.

He took it, perplexed, and opened it:

Medical certificate of Y/n (your surname)

Signature of the university gynecologist, and there were specific words written:

No illness.

Still a virgin.

Stable aura.

Mental and physical healing abilities.

Perfect response to stimulation from alpha, omega, or beta.

Adaptable to repeated knotting.

Receptive to imprinting and consensual domination.

He lifted his gaze to you, an eyebrow raised.

"Wow. My little elite virgin is already ready for the marriage packaging, huh? All that’s left is a pink bow and a tag that says ‘fertilize me, I’m pure.’"

He teased you, of course, with that sharp sarcasm from an alpha who didn’t want to give in.

But this time… there was a different tone, a hint of something not just irony.

It was interest, it was respect, and despite everything, it was… dangerously close to admiration.

You stuck out your tongue at him, playful but sweet, and were about to say something—but you didn’t have time.

His fingers gently took your chin, and for a moment…

those amber eyes—eyes of a deer and a predator combined—studied you like an enigma no one had ever dared to solve, and then he kissed you, without warning, without control.

The kiss wasn’t just a kiss — it was a restrained bite, a bite on instinct.

Heeseung wasn’t just anyone. He was the Alpha of all Alphas. Born to dominate, to protect, to take. And right in front of him stood the perfect embodiment of everything he was meant to destroy… and yet, he wanted to possess it.

You whimpered softly under his touch, and that alone was enough to awaken the darkest part of him — that hunger. That urge to explore every inch of you.

He pressed your shoulders with one hand and gently laid you down on the couch, slowly, almost like a predator who takes his time before devouring his prey. He leaned over you, barely giving you space to breathe.

His Alpha scent was overwhelming. Warm like fire, sharp like pepper. You trembled — not out of fear.

Your body was beginning to accept the inevitable.

Heeseung stared at you, and in his eyes, there was raw hunger.

Not just the desire to kiss you, but to tear away your control, and melt your resistance.

To see you fall apart under his touch and then… cry, call for him, beg for him.

"So small. So pure. I’d only need to spread her legs and she'd already be mine. One thrust, one knot, and her whole life would change. She was made to be filled, born to take me in, to be only mine," he thought as he heard your moan.

“Moaning from just a kiss? Pathetic…” he murmured against your lips, with that crooked, cursed smile — but he didn’t pull away.

He deepened the kiss, opening your mouth again and sliding his tongue in further — exploring, taking, claiming.

And you let him. As if you had been waiting for this all along.

Your bodies moved against each other without shame.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them slightly — just enough for you to understand that he could.

That if he wanted to, he could knot you right there.

“You’re not even ready for my kiss — let alone my knot,” he whispered in your ear, voice hoarse, while you trembled beneath him.

“Your thighs squeeze shut every time I get close, you know? I can feel it. Your body begs for me… and you don’t even realize it.”

You gasped, cheeks flushed, throat dry.

“I want it to be beautiful…” you managed to whisper, voice broken.

He laughed. A low, wicked laugh, thick with promises.

“It won’t be beautiful. It’ll be unforgettable. But let me warn you, little omega…”

He moved a strand of hair from your face, looking precisely where he’d mark you.

“When I knot you, I’ll do it properly. I’ll make you tremble. Cry. Come. Not just once. Every time I want it. I’ll train your body to welcome me until you beg to be bred.”

He paused, eyes blazing.

“Because when I want you, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. No excuses. And you… will thank me.”

You nodded slowly, lips parted, unable to speak — only to feel.

“Good,” he whispered again, leaning close once more. “Then start taking the pill. Because if you forget even once… I swear I’ll knock you up and keep you tied to me forever.”

Classroom near the tower – the fourth day before the knotting

Time seemed to bend every time you entered that room. There was something about the scent Heeseung left on the walls, the curtains, even the wood of the desk — it made your thighs clench just crossing the threshold.

When he entered, silent as always, the air tightened.

You were already there, sitting with your hands on your knees, head lowered, your pleated skirt barely revealing the soft skin of your thighs.

But he saw you and chuckled softly.

“So good. Like a little puppy waiting for its master.”

His voice was velvet and venom. It hit you straight in the gut.

“I’m not a dog,” you murmured. But you didn’t lift your gaze. Never before he allowed it.

“Oh no?” he stepped closer, one slow step at a time. “Then why are you crouched here every time, ready to let me touch anything I want?”

You swallowed.

“Because that’s the deal, Heeseung. If you don’t touch me, don’t train me, I might die.”

He was on you in a second. His body pressed against yours, and his hand grabbed your face firmly, forcing you to look at him.

Those eyes — dark, liquid, hungry. “Stop pretending you're doing this just for the agreement. You don’t tremble like that every time I touch you out of duty.”

“I... I do it to survive, and you know perfectly well what my fate would be otherwise, Heeseung.” A smirk appeared on his lips as he brushed your mouth with his thumb.

“Then surviving turns you on, omega?” You wanted to answer, but you couldn’t. Because he was right. Your body spoke louder than your words.

With a jerk, he turned you around and bent you forward against the desk. Your cheek pressed against the cold wood. You could feel his breath behind you.

“Look at yourself. So obedient. So submissive. You didn’t even ask what I’m going to do to you today.”

“What… what will you do to me today, Alpha?” Your voice trembled.

“I’m prepping you, as always. But today… you’ll be on your knees. With your mouth this time. I need to know if you can take me there too.” Your heart stopped for a second.

Then you nodded slowly. “Yes, Alpha. As you wish.”

“Good little obedient omega.”

His voice dripped sweet poison, and you drank it like water. He made you kneel between his legs. He stroked your hair with slow irony like one would pet a domesticated animal.

“Look how docile my revenge prize is. The father kills my brother, and the daughter kneels for me. There is justice in this world after all.”

You wanted to talk back. You looked up at him, your breath already shaky.

“You don’t own me… yet.”

“But you act like I do. So tell me, little one — who’s in charge here?”

“You… Alpha.”

He made you stand again. Pressed you against the wall, his body locked into yours. His hands were everywhere: on your throat, your hips, under your skirt. He kissed you violently, and then his voice dropped.

“In just a few days, I’ll knot you. And it won’t be sweet. I want to feel your tears, I want to hear your voice begging for more. You asked for revenge… but you served it to me on a silver platter.”

His teeth sank into your neck.

Not to mark you — not yet. But to show he was close.

You gasped, your bare breasts pressed to his warm chest.

“Alpha… thank you… for not breaking me yet.”

He chuckled against your skin.

“Oh, princess… who told you I haven’t already?”

The dining room was bathed in golden light, the chandeliers casting a soft glow across the space. The guests' murmurs wove together in a steady hum. The long, dark wooden table was meticulously set, adorned with nothing but forced smiles and carefully measured words.

You sat poised, hands resting on your lap, back straight, cheeks lightly brushed with makeup. Beside you sat your “future husband”: Jiwon, leader of the new generation of omegas—perfect in looks, rotten in soul. His fake smile stung every time his elbow brushed against yours as if to remind you that you belonged to him.

But that wasn’t true.

In two days, Heeseung would claim you. He would mark you—make you his and none of the people seated at that table knew it.

Your father raised his glass toward you, a proud smile on his lips.

'You look beautiful, Y/n. I can’t wait to see you at the altar. You’ll be the purest bride this clan has ever seen.'

You nodded with a gentle smile.

Pure.

If only he had seen your bruised knees, your reddened neck, and the bites Heeseung had left on you just two nights ago.

Jiwon grinned and added in a smug voice, “Yeah, I’m excited too. Maybe we should put a collar on her to keep her from running off the altar—like she does every time I try to kiss her!”

Scattered laughter rippled among the guests, but the air grew noticeably colder.

You smiled politely, though deep down you wanted to rip his tongue out.

Then Jiwon’s mother, seated across the table, chimed in with a sweet voice and a probing tone.

-And you, Y/n? Where would you like to get married? Something simple, I imagine? A nice garden near the countryside, perhaps. Nothing too extravagant…-

You answered her gracefully, eyes lowered in a courteous smile.

“I’ve always dreamed of getting married at the White Peak Falls. It's wrapped in mist—like it’s floating in the sky. It feels... intimate.”

The woman frowned, clearly displeased.

-Too damp. It would ruin the hair and makeup. Better something classic, like the Hidden Rose Pavilion. At least there, you can breathe nobility.-

Before you could respond, Jiwon shifted in his seat and raised his voice just enough to draw attention.

“Anyway, there’s still time. The wedding can only happen a year after the bonding ceremony, and I haven’t exactly… left my mark on her yet.”

Silence fell for a moment.

Your cheeks flushed—not from embarrassment, but from the searing memory of Heeseung’s hands gripping your waist, his warm tongue on your skin, his raspy voice calling you his "well-behaved little omega" as he bent you to his will.

To everyone else, you seemed so naïve. So obedient. So inexperienced.

But they knew nothing.

You knew how to ignite desire. How to stroke an Alpha’s pride without bruising it. How to touch not just the body—but the mind.

And you had learned it all from the Alpha among Alphas.

You smiled sweetly and raised your gaze.

“Well, a year may sound long... but time flies when one is busy... learning.”

Jiwon looked at you with a flicker of surprise and curiosity, as if the double meaning had taken him a moment to register. Then, he smiled.

He leaned in and took your hand, kissing it in front of everyone—slowly, with exaggerated elegance.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Soon... I’ll be the one teaching you. And you’ll be all mine.”

You shivered. Not with desire— But with disgust.

And under the table, your nails dug into the skin of your palm, just to stop yourself from screaming the truth that burned in your throat:

“No. I already belong to him.”

The night was thick and humid, the fog still clinging to the air, and the faint glow of the streetlamps seemed to float in midair. Every step you took was a risk—sneaking past the night guard, entering the male quarters where omegas weren’t allowed without permission—but you didn’t care. He was waiting for you. When you turned the corner of the main hallway, you saw him. Heeseung was there, leaning against his doorway, hands in his pockets, that usual look in his eyes—slow, dark, like the night itself. “Took you forever,” he said, his voice slipping under your skin. “There’s fog and it’s damp… I even straightened my hair and got ready,” you murmured with a soft huff, tucking a strand behind your ear. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head, smirking. “What a waste. I’ll have my hands in that hair soon… and you might end up sweating, too.” You rolled your eyes, but didn’t bother hiding the heat rising in your cheeks. “You’re awful.” “And yet you still came.” His room took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you’d expected from an Alpha like him—no hunting trophies or flexed muscles covering every wall. Instead, shelves lined with collectible Legos, a wall of perfectly arranged video games, a music console with headphones hanging neatly… and then—the bed. Massive. Dark. With rumpled sheets and heavy blankets. The room was dim, yes, but it radiated him. That blend of dominance and stillness. Controlled chaos just beneath the skin. It crept over you like a chill. “Sit.” His voice was lower now, closer. You looked him in the eyes and obeyed—like a true omega. You sat at the edge of the bed, hands in your lap, back straight, heart in chaos. He stood in front of you, his hands placed on either side of your legs, his body bending forward just enough to make you feel small—just how he liked it. He stared at you for a long moment, then spoke, quiet and serious. “One last time. Are you sure?” You met his eyes—no hesitation left in yours. “Yes. I want this. I want you.” Slowly, he lifted a hand and brushed your cheek with his knuckles. The touch was warm, certain. Then he smiled. Not the soft kind—but the sharp one. The one that sent every nerve on high alert. “To think… out of everyone, you looked the most innocent. The purest. And yet here you are, sitting on an Alpha’s bed, ready to be knotted like a good little obedient doll.” Your breath hitched, but your gaze didn’t falter. His finger ran over your lips, parting them just slightly. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. Tonight, I’ll teach you how to ask for pleasure. And how to receive it… only when I decide.” You nodded shyly, though your heart pounded like a drum. Heeseung sat beside you on the bed with the calm danger of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Kiss me.” You didn’t hesitate. You leaned in, kneeling on the edge of the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close with that sweetness that tasted of surrender… and need. Your omega scent mixed with the damp air, and your lips sought his—quietly desperate, respectful, hungry.

The kiss was slow, like a silent plea for permission in every touch. But Heeseung… Heeseung was different.He kissed you with teeth, with tongue, like he was taking something from you.

Like every moan you gave was a small revenge pressed into your skin.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you tighter, and then he chuckled against your mouth.

“Mmh. So good… so hungry… you’re like one of those sweet little dolls, just waiting to be unwrapped.”

You blushed but didn’t get the chance to reply. His hands grabbed your ass, lifting you swiftly to straddle his lap, your body fitting perfectly against his.

Beneath your light skirt, his hands roamed upward, shameless.

“And underneath… what’s my little liar wearing, hmm?” His fingers brushed along the curve of your backside, finding the edge of the fabric.

“Panties…” you whispered, voice barely audible.

“What color?” His voice was poison and honey, the Alpha demanding truth… and control.

“Blue and white… with a little bow.”

He let out a low, amused laugh.

“Well, would you look at that? Do you really want me to take you while you’re still wearing those good-girl panties?

Tsk… you’re just a little omega dressed up as temptation.”

You flushed again but didn’t move.

You stayed still, just like a well-trained omega, breath trembling, lips slightly parted.

Heeseung leaned in again, kissing you with more hunger, more claim.

One hand gripped your hips, holding you in place; the other slid up your back, under your shirt.

Then it moved down—his lips trailing your neck, stopping at the exact point between your jaw and shoulder.

A soft, choked moan escaped you—honest, fragile.

Your body recognized him. Craved him. He smiled against your skin.

“Oh, listen to that moan… so easy, so sweet. Baby, we haven’t even started. And you’re already melting.”

He took your chin in two fingers, making you look into his eyes.

His lips were everywhere along your neck—warm, deliberate, hungry.

Each bite, and each suck left you gasping quietly.

And when you tried to speak, you stuttered.

“H-Hee… y-you’re…”

“What?” he whispered against your damp skin, that teasing tone of someone who already knew.

“Omegas are always so submissive… but you? You’re something else.

You stutter just from me brushing your neck?”

You wanted to reply with something sharp—but another moan betrayed you.

He laughed.

“Pathetic. I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Still, your voice—trembling—came through, laced with that spark he always liked.

“You talk a lot… but if I wasn’t worth it, you’d never have wanted me in your bed.”

He paused for a second.

Then looked you dead in the eyes, a half-feral grin on his lips.

“Touché.”

His hand slid up your arm, fingers hooking into the edge of your sweater.

“Take it off.”

Of course, you obeyed. Like every well-behaved omega.

Like his omega.

You slipped the sweater off slowly, revealing your bare shoulders and a simple white lace bralette—delicate, but elegant.

Heeseung whistled low, that crooked grin still playing on his lips.

“Cute. But without it… you'd be perfect.”

And without waiting for permission, he unclasped it with one fluid motion.

The fabric slipped away, and your bare breasts rose with each shaky breath.

He bit his lip, eyes locked on you.

“Would you look at that… so sweet, so full… like they’ve been waiting just for me.” He teased you but didn’t give you time to reply. He leaned down over you, his mouth capturing one of your sensitive buds, sucking slowly, savoring the way you trembled, the way your fingers clung to his shoulders. His hand kept you still, but then slid down, grabbing between your legs with sudden force. “H-Heeseung… it’s t-too much…” You whispered, voice trembling between a moan and a gasp. He stopped. Looked at you with a sharp, amused expression. “Too much? What, is my Omega fragile?” Then he nodded, voice dropping lower. “Alright. I’ll go easy… for now.” His hand changed pace—slow, almost gentle. But his mouth didn’t stop. It moved from one breast to the other, licking and nibbling with a hunger he no longer cared to hide. “This skin… this body…” he murmured against you, “—soon it’ll all be mine. Completely. And no one will ever touch you again.”

His lips didn’t stop. They were everywhere on your body: your neck, already marked by his kisses, your aching breasts, then lower… down past your belly button. You trembled not only from his touch but from what it meant. From what was about to happen. Heeseung noticed. He stopped. His hands rested on your hips, his gaze climbing up to your eyes. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he said, voice low, almost dark. You nodded, hands still clutching the sheets beneath you. “I know… it’s just… I didn’t expect any of this. I feel like a lamb laid out for slaughter.” A crooked smile tugged at his lips. Cruel. Tender. Heeseung was everything and it was the opposite. “That’s exactly what you are. A sweet, fragile little omega… too good for this world.” Then his tone shifted, more serious. “But you forgot—there were only two choices: me or Jiwon.” You didn’t hesitate. “I want you.” His eyes narrowed. Something flickered inside him, fast like lightning. Maybe pride. Maybe… something more. “Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s how you answer an Alpha.”

Gently, he laid you down on the bed. Your body sank into the dark sheets, your skin already hot from every touch of his. He knelt in front of you, bare chest rising and falling with deep breaths. He reached out and stroked your cheek—a soft gesture. Unusual. Disarming. As if, just for a moment… he wanted to be something more than your master. Then he leaned down again, this time pressing his lips to your belly button. He kissed you there slowly, and you… giggled softly. A small, unexpected sound. Fragile. Childlike. He stopped and looked at you. “Did you just laugh?” His voice was surprised, but not harsh. Almost… amused. “You tickled me there,” you murmured, hands moving to cover your face in embarrassment. Heeseung shook his head and gave you a light slap on the thigh—a playful scolding. “This is the preparation for the knot, and you’re laughing? Are you disrespecting me, little Omega?” But his tone was no longer just dominant. It was… something else. He stared at you like he didn’t know anymore if he just wanted to mark you… or protect you. And you felt it. Something was changing in the way he touched you, in the way he looked at you, in how he took care of your body… without rushing, without fully dominating. As if he, too, needed to feel something. Not just vengeance. And inside your chest… fear mixed with another feeling. “Now,” he murmured, voice rough and deep, “I’m taking this skirt off.” And it wasn’t a request. With one swift, impatient motion, he pulled it down your hips. The fabric gave way with a sharp tear, and in an instant, you were exposed to the cool air of the room, bare skin tense beneath his gaze. Instinctively, you closed your legs. Too exposed. Too vulnerable. But he didn’t allow it. “Keep them open for me,” he growled, grabbing your knees and spreading them with fierce slowness. “Your scent is everywhere. Do you know how much you’re dripping for me, little Omega?”

He leaned down. His hot breath on your core made every part of you jolt. “Mmh, panties already soaked?” He smiled. The smile of a predator. “You’re really that desperate for me, huh? How cute…” He started kissing your thighs, slowly, with warm lips and a slow tongue, like he wanted to mark you there too, inch by inch. But every now and then he’d graze a sensitive spot, and you… you’d squirm, tremble, giggle quietly. “S-stop… you’re tickling me…” “Tsk,” he muttered, lifting his eyes with mock disapproval. “No girl laughs this much before being knotted. Are you mocking me, Omega?” You looked up at him, breathing in short gasps. Your eyes glimmered with shame and wonder. “Maybe I’m special.” For a moment, the silence was thick. Heeseung stared at you, and something in his gaze shifted.

The pure Alpha mask cracked—just a little. Maybe from pride. Maybe because deep down… he really thought you were special. Then he lowered himself again between your thighs, his fingers slowly trailing along your panties. “Special or not,” he murmured, voice rough like sandpaper, tonight you’re mine. To the last drop of your scent. Until no other man dares to even look at you.”

Heeseung took off his hoodie with a slow but determined motion, and you watched him — you couldn’t help but stare. His body was sculpted, and strong, radiating that raw energy only a powerful Alpha could possess. But what truly struck you were the scars. They ran across his chest, his biceps… old, some of them deep. Painful even to look at. Your hand rose on its own, hesitant, brushing one of the faded lines on his arm. He tensed. For a second, he seemed to hold his breath, even as his lips were still on your skin, right there between your thighs. “Don’t touch those,” he said, voice rough, almost harsh — but you didn’t pull back immediately. You looked at him, with a tenderness you hadn’t expected from yourself. “Who did this to you…?” Heeseung didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away either. Instead, he lowered his head again — and this time, there was no more gentleness. With one sharp move, he tore off your panties too, leaving you completely exposed under his gaze. “Don’t talk about the past. Not now.”

His voice had turned harder. Hungrier. He spread your legs again, and his warm breath made you shiver. Then — without a warning, without a word — he spit slowly between your thighs, and the wet, hot sensation made you jolt. Your breath caught, and a moan escaped your lips. His mouth followed right after — hungry, relentless. “H-Heeseung…!”

You stammered, hands clutching at the sheets, your body trying to hold back a tidal wave you'd never felt before. “Wa–wait… I… it’s too much…” “Too much?” he growled against you. “We haven’t even started.” He looked up at you from below, eyes gleaming with desire and domination. “I’m going to fill you. First with my fingers, then with my cock — and you’ll thank me for every second.” You nodded. You couldn’t do anything else. And then you felt the first finger sink into you — your body tensed, breath catching for a moment, and your mouth tried to form some kind of response: “I-it feels… it’s warm… it’s overwhelming… but I like it…” He smirked, a fierce whisper at your ear. “Look how you open up for me. Such a good little Omega, so desperate. I thought you’d resist at least a little… but you're already trembling from just one finger.” The movement grew deeper, slower, exploring every inch of you — then, without warning, he added another. You moaned loudly. Almost a cry. Of pleasure, of shame, of surrender. And Heeseung watched you, like he was already carving your name under his skin. His fingers moved slowly but with purpose, sinking deeper between your thighs with increasing confidence. Heeseung stared at you like he owned every breath you took, every shiver that ran through you. When he added a third finger, your body arched toward him, and the words tumbled from your lips, a trembling whisper: “It’s… beautiful…” Heeseung laughed softly — a low, sharp sound. “Listen to you talk, little thing. Falling in love with something so simple. You really are an Omega… born to be beneath, born to entertain me.” His tone was cruel, but his voice scratched like molten honey. Already warm and vulnerable, you whimpered as he dipped down again, kissing you slowly, savoring every reaction he could pull from you. You grabbed his hair, tugging with a broken moan — and for the first time, you heard him… groan. A low, animalistic sound, while still buried deep inside you. Your body started to tremble. You knew it. You felt it building. “Hee… I… I’m about to…” He didn’t wait. He pushed you over the edge, adding a third finger, thrusting into you with firm, confident strokes — not even asking for permission. You screamed. And he smiled against your skin, while your body exploded beneath his control. “Look how you come for me…” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “A little Omega who gives in so easily. So wet, so desperate. You were made to be filled by me.” You were gasping, still trembling, voice shattered by pleasure and surrender. “Only you… only for you, Heeseung. I’m your Omega…” He didn’t answer right away. He just stayed between your thighs, savoring every wave that still shook you. Then he rose slowly, his chest rising and falling, and his lips crashed onto yours with hunger. The kiss was raw. Wet. Tongues searching, claiming. No sweetness. Just possession. Instinct. “Can you taste what surrender feels like?” he whispered against your lips. “It’s sweet. It’s mine.” And you — breathless, shameless — kissed him again.

The room was immersed in a warm pre-shade, imbued with a tense silence. Heeseung slowly pulled off his pants, dropping them at the foot of the bed, and you couldn't take your eyes off him. The boer When he lowered them, your breath froze for a moment. It was like you had heard about the alphas: imposing, thick, damp at the end. You bit your lip slightly, instinctively, without even realizing it. His eyes rested on yours, and in a hoarse voice he asked you: "You want to touch it?»

You barely nodded, and with trembling fingers you brushed him, caressing him shyly, starting a slow movement. He whispered: "Are you sure?"

"One hundred percent," you replied, without hesitation. A satisfied growl came out of his throat. "Well. Then stay still." His hand slid between your legs, touching you with that confidence that only an Alpha like him could afford. he used his length to tease you, rubbing it on your clit until you shivered. "Put your hands on my shoulders. Squeeze, if it hurts." You nodded, your heart beating like crazy. Then, with a single shot, he entered you. Deep. Hot. Too.

Your body stretched, your eyes filled with tears ... but you did not protest. Not a word, just a broken groan. "Good, little omega," he whispered in his ear. "Now you are mine." His cock was completely inside you, and you were shaking under him, thighs slightly apart, hands clinging to his shoulders. Every muscle of yours tightened it with pure instinct, as if your body was born only to welcome it. Heeseung stood still, deeply immersed within you, his chest rising and falling slowly, his eyes nailed to yours. "Look how you're taking it," he growled. "I'll fill you up... and still you can hold me so well." You gasped slowly, your cheeks hot and red. "It's too much... you're like that... large...»

He raised an eyebrow, his smile crooked and dismissive. "Does it really surprise you? What did you think, princess? That the Alphas were delicate?" You shook your head slowly, your eyes shining. "No... it's just ... I didn't think I would like it so much ... and that it was so big" His expression changed. Darker. More intense. He bowed to you, his lips almost against your ear. "Do you like it? Feeling full? To know that you can't run away from me, that I took you all in and I won't let you go until you're branded?"

"Yes..." you whispered in a trembling voice. "I like it, Alpha..." "So you talk," he said, and pushed out slowly, leaving you empty for a moment. But before you could even complain, it came back into you forcefully, making you moan. "M-move ... but ... slowly, please..." Your voice was low, subdued. He laughed. "No. Now I decide. You made the deal, remember? You asked me to tie you. This is the price. And you'll be mine all night." His thrusts became slow but decisive, deep, calibrated to destroy you with sweetness. Every time you heard him go back inside, you moaned against his neck, hungry, surrendering.

"You squeeze so tight ... fuck ..." he muttered as he looked at you from above. "I didn't know an omega could take it this way."

"Because ... because I'm yours..." Those words came out to you without thinking, spontaneous, and had an immediate effect on him. "Repeat," he ordered, grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at him. "I'm... yours, Hee..." He looked at you, growled softly and pushed harder, deeper. Your legs tightened around his waist, your body was looking for his, desperate. "So good... so obedient ... A perfect little omega..." He ducked again, kissing you with hunger, as his cock filled and tamed you, one blow after another.

"And now... get ready, because when I knot you, it will be forever." His cock was so huge that you felt him press high, in the stomach, every push deeper than the previous one. Each blow barely lifted your pelvis, snatched an increasingly messy moan from you. Your legs closed around his hips with force, trying to hold him inside you as if you were afraid that he might leave. But Heeseung was not going anywhere. He was there to destroy you. "C-fuck... It's too much... you're too big ... I'm ... I'm— " you stammered, eyes half-closed, clouded with pleasure.

"What are you doing, huh? Tell me, little omega, are you breaking for my cock?» His voice was hoarse, deep, dripping with enjoyment. "S-yes ... Alpha ... I'm-I'm going crazy..." Your breath was broken, words broken with pleasure. "I can't... you're too much... you're filling me up too much..." Heeseung growled with satisfaction, sweat dripping from his temple as he continued to push into you with increasingly full blows.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it? Get fucked like a real omega. And now look how you're taking me ... you're my fucking prey.»

And you were. Your body had become one with his. Every fiber of yours vibrated to the rhythm of its thrusts. You felt the effect of Alpha running through your veins-hot, searing, like lava. Your muscles tightened more and more around him, held him, welcomed him. Then, suddenly, you felt him hitting something in you. A deeper, more sensitive area. Explosion.

"A-AH! HEESEUNG!"you screamed, your voice broken, as you clung with your fingernails to his back. "Oh God ... it's too ... too hot..." you stammered, trembling under him. He smiled against your neck, as he kept pushing against that precise point. "It's your body that's getting ready, baby. You're knotting. Your uterus ... feels it. And he wants me everything."

You felt your belly swell slightly. A sense of fullness that went beyond the physical. It was the bond that was forming, the knot that was coming. "A-Ah... Alpha... be—" The words came out to you with difficulty, as if you were drowning in pleasure. "I'm ... coming... you're draining me..."

"Very good. Come while I'm knotting you. I want to hear you squeeze it until the last shot."

His breathing became more labored, his thrusts slower but deeper. His hands held you still, and you, completely open to him, stammered only his name, like a desperate mantra. His knot began to swell inside you, slowly but surely, until it filled you in a way no one else could. Each push made it grow even more, and with each lunge your body strained more, unable to handle that superhuman pleasure. "Do you feel how big it is now?" he growled against your skin. "My knot is branding you from within. No one else can ever catch you. You're mine. Mine forever." He kept pushing hard into you, and you could only scream, the body shaken by continuous tremors, the legs clutching him with all the force. "Yes! Yes, I'm yours, Alpha! Only yours!"

"Good omega," he demoted you, in a rough voice.

"Now everyone will know. You're mine to take you in every way. Mine to fertilize you whenever I want. Your pussy is mine. Your body is mine. Every moan you make is for me." The knot was completely swollen now, blocking your every exit, and the feeling was driving you crazy. A heat wave swept over you, you screamed and scratched his back.

"I'm coming! Hee,—" His hand slid down, quick, and he started teasing your clit with expert fingers. You almost screamed from the overload. "N-no... I can't resist ... s-I'm ... I'm exploding!" you stammered between groans. "Your cock ... destroyed me! You're filling me up too much... too much... Heeseung!" Your body strained into a violent orgasm, a real mess that trickled down his knotted cock inside you. You writhed under him, not being able to stop the moans, completely consumed by pleasure.

"Look at you ... a good slut with all my knot in it. You messed up all over my cock.»

He praised you, but his hips did not stop. "And I'm not done yet... I can't stop, baby. The knot is swollen... but I want everything. To the last drop."

"Then give it to me..." you whispered, gasping for breath. "I want everything, I want to hear you... I want you to stay inside. Fill me up, Alpha ... make me yours ... all the way.» Heeseung looked at you with a dirty grin, eyes shining with animal instinct.

"I want you swollen with me. I want you full, smashed, marked. And when you're tired, I'll use you again." And with those words, he pushed again, slow but firm, as the knot throbbed inside you. His viscous cum slowly trickled out of your poor, hot, swollen, still pulsating pussy after knotting. But he didn't stop. He kept pushing inside you, slow, deep, with the knot still stuck, enjoying the way your body shook under his.

"I'm about to fill you again," he whispered in a broken voice, his breath warm against your ear. "You are mine. And I want you to feel it, deep inside." You moaned, the body already tired but still hungry, and then you screamed, bent with pleasure as you felt him ejaculating inside you with force, wave after wave, a boiling river that seemed to never end. Your belly swelled slightly, and your breathing became short. "It's too much... Hee ... it's so much ... you're ... filling me all..."

"You must be. I have to be sure." His thrusts became slower, almost sweet. But he didn't stop until he was sure he had branded you thoroughly.

When the knot finally began to deflate, Heeseung slipped out with a low, deep groan. The hot liquid dripped down your thighs, dirty, impudent. He took you by the hips with a force still present, but no longer violent. He drew you to himself. You huddled against him, your forehead against his bare, sweaty chest, and your body trembled, overwhelmed. Heeseung gently stroked your side, still slightly panting.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the voice calmer, but still hoarse. Nod quietly, without speaking. But after a few seconds, the silence was broken by a sob. One. Then another. Your shoulders trembled, your eyes filled with silent tears. He stiffened for a moment. Then he trembled.

"Did I hurt you?"he asked in a whisper, almost frightened by what he might have caused. He lifted a little on one elbow, looking for your gaze. "Look at me" But you didn't. For the first time, you did not obey. You huddled more, confused, vulnerable, fragile. Then he took you by the chin gently, but with his usual authority.

"princess... look at me. Now." And you, with tears in your eyes, finally looked up. Your eyes met. And without saying anything, you kissed him. A trembling kiss, which smelled of salt and surrender. Heeseung stood still for a moment, surprised. Then he reciprocated, slowly, sweeter than he had ever done. His hands clasped your face as your mouths merged into something new. Between kisses, you whispered: «Thank…» He just peeled off, his lips still close to yours, and laughed quietly, almost in disbelief. "I thought I had broken you... and instead you thank me?»

He shook his head, and stroked your side again, this time more slowly, almost protective. "You're really weird little omega." he said stroking your cheek "It was... beautiful," you whispered against his chest, still short of breath, his voice tired but sincere. Heeseung raised an eyebrow, a half-smile on his lips. "Beautiful, huh? You just got fucked until you lost your voice and now you're talking like you're out of a romantic movie."

You snorted softly, hiding your face in his arms, and he laughed. But that laugh was no longer sharp, nor cynical. It was soft, true. He stroked your hair with his fingers, then said in a lower voice: "You were brave, princess. To trust an Alpha like that... is not for everyone." You were silent for a moment, then you spoke in a low voice. "I didn't want to suffer. I didn't want to be used anymore..." He stiffened slightly, then took you by the chin and forced you to look into his eyes. "I can't promise you you won't suffer, omega. But one thing I can promise you: from now on you are mine.» His voice was deep, definitive.

"You have a new home, a new family. In my eyes you will always be an omega — but not just any omega. Inside you is my seed. My knot. And no male omega can get closer to you. Not even trying." You got a shudder. Not of fear, but of awareness. That connection was real now. Heeseung leaned slowly, her lips warm on your skin. He licked away his sperm that was still dripping between your thighs, slow, precise, as if he wanted to clean you and at the same time remind you that it was all his. His tongue moved where you had the marks of his bites, and he soothed them with moist, warm kisses.

"Hee… it tickles..." you whispered, chuckling softly. He paused for a moment and looked at you with a little grin. "You’re really strange, you know?" He lightly bit your thigh, pretending, then moved up and pulled you into his arms. "I’m sleeping with you tonight." He said it as if it were obvious. You looked at him, surprised. "Really? I thought... once we were knotted, I’d leave." He huffed, as if you’d said something silly. "You still don’t get it, little omega. You’re tied to me now. And I’m tied to you. We’re sleeping together. End of story." He pulled you against him, his broad chest against your back, and wrapped his arms around you, fitting you perfectly into his body. "Close your eyes. We’ll think about everything tomorrow. Now... sleep." And for the first time, you felt truly safe.

You woke up surrounded by a warm, almost reassuring sensation. The sheets were still damp from what you’d done the night before, and your lower belly throbbed slightly, a twinge that reminded you of every thrust, every moan, every possessive whisper that had broken and rebuilt you. You slowly turned and found him there. Heeseung. He was sleeping as if the world outside didn’t exist. His lips, slightly parted, formed an almost tender pout. His nose, large but perfectly proportioned, barely moved with his steady breathing. His red hair was a total mess: it fell messily over his forehead, and you remembered perfectly how you had tugged at it the night before, lost in pleasure. You blushed involuntarily. The little moles on his face seemed to be drawn by hand. And his arms—strong, warm, dominant—still held you close, as if he wanted to make sure you couldn’t escape even in your sleep. Then, without opening his eyes, he whispered in a hoarse voice: "Stop staring at me like that, or you’ll end up falling in love." You lifted your gaze, sighing. "You have an ego as big as your knot, you know that?" He opened one eye, then chuckled softly, that deep laugh that made you tremble even without meaning to. He pulled you closer, pressing you even more into his chest. "And it seems you liked both of them, princess." You sighed, even though you couldn’t deny it. Then, with a more serious tone, you asked him: "And now? What happens?" Heeseung gently caressed your back, his fingers slow, distracted. "Now, when you walk out that door, your scent will have changed. Everyone will smell it. Every alpha will know you’ve been knotted. Every male omega will keep their distance. And no one will dare touch you… because the scent will be mine." You swallowed. "And if... if Jiwon still tries?" Heeseung paused for a brief moment, then looked at you. "Are you more afraid of him... or your father?" You stayed silent, then whispered softly: "My father." He moved, pressing his forehead against yours. "He won’t do anything. Not as long as I’m here or my brothers are. You’re mine now. And no one touches what’s mine." You nodded slowly, but a small knot formed in your throat. Heeseung seemed to notice, but didn’t say anything. He slowly stood up, his muscles flexing as he stretched, and looked at you. "It’s time to see what’s happening outside this room." You were about to get up, but he stopped you. He bent down slowly and left a kiss on your forehead, unexpectedly tender. You looked at him, surprised. "And this?" He shrugged almost indifferently, though his tone was softer. "Post-knot ritual. All alphas do it with their mates." He was lying. And you knew it, but you didn’t say anything, even though you had seen something in his eyes that wasn’t there the night before: something strange, something dangerously close to a feeling.

PT2?

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solxamber · 7 months ago

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Trash Novel Chronicles: My Consort Calls Me Shrimpy || Floyd Leech

You get isekaid into a novel where the perfect Empress got absolutely wrecked by the plot, and now you have to juggle a bland heroine, a traitorous consort, and a delightfully unhinged eel who’s oddly good at solving your problems.

Series Masterlist

You’re about three hours deep in line, squashed between a woman wearing an unsettling amount of dragon-themed jewelry and some dude intensely vaping in front of you. The line inches forward at the pace of continental drift, and you’re in no mood to be here.

You're here out of pure, misguided loyalty to your best friend, who’s practically shaking with excitement at the idea of meeting their favourite author—the world-renowned queen of girlboss fantasy.

In a valiant effort to distract yourself from your eternal boredom, you pull up her previous novels on your phone. Maybe, if you understood her work better, you’d understand why people would willingly spend this many hours standing on asphalt.

After skimming through some of her top titles, you can barely believe these are real book plots: Slaying the Patriarchy with My Stilettos? Lipstick and Blood Magic? Each one more ridiculous than the last, filled with protagonists who blast their enemies with a "feminine fury" and, honestly, you're just not buying it.

Why did I agree to this? you think, suppressing the urge to gnaw on your own hand out of boredom.

Suddenly, you spot a stray bird above—a pigeon, wobbling through the sky like it's had one too many lattes. You barely register the bird's existence until it lets out an alarming squawk and, in a tragic twist of fate, plummets from the heavens right towards your head.

In a perfect shot, it bonks you directly in the face, knocking you backward with an impressively dramatic flair. You spiral down, your vision blurring as you fall in slow motion, gasping.

In the last seconds of your consciousness, as chaos erupts around you, one solemn thought echoes through your mind: I hate pigeons.

And with that, you drift off into oblivion, serenaded by the panicked cries of your best friend and the distant wail of someone’s Lipstick and Blood Magic audiobook playing on full blast nearby.

You wake up, blink, and immediately realize that your bed is both way too luxurious and way too large. Rich, velvet curtains drape around you, shimmering with gold embroidery.

A chandelier overhead sparkles with enough jewels to fund at least three public libraries. The air smells like a mixture of incense, rose petals, and maybe faint hints of… burning tyranny?

Oh, dear God. You’ve been isekai’d.

Straight into that novel you were doom-scrolling through to survive the crushing boredom of line-waiting.

Your mind reels back to the summary you’d read. The heroine, a weepy maid with all the emotional range of wet toast. The consort, a charming traitor with “dreamy eyes” who betrays his own Empress for said toast. And then, of course, the villainess.

That poor, genius Empress who actually had talent and ambition, who could annihilate anyone with a flick of her wrist and yet was somehow destined to lose it all because of a love triangle involving a glorified housekeeper.

And now—you are that Empress. The Villainess Extraordinaire, Scourge of Kingdoms, War-Waging Prodigy, Mary Sue on Steroids… and now you're stuck in this tragic play of bad romance tropes.

You shoot upright in bed, taking it all in. Lavish room. Silk sheets. Jewels littered around like confetti. And then you notice a presence by your bedside. You whip your head to see… her. The heroine.

She's standing there, looking down at you with the wide-eyed wonder of someone who hasn’t yet discovered a single personality trait. Her face is soft, angelic, and you already know that beneath those doe eyes lies… absolutely nothing.

She's here to dress you, a task that apparently requires thirty minutes of excessive hair-braiding, enough layers to construct a mattress, and endless, mind-numbing conversation about the consort.

Oh, right. The consort. Your dear, disloyal boy toy who’ll soon be scheming against you. He’s probably off somewhere sharpening his cheekbones in a mirror, wondering if he can pull off “soulful yet traitorous” in the same expression.

The heroine starts tugging on your hair, a bit too enthusiastically for your taste. "Your Majesty," she coos, “Your consort was asking for you yesterday. He misses your attention."

You mentally scream. I'm running an empire, Susan! Who cares about his feelings right now? You're barely awake, freshly isekai'd, and trying to mentally tally your enemies, not exactly in the mood for his fragile ego.

And, technically, aren’t you the one in need of support here? Not the consort, who apparently needs a throne, a palace, and a shoulder to cry on every two hours.

"Oh," you manage to reply, voice dripping with an irritation that you pray she interprets as imperial grace. "Tell him… I’m thinking about military reforms."

The heroine’s eyes flicker in confusion. "Military reforms?"

"Yes. Reforms. Vital to the stability of our empire." You wave a hand, and she clearly has no idea what you're talking about. This maid was not hired for her intellectual curiosity, that’s for sure.

Then comes the worst part: her doe eyes start misting over. Great. You forgot. Crying is, apparently, her most crucial skill set. She clutches a sleeve to her chest, looking at you as if you’ve announced the arrival of a natural disaster. "Your Majesty… but what about your consort?"

You take a deep breath. Focus. How did this woman end up so crucial to the plot? What was it about her that was supposed to outshine an entire empire? It’s as if she’s constructed entirely from damp tissues and vague romantic inclinations. And this is the girl who’s going to take you down?

But you’re already devising a plan. You’ll keep tabs on her. Outwardly, you’ll play the role of the intimidating yet graceful Empress, while inwardly making sure that neither she nor the consort gets a single chance to stab you in the back. And as for the consort himself…

Well, when he finally arrives for his “audience,” you’ll be sure to give him the warmest, most menacing smile in your arsenal. For now, you’ll have to endure the heroine’s dramatic sniffles and the hundred layers of fabric she’s convinced you need.

As she fiddles with a particularly elaborate golden sash, you look at her with an eyebrow raised. “Tell me,” you say, feigning curiosity. “What would you do if the palace were to… burn down?”

Her face goes blank for a second. Then, she frowns and wrinkles her nose as if this question is somehow unsolvable. “Um… cry?”

Of course. Absolutely riveting. You sigh and try to look satisfied, which is hard when you’re mentally questioning how this woman has a heartbeat, let alone plot armor thick enough to take you down.

By the time she finishes with your dress, you've already come up with about sixteen ways to save the empire and seventy-two reasons why this love triangle is absolutely ridiculous.

In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. You’re the picture of beauty and deadly grace, an unstoppable Empress who could wield the fate of kingdoms.

And they want to reduce you to a footnote in the saga of this girl’s whimpering romance?

Well, that’s not happening. You’ve read the novel; you know how this story ends. And now that you’re here, you’re rewriting that ridiculous fate.

You try to keep a dignified expression, but inside, you’re screaming.

The entire reason you’ve gathered the harem is to graciously cut them loose and rid yourself of the ongoing melodrama. Because if there are no consorts, there’s no backstabbing love triangle, no tearful betrayals, and no doomed political coups.

You can practically taste the freedom already—so you clear your throat and begin, putting on your most diplomatic voice:

"Esteemed consorts,” you say, hands clasped. “Thank you for your service and devotion. You are now free to leave and may claim land and titles if you wish to remain in the empire.”

You pause, waiting for cheers or at least some relieved sighs. Instead, dead silence. You glance around and spot the heroine sneaking glances at the traitor consort, eyes brimming with pure unadulterated… something.

She looks like she’s five seconds away from throwing herself across a fainting couch. The consort looks at her for a moment and then back at you, entirely unimpressed.

Maybe they’re just in shock, you think, trying to keep it together. Maybe they need a moment to process the incredible gift of freedom you’ve just given them.

But then, from the back of the room, someone clears their throat—Floyd Leech. He raises his hand, a gleeful glint in his eye that makes your stomach churn.

See, Floyd was not a character that should’ve belonged in this novel. The man was unhinged. Slightly terrifying, if you’re being honest. He treated warfare like a casual hobby and had a grin that said I could absolutely cause problems on purpose.

And the worst part? Floyd was actually one of the few who stuck around in the original plot. After the Empress dies on the battlefield, he takes her body back to his home country, out of sheer love.

He's also the only one who got to call the Empress Regnant herself "Shrimpy" and lived to tell the tale. You'd swoon over the romantic implications if you weren't that same Empress who had bigger problems right now.

You steel yourself. “Yes, Floyd?”

“Can I stay?” he says, looking entirely too happy. “These other guys are boring, but you’re kinda fun to watch.” He stares at you like you’re some sort of exotic animal in a zoo. “Besides,” he adds, throwing an arm over a very uncomfortable-looking consort, “who’s gonna protect you if I leave? These losers?”

God help you.

Before you can even answer, the traitor consort steps forward, expression so intense you can feel it from across the hall. He clears his throat dramatically. “My Empress,” he says, taking a deep, tragic breath. “My heart is bound to you, like—like the tides to the moon. Like—”

In the background, the heroine lets out an audible, swooning sigh. Oh, please, you think. You’ve seen better monologues in toothpaste commercials. The consort glances at the heroine, clearly confused, then goes back to gazing at you with what he probably thinks is soulful longing.

Meanwhile, Floyd is grinning at him, shark-like. “Nice speech, buddy,” he says, clapping the guy on the back hard enough that the consort nearly goes sprawling. “But I think she liked mine better.” He leans in to whisper, loudly, “Besides, I bet you don’t even know her favorite food.”

The consort’s face scrunches. “Do you?”

“Nope!” Floyd beams, looking at you as if expecting some kind of reward. “But I’m gonna figure it out.”

The consort looks like he wants to protest, but before he can, another one of the harem—Lord Something-or-Other—steps forward, visibly shaking with emotion. He kneels, clutching a hand to his heart as if he’s about to propose.

“My Empress,” he says, voice wobbling with way too much sincerity. “Without you, my life is a barren wasteland. I would rather endure the endless, scorching sands of—”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Floyd groans. “Do you guys hear yourselves?”

“Can you not mock me while I pour my heart out?” Lord Something-or-Other snaps back.

“Sure I can. I’m multi-talented,” Floyd replies with a grin that’s somehow both playful and threatening. He leans against the throne, looking completely at home while you fight the urge to dive out the nearest window.

Now everyone’s in a frenzy. Every last one of these men—your so-called “consorts”—are lining up to deliver heartfelt soliloquies, tragic metaphors, and similes so flowery they might as well be a bouquet. You can barely keep a straight face as the next one steps forward, proclaiming that he would “gladly suffer a thousand winters if only to see her smile.”

As if on cue, the heroine wipes a tear from her eye, sighing dreamily. The consort she’s apparently in love with looks at her again, this time with an expression somewhere between pity and terror. But she doesn’t seem to notice, too busy whispering to herself, “Oh, how romantic…”

And then Floyd leans down and whispers in your ear, voice gleeful. “Y’know, if you let ‘em keep going, they might just start fighting each other for you. Free entertainment. Whaddaya think?”

You feel a headache coming on. “Floyd, please, I’m begging you—”

“What?” he asks, grinning wider. “I thought this was fun. C’mon, Empress,” he drawls, giving the title an absurd little flourish. “Let me stay. I promise I won’t let any of these guys stage a rebellion.” He smirks at the traitor consort. “Unless you feel like rebelling, huh?”

The traitor consort scoffs, bristling. “Unlike some of us,” he says, glaring at Floyd, “my devotion is genuine.”

“And boring,” Floyd mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine, Floyd. You can stay,” you say, hoping that giving him what he wants will end this disaster. You’re immediately filled with regret as his grin widens.

“Awesome! And you know what? Since everyone’s so devoted, why don’t we all stay? Make it a real party.” Floyd tosses an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the death glares from half the room.

Now you’re stuck with fifteen poets, one unhinged eel, and a heroine who’s still making heart eyes at a man who clearly isn’t interested. And as you sit there, feeling your last shreds of sanity slip away, you think, This is going to be a very, very long reign.

You’re making your way through the moonlit palace corridors, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the… experience that spending the night with Floyd Leech is sure to be.

Mostly, you’ve chosen him because, unhinged or not, he’s at least the most loyal out of this whole ridiculous lineup. Plus, there’s a kind of chaotic charm about him, like a very large, very untrained puppy with fangs.

But before you can even make it to his side palace, you’re intercepted.

“My Empress…” It’s the traitor consort. You sigh as he blocks your path, looking like he’s about to burst into tears. He’s clutching his chest dramatically, as if he’s seconds from fainting, and his voice wobbles with pure tragedy.

“Do you not love me anymore?” he blubbers, eyes shining with tears. “Why do you never choose me? Have I done something wrong? Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve graced my chambers?” He’s practically sobbing at this point, clutching at your sleeves like some tragic hero in a soap opera.

You stand there, blinking. “Uh… dude. I… what? ”

He looks at you with the heartbreak of a thousand rom-coms. “I thought you cared about me. I thought I meant something to you…”

You’re trying to process what exactly is happening (and failing spectacularly) when you hear an all-too-familiar voice.

“Yoo-hoo~!” Floyd’s voice echoes down the hall as he appears at the other end, looking like he’s just won the lottery. He practically skips toward you, a grin stretched across his face, his shark-like teeth glinting in the moonlight.

“Shrimpy!” he calls out cheerfully, giving you an exaggerated wave. But his cheerful demeanor drops like a rock the moment he sees the traitor consort clinging to you, tears streaming down his face.

Floyd’s grin turns into a much darker smirk, and his eyes narrow dangerously. He tilts his head, sizing up the blubbering man like he’s something he might enjoy crunching on for a midnight snack.

“Oi,” Floyd says, stepping closer, voice dropping into a lower, much more menacing tone. “What’re you doin’, crybaby? Gettin’ all snotty in front of my Shrimpy? That doesn’t seem real respectful, y’know?”

The traitor consort pales instantly, his tear-streaked face going from tragic to terrified in half a second flat. “I—I was just…” he stammers, trying to find an escape route.

“You were just what?” Floyd grins, but there’s absolutely nothing friendly about it now. “You got somethin’ you wanna say to her? ‘Cause I could help you say it better, y’know.” He cracks his knuckles for emphasis, and you swear the traitor consort’s soul nearly leaves his body.

And you? You’re exhausted. Normally, you’re pretty sure the original Empress would step in, say something appropriately royal and dignified to diffuse the situation. But at this point? You’re too tired to deal with either of them, and honestly, watching Floyd scare this guy senseless is a little too satisfying. So you just sigh and cross your arms, waiting it out.

“Look, I— I didn’t mean anything by it,” the traitor consort mutters, eyes darting between Floyd’s unsettling grin and your unimpressed stare. “I’ll… I’ll just go…”

And before you know it, he’s stumbling off, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to escape Floyd’s glare. You can still hear his sniffles echoing down the hall as he disappears.

Floyd watches him go, then turns back to you with an exaggerated pout. “He didn’t even say bye. Rude, huh?” Then, just as quickly, his mood switches back, and he gives you a toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy! Let’s go. You’re finally here!”

And without another word, he loops an arm around you, practically dragging you the rest of the way to his palace. By the time you arrive, you’re half-expecting him to start a monologue or make a big romantic speech, but instead, he plops down on the massive, plush couch, pulling you down next to him with surprising gentleness.

“There we go! See? Ain’t this way better than dealin’ with crybabies?” He laughs, leaning back and throwing an arm over your shoulders.

You give him a look. “Do you actually scare all of them off on purpose?”

Floyd grins, showing all his teeth. “Only the boring ones.” He taps his temple like he’s sharing some brilliant secret. “Can’t have anyone else thinkin’ they’re more special than me, right?”

Honestly, you’re too tired to argue. So you just lean back, letting Floyd prattle on about his grand plans for “getting rid of the competition.” At least, you think to yourself, you’ve successfully survived another day of being Empress.

The banquet table stretches out in front of you, each seat filled by one of your fifteen consorts, who are locked in an elaborate battle of “who’s the cutest?” You watch, sipping your wine like it’s medicinal, as they coo, flirt, and — at least in one unfortunate case — attempt a juggling act.

A consort on your left even starts singing a heartfelt ballad he very obviously wrote himself. You silently make a note to ask Heroine if it’s possible to declare some sort of moratorium on public serenades.

Just when you think the evening can’t get any more surreal, the doors burst open. Floyd strides in, late as usual, with all the grace and subtlety of a pirate commandeering the dinner table.

Without breaking stride, he makes a beeline for the coveted King Consort chair, ignoring the man who’s been trying to occupy it and who now looks as if he’s about to faint.

Floyd’s “gentle” suggestion to move aside comes in the form of a rather forceful nudge, and the poor consort goes skidding two seats down, clutching his untouched plate of tiny hors d’oeuvres.

Floyd plops into the seat, throws his legs up on the table, and proceeds to grab a handful of grapes like he’s claiming territory.

Instantly, fifteen men start having what can only be described as a collective meltdown. One consort gapes at Floyd, cheeks puffing like an indignant chipmunk; another begins audibly hyperventilating. Somewhere on the far end of the table, a man has already shed a single, dramatic tear.

Your maid Heroine sidles up to you, wide-eyed. She whispers loudly, as if she’s sharing a forbidden secret, “Your Majesty! You’ve broken their hearts!”

You stare at her, bewildered. “How? By letting Floyd sit down?”

Heroine nods, lip quivering. “They think you’ve… chosen! That’s the King Consort’s seat!”

“What? ” You glance at Floyd, who’s now lying back, casually chomping on a drumstick he must have acquired from who-knows-where. He doesn’t seem perturbed in the least.

“Yes!” Heroine sniffles, pulling out a lacy handkerchief. “It’s the sacred chair of royal favoritism!” She dabs at her eyes, gazing at you with something akin to heartbreak. “And here I thought you were a romantic.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” You rub your temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I just wanted a quiet dinner!”

One of the consorts, evidently hearing this, begins to wail, “But why, Your Majesty? We loved you!” It’s clear he’s already going to be composing several tragic stanzas about this moment.

Then Floyd — who’s been watching this entire scene with the amused look of someone who’s just discovered he’s won the jackpot — clears his throat, aiming a rather shark-like grin at Heroine. “Hey, little miss servant girl,” he says, his voice sugary sweet with a terrifying edge. “Maybe stop making Shrimpy feel guilty, hmm? Unless you want to join ‘em in the Royal Seat Shuffle?”

Heroine squeaks, as if he’s just offered to turn her into a garden gnome, and stammers an apology, hands fluttering as she edges away.

In the silence that follows, you decide enough is enough. “Thank you all for coming,” you announce, giving your consorts a forced smile. “This has been… lovely. But we’re done for tonight.”

The consorts hesitate, as if they want to protest. But when Floyd gives them one of his very special grins — the kind that says he just might take a whole different seat next — they practically stampede out of the dining hall, leaving behind a trail of emotional debris: teardrops, wilted roses, and a half-eaten plate of pastries.

As the door closes, Floyd leans back with a smirk, throwing an arm casually over the back of his new favorite chair. “So, looks like Shrimpy’s all mine tonight.”

You chuckle, half-exasperated, half-relieved. “Well, seems you chased everyone else off.”

“Don’t be like that,” he purrs, clearly pleased. “You know, you’re different now. Last time, you’d have been practically begging those guys to come back.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I’m just too tired to care anymore.”

He leans in, gaze softening. “Nah. You’ve just gotten tougher. And it looks good on you. The new Shrimpy’s got a spine.”

You smile, almost despite yourself, as Floyd raises his glass, winking. “To the new Shrimpy: long may she rule.”

The annual Talent Showcase Extravaganza for the Empress’s Affections has begun, and your consorts are pouring every ounce of drama and flair they possess into their performances, each desperate to secure that exclusive week at the countryside villa with you.

Unfortunately, it seems that the traitor consort — Mr. ‘I-know-the-theme-because-Heroine-can’t-resist-my-cheekbones’ — is dominating the competition. He’s wowing the audience with a perfectly themed tapestry, and you can already hear the maid giggling over in his cheering section.

This calls for drastic action.

You glance over to where Floyd is occupying himself by tormenting a pair of unfortunate ministers with tales of his more “creative” fishing techniques. With a sigh, you snap your fingers. He looks over, feigning annoyance at being interrupted in what he surely sees as “Minister Horror Story Hour.”

“Shrimpy, what gives? This is the first fun I’ve had since I got here,” he says, hands on his hips.

You clear your throat. “Actually, Floyd, I need you to… win this competition.”

He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “What, by doing some fancy painting or something? Boring. If you want something painted, Shrimpy, I’ll fish out an octopus to do it for me.”

You take a deep breath. “If you do this, I’ll grant you any wish you want. Plus… an extra reward.”

Floyd pauses, smirking as he steps closer, his voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper. “Any wish, huh? Dangerous promise, Shrimpy.”

You raise an eyebrow, undeterred. “You in or not?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he sighs. “Fine. But I’m not painting. I’ve got something much better planned. Just try not to faint in awe, yeah?”

When Floyd finally unveils his “masterpiece,” the room falls silent. Somehow, he’s cobbled together a mosaic made entirely out of shiny rocks he probably pilfered from the palace’s prize garden.

The piece is of you, looking bold and triumphant, wielding what can only be described as a “battle spoon” against some sea monster (you’re guessing it’s supposed to be a shark, but it might just be a rock that looked vaguely fish-like).

“Ta-da!” Floyd announces, throwing his arms out. “The Empress: Rock ‘n’ Roll Edition. I call it, ‘Shrimpy, Queen of the Waves.’”

Despite yourself, you’re mildly… no, very swoony. Somehow, it’s both absurd and… kind of amazing. Floyd’s grin is pure mischief as he winks at you. “Like it, Shrimpy? Don’t worry, I can make one for the garden too.”

But your moment is interrupted by a loud sniffle from across the room. The traitor consort, clearly irate at being outshone, is tearing up, looking at you with big, watery eyes as if you’re the villain in this scenario. Heroine looks one step away from bolting to his side, but he raises a hand, his voice trembling as he murmurs, “No, I only want the Empress to comfort me.”

You shoot a silent plea to the universe, practically chanting, “Please, mercy, mercy…”

Floyd, never one to ignore an opportunity, steps up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Sorry, bud. Shrimpy’s already spoken for tonight. You’ll have to get in line. Oh, and try not to tear up over her rock portrait, yeah? Not all of us can handle the majesty.”

The crowd erupts in applause, one point to you and Floyd — and you’re pretty sure Heroine’s sulking in the corner, still staring longingly at the sobbing traitor consort, but that’s a future problem. For now, you’ve got a mildly unhinged art piece to hang up and a certain mischievous consort to thank.

It’s another late night in the study when you notice the Heroine, your ever-loyal (if not a little clueless) maid, lingering by the doorway, watching you with an odd expression. At first, you chalk it up to her usual eccentricities. But as the minutes tick by, she doesn’t move, just stands there with a faraway look in her eyes. Finally, you set down your work and gesture for her to come in.

“Hey,” you say gently, “what’s on your mind?”

She hesitates, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s nothing, really…” Then, in a small voice, “It’s just… I never got to study like this.”

Your brow furrows, and as she opens up, the full picture starts to form. The Heroine, despite her noble blood, was barred by her father from studying—her dreams of an education crushed under his outdated beliefs.

She clung to the traitor consort, she confesses, because he seemed like an escape, even if a flimsy one. He was a nobleman with some level of authority, and for her, he felt like the only ticket to a different life.

Understanding sinks in. It’s not love she feels for him at all. It’s desperation, something almost like a distorted version of Stockholm syndrome.

She’s convinced herself he’s her only way out, though it’s clear as day that he doesn’t deserve her loyalty. The man’s barely got two brain cells, but he’s got freedom—and for her, he must have looked like her only way out.

The realization hits you hard, like finding out your favorite dessert is made with broccoli. No wonder she’s been swooning over that guy. She’s not “in love”—she’s just starved for any path out of her cage. Your heart softens, and you give her a gentle, if slightly exasperated, smile.

“Well, that won’t do,” you say firmly. “How about this? I’ll teach you myself. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll get you the education you deserve.”

Her face goes through a series of hilarious expressions, from shock to joy to the kind of wide-eyed, wobbly-lipped excitement normally reserved for puppies seeing their owner after a long day. And so, your lessons begin.

Over the next few weeks, you teach the Heroine to read, and she devours each lesson like a kid in a candy store. She’s throwing herself into her education with such energy, it’s like she’s forgotten the traitor consort entirely.

And you’re thrilled—partly for her growth and partly because it means your coup odds have just dropped by a solid 90%.

Soon, Heroine’s loyalty to you is ironclad, her former starry-eyed infatuation with the traitor consort completely extinguished. You’re so relieved you could dance, and, maybe more importantly, you realize that the kingdom’s other daughters deserve the same chance.

In a flash of imperial inspiration, you draft a new law requiring all daughters, noble or otherwise, to attend the academy. The state will foot the bill, so no one has an excuse to hold their daughters back.

Later that night, feeling unexpectedly sentimental, you return to your room to find Floyd sprawled on your bed, grinning like he’s just heard the world’s juiciest gossip.

“You look smug,” you say, arching an eyebrow.

“Nah, just… pleased,” he drawls, giving you that signature mischievous smirk. And before you know it, he pulls you into a surprisingly tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with unexpected warmth. “Look at my Shrimpy, changing the world one law at a time.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks despite yourself. “Oh, stop it,” you mutter, though you don’t pull away.

He chuckles, giving you an affectionate squeeze. “Nah. You’re doing great, Empress. I’m proud of you.”

You’re speechless. Floyd? Sentimental? But as he holds you, laughing at your stunned expression, you can’t help but feel a little…smitten.

You’re reviewing reports in the study, savoring the rare, blissful calm, when the double doors burst open like some villain from a badly written romance novel. There stands the traitor consort, dressed in what looks like…a suit made of loose, strategically placed peacock feathers, a sequined sash, and—oh, yes—face glitter.

He strikes a pose, does a dramatic hand flip, and announces, “Behold! My love for you is eternal, as boundless as the stars, and as bold as my outfit!”

You're thinking about ordering Floyd to chase him out with a chair, when you catch Heroine’s expression—somewhere between horror and volcanic rage.

With a fierce gleam in her eye, she steps in front of you, looking like she’s about to deliver an exorcism. “You…” she begins, her voice so cold even the peacock feathers on his shoulders look like they might molt in fear. “You miserable, egotistical, fashion-disaster-in-waiting!”

He’s stunned, blinking like a child caught sneaking candy. “W-what? Heroine, you used to help me with my plans!”

“Yeah, well, that was before I got a brain cell,” she snaps. “I actually know my worth now, and it’s definitely not tied to whatever fever-dream cape situation you’ve got going on.” She points to his glittering sash. “What, did you rob an arts-and-crafts store on the way here? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

He stammers, visibly shrinking, feathers quivering with fear. “Y-you were always there for me…”

“That was when I was too naive to realize you were the human equivalent of a trash fire!” She’s in full swing now, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, spitting out insults that would make the court jester blush. “Please, the Empress has standards, and you’re down there with questionable cabbage soup.”

He reels back, totally caught off-guard. By this point, you’re honestly not sure if you should applaud or slowly back away.

With a smirk, you lean forward and say, “Well, since you’re dressed for the occasion, why don’t you strut that ridiculous ensemble back to your own country?”

He opens his mouth, gapes like a fish, and finally closes it, completely defeated. Without another word, he shuffles out, feathers dragging behind him in a sad little pile.

The second he’s out of earshot, you sigh, look up, and thank the universe for finally sparing you from that headache. The Heroine just dusts her hands off, grinning like she’s just won the greatest battle of her life, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how terrifyingly competent she’s become.

Floyd has been hounding you about his reward for days now, showing up at all hours with the persistence of a cat at dinner time. You’re mid-sentence in a policy meeting, mid-sip at dinner, even mid-bath when you hear him shout from outside the door, “Hey, Shrimpy! Remember my prize? Don’t forget now!”

Finally, in a moment of resignation, you sigh and wave him in. “Fine, Floyd. What do you actually want?”

He grins, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that should probably have you worried. “Make me king consort.”

You open your mouth, ready to laugh and then say something like, “No chance,” but then…you pause. Because—why not? He’s loyal, he’s your particular brand of chaos, and honestly, the idea of using it as an excuse to disband the harem is almost too good.

You’d get to tell everyone you’d found the “love of your life” and keep your mornings free of peacock-feathered declarations of eternal devotion.

“Alright, Floyd,” you say, shrugging as if you just agreed to a dinner plan and not a royal title. “You’re king consort.”

For a solid five seconds, he’s frozen, blinking like he’s not sure if you just announced the best prank of the century or an actual royal decision.

Then, with a roar of laughter, he picks you up, actually tossing you in the air like a sack of grain. “SHRIMPY, I’M KING CONSORT! WOOOO!”

Ministers nearby practically leap out of their chairs in terror, and one drops his teacup with a spectacular crash.

“Oh, and by the way,” he says, setting you down but keeping a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t think I forgot—I still get that week alone with you in the countryside. Just you, me, and the great outdoors.”

You’d expected to feel dread, but instead…you’re kind of excited? Because it turns out, when there’s no glittered consort in sight, Floyd’s brand of mayhem might just be exactly what you needed.

You’re slumped on the throne, staring into the void as a minister drones on about the scandalous rise in scarf-wearing among the commoners.

The man is red-faced and foaming at the mouth as if he’s narrating the downfall of civilization itself instead of just… knitted accessories. With each drawn-out sentence, your urge to grab his own scarf and dramatically tie it around his face grows stronger.

“And, Your Majesty, don’t you agree that such… frivolousness undermines the dignity of the empire?” he sputters.

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, one mental toe dangling into the sweet abyss of existential crisis. How did your life get to this point? Did the previous Empress really deal with scarf politics? You contemplate just passing the crown to the nearest potted plant. Surely it couldn’t do worse.

Then, like a savior bathed in sunlight, Floyd appears. He slinks in casually, eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of glee and malice. He takes one look at Wedgeworth’s scarf-induced fervor and rolls his eyes. “Oh, I see the scarf issue is really eating away at the Empire,” Floyd deadpans, clearly unamused at the absurdity.

The minister stammers, blinking like he’s never been interrupted in his life. “Well, actually, I was explaining to Her Majesty—”

Floyd raises a hand. “I’ll take it from here, Lord Scarfington. Very urgent royal matters, wouldn’t want to keep the Empress from them, now would we, hmm?”

The ministers exchange horrified looks, but when Floyd locks eyes with them, his expression darkens into a gaze that could probably scare the teeth off a shark. Ministers shuffle out, muttering about “the sanctity of scarves” and how they “never liked those shellfish folk anyway.”

When you’re finally alone, you look at Floyd, and he gives you a grin. “Come on, Shrimpy, I’ve got a surprise.”

He leads you through a series of narrow, winding hallways you didn’t even know existed until you arrive at a small, hidden courtyard surrounded by high walls and shaded by some flowering trees.

In the middle of it is a picnic spread that looks… questionable. There’s food you don’t recognize: odd, glistening items that could pass as snacks in a very brave galaxy.

“I brought some delicacies from the Coral Sea,” Floyd announces, looking way too proud. “I even cooked some of this myself.”

You smile, hoping he means the less suspicious dishes, but as you take a bite of one of the “unique” items, you immediately realize your error. It’s a taste explosion, and not in a good way; you’re fairly certain you just ate something alive. Floyd’s already laughing, watching you try to hold back a gag.

“Oh, that’s rich, look at your face!” He claps his hands, doubled over with laughter.

But then you try the food he actually cooked, and it’s… it’s really good. Your eyes widen. “Floyd, you didn’t tell me you could cook!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Guess you just have that effect on me, Shrimpy.”

As you eat, you feel the weight of scarf debates and mundane ministerial crises slip away. Floyd’s teasing you about your reaction to the Coral Sea snacks, you’re pretending to smack him, and somewhere between the laughter and the food, you realize you’re completely relaxed. You’re even… happy.

Then he casually picks up a pillow, eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey, Shrimpy,” he says slowly, “bet I can take you down.”

“Bring it, fish-boy,” you fire back, grabbing a pillow.

A feather flies. Then another. In no time, the two of you are engaged in a full-on pillow war, feathers floating through the air in chaotic puffs. You swing a pillow with all your might, narrowly missing Floyd, who dodges and counters with a playful shove, sending you sprawling onto the blanket, laughing so hard you’re almost crying.

In the flurry of feathers and laughter, you realize just how much you care about him. And as if reading your mind, Floyd suddenly stops, pinning you down, his face hovering just inches above yours. His usual playful grin fades into something softer, more serious, and you find yourself staring up at him, completely captivated.

You kiss him, right there, surrounded by scattered feathers and half-eaten snacks. “I think I’m in love with you, Floyd,” you whisper.

He grins, looking almost smug. “Knew you’d come around eventually, Shrimpy. You’re a smart one.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, and pull him into another kiss, feeling lighter than you have in ages. Whatever royal nonsense tomorrow brings, you know you’ve got him—and for now, that’s more than enough.

Vacation plans with Floyd start out so simple in theory, but the minute he said, “Countryside? Nah, Shrimpy, we’re going under the sea,” you just nodded because, hey, you did promise a reward. Plus, how bad could it be?

Bad, it turns out, is relative. Upon arrival, Jade, Floyd’s brother, gives you a grin that says welcome, poor soul. “So, my brother’s finally gone and gotten himself an Empress. How unexpected,” he says with a glint in his eye that suggests he’s got a bet running on how long you’ll last.

But you’ve barely survived Jade’s interrogation when Azul, Coral Sea’s resident business octopus, swims up with an entire briefcase of contracts and a grin that spells danger.

“Welcome, Your Majesty! I thought we might discuss a mutually beneficial agreement,” he says smoothly, his tone so charming you almost miss that the contract slides in a 50-year lease on your kingdom’s fishing industry.

“So that’s how it is here,” you think, snapping back to business mode. You haggle until both sides are happy, but the second you reach across to shake Azul’s hand, Floyd swoops in, sighing dramatically. He grabs your hand, practically prying it out of Azul’s. “Alright, Shrimpy, enough time with the fish dealer. You’re mine this week.”

Before you can blink, he’s thrown you over his shoulder like you’re a stray potato sack, striding away from an open-mouthed Azul and an utterly delighted Jade who looks like he's a minute away from bursting out popcorn.

By the time he hauls you to your guest room and plops you on the bed, his usual grin has given way to an expression you’ve only seen on annoyed cats. He’s holding your hand in a grip that could rival steel, not letting go even as he sulks like a kid who just lost his favorite toy.

“Floyd,” you say slowly, “is something wrong?”

He looks away, puffing out his cheeks, refusing to answer. It's downright adorable in an overgrown, slightly unhinged eel sort of way. You squint at him, reaching over to grab his face, smushing his cheeks together until he finally makes eye contact. “Hey, I can’t read your mind, Floyd. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He mutters something too low to hear, and you lean closer, arching a brow. “What was that?”

“You’re my Shrimpy,” he grumbles louder, still not meeting your eyes. “And the handshake with that fish scammer went on too long.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to burst into laughter. “So that’s it, huh?” A laugh slips out despite your efforts, and his pout deepens, though his grip on your hand stays as firm as ever. “You silly eel,” you chuckle, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “As if anyone could match me like you do?”

That does it. His expression softens, the pout melting into that slightly unhinged, overly excited Floyd smile you know too well. “See, Shrimpy, that’s why you’re the only one for me!” he practically shouts before pulling you into a spin that has you clinging to him for dear life.

He kisses you again, and you’re so breathless you half-expect a storm outside to rise to match.

But it doesn’t matter—he’s too busy swearing up and down that he’s not letting anyone else get a “single fin” on you. And somehow, as you laugh together, it feels like you really are on a vacation you never knew you needed.

The ceremony for crowning Floyd as your King Consort goes all-out, much to your delight—and, judging by the expressions around the room, their absolute horror. The whole throne room is so packed with flowers and banners it might as well be a festival.

You’ve made sure that this is a spectacle the diplomats and ministers will never forget. After all, the more smitten you look with Floyd, the less they’ll try to “reason” you out of it. And if they have any opinions about your choice, well, they can keep it to themselves—or they can talk to Floyd.

As you lean in to place the crown on Floyd’s head, he’s giving you a smirk so bright you swear it’s practically a stage light. The second the crown touches his head, he dips you into a kiss that is equal parts “fairytale ending” and “scandalized gasp from the old guard.” The ministers are barely holding in a collective gasp. Someone clutches their chest like they might need medical attention.

Over on the sidelines, you can see Jade and Azul clapping way too enthusiastically for the room’s mood. Meanwhile, everyone else looks like they’re watching you deface a holy artifact. You pull back with a satisfied smile, fully aware of the whispers swirling through the room.

Now, to seal this newfound reign in your own… unique way.

You turn to the front rows where your now-ex-harem stands, looking various shades of awkward and confused. These “prizes” will be going back to their respective nations, and it’s about time. “Ambassadors,” you announce, your tone absolutely oozing sincerity, “I believe you’ll be taking back your… prizes. Enjoy.”

The diplomats exchange looks, clearly unsure if they should feel insulted or relieved. You give them a regal wave and watch as they shuffle out with the ex-consorts in tow, one of whom lets out a dramatic sigh loud enough to reach the rafters.

Just as the room finally starts calming down, you glance over at the row of your ministers—many of whom look like they’d rather have run off with the consorts.

These are the ancient relics of nepotism who have only ever accomplished growing their own egos and possibly a few money-siphoning schemes. You decide now’s the time to deal with them, too.

Smiling so politely it almost looks sweet, you say, “Ministers, thank you for your service. But I’m sure you’ll understand when I say…” You pause, voice dropping to an icy sweetness, “You’re dismissed. Please kindly fuck right off.”

Several of the men freeze, as if unsure they heard you correctly. One or two start spluttering, “But—Your Majesty—this is—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Floyd cuts in, grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re free to go! You wouldn’t want to disappoint the Empress, would ya?”

It takes a second, but the room clears of protesting ministers soon enough. Then you turn to the waiting group of young scholars, women who fought their way up to the top on pure merit, many of them owing their presence here to your recently passed education reforms. “Welcome,” you say with a genuine smile. "Your interviews will be conducted tomorrow"

Their reactions are priceless. Several tear up on the spot, whispering thank-yous so heartfelt you nearly tear up yourself. One of them murmurs, “This is a dream come true. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

You feel a swell of pride. This is what you’ve wanted to see—a competent court, fresh talent, and the chance to make a real difference. Just as you’re soaking in the satisfaction of this triumph, Floyd leans over, clearly up to something.

“You’re done now, yeah?” he asks with a conspiratorial grin.

“Uh, yes?” You've barely said the words, only for him to suddenly scoop you up and throw you over his shoulder, entirely ignoring the royal dignity of it all. The young scholars stare, completely unsure of whether to salute or run.

“Floyd!” you half-laugh, half-scold. “You could at least let me walk out on my own!”

“Nah,” he says, casually strolling down the hall with you like you’re a sack of potatoes. “You’re mine now, Shrimpy. And besides, it’s tradition for the King Consort to carry his Empress, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t,” you mutter, but you wave cheerfully at everyone as you’re carried off.

As he strides out of the throne room, ignoring the horrified gasps and protests behind you both, Floyd grins. “Any more old men to fire? ‘Cause I’m having a great time.”

You shake your head, smiling. After all, you’re the Empress—who’s going to stop you now?

Your empire has transformed. The old guard, once weighed down by nothing but scarves and scandals, has finally given way to a bright-eyed group of scholars and ministers, most of whom—much to the old ministers' horror—are brilliant young women now leading the realm.

Among them is your ex-maid, the heroine herself, newly appointed as Minister of Diplomatic Affairs and already so intimidatingly competent that foreign diplomats quake just a bit when she enters the room.

And the grandest twist of all: you declare that your successor will not be by blood but by merit. The heir to the throne will be the sharpest, most capable mind in the empire, regardless of their birth.

You’re already giddy as you imagine the ambitious parents prepping their offspring for the grueling tests you’re planning—challenges you’ll design alongside your newly assembled council.

After hours of being regal and respectable, you finally get back to your chambers, ready for a night of blissfully ignoring politics. Floyd, your beloved eel, is already sprawled on the couch like he’s conquered half the known world, arms open and ready to receive you. You practically collapse into his embrace, sighing as you burrow against him.

“So, Shrimpy,” he drawls, smirking. “Fix the whole empire yet?”

“Almost,” you laugh. “At least I’ve retired the Scarf Parliament. That’s enough for today.”

You snuggle closer, closing your eyes, and for a second, you think back to the ridiculous, drama-filled story that threw you into this life. Maybe the original author had a point, or maybe she just really liked throwing you curveballs.

Either way, cuddled up with the love of your life while your empire flourishes, you can’t help but think, yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech x you #floyd x reader #floyd x you #floyd leech #floyd #trash novel chronicles

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robertreich · 3 months ago

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Friends, After Trump and Vance’s disgraceful treatment of President Zelensky last Friday, some of you might feel ashamed of America. You might even feel ashamed to be an American. The proper locus of shame is Trump and Vance. I’m ashamed that they, along with Elon Musk, are now leading our nation. I’m also ashamed that their Republican lackeys in Congress are enabling and encouraging them. I’m ashamed that Democrats in Congress are so supine. Yet I urge you not to give in to the sort of resignation or cynicism that believes nothing can be done — that we are powerless and have no choice but to watch our nation and everything it has stood for be hijacked by Trump, Vance, and Musk. We have enormous power and many choices. When the American people understand what is happening — as they are beginning to — no Republican in Congress will be safe. Even now, majorities of independents and Democrats, and even some 30 percent of Republican voters, believe we must stand with Ukraine. The fundamental choice has not been as stark since World War II: democracy and freedom, or dictatorship and tyranny. Trump and his sycophants are siding with the latter. The rest of us must loudly, proudly, and boldly proclaim our allegiance to the former. Trump is emboldening the dark forces of dictatorship everywhere. Taiwan is reporting more Chinese military drills around the island. Europe and all free people around the world must rally at this time of American emergency. If the United States won’t seize Russia’s frozen assets and put them into an account for Ukraine to pay for further arms, Europeans must do this and let Ukraine buy from European defense contractors. A final thought. What we are witnessing from Trump and Vance and Musk — their bellicose bullying, their outright lies, their fear-mongering, their disrespect and disdain for others, their emboldening of dictators around the world — is not all bad if it awakens America. The more Americans see and absorb the horrors of this regime, the greater the likelihood we will mobilize against it. Not all of us, of course, but the great majority. As bad as this regime gets, it will clarify for Americans what is happening to this country, and what we must do to get it back on the track toward social justice, democracy, and widespread prosperity. Yes, the regime is harming many innocent people. Its lawless cruelty is sickening. But there will be a reckoning. I have always believed America is not a nation of bullies. We have protected the vulnerable, comforted the afflicted, granted refuge to those fleeing violence and persecution, and given voice to those who otherwise would not be heard. These ideals are found in the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, Emma Lazarus’s poem affixed to the Statue of Liberty, FDR’s second inaugural address, and Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” sermon at the 1963 March on Washington. They connect us with previous generations of Americans who risked everything —some of whom sacrificed their lives — to preserve democracy and achieve a greater good. Do not feel shame in America. Feel pride in the ideals we share. Feel honored that you are an activist warrior on the right side of history. Feel strength in our conviction. Feel power in our cause. We will prevail against Trump — against his bullying, his brutality, and his barbarity. What are your thoughts?

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demonic0angel · 2 months ago

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The Ghost Zone Cult (click for clarity)

I have a hc that Jazz was Queen regent for 4 years and in her last year, she had to be overthrown by Danny due to her tyranny and general instability 🫶

One-shot

Notes:

+ Jazz’s 1st two years as Queen regent were relatively good, but the third was when it started going downhill. She had made a lot of changes in the Ghost Zone to prepare for Danny’s ascension to the throne and since it caused civil unrest, multiple wars broke out. In an effort to keep the bloodshed minimum, Jazz played everyone like a game of chess. She succeeded, but her mental state was fragile, allowing Penelope Spectra to take advantage of that to start manipulating her.

+ In Jazz’s 4th year as Queen, she began to grow overzealous of Danny’s protection due to Spectra’s manipulations. She started a cult that worshipped Danny specifically and it spread within the Infinite Realms. It was successful at first and Danny didn’t notice anything until the followers grew obsessive towards him and Jazz began punishing “heretics.” Thankfully, no one “died” bc Danny stepped in.

+ After that, Danny had to quickly overthrow Jazz (there was no bloodshed bc Jazz surrendered to Danny) and then punish Spectra. After the entire situation passed, Jazz apologized for her actions towards the citizens of the Ghost Zone and willingly stepped down, allowing Danny to take his rightful place as King.

+ To recuperate, Jazz took a month long break before eventually going into the DCU world to finish her education, get a job, and remove herself from the Ghost Zone. The rest is history :)

+ The cult focuses on worshipping Danny, respecting the dead, finding peace, and helping with loss. The Ghost Zone is chaotic and stressful, and thus, Jazz was very careful to provide a place of stability and order. She put herself as the Matriarch and Danny as the god, and every new follower would have to form a contract in order to devote themselves wholeheartedly to Danny. Spectra would occasionally convince her to do even crazier things.

+ One of the things a follower of the Religion can do is revive Danny if he ever got injured or killed. As seen here. An ask where I mention the cult is here and another where I mention Jazz being overthrown is here.

+ Danny does not begrudge Jazz for her actions. They both blame themselves for what happened during that year (Danny felt like he could’ve worked harder to make Jazz depend on him so she wouldn’t have bottled it all up, while Jazz felt like she should’ve known better than to be manipulated). It’s a terrible situation all around, but they got through it and they grew even closer after that ordeal.

+ The cult created by Jazz is still operating, simply because she was so convincing that even if Danny himself tried to take it down, the followers wouldn’t believe him. However, Danny tries his best to be very careful about it and considers it like a company (with a lot of fanatic employees) and him as the boss. As such, he treats it like another part of being the Ghost King.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom x dc #dp x dc crossover #jazz fenton #danny fenton #penelope spectra #phantom family #dp headcanons #phandom #danny phantom #dp royal court #danny is the ghost king #danny is a god #I love worldbuilding can you tell

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klausysworld · 3 months ago

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Nothing but a Nuisance.

Being a witch in New Orleans wasn't exactly the dream when Marcel had a magic detecting teenage witch in his attic.

One tiny little spell set Davina off, had Marcel ripping heads off and hearts out. It was a little dramatic, even for me.

But, a girls gotta survive so I kept my magic inside and resorted to mediocre crap so that I could get some cash in this stupid tourist town.

Sitting in my little booth with my candles lit and tarot cards out usually dragged in a decent dozen or so a day, some locals were heavy believers too and would come back so often to get another reading.

But Klaus Mikaelson? Not my average customer.

Of course the news that he was in New Orleans spread like wildfire but I didn't need to be told to know it was him. The power rolling off of him set my magic on edge, forcing me to restrain it within my blood and keep it from boiling out.

Still, I kept myself steady and remained calmly seated. My eyes lifted to meet his, the flash of gold making the flames around the room dancing aggressively before I reined them back in.

He took the seat in-front of me, legs comfortably spread like a typical man whilst his hands rest in his lap and a brow on his annoyingly handsomely carved face lifted.

"How much is a reading, love?" He questioned and I swallowed thickly and shook my head.

"I don't read for-"

"Well now, thats a bit discriminatory, love, isn't it?" He cut in and I closed my mouth with a sigh. A hundred dollar bill was pushed before me and with annoyance more than reluctance, I accepted the cash.

Silently I took the deck in my hands and began strategically shuffling, letting the cards flutter together delicately over and over until there was no way of telling which was where. I slid the cards out face-down in-front of him and looked up, our eyes locking again.

"Select your three." I directed and with no hesitation his fingers plucked out three cards, keeping them within his reach as I tidied the rest away. I turned the ones he had chosen over and glanced over each one.

The Magician, The Emperor and The Tower.

I let out a little sigh, none of the meanings were much of a shock but he wasn't exactly going to enjoy them.

"Go ahead, describe the hell that is to burden us all." He muttered, slight amusement to his tone. I reached and tapped The Magician card.

"This one is in regards to your willpower, using what comes your way to its potential and combing it with your own power to manifest it toward what you truly desire. But It could also be leading you towards love-" My eyes flick up, seeing his eyes narrowed as though he were actually interested.

"I'm not interested in the relationship meaning to the card, love, what's the reverse meaning?" He asked, jaw a little tense and I didn't really want to reveal it.

"Trickery, it represents selfishness." I answer simply and he nodded, resting back in his chair as though that was the answer he was actually expecting.

"The Emperor?" He questioned and I shifted my attention back to the task.

"This card means authority, regulation, organisation and a fatherliness. The Emperor represents a strategic thinker who sets out plans that he must see through. He is a symbol of the masculine principle. It comes with responsibility of giving structure, creates rules and systems, and imparting knowledge and of course enforcing discipline." I explain and he hummed, his body leaning forward at the word 'fatherliness'.

"The reversed?" He questioned without a beat and this time I hesitated.

"The concept of an abusing the authoritative power. It creates the desire to inspire higher principles in his kingdom have turned to ruthlessness, tyranny and rigidity..." I trailed and he let out a soft hum of almost agreement.

"The Tower?"

"On this one, the reversed is actually better than the upright." I laughed softly, my nails tracing the outline of the design and feeling the trickle of magic within it. "Upright the Tower represents change in the most radical and momentous sense. It doesn't necessarily have to be frightening or ominous but it does signify a foundational, groundbreaking change. However it can sometimes strike fear, as it means that we must abandon the truths that we have known prior to this event. The old ways are no longer useful, and you must find another set of beliefs, values and processes to take their place." I tell him before continuing. "Reversed shows that The Tower is built on faulty foundations, and it must fall. Though the destruction will be painful, the humbleness resulting from it can bring us peace. It suggests you become more self reliant-"

"I'm already self reliant, love but I'll make an extra note." He scoffed.

A slightly uncomfortable silence hung over us for a moment or two as he mulled over his reading. Then he stood, a heavy sigh on his lightly stained lips. "Thank you, for your service, love." He nodded and headed back out into the streets of The French Quarter.

A slightly bizarre experience, having the most powerful beast in my reading room and I knew that the other witches were never going to quiet their incessant chatter over it.

It was the talk of the town when Klaus got headed 'King' and moved into the compound, having 'ownership' over Davina and therefore the witches. Not that it lasted long as Davina was clearly losing it.

That's how I ended up dragged in by each arm.

"Ah, perfect; they found you." Klaus declared, his voice arrogant and echoing. "Come, love, I need you to fix my witch." He took my arm from another vampire and pulled me along with him. I was shoved into a room, if you could call it that. The walls were crumbling around Davina, her screams piercing my ears as everything went flying everywhere. The door was slammed shut behind me and I was forced to face...that.

It took some struggle but I was able to get my hands on her, I could feel both our magic draining rapidly as I used mine to weaken hers.

My eyes were just starting to close, the reassuring whispers fading from my lips as her body went soft against mine when I felt a separate pair of hands hold me up by my shoulders.

I woke a small while later, my brows furrowing as I felt fingers stroking my forehead, tracing my hairline. My eyes cracked open and Klaus's cocky face was peering down at me.

"Good morning sweat-pea." He smirked, pure amusement in his eyes.

"Ew..." I mumbled sluggishly and sat up, ignoring his touch and closeness. "Don't touch me you...I don't even know what you are."

"Hybrid, love. Thank you, again, by the way; for keeping my witch under control. It seems that little sickening ritual you witches have doesn't quite work out as planned hm? Now I have a dead witch and a very stroppy Marcellus." He muttered, his eyes rolling.

"It works." I grumbled as I felt the power slowly growing back within me. "Four witches resurrected, the girls will come back in time."

"Mmm. I do hope so, no need for a group of dead children. It's causing a small inconvenience."

"Uhuh." I murmured and swung my legs over the side of the bed I was lead out on. I stood, my head light and dizzy but I kept it upright. My feet stumbled a little as I headed out of the door, my hands reaching for the stair railing as Klaus's hands grabbed onto my hips.

"Easy now, love. It took a lot out of you to calm little Davina down." He chuckled in my ear, the sound disorientated and demonic.

"No...I don't...I don't get this weak from a spell." I mumbled and he hummed.

"Must've been something else then." He whispered, his lips suddenly by my ear and I felt my jaw clench as I realised he must've spiked me with something somehow. My body fell back into his and his arms slipped round me, lifting me into a bridal hold as my vision went dark again.

I woke again, hours later. The sky was almost black when I turned my head to see out of the guest bedroom window. I felt better now and without anybody being able to detect my magic, I could break the window apart and float out of it with ease.

I headed back home, greeted by my obsidian cat who mewled happily at my return. Her tail wrapping around my calf as we headed into the dining room where her bowl wait empty on the wooden floor. I filled the bowl and she meowed happily.

The quietness of my house filled me with a sense of serenity as I sat down in my usual sear at the table. My stomach ached with hunger but it was so late and I couldn't be bothered to make anything.

So I waited for Salem to finish her dinner before we went upstairs to bed.

By the time sunlight was seeping past my blinds, a loud continuous knocking practically shook my house. Salem's claws dug into my skin as she stretched out and curled back up with a faint growl of annoyance.

"Fucks sake." I groaned before pulling the duvet back and storming down the stairs, pulling the chain off the door and swinging it open. "What!?" I demanded, my expression clearly a display of my feelings.

Klaus Mikaelson stood before me, his arms crossed over his broad...firm chest.

"You ran away." He stated, eyes flicking to my chest making me glance down as well so see my tit almost out of my night time vest. I shifted the fabric and he cleared his throat, looking back up.

"I didn't run anywhere." I countered and his eyes rolled. Honestly, for a thousand years old he sure was sassy.

"No of course not. You gracefully levitated out of the window, honestly you make quite the stereotype for a witch. Tarot cards, floating and, oh look a black cat." He scoffed and I leant down, picking up Salem before she could get out and into his grasp.

"Why are you here?" I asked and he hummed.

"I need your powers, come to the abattoir." He demanded and I put a hand on my hip.

"I do hope you're joking." I told him and his jaw went tight.

"I don't have much time for this back and forth, love. It's fun, yes and you're very cute but I will resort to less verbal persuasion if you cannot do as you are told." His tone got progressively lower, darker.

"Get off my porch. I'll be there in half an hour." I muttered, slamming the door back in his face.

"Twenty minutes, love!" He yelled through the wood.

I couldn't be bothered with this. The tarot card readings were low for me but they still made me money so now I was just missing out and I couldn't afford not to pay my bills. Besides, Salem needed her food too and she definitely wouldn't go without.

I got to the compound after forty minutes, mostly out of pettiness however I did shower, shave dry my hair, style my hair, get dressed, have a breakfast bar and feed Salem so time added up quick. Those weren't good enough excuses for a pissy hybrid.

His eyes were dark, sort of how I imagined the depths of the ocean at night as he watched me. I was a little different in how my magic worked.

I didn't need to do all the muttering and straining unless it was a really difficult spell like raising the dead, I think that's what sparked Klaus's interest. That I didn't pull out a hundred spell books, flipping relentlessly through the pages to pick the spell he needed. I could sense what he needed, almost read the spell from his mind to use it like he wanted.

I got up to leave once I was done but his hand was around my arm, keeping me to him. I knew he was half werewolf which made his skin warm but the heat rolling off of him was almost concerning. The golden look in his eyes put me on edge but he wasn't threatening, yet.

"I need something else-"

"I need to get to my job, where I get paid." I cut him off and he huffed softly, almost playfully as the corners of his lips upturned slightly. A hundred dollar bill was wedged very provocatively between my tits. I bit the tip of my tongue before raising my eyes to look at his cocky expression.

"I swear to all of the unholy spirits that if you ever put your grubby little hands on my body again I'm gonna burn your dick off." I warned him, my eyes narrowed and voice low but he only smirked and pushed me backwards so his body trapped me to the wall.

His face lowered to mine, his nose brushing up the side of my jugular before his breath was against my ear. "Mmm, how have you managed to make that sound so hot?" He murmured and I scoffed, shoving off me with a slight force making his chuckle.

"Don't be a freak, Klaus. You'll make me vomit." I whispered, my nose scrunched up as if I could actually find him repulsive. Stupid handsome face.

My body ached slightly when his pulled away from mine and his fingertips skimmed over my sides before leaving me completely.

"I'll be needing you a lot more often from now on. I'll pay you whatever you want. A thousand dollars an hour for all I care." He offered and I could feel my ethics at question. I'd be against the coven if I was willingly working for the beast but a thousand dollars was a fuck tonne to turn down.

"I have to get back to Salem." I muttered and he let out a deep chuckle making my eyes roll as I walked off.

"Oh come on, love. You have to admit that it's a little traditional, no? You're practically mocking your own kind-"

"Oh piss off mr 'i spent a thousand years trying to be a dog'." I snapped back as he followed me out of the compound and into the streets. "Rumour has it you've literally only turned once. I think if anyone's mocking their kind its you."

"Touché." He accepted, his tone weirdly light and he had a shrug to his shoulders. "I should turn more often, that's fair." He nodded, keeping up with my quickening pace but as soon as we got around a corner I was pinned to the wall by the throat. "But don't you ever, ever- talk down to me like that or you will very much be reminded of your place, witch." He growled and I felt my magic flaring, just begging to light him on fire but I let him keep the upper hand as he placed me back down onto my feet.

I turned on my heel and kept walking, forcing myself not to gasp for air and just struggle slightly. His footsteps remained just behind me, he was much more relaxed than I was and it was pissing me off as we got to my house.

The soft meow of Salem's voice echoed form behind the door and her paw made a soft sound which made my body sink back from the tension. But my body went rigid when Klaus's hand turned the handle to my front door and he walked right on inside, leaning down and picking up Salem as he did.

My eyes flicked down at the threshold he had just completely discarded before locking on Salem as she purred in his hands. One twist of those hands and her head would pop off her her neck.

The imagine alone made me react. His heart was in his chest one second and on my hallway floor the next. Salem landed on her feet with a mewl and padded off to the kitchen whilst I was left with the heavy thud of Klaus's body.

"Fuck!" I breathed as I ran my hands over my hair and groaned dramatically. I moved him to the living room and tied him up with a magically finding rope, ensuring he would stay put as I cleaned away the blood from his heart and fixed Salem some food.

His groggy grumble made it's way into the kitchen, forcing me to face my problems as I came to the doorway of my living room. He looked a little bit pissed but mostly amused which relieved me to extent but annoyed me even more.

"Very kinky, love." He mused as he tugged on the ropes. His eyes cast down at the bloody stain across his shirt before flickering past my ankles, probably to where Salem was feeding from her bowl. "Had I have known that damn cat was quite a sore subject for you then I wouldn't have picked the thing up-"

"How did you get into my house?" I asked and he smirked.

"I think you mean my house, my love. I thought it would be easier for us if I owned the building, means we can both have access and I can come collect you easier." He smiled as if it were a friendly thing to do.

"You're fucking crazy. A full on whack job." I muttered. "I'm not your witch, I'm not your pet. You do not claim my house and pick up Salem- you stop touching my life. Get out and leave me alone!" I yelled and with that his body was gone, instead at least a couple hundred tiny pieces of him exploded across my living room floor and walls.

I forced myself to breathe steady, my eyes closing for a second before I let out an angry cry of frustration and got my magic under control. Bit by bit I managed to pile him together, clean the marks away and put him in a bin bag, then transferring his remains back to the abattoir for them to fix themselves back together.

It was surprising that Klaus hadn't burst my house down and tore my head off in retaliation to be completely honest.

However, for whatever reason, the next time I saw him, he was all cheerful and charming again like normal.

"Come on now, love, don't be all grumpy with me still because of our little mishap." He teased, following me closely as I moved through the streets quickly. "I didn't mean to push it with the cat, love. I'll admit that was my fault, I crossed the line." He murmured, his lips so close to my ear it made my skin burn.

I continued to ignore him, trying to get on with my day without his constant chatter but he just seemed to be there all day long, keeping customers away and effectively ruining my time.

Once it grew dark I let out a sigh and leaned back, staring mindlessly at the sheer lack of cash in my pot. His hand brushed the hair behind my ear and stroked the side of my neck.

"Klaus." I warned with a sigh and he hummed lowly, his lips moving to kiss the spot below my ear making me let out a scoff and shove him off me. "You are like an animal. Go fuck someone who actually wants something to do with you." I snapped and he let out a soft chuckle.

"You know I have extremely heightened senses, love? I can practically taste how turned-on you get around me-" He purred and I gagged.

"That's just your perverted mind playing tricks on you." I scoffed and he hummed.

"All this sass because you didn't get your money, love? I told you I'd pay your rates." He tutted before his fingers were plucking hundred dollar bills from his wallet and putting them in my jar. "There, now you're all caught up and you can stop looking so glum."

"I don't want your money, I don't want your time, I don't want you!" My voice raised and his lips twitched.

"You'll be more than willing before long, love. I'm very much looking forward to you giving in, I already know you'll be absolutely exquisite-"

I cut him off abruptly, my palm colliding with his cheek without a second thought. The action made me just as surprised as him, both of us staring at each other for a long moment. I could see his jaw clenching, his eyes hardening fraction by fraction.

He straightened in his seat, inhaling and exhaling as his eyes darted away. He was urging himself not to lash back at me.

His hands hit the table, hard as he stood. I flinched in my seat but didn't go to move, just watched him. I watched as he paced up and down the length of the small room before storming out.

I blew out a breath of relief at the slam of the door and sunk down into the chair.

Klaus didn't come around for a small while after that. I probably should have been thrilled not to be haunted by him each day. I was finally making some money again and didn't have to worry about Salem being catnapped or whatever.

Until he woke me up in the middle of the night, banging so hard against my front door I was surprised it hadn't caved in. I swung it open, ready to launch him off my porch when my eyes took him in.

"Oh fuck." I mumbled, my hands moving without my consent to pull the blood-soaked henley away from his skin. "Okay, come on." I whispered, pulling him inside, Salem mewing and pawing at his boots as we climbed the stairs.

He was sat shirtless on top of the toilet seat, his bloody hands in his lap whilst I wiped away the red across his chest, neck and face. The hot tap of the bath was running quickly, filling fast. I'd wanted him out of my life from the second he pushed his way into it and yet for some reason I was worried about him and looking after him as though I cared for him. But surely that was ridiculous, he was a menace in my life.

I just couldn't help myself.

His clothes were in my washer, I was scrubbing the blood and mud off of my floors and the stairs banister before going up to my room to dig out a shirt of mine he could sleep in and some oversized sweatpants that he could wear for the night.

They were a little tight. My bad.

I don't think he was in much a mood to complain though as the shirt clung to his skin, I shouldn't have been looking at the definition of his muscles so much. Not when he was so upset.

He was a lot easier to handle when he was like that though.

No cocky remarks, no touching, just raw and vulnerable. For once he wasn't Klaus the hybrid, just Klaus.

"You're gonna have to talk to me tomorrow, okay?" I whispered as he rest his head against my shoulder, it was obvious he was debating using my breast as a pillow but he made the wise decision to not push his luck.

By morning he'd managed to get there though. His face was nestled right against me, his eyelashes brushing over my skin with each subtle blink. With slight reluctance I gently slid my fingers into his hair, gently scratching his scalp.

Salem was asleep on top of the covers, on him. Her whole body vibrating against him as she purred.

"We're gonna get up soon and you're gonna talk." I murmured but kept my tone soft for now. "You can't just turn up at my house covered in blood and not tell me, okay?"

His body shifted slightly, his face pressing further into my chest making me suppress an eye roll but I kept it at bay. He was delicate at the moment and a lot more likely to do something extreme if pushed.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go." He whispered and my fingers stuttered against his head before resuming their pattern. He was such a conflicting person.

It only took a couple days before he was back to his old self, turning up unannounced to my work and disrupting my every day but I don't know. Just knowing that he did definitely have that human side of him made him less threatening.

It didn't help that Salem had started sitting on his lap when he was over. He'd learnt just the spot under her ears that would make her love him. Honestly it was ridiculous how simply he could insert himself with no consequences. Pissed me off.

"Klaus, get out." I called from my kitchen, currently stood over the stove and stirring the pot of gumbo I'd been cooking. I could sense him in the hallway, making his way in, boots already off.

"Don't get so angsty so soon love. I haven't even said anything." The amusement on his tone wasn't hidden at all. I huffed loudly and put the lid back on the pot. "Smells divine, my sweet." He smirked, brows rising.

"What do you want?" I sighed. I just couldn't be bothered to deal with his drama.

"Only your company." He murmured, head lowering but eyes darkening. "Won't you invite me to stay for dinner?" He asked and I scoffed.

"Since when have you needed to be invited to anything ever?"

"You make a fair point love but it's nicer to be wanted now isn't it?" He shrugged and got closer, leaning completely past and over my to lift the lid of the pot and get a proper whiff. His body pressed against mine, pushing me against the front of the oven. I sucked in a breath, trying not to let him bother me as he slowly pulled back, his face inches from mine as his eyes glanced over my face. "So?" He pressed. "Am I welcome to stay?"

My jaw ticked and my fingers twitched but eventually I relented. "Fine, whatever. But you better actually tell me what you want because I know you aren't here for some dinner."

"You'd be surprised." He mused before sitting down at the table and picking Salem up to place her on his lap.

While we were eating he revealed the spell he was actually here for. So soon enough we were back in the main room with candles everywhere, sat facing each other on the floor and holding hands so I could use his energy as well as mine.

"You know love, under slightly different circumstances this could be a very romantic setting." He purred whilst I murmured the chant under my breath. His statement made me pause and sigh.

"You know Klaus, maybe it would be if you would shut up and let me finish." I snapped and he chuckled.

"Oh I can't wait to see how you behave in bed." I ended up muting him for the rest of the evening. It was comical to see how desperately he needed to say something every half a second.

By the time I'd done what he needed and gotten him back to the doorway, I finally let his sound come back. He cleared his throat and looked up at me with a look of annoyance before his expression shift back to his usual half smile. "As much as I may hope, I think it's quite clear that you won't be inviting me to stay the night." He teased and I hummed in agreement.

"Goodnight Klaus." I pressed, opening the door for him.

"Goodnight, love."

Klaus was arrogant and narcissistic and possibly one of the most selfish beings I'd ever had the displeasure of meeting and yet somehow I ended up looking for the goodness in him.

What was worse was that sometimes I found it.

Just a glimpse of light when he'd smile, the gold in his hair when his hands would push it back. The shimmer in his eyes when he held his hand out for me to channel him.

I don't really know when it started to happen but I ended up not hating him. We both realised that when I did actually invite him to stay for dinner.

The upturn of his lips and the way his head went down made me realise my mistake. But it was too late to undo, he was already sat at the table and talking away.

Once he'd eaten and managed to get the wine out of my cupboard, we ended up in the living room. Him with Salem back on his lap and purring away blissfully. His fingers were hidden within her fur whilst his legs stretched out across the sofa, as if it were his home as well as mine. This time I didn't complain about it.

The night got old quick and after a few glasses of wine I decided it was time for bed.

"If you wanted me upstairs you should have said so sooner, love." He grinned and my eyes rolled as we both rose, Salem jumping down and brushing around my ankles. By the time my gaze settled back on him he was only inches away, his hands making their way to my sides.

"Klaus." I muttered, shifting slightly when his palms pressed to my waist. The light buzz of the alcohol made his touch feel like pure warmth, he felt like the sun. I could feel my eyes shutting, the heat of his mouth against my forehead in from of a soft kiss.

"Thank you," He murmured, the word sounding so foreign on his tongue, "For inviting me." My body tensed and softened when his arms slid round me. It was only a second before I was feeling the definition of his back beneath my fingers.

His lips kissed my cheek before hovering just before my mouth. I knew I shouldn't have, but I did it anyway.

I should have known one wouldn't have been enough.

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