do remember they can’t cancel the spring

tpwk

[rqnarok]

neteyam who is so obsessed with his mate

fem!na’vi!reader. smut. aged up!neteyam. dark!neteyam. p in v. predator prey as foreplay. oral receiving. nasty nasty sequences

the past years had neteyam on a tight rope. wars, infightings, deaths, blame, guilt, orders—he never had a chance to put his needs ahead of the clan’s. one of his most neglected wants revolves around his intimate life.

which, unsurprisingly, makes his current libido drive higher now as an olo’eyktan. way higher than his younger brother’s, who hardly restrained himself.

thank eywa, neteyam is recently betrothed and married to you. and he promised himself that now will be the age to let greed overconsume him for the first time in his life. he could not believe there was a time when he lived without you—without knowing you. he certainly couldn’t now. not when you plague his mind constantly: during patrols, hunts, and other mundane olo’eyktan tasks.

the first time you and neteyam move into the marui, he knows how excited you are to decorate the place. that’s too bad, because he personally decides to fuck you on every surface you or he can lean on. kissing every inch of your body until you whine out, “h-hm, i’m tired, ’teyam.”

one or two orgasms don’t fulfill neteyam anymore, so he coos, “shh, i know, yawne. just one more time, yeah?”

aside from missionary being his favorite position, neteyam also loves seeing you on top of him. you don’t even do any of the work—he wouldn’t let you. you just sit with your thighs parted as you slowly sink down on his big cock. from there, it’s all him, moving your hips up and down—his own bucking upward, chasing the heat of your core, mumbling, “you make me so happy, syulang. i—fuck—I love you so much.”

he loves you on top because he can watch your plump tits bounce sensually every time he thrusts up. occasionally slowing down—just a little—to focus on latching onto your perked nipples, nipping them until you can see his spit stringing between the contact, “ah, ’teyam—” knowing you’re sensitive there makes his cock throb inside your walls.

in the marui, you shamelessly let him do anything to you. but you really do think he needs to control himself during clan gatherings. everyone’s speaking at the dining feast, and you can’t focus your ears on a single voice. and the ghosting touch of neteyam’s palm on your inner thighs certainly doesn’t help. if anything, it makes it worse.

it was a grounding gesture, until his fingers travel down beneath your loincloth, tips grazing your pooling arousal. you can’t even fathom how he can still speak clearly, telling the people about last week’s hunting luck—two big meer deers that can feed families. the difference in your expressions is almost amusing: his calm face versus your flushed one.

afraid of being inappropriately caught—and embarrassed—you softly smack his hand away, retreating it to his own thigh. anyone who wasn’t you would have missed the subtle change in his expression. the way his eyes narrow, lips twitching as they almost turn into an ugly scowl—a face he wears when he’s annoyed—is a reaction to your… denial.

from that alone, you know you’ll be tortured afterward.

“i thought you don’t want me anymore, yawne?” neteyam commands you to lie on your back, one knee up, presenting your bare pussy toward him. no touching. he sits too far away for your liking, teasing you, thighs parted in dominance. “i thought you didn’t need my fingers anymore, no?”

“yes! no! i need you, please, ’teyam—” you buck your hips desperately for friction, making him chuckle and coo, “oh? funny how you acted differently back there, then, paskalin.”

his punishment goes on until he decides he can’t hold himself back anymore. his heavy shaft is hard just from watching you try to finger yourself, playing with your swollen clit. seeing you fail to reach release, whining, “p-please! please, i’m sorry, ma’teyam, i’ll be good,” is his final straw.

the bulbous tip of his shaft leaks pre-cum, knowing you can only come by his mouth, his fingers, or his cock. nothing else would ever be enough for you. not when he is your first and last.

that night, you reach your peaks so many times you lose count. all you feel in the morning are your sore thighs and neteyam’s nose pressed against your mating gland—so possessive, even in his sleep.

apart from everything above, neteyam loves intense foreplay before sex. at the top of the list is chasing you through the forest. he gives you a ten-second head start—which is nothing to him—after whispering against the shell of your ear, “run, yawne.”

he makes a mental note, counting each second with a subtle smirk. you run as fast as you can, heart pounding, head spinning, toward the darkened part of the rainforest. when you finally feel far enough, you crouch near one of the massive trees, slouching between bushes. then you hear it—the faint sound of his steps. on instinct, you slow your breathing, matching it to the rustling leaves around you.

you almost smile when his steps move in another direction.

but neteyam would not be regarded as the best omatikaya hunter if he weren’t, in fact, the best. the one with the sharpest instinct and stealth moves, almost as if he is another predator. a palulukan of his own, “got’cha,” he got you as his dinner tonight.

a shriek escapes you when his arms circle your stomach. neteyam answers by sealing his lips to yours in a deep kiss. “shh. mawey. i have to claim my reward now, hm?” he strips you of your attire and puts you on all fours. “present, mate.”

neteyam whistles at the sight, watching you arch your back, perking your plump asscheeks toward him in offering.

he makes you ride his face for the first time, one hand stroking his hard member while the other toys with your full breasts. “wha’ a prize you are, ma’yawntu.” after you release your sticky fluid onto his face, he’s back to fucking you from behind. the sound of his balls slapping against your full cheeks nearly drowns beneath your high-pitched ah, ah, ahs.

second on the list is you dancing in front of him. not just any dancing. clothes-off dancing. he strings together a made-up beat with whatever object he can find. you sway to it anyway, moving like liquid, gestures that show off your tits and hardened nipples beneath the moonlight. your plush ass jiggles with every rhythmic sway.

when you notice bioluminescent pre-cum staining his loincloth, you can’t help the coy smirk that forms, “you like my dances, ’teyam?”

“you know i do, syulang. now come here.”

ouuuu they #nasty. this could be read as a stand-alone or a continuation of this! hehe

[annchantedd]

⟡ —— interruptions / neteyam ★☆

pairing: neteyam x metkayina!gn!reader

summary: after spending some time in the metkayina village—meeting you and getting to know you—neteyam is courting you. or, well, at least he's trying to.

every time he attempts to tell you of his feelings—and to ask for your permission to court you, because he's nothing if not respectful—somehow he always ends up getting interrupted. oh, what shall he do?

word count: 1.5k

content: fluff, oneshot, some jealousy, interrupted confessions, just some good ol' fluffy sweetness tbh

a/n: little on the shorter side but i wanted to write some fluff after so much angst teehee, enjoy xx

˙　　˳　　⁺　➽ navigation , masterlist

your hands fiddle with your hair, combing out strands as you braid it and make it nice and neat. truthfully, you don't usually care so much about the way you look; your appearance doesn't matter much to you, but when neteyam—the sully boy, newcomer to your metkayina village—is on his way to your marui? oh you bet you're making sure you're looking presentable.

you're not too sure how long it'd been since neteyam and his family had arrived, possibly a few weeks by now if you had to guess; but that was enough time for a little warm feeling to form in your tummy every time you were in neteyam's presence, butterflies one might call it. and fortunately for you! neteyam reciprocated, but you didn't know that yet.

“ma yuey,” neteyam's voice chimes from behind you and at the entrance of your marui, “you look lovely as always.” he comments with a small, almost timid smile on his face.

one of your own bashful smiles forms on your face, “thank you, ‘teyam,” you mumbles, standing from where you'd been kneeling on the ground, “you don't look so bad yourself.” you tease lightly, patting his arm once you're close enough, standing in front of him.

a soft laugh reverberates from his chest, “wow, i’m honored by your compliment, truly,” he says, bowing down slightly in jest, “alright, your highness, come. there is something i want to show you.” he declares, taking your hand before you can protest and tugs you along.

“where are we headed?” you ask curiously, tail swishing behind you as you follow close behind him.

“you will see in a bit.” he says without turning.

he guides you to a little spot just beyond the metkayina village, a lonesome spot of sand by the water; it's far enough to provide privacy but not far enough to be out of view of the village.

“here; beautiful isn't it?” he breathes, cat-like eyes settled on the view of the horizon ahead—the yellow of the afternoon sky clashing with the blue of the ocean.

neteyam sighs, glancing back at you and he only stares for a moment—his eyes roam over your face, taking in the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheeks, the way your pointed ears flutter, how soft your kissable lips look-

you hum, looking out at all the little sea creatures swimming beneath the ocean, “it is.” you agree.

“neteyam?” you wave a hand in front of him, “are you…alright? you zoned out there.” you tell him.

neteyam shakes his head, eyes quickly glancing away from your face, “i- yes, I'm sorry.”

you smile, “it's ok, don't be sorry.” you say, taking one of his larger hands into yours, and squeezing in reassurance.

neteyam returns the smile, and takes both of your hands into his, “there was a reason i took you out here,” he begins, “wanted some privacy, away from everyone. we've only known each other a short time but...ma y/n, you've become so imp-” before he can finish the thought, tuk comes barreling over and bumps into the back of her older brother, nearly knocking him forward into you.

neteyam's hands quickly move to stabilize you first before he turns around to scold his sister, “ow! tuk! be careful!” neteyam frowns.

“neteyam! neteyam! you gotta come quick! lo'ak is doing something stupid again!” tuk yells, hopping up and down.

neteyam closes his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. he turns to look at you apologetically, his hand reaches to tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear, “I'm sorry. i need to take care of this. I'll see you soon, okay?” he says, hand pulling away as he runs after tuk who's on her way back to the village.

—

“you get better everyday, ‘teyam!” your giggles ring out across the ocean as you sit atop your ilu, watching as neteyam holds onto his own ilu, kuru connected as he fumbles in an attempt not to fall; you two had gone out to help neteyam get some practice in riding an ilu, and now as he clumsily dodges through some rocks whilst swimming, the practice seems to have paid off.

“all thanks to you,” he smiles, guiding his ilu to swim up next to yours, “thank you. i…really appreciate you being patient with me.” he says.

you smile, “don't thank me. it was nothing, really.”

“it means more to me than you think,” he replies, “hey…about-about last time, i know i had to leave before we could…talk, and i want to apologize again; i should've planned better-” he starts.

“nonsense, neteyam. it wasn't your fault, things happen.” you say, waving a hand to dismiss it.

neteyam huffs, “i know. but still, i’m sorry. now that we've got some time though, i want to say what i couldn't.” he tells you.

in a startling move, neteyam hops off of his ilu and swims over closer to you. his hands slip around your waist, strong, firm, and protective as he lifts you off of your own ilu and into the frigid water with him.

“neteyam! what are you doing!” you gasp, shivering as the sudden cold envelopes you.

but the warmth of his body pressed against yours calms you simultaneously.

he chuckles, “sorry, i just…i want to be close to you when i say this,” he tells you, his eyes gazing adoringly into yours, “for the longest time, i've struggled trying to find out how to tell you this; but i…well, what I'm trying to say, or rather ask, is if it would be alright with you if i could court y-”

a loud yelp cuts neteyam off this time. it's lo'ak. who's fallen off his ilu in an attempt to get closer to eavesdrop. and he's not alone; tuk and tsireya are with him.

“skxawng! what are you doing here?” neteyam huffs, yelling at his brother, his face contorted into an irritated scowl.

lo'ak laughs, yelping again when tuk smacks him, “you gave us away, stupid!” she scolds lo'ak.

“sorry! we just wanted to see you confess-” lo'ak begins but is cut off by tsireya tugging him backward, “c'mon, let's go! we already ruined the moment, we should leave!” she exclaims.

neteyam groans quietly in frustration. yet another interruption.

—

“you what?” neteyam looks up from where he'd been sitting in the marui he shared with his family.

“it's true, bro! i saw y/n with some metkayina guy by the beach earlier; it looked like they were braiding his hair or something.” lo'ak says, fingers sticky as he lays back on a hammock, munching away on a yovo fruit.

neteyam frowns, “you're kidding.”

“nope. not at all. you can go see for yourself. or you might be too late. they could be mated by now.” lo'ak hums, obviously trying to provoke his brother.

and it works!

neteyam has had enough. he stands quickly and without another word to his younger brother, makes his way to your marui. a determined look set on his face, he was not going to be interrupted this time.

“hi, ‘teyam!” you greet him with a beaming smile upon his entrance to your home, “what brings you-” you gasp softly as he grabs you by your shoulders—firm yet gentle.

“there's no one-no one who will take you from me. I've had enough.” he states.

you frown, “what? what are you on about?”

“that other metkayina? what is he to you?” he asks.

you blink, confusion evident in your eyes, ears fluttering, “i-i don't know what you mean, ‘teyam. what other metkayina?” you ask.

neteyam huffs, “lo'ak said- augh, nevermind. that's not the point,” he mutters, his hands dropping from your shoulders to your hands and he brings them up to his forehead, touching them, skin to skin, before setting them back down, “there's no one else that I've ever…ever held to such a high regard, not like you, not even remotely, ma yuey.” he tells you with a passion burning in his eyes so bright it's almost blinding.

“...what are you saying?”

“I'm saying i want to court you, y/n. i want to be your mate, if you'll have me.” neteyam declares, finally, with no interruption this time.

the air is chilling, silent, before you embrace him tightly, “oh eywa, you've no idea how long i've wanted to hear you say that, ‘teyam.”

neteyam blinks, as if still registering that his affections are in fact reciprocated.

but when it does register, the widest, most infectious grin spreads on his face, fangs showing through, “really? you-you have?”

you laugh softly, “yes, since the day we first met.” you tell him.

neteyam picks you up, arms around your waist as he spins you around in perhaps the happiest moment you've ever seen him.

“ma y/n,” he breathes, still running on that euphoric feeling of acceptance, “i promise I'll make you the happiest metkayina in this whole village.” he swears, pressing the softest, most pure kiss on your forehead.

“I'll hold you to that, ‘teyam.”

© annchantedd

[pandoraslxna]

i haven’t seen any subby neteyam anywhere recently and i think you would write him justice

Neteyam x female human reader, minors dni 🔞

Warnings: subby Neteyam, kuru play, untouched orgasm

"Stay still, Teyam."

The forest is dark, full of soft, colorful shadows, the bioluminescence flowers lending just enough light to see by. It’s quiet too, but Neteyam can hardly tell over the pounding of his pulse, coupled with the sound of his roughened breathing. He pushes up onto his elbows, watching as you slide down to lie snugly between his legs.

It is a mind-boggling sight. You’re still fully clothed. On the other hand, Neteyam‘s entirely naked, and to be honest, he isn’t sure how this had even happened. When the night had started, hadn’t he been the one who wanted to lie between your thighs?

Neteyam sighs, his cock hard and heavy against his abdomen, but you just shoot him a warning look to say 'stay put', so he bites his tongue and swallows all complains.

Just when he thinks you might open those soft lips and wrap them around his tip, you then reach for something else. His Kuru.

You’re so close to his cock that he could feel your warm breath on it and Neteyam shivered from head to toe as he watched a thick clear drop of pre-cum ooze onto his belly. He lets his head fall back and wants to groan, but the sound that comes out instead is closer to a whimper.

When he glances back down, you’re stroking the soft hair of his braid, and Neteyam‘s breath hitches when your fingers reach the end of his hair.

"Are these sensitive?" You ask, watching the thin pink tendrils writhe and wriggle in the air.

"Y-yes," Neteyam admits. "They're not as sensitive as they would be if I were in rut, but they're… f-uck…"

He can barely keep his eyes open as he watches you blow a soft breath over his nerve endings as you continue to gently stroke his braid. His cock twitches, pleasure burning hot in his core.

"T-They are still responsive," Neteyam finishes breathlessly. "It’s worse when I’m… when I’m…"

Those clever fingers of yours move down, and he jerks and let’s out a guttural groan when you let the tendrils wrap around a dainty finger.

"Mmm, is that so?" You hum, smiling softly. Your other hand lazily trails towards his erection, cock jumping in anticipation, but Neteyam hisses in a short breath when your hand moves away at the last second, instead tracing the crease of his inner thigh before you go back to massaging his braid.

"Yawne [beloved], please…" Neteyam swallows as shameful arousal runs through him in a full-bodied throb. A more dignified man would stay quiet, ignoring the fact that he hadn’t been touched yet, but he can’t even think past his own desperation, past the skin-hunger that rises up every time you so much as glance at him or the fact that he could feel your warmth through the tendrils wrapped around your finger. It felt as if you were stroking his brain in all the best ways. "Please, touch me."

But you, eywa the woman that you are, you just stare at him, mouth falling open a little before your expression sharpens, your eyes and smile going delighted and predatory.

"All in good time," you purr. "At the moment, I think there are… other things I would like to explore first."

Neteyam has a big question mark on his forehead as he stares at you with his brows drawn together, but then you untangle the little tendrils from your finger. His breathing turns quicker, chest heavily raising and falling, with his jaw slack, as he watches you stick out your pretty pink tongue and bring his kuru closer to your mouth.

Inhaling sharply, they connect with your tongue then and his cock jerk so violently at the foreign sensation, he throws his head back with a groan as he soaks his stomach in thick ropes of cum.

[crzbss]

between hands and heartbeats - neteyam sully x reader

: ˚⋆✮ in which: you and neteyam are officially courting, but no one seems to notice. either way, neither of you are trying to hide it.

: ˚⋆✮ a/n: continuation of healing hands! this could be read as a stand alone though (i think). might be last post for a couple days, unless i do a smaller headcannons post or something.

part 1

if anyone were asked, they would say nothing had changed.

the clan had grown used to the two of you circling around each other, closer than friends but less than anything more. they hadn’t noticed how the distance between you had long since stopped being space and started being intention.

what they mistook for hesitation was restraint.

neteyam did not reach without permission. he had stood before your parents and his with his shoulders squared and his voice steady. he spoke plainly, not promising anything he couldn’t keep. he did not ask for ownership or claim over what yet is not his, he asked for the right to court you properly, to learn you, walk beside you without secrecy.

your parents had not been surprised, neither did his.

they shared knowing glances, aware of the way both you and neteyam found your way to each other in any scenario. they had been expecting this.

when permission was given, neteyam nodded firmly, as though he had been entrusted with something fragile and intended to keep it that way.

it wasn’t a secret, of course it wasn’t.

neteyam had his intentions clear from the beginning, having always been deliberate.

it was just that no one had seemed to notice, nor did anyone ask.

he stills trains at dawn, leads patrols, carries himself with that calm, unshakeable steadiness that makes him trustworthy without question.

the only difference, really, was the fact that he no longer did it alone.

but neteyam doesn’t act like he’s hiding something, he acts like its already decided.

: ˚⋆✮

lo’ak is the first to feel it.

it starts small, neteyam waiting more than usual.

not in the obvious way, not tapping his foot or glancing around. just… standing. lingering near the edge of the clearing when he knows your gathering herbs.

then there’s the touches.

neteyam is not a casual touch type of guy. he rarely gets close to others, restricting his touches to shoulder claps and handshakes.

except you.

sure, your a healer, its your job. but lo’ak notices something when you treat neteyam after a hunt, something usually only his grandmother would do for small injuries such as this one.

neteyam sits where you gesture without complaint, skin littered with light bruises he got from protecting others. he didn’t mind them anymore, not since you told him to stop overthinking every small mistake. in fact, he would look forward to these moments, where you’d gently treat him and he’d get to hold you close.

you kneel infront of him, focused and professional, until you notice him smiling lightly whilst staring at you and you scold him.

“you are smiling like this injury isn’t bad.” you mutter, fingers gentle but unimpressed.

“i am smiling because you are beautiful” he replies calmly.

lo’ak, hovering near the tent entrance, snorts. “oh, so now your relaxed. where was this calmness in the patrol, huh?” he provokes.

neteyam doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even blink. not when he could focus his attention fully onto you whilst he holds your hand.

not gripping, not dramatic, just resting there, thumb brushing your knuckles in a slow, absent movement like his body has memorised yours.

lo’ak’s brain short circuits.

“… why are you holding hands” he asks carefully, glancing in between you two,

you glance up, neteyam doesn’t.

“it helps him stay still” you shrug

neteyam hums in agreement, still staring at you intently.

silence falls as lo’ak stares in disgust “i think i’m witnessing a crime.” he eventually says.

“get out” neteyam replies as lo’ak practically runs out of the room, not wanting to stay there any longer.

“finally, he’s gone” neteyam sighs, placing his hand onto your cheek as he brings his mouth to yours, kissing you gently whilst he pulls you onto his lap.

you pause in between kisses, giggling as he chases you for more “cmon, baby. i missed you.” he huffs.

“and i missed you too, but we both have duties to fulfil” you declare, getting up from his lap.

“fine.” he finally quits “but wait till we’re mated, then you’re going to become my priority, and we won’t have to leave each other again.” he murmurs, staring into your eyes with a delicate expression.

and you believe him, because you know neteyam would never tell you a empty promise.

as you leave the tent, mo’at approaches you.

“have you treated my grandson?” she questions.

“yes, tsahìk.” you nod.

“good. he seems to refuse to be tended to unless you are doing it.” she mutters before walking off, leaving you with a warm feeling in your chest and a small smile painted on your lips.

: ˚⋆✮

naturally, you find yourself at the sullys for dinner, something you had been doing often your whole life, especially recently.

neteyam sits beside you, as he always does, but now his hand rests openly against your wrist, thumb brushing your skin in absentminded rhythm whilst he listens to his father speak. he does not move away from you when he feels the gaze of his family towards him, because he doesn’t have anything to hide.

jake notices the closeness between you two, but doesn’t say anything.

neytiri notices more, the way neteyam angles his body toward you, the way he reaches for you before he reaches for his food. her eyes soften, seeing her son so content and soft, reminding her of herself and his father. she turns to jake, subtly nudging her head in your direction, as he smiles lightly, reaching to grab her hand.

lo’ak, on the other hand, keeps glancing between you like he’s watching something click into place far too late.

he nudges kiri “has he always done… that?”

kiri glances over, then back at lo’ak, unimpressed. “yes”

“no,” lo’ak insists “he didn’t used to do that infront of her”

across the table, you’re laughing at something neteyam whispers in your ear. his smile is softer than usual, eyes warm in a way lo’ak doesn’t remember seeing.

kiri hums. “you just noticed?”

lo’ak straightens. “noticed what?”

“that they’ve stopped pretending” she says plainly.

lo’ak opens his mouth. closes it. watches again.

“but we knew,” he says. “everyone knew. dad knew. mum knew. eywa probably knew.”

“mm” kiri agrees “but knowing and seeing are different”

neteyam shifts closer to you unconsciously as jake speaks, shoulder brushing yours. when you glance at him, he meets yours eyes instantly.

lo’ak gags. “why is he staring like that”

neteyam looks up as kiri snickers “like what.”

“like you’re about to carve her name into a tree”

“oh he already did” jake says whilst taking a sip from his drink “last nights patrol”

neteyam whips his head towards his father as blush creeps up his neck “what- how do you know that?” he stutters

you snort as jake replies, “tarsem told me” he shrugs. neteyam turns towards you with a look of betrayal as you squeeze his hand and quickly cover your laugh.

lo’ak snickers as neytiri calmly cuts into the conversation. “eat. all of you.”

: ˚⋆✮

the fire has burned low by the time dinner ends.

neytiri nods your way before she speaks “come,” she says gently. “help us.”

kiri is already standing, collecting dishes as you rise to follow. neteyam’s hand lifts from its resting place on your waist, his fingers moving to brush your wrist softly.

“i’ll be back” you murmur.

he nods and lets you go.

: ˚⋆✮

the water is cool against your hands as you kneel beside neytiri, rinsing bowls. kiri settles on the opposite side, humming softly as she works.

“you’re careful with him” kiri says lightly, not looking at you.

you pause, just for a breath.

“he’s careful with me” you reply.

neytiri’s ears flick. her mouth curves, not quite a smile, but close.

“he carries the weight of others easily,” she says. “it is good that someone reminds him he is allowed to rest.”

your throat tightens. you focus on the water again.

kiri finally looks up, eyes warm “you help him not be hard on himself.” she nods appreciatively.

no questions. no warnings. just understanding.

when you return the last bowl to its place, neytiri rests a hand briefly at the small of your back, a gesture so fleeting it might have been imagined. but you don’t imagine it.

when you return to the fire, neteyam kisses your forehead gently “i’m going for a quick walk” he murmurs, as you send a small smile his way.

: ˚⋆✮

for a while, there is only the sound of leaves crunching underneath jake, neteyam and lo’aks feet.

lo’ak breaks first.

“so” he says, dragging the word out, “you gonna tell me, or?”

neteyam doesn’t look at him. “there is nothing to tell.”

lo’ak scoffs. “bro.”

jake exhales from his nose, amused. “son.”

neteyam finally glances sideways, brows lifting slightly. “i have not hidden anything.”

“that’s what’s wild,” lo’ak says. “you weren’t sneaky. you were just..” he gestures vaguely.

jake nods “he treats her well. reminds me of myself and your mother”

neteyam’s shoulders ease as lo’ak grins.

“i still can’t believe you pulled this off without asking me. since when was the mighty warrior such a ladies’ man?” he snickers, wrapping his arms around neteyam’s head.

neteyam huffs “shut up skxawng”

: ˚⋆✮

neteyam had just resumed his seat beside you again when tuk’s voice cuts clean through the evening.

“wait!”

everyone turns.

she plants her hands on her hips, eyes wide with triumph. “are you two mates now?”

silence.

neteyam stills. you feel it instantly, not panic, not fear. just awareness.

you glance at each other.

he finally speaks up. “not yet.” he says evenly.

lo’ak chokes on a laugh as kiri smiles into her hand.

jake clears his throat. “tuk” he says authoritatively.

“i knew it! you hold hands, he lets you shout at him, he looks at you like he looks at his bow…” she lists.

neteyam blinks. “respectively?”

tuk nods “like it matters.”

that does it. you laugh, soft and unguarded and neteyam’s fingers tighten around yours without thinking as he begins to smile too. laughter bubbles around the room as tuk looks way too satisfied with herself.

: ˚⋆✮

later, when the village settles and the world softens around you, neteyam leads you home.

he pauses before turning towards you. “do you uh, want to see that tree?” he grimaces, still embarrassed.

“is that even a question?” you giggle, as he huffs sarcastically.

he stops beneath a tree where the light gathers gently at the roots, as if eywa herself illuminated the earth to make way for the two of you. faintly you can see the outline of both yours and his name, running your fingers across the bark. neteyam’s hand lingers on your waist as your breathing syncs without trying.

“im sorry,” he says quietly. “if that embarrassed you.”

you shake your head “tuk or this?” he lets out a small laugh “i liked that she said it out loud”

he hums “i did too.”

his hand finds yours again, warm, familiar, steady. he pressed his thumb gently against your knuckles, the way he does when you’re tending to him.

“i guess everyone knows now” you say.

“i think they knew before we did.” he murmurs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as kisses your forehead.

he nuzzles your hair, voice soft in your ear, “you know im always yours”

your rest your hand on his chest “and im always yours.”

for a moment, there’s only the quiet hum of the evening and the knowledge that this, this closeness, this trust, this love, is finally perfectly yours together.

[mynowherenothing]

Unfortunately my problem is that I have no real ambitions I just want to live in my head

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Soooo we've had many conversations about ur fae king, so i thought:

yn as the owner of a failing bookstore. Maybe from their dead relative or something, still retaining that curiosity that fae clip loves so much.

Perhaps a fated meeting where he's one of yn's regulars, and they talk abt yn's passions and interests and yadda yadda, then he finds the shop to be foreclosed one day. Yn nowhere to be found.

They couldn't pay their dues. bookstore taken away from them :(

yn, in the pits of despair, suddenly gets a call that all debts are forgiven and the bookstore is reinstated!

Clip: no no, nothing in return. Only your attention.

Or maybe a kiss. Perhaps 👀

Extra requests: the Yearning. Indirect kisses, and or almost kisses.

Ugh. Fae king. He's my favorite guy of yours.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA DEARIE, here you go, I apologize for the long wait, I wished to make it perfect for you!!! Enjoy, sending you all the love and Fae King plushies @rosescarletful

Fae King Eclipse x Bookstore Owner Y/N

“If I had an accountant, he surely would be crying right now.“

You stared at the mess you had made with endless piles of ink-stained papers, calculations upon calculations. You huffed.

Maintenance costs had made themselves a monster that simply refused to be slain. Utilities had been piling up, as well as various fees necessary to be paid to keep the business somewhat operational. It was hardly a shadow of the golden age when Henry Emily had kept the bookstore as a makeshift wonderland where imagination and dreams came alive, money pouring seemingly out of nowhere. Madness and mystery had swallowed him up in the past years, his disappearance becoming yet another story whispered about in the dark corners of the city, another secret being added to many that had always followed the Aftons and the Emilys.

The inheritance officals had simply handed you the keys and the necessary documents and went on their merry way. There had been a glint of malicious intent in their eyes, a promise of doom untold rotting within. Almost as if they had hoped for you to fail, as if waiting for a legal way for other vultures to come and collect the prize. Against your better judgment, you refused to yield, accepting the ownership as the final living relative of the fallen Emily line.

Perhaps it was guilt. Perhaps it was your inability to leave the precious books to ruin and abandonment. Such dark thoughts had been plaguing your mind on that rainy Summer evening as you were perusing your papers.

The costs outweighed the income and there was no way to continue paying the suppliers, the shipments and upkeep. Modern age had led many former customers to abandon classical books in favour of digital ones. The whole bookeeper profession was becoming obsolete, customers dwindling, silence ominous.

Thunder interrupted your thoughts. A scented candle snuffed itself out. The lights flickered. Amber scent, comforting, followed by that of fine fabric, as well as echoes of an earthly scent, the forest lingering. You knew who was about to enter. In a certain way, you could have sworn that your very bones could recognize him in the darkest night, the haze of his presence commanding the attention of every fibre within your being.

Mister E. to some. Eclipse to others. Clipsy to you.

You smiled as the imposing figure elegantly entered your bookstore. A seemingly animatronic man with celestial features akin to that of an eclipsed sun, dangerously sharp rays adorning his head like a crown. His garments could be described as that of an aristocratic scholar, tie of velvet, vest of silk, shirt of finest cotton, a golden pocket watch chain present.

His shoulders were covered by a coat of deep crimson, hanging over them almost as if it were a cloak. A gloved hand reached for yours, golden eyes observing you adoringly as he gently pressed his lips to your knuckles. Voice deep and gravelly, he purred:

“Wisest of creatures, fairest of stars, your humble servant has returned to you, as promised.“

“You came up all the way here during this rain, Clipsy?“

“Had it been a rain of blessed fire announcing the end of all days, I would gladly walk through it just to see your smile.“

“Such silly things you say. I have your order packaged in the back. One moment, please.“

He seemed reluctant to release your hand. Never breaking eye contact, he pressed his lips upon your tender flesh. One kiss, two, three. A trail of worship, all to your inner wrist. You tilted your head.

“Silly man, I do need that back.“

“Just a moment longer. One must savour fine things.“

“Clipsy, I would gladly stand here while you play with parts of me all day, but some of us do have to work for a living. Do let go. Good boy. You will be rewarded with a warm drink. Tea or coffee?“

“Whichever your generosity allows me to have.“

“Now, that is a sentence I never heard a customer say before.“

Time seemed to change its course the moment his presence graced the room. Clocks stood still, the air itself becoming bewitched. It was rather difficult to fully and properly remember the details of his visage, ever-changing, as elusive and blinding as a true eclipse.

Golden eyes were what remained in your memory the most. Intense and fierce, softening only for you and you alone.

Eclipse had ordered many exquisite books and you had made sure to properly wrap them up for him. In a way, you could say that his orders were keeping the majority of your business alive. A part of you was grateful, a part of you amused. Why would such an affluent gentleman with suspiciously supernatural qualities take an interest in your little bookstore? And yet, in a way it almost seemed as if a dear old friend was simply paying you a visit. Someone you had known centuries prior.

Every rational thought told you that the whole relationship was dangerous, and yet your very bones and blood sang in joy each time he was near.

You poured coffee for him, gently offering the cup. His touch lingered as he brushed his fingers against your soft skin. There was reverence, there was the adoration of a mad mystic that had finally glanced his beloved deity from afar. Delicious madness danced within his eyes of molten gold. And yet, you felt no fear, only endearment. You could play with the flames, knowing they would never harm you. You commanded them, you were their source, their nourishment.

“The cup, Clipsy. Did you forget to take it?“

“Enchanted I am, enchanted by the spell slumbering within your eyes. What is a poor man to do, other than offer his sanity to the wind?“

“That certainly explains why you came in here without an umbrella. How do you manage to stay dry?“

“It is a skill, my moonlit treasure.“

“Oh? Magic trick, more like. Tell me your secrets.“

“Follow me to my humble abode across the river, and I shall whisper the forgotten knowledge of the stars to you.“

“The only thing I am going to follow in this weather is the path to my nearest blanket.“

Eclipse took a sip of his coffee. The Fae King was in no rush to claim his darling prize for himself. He enjoyed the delightful hunt, the courtship, savouring the charms of his future consort. Mortal form they may currently possess, but their features and their bright mind and soul shone with the might of a thousand dying stars, unmistakable, a tower of light. He had followed their soul across endless seas of Time, waiting for his Wise One to reincarnate once more. The small human before him bore the soul of an ancient witch, his eternal love, his curse and his blessing.

History was akin to a poem, full of rhymes and patterns. Eclipse savoured the poetry of his encounters with you, noticing your mannerisms, your speech, your answers, precious details in each conversation, comparing them to his encounters from a thousand eternities beforehand. The way you raised your eyebrow at him, that particular gesture of your hands, the tone of your voice, the sparkle in your eyes, softness of your lips, velvet skin of your neck. Eclipse could paint a myriad of portraits and never get tired of your form.

“You haven't blinked for a solid two minutes, Eclipse. Allow those poor eyes to have some moisture. I can lend you my eyedrops. Silly man.“

There it was again, that little smile of yours. You were acting like a confident royal patting a deadly beast of the realms unspoken, holding it on a golden leash as if it were a pet. Oh, how he craved to have his wicked way with you, how easy it would be for the beast to carry the royal where none could see them again. The Fae King had Time itself as his servant, he was older than the stars, he had witnessed the birth of Sound and Hope, he had been there when the first Dream had graced reality. Kidnapping a lovely human would hardly be a challenge for him. And yet, he decided to savour his time with you in a proper fashion. He respected your essence, as potent as his own. You were his mate, his match.

He grinned at you, playful and content.

“Worry not about my old eyes, Wise One. Shall we continue our usual game of riddles?“

“Oh, the one you keep cheating at? No, my good fellow, today we shall not engage in such a silly competition. I had something different in mind.“

“What mischief dances in the halls of my beloved's splendid mind?“

You closed your eyes, humming.

“No mischief. I wished to ask if you could read to me again.“

Ever so gently, you pushed a small booklet in his direction, a rare and lovely little gem bound in worn leather. It was an ancient text, poems written in a script long forgotten by most. You continued:

“I do wish to hear your voice. It relaxes me. Moreover, I have inspected this text and I do seem to be having some translation issues, I believe there are some roots in the words that have a different meaning from the classical interpretation. You have a splendid way of reciting poems in their original verse, I wish to hear you.“

His eyes widened, observing you. Such a lovely request, how could he deny it? His hands picked the little book up with reverence. A purr came from him as he then reached to trace his fingers along your cheek.

“If my heart's heart so wishes, then so shall it be.“

Long had he observed many ancient civilizations, spoke with the spirits, made himself the topic of myths and poems, and yet an entire eternity could not dare to come close in comparison to these precious moments when he could truly rest in the presence of his Beloved. The soul he had diligently followed through Time itself, whispering to the stars, waiting for your return.

He held you close as you two made yourselves comfortable on a nest of cushions in the bookstore's back room. Eclipse read, making sure to explain each verse and you took notes, fascinated with the knowledge he offered. Each sparkle of joy within your pretty eyes offered him pleasure beyond description. How beautifully your minds and souls danced together, playing, rejoicing. Oh, how he longed to kiss that sweet smile on your tender lips.

The feeling was quite mutual. You enjoyed these moments greatly. Eclipse's company was akin to having a reliable familiar spirit, a best friend that understood the wavelength of your heart. Oh, how you wished to fully give into him, allow yourself a moment's peace, accept the affection he offered you. And yet, the fear of losing your freedom remained. You did not wish to depend on anybody, nor did you want it to come across as if you were simply using him to make your life easier. A single kiss could bring you such happiness. But at what cost?

Your gaze met his, his warmth engulfing you. Such a tragedy, both of you hesitating to cross that metaphorical bridge to find happiness in each other's embrace. In that moment, Eclipse noticed that there was a little pile of open notebooks nearby, frantic calculations present on each paper, notes upon notes, written with urgency and despair.  

His gloved hand reached for one of the notebooks. You swiftly gave him a light smack, as if scolding a naughty child.

“Not for your eyes, Clipsy.“

“I beg to differ. I want you to share your burdens with me.“

“I do not want you to feel obligated.“

“Wise One, my heart's heart, there is absolutely no glory in suffering alone if help is being offered when it is desperately needed.“

“Eclipse. If I truly need you, I will ask. Now, do try these cupcakes. It is a new recipe.“

Stubborn thing. Marvellous, magnificent, precious stubborn thing. He could have taken you with him right there and then. How easy it could have been to overpower and carry you away, to his realm of magic and safety. And yet, you convinced him once more to allow you to have things your way. You were dragging him along on a leash and he was joyously following, worshipping the very ground your delicate feet touched. One might truly think he had lost his mind, allowing a little thing like you dominate him as you pleased.

A gloved hand reached to play with your hair. You had gotten rather sleepy as he was reading to you, your breathing slowing down, the rhythm of your heart indicating that you were right on the edge of the abyss that would lead to the realm of Dreams. A part of him wondered if Moon had ever dared to visit you in that domain. Eclipse cradled you in his arms, leaning to whisper to your ear.

“Perhaps, instead of the cupcakes, I could taste another treat?“

“Oh?“

His gaze fell upon your lips. How easy it would be, how easy, just one kiss, one stolen moment of heaven. And then, you had rudely decided to cutely fall asleep. The Fae King pouted.

“Cruel beloved, abandoning me without a single taste of your nectarous lips.“

He placed many blankets on you and kept you close in his warm embrace, softly singing in a language long forgotten.

Nevertheless, the tendrils of darkness made their way into your little sanctuary, corroding the safety you had worked so hard to maintain. Debt upon debt, unpredictable costs, the beast had become impossible to properly manage. Further permits and documents were impossible to get approved for renewal unless incredibly large fees were paid. It was quite obvious that the city administration was trying to force small owners into selling their stores and businesss by forcing them to the verge of being penniless. It pained your heart when you placed a “temporarily closed“ sign on the door. You wanted to find a solution, but were too proud to ask for your mysterious companion's help.

Perhaps your pride had rendered you slightly narrow-sighted, dear Reader. You had certainly forgotten how your situation would affect your guardian, as well. How devastated he would be if he were to find your bookstore closed one day. Which is precisely what had happened.

The Fae King wandered through the dreary corners of the known universe, observing the tiny particles of Time. As he did so, he felt his ancient heart blacken, rapid deterioration seizing it without any prior warning. Something had happened. An event that threatened to take his beloved away from him. Was there truly no peace for him to find?

Dissolving into shadows, Eclipse materialized in front of your bookstore's front door, his golden eyes observing the darkness within with pure horror. You were not there. The door was locked, a notice of impending permanent closure hanging from the little knob. The Fae King had felt his heart shatter into pieces. The domestic bliss he had so craved, the beautiful moments of innocence and joy he had stolen for himself, all of it under threat.

Eclipse possessed the mindset of a natural force that operated on pure instinct, acting upon his whims and desires as he pleased. Nevertheless, he had kept all of that under control for your sake, and this was the sad sodden result of that. He should have acted earlier. He could have altered the whole situation as needed.

Despair brewed within, deep within his heart the monsters whispered their infernal tales, echoing across his soul. Horrors bloomed, dark petals spreading towards a starless sky. The landscape of Eclipse's inner world was a barren kingdom of sorrow. What is a man to do when his one spark of joy is stolen?

Footsteps. Human voices were getting closer. Eclipse averted his gaze to the group that was approaching him. It took a short amount of time for him to deduce that these were the creditors that came to inspect the building and decide what their greedy wicked hearts would do with their newly acquired prize. However, none of them had expected Eclipse's dark and ominous form to impede their entrance. A short man from the group was brave enough to speak up:

“I say, what is the meaning of this, sir? You are trespassing on our property. Move before we call the authorities.“

The raindrops stopped mid-fall. Street lamps losing their light one by one. Spectral hands rose from the concrete pavement, clawing at their prey. Panic rose within mortal hearts, that primordial desire to survive awakening in the face of an incomprehensible threat. The short man, trembling, managed to procure a small gun from his coat's inner pocket, shooting helplessly at the preternatural limbs.

Eclipse stood motionless. Thunder clapped, lightning illuminating the entire street.

“Seek no shelter in the life beyond, neither spirit nor angel shall answer your call. Beyond the veil of this earth there are only monsters and I rule over all.“

He threw his coat away, the fabric dissolving into a myriad of crows. The Fae King's mutilated maroon wings spread wide, each bleeding vein glowing with his magic. Malicious thoughts danced across Eclipse's mind, he desired the flesh of the wicked, and nothing was more delicious than the feast offered by those who dared to destroy Hopes and Dreams. His sharp teeth glistened. The blood from his torn wings obeyed his command, floating in the air before solidifying into sharp shards and blades, all of them waiting for his further commands to slice at the humans. Eclipse snapped his fingers, and the previously mentioned small gun in the mortal man's hands dissolved into a swarm of dark beetles.

Pure sadism reigned in the Fae King's heart, bringing a pleasure beyond description.

“Shall we play a game, my good gentlemen? The winner gets to die a fast death. Now, about the ownership situation of this delightful little establishment here. You see, I find myself in quite a problematic mood upon learning that you lot wish to take my darling's business away from them. You have inconvenienced me in a most dire manner. For that, demons shall feast upon your organs and wraiths shall tear your souls apart. Time is a fabric for me to weave as I desire, and I can order a single second of pain to last longer than the birth and death of a single star.“

A second set of arms protruded from his torso, longer than the first set, claws glistening and beautifully sharp. He conjured up a contract, tilting his head as he grinned maniacally at the short man.

“Sign here, confirm that my beloved no longer has a single debt nor shall any institution dare to seek them out for any sort of retaliation whatsoever. Come, come, or must I start peeling your skin off layer by layer, hm?“

The other creditors looked at each other and did the very reasonable thing of screaming and regretting life choices, unable to run away as the myriad of hands appearing from the ground kept grasping at them. Honestly, what a situation to be in! One cannot even confiscate property through unsavoury means in peace anymore.

Elaborate spells had been cast to conceal such a scene from the curious gaze of any passing mortal. We must not let anyone accidentally see the carnage that our delightful Fae King had decided to engage in. Not a single soul shall be the wiser, nor shall anyone remember the sounds of bones cracking nor blood splattering. A magnificent feast for the starving demons that had crawled towards what was left of the humans.

Eclipse had disappeared with the wind, the signed contract safely tucked under his arm.

And you, precious Y/N? You were preparing a pot of tea in the comfort of your little home, battling the dread with an opulent amount of snacks and hot beverages. You were prepared to conduct any legal battle necessary to remedy the situation, you just needed some rest to replenish your strength. At least, that was what you had been telling yourself for the past few days.

You had had a nice hot shower some time earlier and currently you were wearing a simple night dress, black cotton with tiny silver star patterns. Clarity. You were in desperate need of clarity. There had to be a proper way to undo what has happened.

Your scented candle had snuffed itself out. What a familiar occurence. You froze, cradling your cup in your hands. And yet, you tried not to make any sudden gestures, unwilling to show your unease. You inhaled. You closed your eyes as a gravelly voice spoke next to your ear:

“You lied to me, my beauty.“

Silence reigned for a few moments before you simply replied:

“Eclipse, you'd better not be wearing wet shoes on my carpet.“

You shuddered as many arms suddenly wrapped around you, a clawed finger reaching to caress the soft flesh of your neck. Time itself had bowed to its master and stopped all motion, seconds stilling, waiting for his command. A large mirror appeared in front of you, reflecting both your form and that of your captor. The rhythm of your heart almost matched the one of the falling raindrops outside. Fear? Nay, excitement. Morbid curiosity. You spoke softly:

“What did I lie about?“

“You were to ask for help if required. You never did.“

“It was not yours to provide. I can handle this myself.“

“Did you not hear the sound of my heart's final sigh as it realized it may never see you again, you selfish little serpent? Cruel beloved, how little you care about the consequences of your own actions. I would have given the cosmos itself away for you and you see me as something so insignificant in your life?“

His grip tightened, a deep rumble coming from his chest. You observed his reflection and all the peculiarities that were now present. Adorned with what seemed to be a deep maroon cloak, golden eyes now glowing with an intensity that had never been present before. Eclipse no longer seemed like a mere animatronic, a new quality of flesh was present, instead of the usual silicone texture. Undaunted, you tried to reach to trace your delicate finger across his large hand, feeling the skin and bones.

“It seems I am not the only one who was lying, Mister “I Have Skills“, sir. I never truly pressed the matter of your obviously supernatural origin, and yet you pester me over not disclosing my debts.“

You squeaked as you were suddenly picked up like a stolen bride. He held you close, approaching the mirror.

“What are you doing?“

“A promise broken to one of my kind warrants a punishment. I intend to collect my payment accordingly. To my realm we go, my darling. Worry not, I shall be merciful to my future consort.“

You narrowed your eyes at him. But then, something softened within you. You sighed, reaching to gently place your palms on his cheeks, much to his surprise. Several moments passed as you inspected his face, his beautiful celestial features even more vivid now. Marvellous rays had a texture akin to ruby scales, his cheeks soft and warm, eyes of liquid gold. A gentle purr came from him as you tenderly traced your fingers over his face.

“Eclipse…you're really hurt, aren't you? I am…look, I am really sorry. I did not want to make it seem as if I were using you. I appreciate all what you do for me and you are my one true comfort. Again, please, understand this from my side, as well. I don't want my failures to fall upon you. You are my only friend, not my escape route.“

You laughed softly, feeling silly.

“You have a lovely true form, though. You are beautiful, Eclipse.“

To his immense surprise, you pulled him closer, pressing your lips onto his. A blessing from the stars themselves could not compare to the euphoric madness that had coursed through his veins in that moment. What a strange creature you were, Y/N, capable of disarming an entity such as himself with the softness of a kiss. He hungered, he desired, he would have crawled through several eternities for the reward of kissing your soft thighs.

You did not stop him when he carried you over to your chambers, forgoing his initial plans to take you to his realm. One may assume that there was still plenty of time for that, the ruler of Time was in no hurry.

You closed your eyes, humming as his many arms explored your tender form, massaging, caressing, worshipping you. The stimulation was wonderful, relaxing your aching muscles, banishing all worrisome thoughts away. The physical manifestation of his essence was no longer bound by pretense nor was there any more need to feign normalcy. Shadowy tendrils emanated from his body, gently wrapping around your thighs, warmth pulsating within them.

His claws cradled your face, layered whispers echoing vows of eternal love in a myriad of primordial languages long lost. Somehow you were able to understand each and every one of them, capturing sense and meaning within each of them. There was such a softness to them, a reverence hidden behind his facade. Sighing, you spoke:

“Such silly things you say, Eclipse. Is this appropriate for a man of your station?“

“I said it many times before and I shall continue to echo it many times again, Wise One. I would walk through blessed fire for you. Entire dominions could not deign to come close in value to a single smile you could grace this world with. Were this reality to ever meet its fate, the only power potent enough to rebirth Life itself lies within your soul. My miracle, my curse, my promise, my song, oh, my precious pain, my dearest joy.“

You did not register the tears gathering in your eyes, nor did you notice their pouring down your reddened cheeks. Trembling, pulled him close.

“Oh, Eclipse, you fool. You cannot just say all of that and expect my heart to continue functioning properly. All of this love, where does it stem from? You hold me in such a way, such a way…“

“Yes, my love?“

“The way you place your hands on me, as if there is value to this sad mortal body and life of mine.“

He kissed your tears away with grand ardour, stars of silver and gold manifesting all across the ceiling, your silent sobs morphing into melodious sighs of pleasure as his lips reverently followed the sacred path of your soft neck to the silken flesh of your collarbone area, seeking your chest, listening to your heart beating.

“Clipsy, forgive me.“

“Perhaps we can make a little arrangement in order for you to atone for your sweet sins against my sanity.“

With a quick gesture of one of his many hands, he produced a piece of paper. You blinked in confusion, unable to read the letters in the penumbra of your chambers. Eclipse grinned at you.

“Here I offer what your heart holds dear, precious starlight. Full ownership, no debt, freedom to manage your sanctuary of tomes as you desire. Not a soul may dare to lay claim upon a single leaf within.“

“What did you do?“

“Deeds dastardly and things most foul. Does it matter, Wise One? Wickedness has a way of returning to the one that had inflicted evil upon the Innocent. Marvellous, is it not? The fabric of this world always seeks to repair itself.“

You raised your eyebrow at him.

“Eclipse.“

“Of course, of course. Now, you see, I am granting you this boon, and in return I seek your companionship. True companionship. Embrace me, accept me, allow me to court you, permit me to earn the honour of calling myself Yours. Fair as fair can be, Wise One.“

“I would ask about the strings attached to this bargain, but you yourself already count as giant string.“

“Oh, beloved, I am but a humble velvet ribbon that is grateful to be tied around the sacred essence of your soul.“

Thunder roared outside, lightning creating a magnificent game of light and shadow across the room, augmenting the air of the Preternatural that had already been present through Eclipse's power. Symmetry had a lovely way of getting things the exact precise order it had always intended them to be in. You knew this well, dear Y/N. You had always known your fate.

Reaching out to the contract, you touched the paper gently, smiling.

“Who am I to deny my most devoted customer? However, I do expect you to prolong our reading sessions together. And no silly mirror portals. Acceptable?“

You gasped as you were suddenly pinned down on the bed, his lips brushing over yours as he spoke:

“If my heart's heart so wishes.“

His kiss was a symphony of all that had been left unspoken for so long, a dance of love and lust, a neverending enchantment of the senses. Sharp teeth gently grazed your delicate lips, a beast tasting the petals of a rose, savouring you. Eclipse's kiss was a confession, a wedding vow, a promise, an apology, all of it combined. You gently moaned as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting and exploring the warm cavern of your mouth, a gesture that represented both a claim and an acknowledgment that he was a guest in your personal kingdom.

As the storm raged on, your own world had finally fallen into stable tranquility. Perhaps, should the mercy of the stars permit it, you too might truly find your peace.

[kosmogrl]

it will pass

[willietheguy]

So we all goin feral over this image? 😳

[armandology]

fuuuuck i just realized that the future idealized version of myself cant exist without current me being the catalyst for change and doing hard things. has anybody heard about this

[xxbubbleberryxx-deactivated2026]

i had ONE anon ask me about him ages ago and i’m tired of holding this in!

CW: kinda undertones of fwb, unprotected p in v, pet names, love confession

Will’s laid back, arms resting behind his head, eyes stuck on you as he watches you work his cock. Each downward stroke taking him in far enough to feel him later.

Your face is twisted so beautifully, mixed with pleasure and determination. It's all so sincere, so different from the usual quick moments you share, your hands resting against his neck, clit swiping against his pelvis.

And when you go slow, rolling your hips, letting him feel every inch of you. Will bites his cheek, groaning, his hands gripping your hips.

"There y'go," he praises. "You - fuck, you feel good."

"Thank you," you moan out, and he groans. That phrase is new in your vocabulary, and he's so thrilled to hear it. Finally teaching you the sweeter you are, the more you get.

You whine as the tip of his cock finally rubs against your sweet spot. It's hard for you to find on your own, but Will knows it like the back of his hand. He knows you, like the back of his hand.

"You're so big," you cry. "Wanna belong to you, make me yours."

Will’s quick to lean upward, his hands leaving a bruising grip on your hips, his lips hovering in front of yours.

"Yeah? Go ahead and take it, honey. Be mine."

"I'm yours," you promise against his lips. You wrap your arms around him while you keep grinding. Resting your forehead against his. Voice so soft, he could've missed it if he wasn't watching you. "Take care of me."

That's the second he broke, feeling the need to promise. Hold you, care for you, make you his pretty little wife. "I will baby," he gasps, his hands pull you closer.

"Gonna take such good care of you, I promise. I love you, you’re so good to me, so pretty- fuck,"

"You love me?"

"I love you," he repeats, and you smash your lips against his. His cock twitches inside of you and he pants while his tongue slips into your mouth.

"Want you to cum. Inside, please," you moan. "Show me you love me."

[ruinix]

Quinn being all clingy after you came home from a business trip. Can I ask for...no smut...or not... idk

Hello, lovely. I don't mind writing no smut. 🫡🥹 I fear I have written this with slight angst… I don’t know why. I’m sorry if you don’t want that. [Anyway, there is a bonus content for this with your POV (it's the voices, i swear), but you don’t need to read it.] Hopefully, you’ll like this. 🧎🏻‍♀️

Blues and Ease

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Fluff (cuddles and kisses), showering together (conserve water jk), a dash of separation anxiety Quinn so a bit of Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Count: 1483 words (+ 483) | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re still not home. Quinn paces again and again. You still haven’t messaged him when he told you to text him if you landed. He wants to pick you up at the airport, but you refuse him. Now, he’s here stressing because you still haven’t messaged him.

He's not used to you going on a business trip. You go on vacation, sure, but he’s usually there with you. He’s not used to not seeing you next to him when he wakes up. Not used to the silence of his—and your—house anymore.

He can cope when it’s him on a road trip, because he is not here. He doesn’t see your clothes, your towels, your perfumes, your trinkets, your plants, and everything else in a hotel room. There are no hints and memories of you there. He calls you every time. He sees you doing your stuff—work or hobbies—with yourhome in the background. It eases his soul.

But not this. Not this house with your things and no you. No soft hums. No walking and pacing, just because. No you on lazing on the sofa with whatever show on one TV, reserving the other for him. No keyboard sounds of you typing. No you eating dinner with him. He hates it.

It's the worst. The worst week of his life.

Everything is not right when you’re not here.

His home is not a home without you. He needs you here.

His heart squeezes. Tears glaze his vision. You’re just gone for a week and he’s losing it. He’s usually gone for a couple for his road trips. You must be enduring this. You are so much stronger than him. You are patiently waiting for him while also cheering him on every time. Unlike him who is being all pathetic because you’re just gone for a week—

Quinn hears the front door open and close. He immediately turns and sees you with your suitcase and a huge bag of chocolates…and flowers? Whatever, because relief is flooding his body.

You’re here.

“Quinn, I’m home!” You dash towards him.

You’re home.

Quinncatches you in a tight embrace. He says, “Welcome back.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck and takes a big inhale. Roses, today.

He misses you so much. He misses this. Holding you. Feeling how perfect you feel in his arms. Basking in your warmth.

It doesn’t matter if you didn’t tell him your plane landed. You’re here. That’s enough.

“Quinn,” you giggle, pressing a kiss on his neck, your hands pushing him off.

It makes him swallow a whine. He doesn’t want to part from you. Even an inch distance is making him want to cry.

“I got you chocolates and flowers.” You push them to his arms. “I need to shower,” you say, kissing him on the lips, walking towards the bedroom.

He blinks at the gifts. He thought it was yours. It’s…for him? His heart speeds up. His spirit that was down in the depths of loneliness lifts. You brought him flowers. Him. Flowers. And chocolates.

He feels nothing else but giddy as he places them on the counter and hastily puts them in a vase. He needs to trim up the stems. Put water in it. Research what these flowers are. He has no clue. Later. He’ll do that later.

Now, Quinn wants to be with you. The smallest distance from you right now is making his head spin, his heart ache. He can’t not be with you right now. He’ll die.

He stands at the bathroom door that’s ajar. He can hear the shower running, can feel its steam, can see the trail of clothes on the floor which he knows you’ll put away after your shower. Just one of your silly quirks.

“Can I join you?” He asks, knocking on the doorframe.

“Yes please,” you reply.

He’s so quick to undress. He joins you in the unexplainably hot shower. It doesn’t matter to him even if it’s scalding to the point of burns—it’s not. It doesn’t matter. No hot water can come between him and you. He hugs you from behind, humming when you say you want to shampoo your hair. It can wait.

“Just wanna hug you.” He kisses your temple. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Quinny.” You turn your head and smile so lovingly. “But I really need to shower. I came from the airport. It was a long flight.”

He's so mesmerized with the water cascading your skin. With the lightest pout on your lips when he doesn’t let go. With your lips still stained by your lipstick. With how your wet lashes group together. With the curves of your eyebrows. Every feature he has memorized, dreamed about, and kissed. You’re marvelous.

Why did the week rob him of you? Why did it feel like you were gone for much longer? Why did it hurt so much this time?

“Quinn?” you call in worry, spinning to face him, hands on his cheeks. “Why are you crying, my Love?”

“Not crying,” he shakily says. “It’s just water.”

“Don’t lie to me, Quintin.”

He shudders, leaning against the wall, taking you with him. “You weren’t home.” It sounds so pathetic, his voice breaking. “I know it’s work. I know. I understand but you weren’t home. It was so quiet. I’m not used to quiet anymore.”

You turn off the water, hugging him. One hand around waist. One hand on his nape to hold him, forehead to forehead. You let him sob. Every tear feels like the release of every chain weighing him down. Every broken breath comes easier and better. All because of your touch, your warmth, your presence. God, he misses you.

“I don’t want you to think you can’t go on another trip, because of this, because of me. You can. I just…It hurts,” he admits.

Your lips capture his. A small, chaste kiss that eases his soul. You rub your hand over his chest where his heart slowly mends itself just by being with you.

You gently say, “I’ll always come home to you, Quinn.”

“Please do.” He tightens his hug. “Please.”

“I promise.” You grab his cheeks. “Do the same for me?”

“You’re my home.” Quinn presses a kiss on your palms, murmuring his promises and affirmations, capitalizing on your touch. “You complete me.”

Quinn knows you would retort that you two are complete pieces that perfectly fit together. But you didn’t today. You only smile as you repeat his words. Oh, his love for you just grows day by day. Moment by moment.

After a few more minutes of just hugging each other, you shower. Quinn just stands there, while you do your routine. He helps when you need to scrub your back and your legs—he doesn’t mind going on his knees to do so—or wash away the suds from your hair.

Even if he gets soapy, he remains there with a hand constantly touching you. Your hip. Arm. Back. Shoulder. Your finger. The tips of your hair. He can’t not touch you. You let him, perfectly understanding how to soothe his need.

He's happy just helping you shower. Then you turn on him and wash him. He already took a shower this morning, but shamelessly, he can’t turn you away. He’ll spoil right back…later. Now, he likes your attention. He relishes your touch, your stories about your trip, your new skincare finds, and most of all, your smiles. You’re so beautiful. So gentle when you condition his hair.

“There we go. Now both of us are clean.” You brush your nose against his. “Boop.”

He misses that. Your silliness. He’s not making it up when he says you complete him. It’s real. So real because you make him happy. You make him feel loved. That’s enough for Quinn. You’re enough.

Oh, he loves you so much.

When both of you are dry including your hair, you cuddle together on your bed, wearing matching sweatpants and sweatshirts. Both of your hands casually slide underneath your shirts, drawing circles on each other’s backs.

Quinn shares what he did during the week. He tells you about the white socks he mistakenly included with the colors which made it an ugly gray. About the media he’s done for the Canucks’ social media. About the potatoes he stupidly burned this morning because he was out of it. About the dinner with his teammates.

He tells you different things.

Simple things.

But you stare at him with sparks in your eyes. Your gentle voice resonates in his chest as you ask and share too.

It spurs him on to ramble.

On and on.

Until both of you are yawning and blinking slowly. Quinn swears he can hear your heartbeats seemingly in sync. Strong for one another. A little lullaby that pushes you two to slumber.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

You stare at Quinn. His hands are all wrapped up around your middle. His legs are tangled with yours. His soft exhales tickle your face, but you let it. You want to tug on his long eyelashes. No, you are going to tug on them when he suddenly murmurs your name. It stops you from pestering him, but it doesn’t stop you from slipping your arms beneath his so you can hug him. He does the same, pulling you further into him. All while still sleeping.

He’s so pretty when he sleeps. So adorable. Pressing a ghost of a kiss on his nose, you continue to silently gaze at him. 

You two slept from yesterday’s afternoon through today’s morning. Quinn is still sleeping, but you’ve been awake for an hour. It’s a long sleep but not surprising. It happened many times before. Just the two of you sleeping through everything. Too comfortable in your private bubble.

Your heart tugs. You’re so comfortable with him. So deeply in love with Quinn.

His cuddles are something you always miss whenever he’s on the road. Even more when you were on your trip. When he cried yesterday… your heart squeezes. It hurts to see him cry—hurts to think about it.

Although, Quinn being so clingy makes you warm all over. It’s his need for you. Not his pain. Never his pain. It’s the way he kept touching you even when you were showering. The way he melts into your touch. You like that. You love that, because you also cling to him. So. Much.

You bought him chocolates and flowers because he deserves them too. Deserves to know your love. He’s always been working so hard.

The shower with him is great, but you can top that. Stealthily, you slip from his hold, replacing yourself with a nearby pillow and a stuffed toy—a bear with a small Canucks jersey and a number 43—for good measure.

Quinn likes baths. He always joins you, so to spoil your beloved, you start a bath. Vanilla sounds great today—

“You were gone,” his panicked voice made you jump more than his sudden touch.

It hadn’t been five minutes. “Just preparing us a bath, Quinn.”

“I wanna do that with you. I’ll do it with you.”

Quinn doesn’t really need to panic or be desperate. You’ll do whatever he wants. You guess your Quinn is still needy and hurt. Good thing, you’re here to make him feel better. You hold his hands tightly, nodding before kissing him. The small shudders that wreck his body thrum your soul.

Well then, you need to call for a day-off tomorrow.

For your Love who needs reassurance that you will be with him forever.

For your Quinn who desperately yearns for your touch.

Well, you also feel the same way, so it’s no big deal. Not at all. Never at all.

[wineauntie]

i need to ride quinn and blurt out that i wanna make him a daddy when he’s about to cum, and watch while his brain goes completely fuzzy because he’s been dreaming of knocking you up for months

a/n: oh you’ve come to right place, i deviated ever so slightly (I got carried away)

NSFW! — lowkey very breeding kink-y

Soft breaths of staggered air trickled out of your lips as you shifted and felt the thick length of Quinn's cock drag in and out of your core, igniting every pleasurable nerve.

"That's it, pretty girl" He encouraged, one hand holding the back of your neck as the other circled your sensitive, puffy clit. “Take what you need."

Your hips moved rapidly, desperately chasing your climax that was breaching your every nerve.

“Want you to fill me up,” you rasped out, sweat beading across your forehead and bare chest as your hands grasped at Quinn’s biceps.

“Yeah?” He groaned, hips bucking up to meet yours. “Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

Your head nodded rapidly, forehead now resting against his as you feverishly rocked against his throbbing cock, your core tightening and pulsing around him.

“Wanna make you a daddy,” you blurted out, eyes rolling back as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. “Need you to fill me up.”

A deep rumble shattered through Quinn’s chest, his eyes darkening as his thoughts went haywire.

“Oh yeah?” In a sudden move, he flipped you over, hips thrusting against yours as he went deeper and deeper, strangled gasps for air leaving your lips. “Gonna let me fill you up and finally make me a dad, huh?”

You let out a sharp moan, your legs forcibly spread by his strong grip as the pressure in your stomach grew tighter, breath escaping in loud whimpers.

“Been dreaming ‘bout it for months,” he panted, voice low and heavy as you writhed beneath him. “Fuckkk…been thinking ‘bout knocking you up, and making you a momma.”

“Please, Quinn,” you begged, squirming as your body trembled, fingers scraping down his back. “Need you to fill me up.”

“That’s it, pretty girl, come for me, your pretty pussy’s milking me, hm?” he growled, slamming himself into you again, his pace unrelenting as you shattered around his cock with a loud whine, body shaking.

“Gonna stuff you full o’me,” Quinn huffed, his voice still low yet almost slurring as he spoke again.

With a loud groan, you felt the thick ropes of his release coat your inside, his hips still pushing deep into of you.

Your body stuttered with the aftershocks, Quinn’s body heavy against yours as he rutted into you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, tiredness washing over you as he finally stilled, rolling to keep from crushing you. His throbbing cock remained deep within you as he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, whispered sweet nothings falling from his lips.

“Gonna make such a good momma,” he murmured, his nose brushing against yours. “So pretty…gonna have to go again to make sure you stay full up o’me, make sure it’s sticks.”

[callsigns-haze-deactivated20260]

Beat me for the crown 1

Part 1 of 3 (possibly 4)

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x reader

Years after the war, Xaden and YN are raising their two children, Liam and Kaia, in Tyrrendor’s royal residence. While YN is away on a girls' trip that for some reason includes Ridoc, Liam—small for his age despite being heir—is relentlessly bullied and hides his injuries until a brutal second attack drives him, bloody and broken, into Xaden’s arms late at night

⚠️ Content Warning: This story contains themes of bullying, physical violence, drinking, anger, emotional distress, and injury involving a child.

The sun is golden through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow on the mess of dresses, boots, and accessories strewn across your bed. Your room—your room in the royal residence of Tyrrendor—is a chaotic masterpiece of controlled packing frenzy. You’re half-laughing, half-arguing with yourself as you debate whether or not you need the fourth pair of heeled boots (“I definitely might need them, what if we go somewhere fancy?”) when you hear it.

A low, drawn-out groan. Then a sigh that sounds borderline pained. Followed by the unmistakable thud of a heavy folder hitting your desk.

You glance over your shoulder.

Xaden Riorson, your husband, your partner through war and fire and revolution, the King of Tyrrendor and the father of your two terrifyingly clever children, is currently slumped at your desk like the world’s most exasperated bureaucrat. His hair—still that inky black, streaked now with a dignified silver near his temples—falls forward as he rubs his hand over his face, fingers dragging down with dramatic exhaustion.

“Everything alright, Your Majesty?” you tease, turning and leaning against the edge of the bed, arms crossed, hip cocked.

He doesn’t even lift his head. “If I have to read one more request for funds to renovate a statue of someone no one remembers, I’m going to set the entire treasury on fire.”

You grin, biting your lip to hide the laugh. “That would be… dramatic. Even for you.”

He lifts his head at that, those obsidian eyes locking on yours—and you see it, the smirk trying to fight its way past the grumpiness. But he loses that battle and lets his head fall back with another groan. “You’re abandoning me.”

“I’m going on a girls trip,” you remind him, tossing a bundle of socks into your bag. “It’s not abandonment if I warned you.”

“You didn’t warn me Ridoc was coming.”

“That’s fair,” you murmur, grabbing the list Mira sent this morning and tucking it into your satchel. “I didn’t know until twenty minutes ago.”

“He’s not a girl.”

“Technically, no. But Sloane insists he makes the best cocktails, and Violet wants him for target practice if we get bored, so…”

Xaden grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like I knew this was a mistake.

You walk over, slipping behind him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He leans back immediately, head tilting into the curve of your neck with a tired sigh. “You’ll survive,” you murmur, pressing a kiss just below his ear. “You have Garrick to keep you sane, Sawyer to help you build forts with the kids, and Brennan for sarcasm. Plus our children—who are basically miniature yous. You’ll be fine. Oh and your cousin.”

“I miss you already,” he says dramatically, and you laugh into his neck.

“You're going to miss my ass in these shorts,” you say, voice low and teasing.

He growls, arms reaching back to pull you into his lap, the desk groaning in protest under the sudden shift of weight. “That too.”

You giggle, letting your forehead rest against his. “You’re insufferable when I leave.”

“Because I actually like you,” he says plainly, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “And because Liam and Kaia are going to take full advantage of your absence to negotiate extra sweets and a later bedtime.”

“Use the look,” you whisper.

He smirks. “Which one?”

“The one you used on that Sage before you vaporized him.”

“Tempting.”

The door creaks open before you can respond, and a little voice pipes in: “Dad, Kaia says she’s Queen now and I have to listen to her forever.”

You and Xaden both blink. Liam, now twelve and shorter than most boys, stands in the doorway with his arms crossed, looking exactly like his father on a bad day.

From somewhere down the hall, Kaia yells: “BECAUSE I WAS BORN SECOND. I’M A MIRACLE.”

You glance at Xaden.

He sighs again. “Go on your trip,” he mutters. “Before I pack myself in your bag and come with you.”

You kiss his cheek and whisper, “You wouldn’t last five minutes with that many women.”

“You’re probably right.” He glances down the hall. “And neither will Ridoc.”

You both laugh.

And when you finally close your bag and sling it over your shoulder, you take one last look at your chaotic, wonderful little family—King Xaden surrounded by paperwork and pint-sized versions of himself, and all of them completely, utterly doomed without you for the weekend.

Perfect.

The moment Liam disappears from the doorway with a loud, exasperated sigh, you barely have time to adjust your bag strap before the unmistakable sound of bare feet pattering down the hall echoes like a storm brewing in the distance.

And then she appears.

Kaia Riorson barrels into the room like a force of nature, a blur of dark curls and swishing skirts, her arms already open wide as she launches herself directly at your legs.

“Mama!” she squeals, clutching your thighs like you’re about to disappear forever rather than leave for a weekend. “You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye to me, were you?”

You bend down, brushing her wild curls back from her face. She’s the image of her father—onyx eyes with those telltale golden flecks, skin like warm bronze from days spent in the sun, and that sharp Riorson jaw she already uses to full effect in every argument, whether with her brother or the palace tutors.

And stars, is she already eight. Eight going on eighty.

“Of course not,” you say with a grin, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “How could I leave without a proper Kaia Riorson sendoff?”

She straightens at that, planting her tiny hands on her hips in a way that mirrors Xaden so perfectly it makes you bite back a laugh. “I left you a checklist on the dresser,” she announces with regal seriousness. “To ensure you remember your travel documents, your tonic for headaches—since Aunt Mira talks so much—and your good boots for hiking. And the backup ones.”

You glance over her shoulder to the edge of the dresser, and sure enough: a neatly folded parchment list written in tiny, careful script.

Xaden raises his brows from the desk, giving you a look that very plainly says She’s your child, and you smirk in response.

Kaia isn’t just clever—she’s terrifyingly bright, already reading at a level far beyond her age, soaking up history and politics with a kind of fierce hunger. It makes sense, you suppose. She's grown up in the aftermath of war and revolution, in the heart of a rebuilt kingdom, with a father who rules and a mother who would rather die than be ruled.

She’s got both your blood in her veins—and she burns like it.

“Did you also leave me a tactical escape route in case Ridoc tries to teach us dance moves again?” you ask, deadpan.

Kaia giggles. “Obviously. It’s on the back of the list. Plan Alpha-K.”

“I taught you too well,” you whisper, tugging her close and kissing her temple.

She melts into the hug for a second—just a second—before she pulls back with an almost wistful frown. “I wish I could come with you.”

“I know, baby.” You brush your thumb across her cheek. “But this is just for the girls. You’ve got a kingdom to help Dad rule while I’m gone.”

Her eyes light up at that. “Does that mean I get the crown?”

From the desk, Xaden cuts in dryly. “No.”

She spins around and marches over to him. “Why not? I already read the amendment to the Tyrrish Succession Treaty and everything. It doesn’t technically say heirs under ten can’t assume temporary authority—”

“I burned that amendment,” Xaden says with an arch of his brow. “You annotated it in red ink and included a doodle of yourself holding a sceptre.”

“It was artistic interpretation!”

You stifle your laughter as Xaden leans back in his chair, rubbing his temples with all the weariness of a man outnumbered by the brilliance—and persistence—of the women in his life.

Kaia pivots back to you. “Okay, fine. No crown. But if Dad falls asleep in a meeting again, I am declaring a National Dessert Day.”

You hold out a fist. She bumps it like the tiny revolutionary she is.

“Well, good,” she says primly. “Because as the acting Lady Regent while you're away, I need to be briefed on several things. First, the kitchen staff needs to understand that under no circumstances is Dad's allowed to cook. Not even toast. We all remember what happened last time.”

You press a hand over your mouth to hide your laugh, glancing over at Xaden, who’s watching from the desk with a raised brow and a wounded expression. “That fire was barely bigger than a candle,” he mutters.

Kaia ignores him entirely.

“Second,” she continues, tugging your hand and making you crouch so she can whisper in your ear like she’s sharing classified battle plans, “Liam keeps letting the palace boys bully him out of the courtyard when they spar. Just because he’s small doesn’t mean they should treat him like a baby. He’s the heir to Tyrrendor, and I keep telling him to act like it, but he says I’m bossy. Am I bossy?”

You smooth her hair, hiding your soft smile. “Only when you're right. Which, unfortunately for the rest of us, is often.”

Kaia beams, utterly pleased.

Then her arms are around your waist again, and her voice is soft in your side. “Be safe, Mama. And tell Aunt Violet I think her hair looks better short.”

You kiss the top of her head and breathe her in, letting yourself memorize the scent of wildflowers and parchment and sunshine that always seems to cling to her. “I will.”

She pulls back, brushing invisible dust off your traveling cloak. “I’ll watch over Liam,” she adds, more seriously now. “The kitchen boys were teasing him again. I’ll make them regret it.”

Your heart tightens.

Because Liam—twelve and bright and thoughtful—is still small for his age. Still soft around the edges. Still gentle in a world that hasn’t quite learned to stop testing him. He’s the heir to Tyrrendor, yes. But that doesn’t stop the older boys from pushing him around, doesn’t stop the whispers, the underestimation.

Kaia sees it. Feels it. And even if she’s younger, even if she’s half a head shorter, she’s got claws for him.

You crouch again, hand cupping her cheek. “Just make sure you don’t start a fire, okay?”

She grins. “Just a small one.”

Then she kisses your cheek, twirls on her heel, and dashes from the room with all the fury and elegance of the little queen she’s becoming.

And you’re left standing there with your bag over your shoulder, a half-packed bed behind you, and your husband watching you with that unreadable expression that still manages to stir heat low in your belly, even after all these years.

“You sure you want to leave me with her?” he mutters.

You flash him a grin. “I trust her more than you.”

“She’s eight.”

You shoulder your bag with a smirk. “And already running circles around you.”

From the hallway, you hear Liam mutter something about Kaia being “Queen of Overreacting,” followed by the sound of footsteps retreating quickly—probably realizing she’s within earshot.

“She just wants to protect him,” Xaden says behind you, voice low and warm, like the smell of the cedarwood soap he still insists on using. “Even if it comes out like a battle cry.”

You nod. It’s true. Liam may be the heir—the firstborn, the boy with the lineage and the weight of a crown already etched onto his shoulders—but he’s still small for his age. Sharp as a blade, sure, but not built for the kind of battlefield presence Xaden had at twelve. And he gets pushed around for it more often than he admits. Kaia, on the other hand, is half his size and twice as loud, and somehow convinced it’s her job to fight his battles and run the kingdom while you’re gone.

“She’ll take care of him,” you say softly, kissing the top of her head.

Kaia pulls back into the room, suddenly solemn. “I know I joke a lot,” she says, eyes wide and serious, “but I’ll be good, I promise. And I’ll take notes if anyone does anything especially stupid.”

“Please do.”

You stand and she wraps her arms around your waist one last time, squeezing tight before looking up at you with a grin that is all mischief and heart.

“Bring me back something expensive and shiny,” she says sweetly.

“Of course,” you laugh. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t?”

“A broke one,” Xaden mutters without looking up from his paperwork.

Kaia snickers and skips to the door, pausing only to give you a little wave. “Bye, Mama! Try not to kill Ridoc.”

“No promises!”

And then she’s gone, trailing chaos in her wake like a proper Riorson. You look back at your husband, who watches her go with a tired kind of fondness.

“She’s you,” you say.

“No,” he murmurs. “She’s you—just dressed in my temper.”

You laugh, heart full, and finally shoulder your bag with a sigh. The room feels quieter without Kaia’s whirlwind presence, but the warmth lingers.

And gods help Tyrrendor if she ever really does become Queen.

You cross the room slowly, giving yourself a moment to just look at him—at Xaden. Your husband. The King of Tyrrendor. The same boy who once stood beneath lightning-split skies and dared fate to take him first. Now he’s older, steady. His broad shoulders still carry the weight of too many things—battlefields, guilt, duty, your shared past—but there’s peace in the lines of his face now, etched beside the silver starting to dust the edges of his dark hair.

He groans softly and leans back in the chair, rubbing his temples like the stack of scrolls in front of him might catch fire if he so much as glances at them wrong.

You rest your hip on the edge of the desk, arms folded, teasing. “You know you’re allowed to delegate, Your Highness.”

He looks up, glancing at you over the tops of the papers. “I tried. Kaia told me my signature was unbalanced and revoked the parchment.”

You snort. “To be fair, she does have a decent eye for penmanship.”

“She’s eight,” he mutters.

“She’s Kaia,” you correct, sliding the paper off the top of the stack and reading it sideways. “Hmm. Budget request for a secondary aerial defence net over the west cliffs?”

“Yes, and apparently the only justification was ‘just in case.’” He groans again, slumping forward to rest his forehead on the desk. “I’m begging you. Take me with you.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you laugh. “You’ll be fine. Garrick and Bodhi are here, Liam needs a confidence boost, and Kaia needs to be stopped before she rewrites the palace's entire line of succession.”

“I’m going to die,” he says into the desk.

You run your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck, and he hums like a man starved of touch—even after twelve years of marriage, two kids, and gods know how many war council meetings.

“Don’t you dare,” you murmur.

He turns his head just enough to look up at you with those dark, molten eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

Your heart tightens, just a little. “I’ll miss you too.”

And then, softer, teasing, “But not so much that I won’t enjoy having one night without someone barging into our bed because of a thunderstorm, a bad dream, or a heated debate about whether the moon is technically a weapon.”

He groans again, but this time it’s almost a laugh. “Liam started that argument.”

“And Kaia finished it.”

“With charts.”

You grin. “That’s our girl.”

He sits up slowly, taking your hand, pulling you between his knees so you’re close—so close—and the teasing fades from his eyes, replaced by that look. The one that says no matter how long it’s been, no matter how much life has shifted beneath your feet, you’ll always be it for him.

“Be careful,” he says, voice low and rough.

You lean down and kiss him—soft, slow, lingering like the promise of something waiting for you when you return.

“I always am,” you whisper.

He brushes his lips against yours once more before letting you go. “Tell Mira I said if she brings home another owl, I’m burning the aviary.”

“Noted.”

You sling the bag over your shoulder, give him one last wink, and turn toward the door.

Behind you, his voice is a low murmur, reverent and amused all at once. “You were always the dangerous one.”

You glance back, smiling. “Still am.”

And then you’re gone—out into the corridor, toward the echo of voices and laughter and friends waiting to whisk you away, just for a little while, from crowns and chaos and the most loving kind of madness that is your family.

And stars, you wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

The halls of the Tyrrendor royal residence are quieter than usual—too quiet, which immediately tells you Kaia is either plotting something or Liam finally got her to leave him alone long enough to hide in the library. The soft echo of your boots against the marble floors is the only sound as you descend the wide staircase, the weight of your travel bag slung across your shoulder and the lingering warmth of Xaden’s kiss still pressed to your lips.

You adjust your grip and keep moving, the grand archways of the lower wing coming into view—and with them, voices. Familiar, chaotic, ridiculous voices.

“No, Ridoc, for the last time, you cannot come just because you say you identify as ‘emotionally feminine.’”

“That’s a legitimate excuse!” he protests. “Besides, you need someone to carry things. I’m very strong. Exceptionally strong. Just ask—”

“Absolutely not,” Mira says, cutting him off with that patented General tone that makes even grown riders snap to attention. “You’re here because Kaia invited you and you had the audacity to say yes.”

“She said I was essential to the operation,” Ridoc insists, arms spread like he’s appealing to a jury. “Her words, not mine.”

You turn the corner into the vestibule and laugh at the sight before you.

Rhiannon is perched on the edge of a chaise, hair braided back tight and face buried in the packing list she wrote for everyone two weeks ago. Maren and Cat are sorting through supplies, arguing about whether it’s “overkill” to bring five daggers each—spoiler: it’s not. Mira is checking a map and muttering about schedules. Sloane is sitting beside Violet on a bench, both of them sipping tea, looking serene in a way that only ever precedes absolute chaos. And Ridoc… well, Ridoc is standing in the center of it all with a satchel slung dramatically across his chest, already wearing tinted glasses like you’re going somewhere tropical instead of the Aretian coast.

“Sorry I’m late,” you announce as you walk in, and eight heads turn toward you like a synchronized squadron. Violet’s face lights up immediately.

“You’re never late,” she says, standing to hug you. “We were starting to worry Xaden locked you in a room and threw away the key.”

“He tried,” you murmur, grinning as you return her hug. “But Kaia overruled him.”

“I knew she was my favourite niece,” Rhiannon says brightly.

“She’s everyone’s favourite niece,” Mira sighs. “Including mine, and I’m not even biologically allowed to pick favourites or Leia would end me.”

You drop your bag by the others and stretch your arms with a groan. “She’s planning a full security audit while I’m gone. And apparently Xaden is forbidden from cooking.”

“Smart girl,” Maren nods.

Cat tosses you a piece of dried fruit. “We’re packed, provisioned, and Ridoc has agreed to carry all our bags.”

“Wait, what?” Ridoc sputters, but Violet just pats his shoulder as she passes.

“You’re emotionally feminine, remember?” she teases. “Lean into the nurturing energy.”

“You’re all going to miss me when I marry rich and leave you behind.”

“You say that every week,” Imogen mutters, grabbing her pack.

You laugh again, warmth blooming in your chest as you look around at this ridiculous, perfect group—your friends, your family. The war was years ago, the revolution even longer, but this? This is peace. This is yours.

“All right,” Mira says, rolling up the map and tucking it under her arm. “Let’s go before someone gets cold feet.”

“Or Xaden shows up shirtless in the hall and begs you to stay,” Cat grins.

“Don’t give him ideas,” you say, hoisting your bag. “He already tried that move twice.”

They laugh, and together, the eight of you head for the doors—toward the carriage, toward freedom, toward a weekend of laughter and stars and chaos. And, if Ridoc has anything to say about it, probably at least one spa day and a very expensive bottle of wine.

You don’t look back.

You’ll be home soon enough.

Tyrrendor Royal Residence, Evening

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting golden light over the rich stonework and high-vaulted ceilings of the reading chamber. The scent of burning cedar mixes with old pages and Fern’s faint, warm dog smell—a comfort all on its own.

Liam is sprawled across the couch, one arm slung over his face, a thick leather-bound history book open across his chest. The other arm is draped over the gangly mass of limbs and fur that is Fern, their shaggy, brown-footed Gordon Setter who has made herself very comfortable using the twelve-year-old as a full-body cushion. Her tail thumps against the cushion every time Liam shifts beneath her weight, a silent protest that he should stay still.

Kaia, eight years old going on eighty, is curled on the floor in front of the fireplace, her legs crossed, her posture absurdly perfect as she reads aloud quietly to herself from a diplomatic theory tome that probably should’ve bored her to sleep fifteen minutes ago. But Kaia doesn’t do boring. She does analysis, logic, and the occasional ruthless breakdown of someone’s psychological weaknesses—for fun.

The door creaks open, letting in a gust of cooler air and the heavy sound of bootsteps.

“Evening, squirt,” Garrick says as he walks in first, nodding toward Liam with an easy grin and ruffling his dark hair as he passes. “Didn’t see you out in the courtyard this afternoon. Bunch of the other heirs were doing sparring drills.”

Bodhi trails behind, tossing a wrapped sweet into his mouth. “Yeah, I saw the Ironcrest boys working the heavy blades. You could’ve joined them, right?”

Xaden walks in last, tall and quiet and very, very still.

There’s no mistaking the flash of warning in his eyes, the subtle shift of muscle in his jaw. His gaze narrows—just slightly—but Garrick doesn’t miss it.

“Easy,” he mutters under his breath, lifting both hands in surrender.

“Liam’s got time,” Xaden says evenly, walking past and setting a stack of correspondence on the sideboard. “He’s ahead of his studies. There’s more than one way to prepare to lead.”

But Liam’s shoulders have already tensed beneath Fern. His face remains neutral, but there’s a flicker of something beneath it—shame, or maybe that low-grade anxiety he’s carried since he turned eleven and everyone started expecting him to be someone. To be Xaden Riorson’s son.

“Please,” Kaia mutters from the floor without even looking up, “he’s not training because he doesn’t want to get beaten up again.”

The room stills.

Xaden turns sharply. “Kaia—”

“He didn’t even tell anyone,” she continues, flipping a page like she’s reciting weather patterns. “They broke his ribs. A week ago. Brennan mended him before anyone else found out.”

“Shut up, Kaia!” Liam snaps, sitting up so fast Fern lets out a soft yip of surprise and scrambles off him.

Kaia finally looks up from her book. “Well, it’s true, and you shouldn’t be ashamed of it. They ganged up on you because you’re smaller and quiet and smarter than all of them combined, but you don’t have to be quiet—”

“I said shut up!” Liam’s voice cracks with the sharp edge of hurt that makes him sound younger than twelve. “Why do you always have to run your mouth?”

“Why do you always let them hurt you?” Kaia shoots back, rising to her feet, her cheeks flushed with rising anger. “You think hiding it makes you stronger? It makes you a coward!”

“Kaia,” Xaden barks, his tone edged with authority now. “Enough.”

But neither of them hears him. Not really. The fire snaps behind them like the tension in the room, and Liam’s fists are balled at his sides.

“I’m not a coward!” he yells. “You don’t know what it’s like—every time I go out there, they look at me like I’m some little kid who got lucky being born first. Like I didn’t earn anything!”

“You don’t try! You sit around with Fern and read while everyone else is out learning to fight! You let them walk all over you and then pretend it’s fine!”

“I hate you!”

“Good! I hate you more!”

Xaden moves, quick as lightning, stepping between them—but Liam’s already storming for the door, brushing past Garrick and Bodhi without a word.

“Liam!” Xaden calls, low and sharp. “Liam, stop—”

The door slams hard enough to rattle the sconces.

Kaia stands in the middle of the room, shoulders heaving, eyes brimming but defiant. “He always runs away. He always runs.”

Xaden rounds on her, but his voice is softer now. Not gentler—just lower. Controlled. Dangerous in a different way. “And that gives you permission to humiliate him? Publicly?”

She opens her mouth, but Garrick holds up a hand. “Let her sit with it, Xaden. Let both of them.”

Xaden’s jaw flexes. For a moment, he looks like he might snap the nearest chair in half.

Fern whines softly and pads toward the door where Liam disappeared, ears low.

Kaia stares at the fire again, her lower lip trembling now that the adrenaline is gone.

And Xaden—Xaden just sinks onto the couch, one hand over his face, like the weight of fatherhood and peace is somehow heavier than war ever was.

Xaden exhales slowly through his nose, the kind of measured breath that’s meant to calm, but does absolutely nothing to untangle the knot of rage and helplessness pulling tighter in his chest. He drops his hand from his face and looks at the flames instead, watching as they lick over the charred logs like they’re trying to burn through the tension still crackling in the room.

Fern whines again at the door, then pads back to sit beside the couch, pressing her head against his knee like she’s asking him to fix it—like she knows he can’t.

Garrick’s voice is the first to break the silence. “Kaia.”

She doesn’t look up from the fire. Her arms are crossed tight over her chest, jaw clenched, face blotchy from holding back the flood she’s too stubborn to release.

“What exactly happened?” Garrick asks, softer this time. Not as the General. As Uncle Garrick. “To Liam.”

Kaia’s throat bobs as she swallows, and for a second it looks like she might stay silent. But then she huffs out a breath and shakes her head. “He didn’t tell me,” she says. “Not really. I found out because I walked in on Brennan healing him in the north wing. I wasn’t supposed to see, and Brennan made me swear not to say anything, but—” She cuts off, her voice tightening. “He looked like he met Malek. His ribs were black and blue, and he couldn’t even breathe without flinching.”

Xaden stiffens. “Who?” The word is barely a growl, cold and low.

Kaia shrugs, finally turning toward them. “He wouldn’t say. But it happened in the training yards. The day they let the Ironcrest and Marhen boys spar. I guess they made a ring and kept pushing him in. Liam said it was a game—that it was ‘all in fun.’”

“Fucking hell,” Bodhi mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “They jumped him.”

“He’s small,” Kaia says quietly. “They know he’s the heir, but he doesn’t look like one. So they test him. He never fights back.”

“Because he’s trying to prove he’s better than them,” Garrick mutters, pacing toward the hearth. “Godsdammit.”

“I only brought it up because…” Kaia's voice falters again. “He just keeps shrinking, and no one’s saying anything. You always tell us that protecting people means seeing them, and he’s right there, hurting, and no one even notices!”

Xaden presses a hand against his mouth, the fury in his veins starting to lose its edge, replaced by something colder. He didn’t miss it. Not really. He saw the way Liam flinched last week when Fern jumped up on him too hard. The stiffness in his posture when he sat down for dinner. The way he always seemed to vanish around sparring hours. He just… didn’t push.

Because he wanted Liam to come to him. Because he thought maybe giving his son space was the better option than pressing into his pride. Because Xaden, for all his commanding presence and ruthless intellect, still found himself lost in the damn dark when it came to fatherhood.

“You did the right thing, telling us,” he says finally, voice rough.

Kaia blinks, surprised.

“I know you’re trying to protect him,” he adds. “But sometimes protecting someone means letting them be seen—even when they don’t want to be.”

Kaia swipes at her cheek with the back of her sleeve. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Xaden stands. His shadow stretches long and tall across the room. “No,” he says. “But I’m going to find him.”

And then, without waiting for anyone else to respond, he heads for the door, Fern trailing faithfully at his side, both of them moving into the night to find the boy who wears his eyes—and all of his weight.

The corridor to Liam’s wing is quiet, unusually so. The kind of quiet that seeps into the stone itself, amplifying every footstep until they echo like memories.

Xaden’s boots tread heavily down the long hall, Fern’s claws clicking beside him in a staccato rhythm, like she’s urging him forward. The guards posted at the entrance to the family quarters straighten when they see him, but he waves them off without a word. His jaw is tight. His brows drawn low. The air around him hums with restrained power, with the fury of a father who’s failed to see something he should have.

He reaches Liam’s door and lifts a fist to knock—firm but not loud. He doesn’t want to startle him. He just wants to talk.

“Liam,” he says, voice steady. “Open the door.”

Nothing. No shuffle of feet, no sound of movement. Just silence.

Fern whines softly and presses her nose to the seam beneath the door.

Xaden frowns, heart picking up pace. “Liam, I know you’re in there. Let me in, son.”

Still nothing.

He places a hand on the wood. “I’m not here to yell. I just want to talk.”

A beat.

Then—

“Go away!”

The words slam against the wood as hard as a spell-cast. Liam’s voice is cracked, frayed at the edges, too loud to hide the fact that it’s trembling.

“I’m not leaving,” Xaden says, jaw tightening.

“You should!” Liam yells from the other side. “I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t want to talk to anyone! Just go!”

Xaden’s stomach sinks. He leans his forehead against the door.

“Liam,” he murmurs.

“You didn’t see it,” his son screams. “You didn’t even notice! And now everyone’s looking at me like I’m some fragile little prince who can’t hold his own. And Kaia—Kaia told everyone!”

“I didn’t need her to,” Xaden says quietly. “I saw it, Liam. I saw it, and I should’ve asked. That’s on me.”

A choked sound breaks through the wood—half a sob, half a breath held too long.

Xaden closes his eyes. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. You didn’t deserve to carry it alone.”

“Don’t—don’t say that like you know,” Liam shouts. “You’ve never been like me! You’re not small, or quiet, or scared! You’re the Rebellion’s Weapon. You’re you! And I’m just…” His voice fades. “I’m just nothing.”

Xaden’s heart twists, a raw, deep pain he hasn’t felt since the war, since holding someone he loved in his arms while the world fell apart.

“You are everything,” he says fiercely. “You are everything I ever hoped my son would be.”

“Then why do I feel like I disappoint you every time I walk in a room?”

Silence.

And then the soft sound of a quiet sob Liam doesn’t manage to swallow.

Fern whines again, pawing gently at the door.

“Liam,” Xaden says, low and aching. “Please. Let me in.”

But the lock stays bolted. And Liam’s voice returns, softer this time. Fragile. “I can’t. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I don’t care how you look. I care that you’re hurting.”

Another pause. Another breath.

“Just… just go,” Liam says again, his voice breaking. “Please, Dad. Just go.”

Xaden stands there a long time. Long enough that the fire torches down the hall begin to dim. Long enough that Fern lies down and rests her chin on her paws with a heavy sigh.

He presses his hand against the door once more, as if he could reach through it and wrap his arms around the boy on the other side. His son. His legacy. His heart.

“I’ll be right outside,” he says softly. “Whenever you’re ready.”

And then he sits. Right there on the cold stone floor. His back against the door. Guarding his son in silence—not as a king, not as a warrior. But as a father who refuses to walk away again.

Two hours.

That’s how long Xaden sits there, back pressed to the cold wooden door of his son’s room, knees drawn up, arms draped loosely across them as Fern sleeps beside him. The hallway has long since grown quiet. No servants pass. No guards linger nearby. Just the crackle of distant torches and the subtle tick of time bleeding out.

He’s not sure what he expected—maybe Liam cracking the door open just a sliver. Maybe one of those sigh-heavy reconciliations you read in books, or that one sob that leads to a father pulling his son into his chest and promising him he’s not alone.

But the door never opens.

Not even a shuffle of feet. Just the distant sound of a boy crying—quiet now, muffled behind the thick stone walls. Like Liam has pressed his face into his pillow and is trying to drown the sound in cotton.

And maybe that’s what breaks Xaden more than anything else.

He scrubs a hand over his face and leans his head back against the door, his neck stiff from the angle, his heart heavier than it’s been in years. Not even the revolution weighed this much, he thinks grimly. That war had a path. A purpose. This?

This is his son—his baby—hurting, and pushing him away, and he can’t do a godsdamn thing about it.

He closes his eyes. He’s not used to giving up. It’s not in his blood. But something in his chest tells him that staying now—forcing it—might do more damage than good.

So, with the weight of failure dragging on every limb, he exhales one long, shuddering breath and slowly rises to his feet.

Fern lifts her head, confused, tail twitching.

“I know, girl,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers behind her ears. “I hate it too.”

He turns back to the door, resting one palm flat against the wood. “I meant what I said,” he whispers. “I’m right here, whenever you’re ready.”

Then, before he can change his mind—or let the guilt devour him whole—he turns and walks away, the hem of his black tunic whispering against the stone, the shadows swallowing him up as he disappears down the hall.

Behind him, Fern hesitates for a beat longer… and then follows.

And in the silence that follows, only the sound of a quiet sniffle remains, buried deep within the locked room where a twelve-year-old boy curls up and quietly lets himself break.

Xaden’s steps are slow as he walks back through the winding halls of the residence, each footfall echoing too loud in the quiet. The kind of silence that hangs heavy with the things that weren’t said, the comfort he couldn’t give, the son he couldn’t reach.

His shoulders sag with the weight of it. The defeat.

He pushes open the double doors to the main sitting room, the warm glow of the hearth spilling across the stone floor like it’s trying to offer some semblance of peace. But peace feels far away tonight.

Garrick looks up from the armchair near the fire as the doors whisper shut behind Xaden. His expression is unreadable—not surprised, not judgmental. Just there. Steady in the way only Garrick ever is. His hands are steepled over his stomach, one boot propped over the other knee as he leans back in the deep brown leather, eyes tracking every exhausted line on Xaden’s face.

No one speaks at first.

And maybe that’s a kindness.

Bodhi sits on the long couch closest to the fire, slouched down far enough that the curve of his arm is a perfect cradle. Kaia is tucked into his side like a little shadow, her tiny hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt, dark curls falling over her brow. Her cheek is pressed against his chest, mouth slightly open in the deep, dreamless sleep of the utterly spent.

The flames catch in her onyx eyes—closed now—and make her look impossibly small.

Bodhi’s head lifts when Xaden enters, but he doesn’t move, careful not to disturb her. “She cried herself to sleep,” he says softly, voice a murmur meant not to wake her. “Kept saying she didn’t mean to make it worse.”

Xaden swallows hard.

“She was scared for him,” Bodhi adds after a moment. “Guess she didn’t know it’d hurt him more.”

“She’s eight,” Xaden murmurs, stepping further into the room, each word a sigh. “She shouldn’t be worrying about her brother breaking ribs in a training ring.”

Garrick shifts in his chair, his voice quiet but pointed. “And he shouldn’t be getting his ribs broken in the first place.”

Xaden glances at him, the tired lines around his mouth pulling tighter.

“He wouldn’t let me in,” he admits.

Bodhi’s brows draw together. “Still?”

Xaden nods once.

“I sat there for two hours,” he says, voice low. “He cried. I heard him crying. And he still told me to go.”

Garrick doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at him with eyes that have known Xaden longer than almost anyone alive. Then, finally, he nods once toward the fire.

“Sit down,” he says simply. “You look like you just lost a battle.”

Xaden huffs a humourless breath. “Didn’t even get to draw my weapon.”

But he moves anyway, taking the seat across from Garrick, elbows on his knees, hands tangled together. The firelight catches on the silver threads at his temples, makes the weight of age and fatherhood look like armor he never asked to wear.

Fern settles beside the couch, curling beneath the table like even she’s exhausted.

The only sound for a long while is the crackle of firewood and the slow, steady breaths of Kaia sleeping against Bodhi’s side.

And in that room, dimly lit and warm, surrounded by people who love his children like their own, Xaden closes his eyes for a brief moment—and lets the ache in his chest bloom into something raw and wordless.

Because this isn’t war.

This is something far more delicate.

And gods, he doesn’t know how to win.

A/N: I was not intending it to get so long for it to turn into a mini series but here we areeeeeeeeee Comments, thoughts and reblogs would be really appreciated

Credit to @empyreanevents for the divider

[jimxnslight]

Fool's Gold || Part I

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

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

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 10k

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

<< masterlist || next part >>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only power. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he tried not to be unsettled. 

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

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

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

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

-

-

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?” He prodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook rolled his eyes, causing Taehyung to laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay?” You tried again slowly.

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

“Jungko-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want a divorce.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good, then we’re done here.”

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

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

Jungkook tilted his head in response. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were quite the enigma.

But he was going to enjoy the challenge.  

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

[amourtoken]

no thoughts just quinn leaning over you, his hair in his eyes as he thrusts into you, his lips on your neck, leaning up to rest his forehead against yours as the filthiest things spill from his lips

I've been thinking abt this for fucking days let me TELL you-

I think he'd love kitchen counter type sex cause he can lean over you and see your pretty expressions. It also really accentuates your size gap and drives him fucking wild.

his hands would switch between bracing on the counter under you or holding the backs of your thighs to keep you spread open for him. You don't have to do anything but sit there and look pretty for him while you take his cock and he'll remind you of that frequently when his lips aren't attached to your neck. You're damn near hypnotized staring up into his green eyes cause you can't seem to break the contact, his forehead pressed to yours while you moan against eachothers lips that are just barely touching whenever his hips meet yours.

its never planned, it just happens. Whether it's him making himself late to a team event cause he couldn't keep his hands off you or fucking you after practice only to drag you to the shower afterwards with him for another round (or two, or maybe three-) he swears he'll never ever get tired of the way you grip his cock like you were made for him. Sometimes he'll free up a hand to have it gently set against your throat, squeezing just enough to keep you from looking anywhere but directly at him. It's like there's no one else on earth but the two of you in these moments so the comedown is always a little jarring when you realize that's not the truth again.

[amourtoken]

https://x.com/lanadelgothx/status/1749821329271103986?s=46

it’s giving quinn 😫

the fact this actually looks like him makes me DIZZY

But ik for a fact he'd get off having you ride his face after a bad game cause he just wants to feel you, taste you, have you melting for him. If he focuses all of his energy onto you he'll forget about the shitty calls and the even shittier final score. You taste too sweet to let anything else into his mind.

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

😇

“prettiest ass in all of fucking canada,” william grunts, driving his hips into yours, his cock buried deep in your cunt

you whine and cry his name, pressing your ass back to take him even deeper. his hands are hot on your hips, gripping your skin tightly enough to leave marks

his thighs are pressed against the back of yours, his chest draped over your back. the hair on his chest and stomach tickles your skin and you shiver happily while you take every inch of him

“tightest, sweetest cunt i’ve ever had,” he groans, dragging one hand over your hip bone to play with your clit until you shriek, coming on his cock with blinding force. william keeps fucking into you, his stomach against your lower back, soft and warm. you cry his name, chanting it like a prayer when he finishes inside of you, playing with your clit the whole time and drawing a second orgasm out of you in extremely quick succession

“love you, love you, oh my god,” you babble, dropping flat on your stomach and exhaling harshly when william drops down on top of you, the hottest weighted blanket you could imagine. his cock is still hard inside of you, his breathing harsh in your ear, and you wriggle under him

william laughs and flutters his fingers against your clit, trapped between you and the bed. “you want another, älskling? my greedy girl wants a third orgasm, huh?”

“mhm,” you hum, turning your head so he can kiss your cheek

“i can’t do all the work,” he teases, rolling into his back and taking your with him so you’re sitting on his lap, reverse cowgirl style, his cock seated deep inside of you

you roll your hips and draw a strangled groan from deep in william’s chest. he keeps his hands on your hips to steady you until you find a good rhythm and then his hands wander, tracing over your ass and drawing a line up your spine. he cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing and rolling your nipples between his fingers

pleasure builds low in your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter until william thrusts his hips upwards and the head of his cock hits your g-spot perfectly to send you over the edge of your third orgasm

your entire body trembles from the force of it and william chuckles behind you, leaning forward to bite at your shoulder. “fuck i love how your ass moves when you come,” he mumbles, licking over the spot he just bit. “i’m the luckiest guy in the world, that i get to be here with you”

you reach back to tangle your fingers in his hair and tug gently, too dazed and fucked out to speak

and thirty minutes later, he’s got you on your back, knees at your ears, railing you into the mattress again ❤️‍🔥