AN: Got into a gooning mood. Idk if I should make a little 3rd part or not.
Word Count: < 2.1k
“Malleus…”
You whine as you try to push him away. His body cages you in as he refuses to budge and continues to inhale your scent. The tip of his nose tickles your skin as you think of kicking him to the curb. Although, you doubt you’d be able to harm him at all.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to cut meetings that short.”
You continue to give him mean glares and pointed words as you hold his tie in your fist.
This is getting out of hand…
You do like Malleus.
A lot.
But he had started to act like he was your boyfriend. Your nightly trysts and friendly talks had branched off into him asking you out to lunch during the day, everyday, and even finding your personal phone number to call you when he felt particularly lonely. It irked you a bit, but you cherished his presence, as a friend with benefits. After all, he was still your boss. You didn’t know what would happen if you broke things off with him or told him to give you some space. And you especially feared those loyal hounds of his. They only backed down when Malleus specifically told them to, and even though they knew you weren’t a threat; you still weren’t exempt from their sharp glares and unnerving silence.
You flinch at the feeling of Malleus giving you a soft kiss to your cheek.
“What’s wrong, my love?”
Love…
That was another thing that weirded you out: the strange little pet names he had been giving you. You feel like it would have been better for him to mock you or even outright insult you for being his personal cumdump, but he was so endearing and earnest… It scared you a bit.
Did your boss really fall in love with you?
“What a terrifying expression.”
He chuckles as he rubs the space between your furrowed brows and you realize you must have been giving him one nasty frown this entire time.
“Oh…”
You refuse to look at him and he takes the opportunity to enter your space further.
“What’s wrong, my dearest?”
Your lip trembles as you feel his hand gently rub your cheek. The thumb easing soothing circles into the plush of your skin as you nervously glance at him from the corner of your eye.
“I… I don’t… Malleus, what are we?”
You blurt out the question before you can even think of what you should have said instead. His eyes widen for a split second before he shakes his head while smiling.
“Aren’t we lovers?”
“But… I never agreed to that…”
His smile immediately drops and you can feel that you’ve upset him greatly. His eyes curve and his lips turn downwards as he stares at you in silence before casting his gaze to the floor.
“Yes… We’re just coworkers.”
You can feel the atmosphere become colder as goosebumps arise on your skin.
“Yes, how could I have forgotten? No strings attached, am I correct?”
Your hand on his tie begins to slightly tremble as he glares at the floor in thought.
“Malleus-”
Plush lips roughly crash against yours, silencing you from speaking another word.
“Mmph!”
His hands grip the fat of your thigh and pries it apart from your other leg while his crotch slots itself in the missing space. His other hand slides behind your head to deepen the kiss and to stop your head from hitting the back of the table as you feel small bursts of pain from being pushed onto the hardwood so harshly. His lips barely separate a centimeter from yours to inhale air.
“Mal-”
You desperately try to cry out with your hand pushing against his chest, but to no avail. His tongue twists against yours as you can barely stop him from shoving it down your throat. His hands slip between the holes of your button-up shirt and rip the buttons open.
“Malleus, calm down!”
His saliva sticks to your skin as he refuses to detach himself from you. The feeling of his lips being imprinted into your body as he leaves a wet trail from your lips down to the apex of your breasts. Your hands tangle in his hair as you tug at the silken strands, but he only grunts and slips your bra down before latching onto one of your tits. The soft flesh yields under the pressure of his lips and tongue as his teeth slightly graze your nipple and have your hips jolting against his. His bulge presses into your core with the fabric of your underwear and his pants becoming wet from pre.
“You want me as much as I want you.”
Your eyes light with hope as you hear him finally speak to you, but any words you can think of are cut off with a small moan when the fabric of his slacks and his bulge catch your clit in just the right spot.
“So why do you deny me?!”
You whine when he pushes your panties to the side and stuffs his fingers into your cunt. His long fingers have your walls spasming as he brushes against your g-spot with ease.
“And yet you still scream my name.”
Your legs are already shaking as he barely thrusts his fingers. His thumb rubbing at your clit while you grip onto his forearm like a lifeline. Even Malleus seems to notice that something is off with how quickly you’re reaching your high and deprives you of your orgasm.
“No… Malleus…”
You try to sit up, but he’s immediately pushing you back down again causing you to gasp. Thick, warm, and pulsating. His meaty head throbs against your hole as he pushes it in. Your gummy walls suck him in while you squirm from the stretch and keep whining his name.
“Hah…”
He grunts once he’s fully bottomed out inside of you. Your pussy flutters around his cock and has him sweating already trying to keep your comfort in consideration.
But why should I be kind to her?
“Ah!”
Your entire body jolts as his first thrust immediately brushes your cervix. The action having you tense up and gasp for air. His second one isn’t any more merciful as you moan under him and try to squirm away. His hips piston into yours as your pussy dribbles liquid to ease the rough treatment, but his hands are sliding under your thighs and pushing himself deeper into you while locking you into place.
“Malleus!”
Your legs uselessly kick in the air near your chest as he hovers over you and focuses only on his dick being slurped up by your cunt. Tears well in your eyes, not just from being so close to your release, but also at how cold he’s being. The lack of usual kisses and words of love has a different knot twisting in your stomach while you cum on his cock.
“Hah~”
He doesn’t stop to praise you, and instead keeps battering your poor hole as you spasm and scream. His hand finally pins your wrists to the table to stop you from squirming while you can barely see him through your blurry vision from being nearly completely fucked out.
“M-Malleus, please…”
He doesn’t answer as he leans down to nibble on the crux of your neck. His balls slap against your ass and have you becoming overwhelmed from how unusually deep he is inside of you. His fanged teeth graze your neck and have you tensing up as you can feel them slowly pierce your skin before digging in all the way. The pain mingling with the pleasure has you seeing stars and cumming on his cock again. The thick appendage refuses to stop ravaging your soaken walls until Malleus grunts and you can feel his dick throbbing before spurts of his cum enter your womb. You whimper at the thought of not even Plan B being able to get you out of this one.
Your legs tremble from the aftershocks and in relief as you feel Malleus finally leaving your pussy, only to scream as he pounds right back into you.
“Ah, no wait! Malleus!”
You sob as you feel your vagina give way and let him do as he pleases. The squelching noises of your cum and his mixing together along with the feeling of it sloshing around inside of you has that ugly knot in your stomach rearing its head again despite how good everything feels.
“You love me?”
“H-huh?”
You hadn’t even realized that you had been rambling your love for Malleus. The pleas leaving your mouth had finally made him slow down, but not stop. The tremors of pleasure wreck your brain and stop you from thinking clearly despite the chance for conversation finally striking. All you can do is nod your head lest more pathetic moans spill out.
“Then why… Did… Hah, fool.”
He shakes his head before kissing you. The tenderness has you melting and the nausea in your stomach fades.
“I just wish mmph that you hah~ Stop fucking me for a second!”
A lopsided grin appears on his face and the grip on his hands loosens, letting you grab his tie and drag his face back down to yours.
“Listen!”
“To what? Your cries of pleasure?”
You cut yourself off with a gasp as he angles his dick and picks up the pace. His dick’s girth fills you up completely and has your walls spasming again. He leans in of his own accord as the tie falls limp in your fist.
“Y/N, I want to cum together.”
“Then slow down!”
Your soft flesh jiggles as he only chuckles in your ear and squeezes your sides.
“I love you, Y/N.”
Plan B… It’s really not going to help…
“Ah!”
You scream as you cream on his dick again. The sheer intensity of it leaves you winded and unable to breathe as the world spins. You hear Malleus grunt and gasp as your walls suck him for all he’s worth and have him spilling inside of you to seal the deal.
Your menstrual cycle was already fucked because of how many times Malleus had “forgotten” to bring a condom despite how furious you would get at him. Despite your neurons being on fire and your brain being mush, a sudden thought hits you, With all his wealth and intelligence, how could he…
“Malleus…”
“Yes, my love?”
“Have you been trying to get me pregnant on purpose…”
“...”
His silence only confirms it and the apologetic kiss he gives you to your cleavage has you becoming furious. You can feel him giving a soft yet experimental thrust to your cunt as he tries to brush off the topic and keep making love to you.
“Why you-!”
“Malleus!”
You both freeze in fear as an older woman’s voice rings through the room. The door hits the wall with a thud and keeps bouncing with the sheer force she had used. Her face is red with anger and despite her graying hairs and wrinkles, she looks like a near replica of Malleus.
“Grand… Mother…”
You didn’t think it was possible for the woman to become any more furious, but it seemed like steam was about to start pouring out of her nostrils and mouth any second. You flinch when her gaze settles on you as she makes eye contact with you, and then where you two are connected…
“Get dressed and leave now.”
Her voice is ice cold and you get up as fast as you can with trembling legs. Malleus tries to help you with equally shaky hands and gives you his coat to wear over the clothes he had ruined.
“I will call you tonight. I think…”
You can hear the fear in his voice as he whispers to you before giving you one last kiss to the cheek.
“Malleus!”
He jumps at her voice echoing through the room and tries to give you a smile, a wobbly one, but a smile nonetheless. You keep your head down as you quickly walk past the tall, older woman and flinch when the door slams shut behind you.
“Grandmother, I can-”
A loud sound akin to a whip being cracked in the air has you hobbling running to the elevator and back to your car. You’re putting the key in the ignition as you look on in concern at the lights of the floor you two were in remaining on, but with no sight of Malleus or his grandmother.
I think I should call Malleus tonight. If he lives…
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Comic collab I made for @sukunaslilgurl´s Dabura x Reader fic.
♡Read her full fanfic here ♡
I still can't get over how this man manages to be intimidating and adorable at the same time. 😳🔥
(Uncensored version available on my X 🔞👀)
Summary: The university is too far away from your house, so your parents decided to rent a boarding house. You're about to meet König, your big soldier roommate.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, AGE-GAP, AU, HEAVY SMUT, suggestive tone, explicit content, mature language, sexual innuendo, erotic, possessive, obsession, jealousy, stealing panties, mention of jerking off, cum eating, mutual pining, erotic, heavy tension, ownership, lots of teasing, manhandling, petname, dirty talk, degradation, oral activities, unprotected, PiV, squirting, spanking, fingering, blowjob, overstimulation, breeding, markings, rough sex, older man x younger woman
The place is small like two narrow beds pushed against opposite walls, a shared desk cluttered with textbooks and protein shakes, and a single window overlooking the campus quad.
You drag the last suitcase over the threshold of the dormitory room, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that makes your stomach twist.
Your parents’ warnings echo in your head: Lock the door. Text us when you’re settled. Be careful. Always, always be careful.
You’re an only child. They’ve spent twenty-three years treating you like glass. When the landlord mentioned the only available room came with a roommate, they’d balked.
But the second he added, “He’s one of the task force boys. Big Austrian fellow and keeps to himself,” their tune changed instantly.
A soldier. Disciplined. Safe.
They’d practically shoved the deposit at him, convinced no man in uniform would ever lay a finger on their precious daughter.
You drop your bags with a thud and roll your shoulders, scanning the space. One side is bare which is yours, apparently.
The other is military-neat: bed made with hospital corners, boots lined up like soldiers on parade.
No sign of life.
You were hoping he’d be here so you could get the awkward introduction over with instead of accidentally terrifying him later when he came home to a stranger.
A door on the far side of the room, his bedroom and you guess then creaks open.
You freeze.
He has to duck to clear the frame. Six-foot-something, maybe more, built like someone carved him out of granite and then added extra for fun.
Broad shoulders stretch a black compression shirt until the seams look personally offended. Tactical pants, heavy boots. And a mask that a faded sniper hood that covers everything but his eyes.
Those eyes are pale blue, sharp as winter glass, and they rake over you from head to toe in one slow, assessing sweep. Not leering. Just…cataloguing. Like he’s deciding if you’re a threat or furniture.
You clear your throat, suddenly aware of how small the room feels. “ Hi. I’m, uh…the new roommate.”
His head tilts. When he speaks, the voice that comes out is low enough to vibrate in your ribs. Deep, clipped, unmistakably German-accented.
“ Glad to meet you.”
You offer a tentative smile. “ Same. I’m guessing you’re König?"
He nods once. “ Ja. Been alone for a few months. My last roommate moved out.”
A pause.
“ Said I frightened him.”
You arch a brow, folding your arms. “ Depends how creepy you plan to be, I guess.”
The corner of his eye crinkles like he’s smiling under the mask. “ Not creepy at all. As long as you don’t piss me off.”
The dry delivery catches you off guard. You snort before you can stop yourself. “ Noted. I’ll try to keep my pissing-off levels to a minimum.”
He huffs something that might be a laugh. Then he lifts one massive arm and points with a gloved finger toward the empty side of the room.
“ That’s yours. Bathroom’s through there.”
He nods toward a connecting door. “ Kitchenette down the hall. Quiet hours after twenty-two hundred if I’m on early shift.”
You drag your suitcase toward the empty bed. “ I’m usually buried in textbooks until midnight anyway. Med school doesn’t sleep.”
“ Med school.” He repeats, like he’s filing it away.
“ Good. You’ll be busy. I like quiet.”
You unzip the bag and start unpacking, hyper-aware of him still standing there, watching. Not in a creepy way the more like he’s waiting to see which way you’ll jump.
You pull out a stack of anatomy flashcards and set them on the desk. He shifts his weight, arms crossing over that ridiculous chest.
“ I keep things clean.” He says eventually.
“ Expect the same.”
“ Yes, sir.” You mutter under your breath, sarcastic.
His eyes narrow. “ Sir works.”
Heat flashes up your neck. You busy yourself arranging your laptop, refusing to look at him. The silence stretches, thick enough to chew. You can feel him still watching, and it’s doing annoying things to your pulse.
You risk a glance. He hasn’t moved. “ Something else?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “ Just deciding if you’ll last longer than the last one.”
“ I’m not scared of you.” You say, maybe too quickly.
One brow lifts above the mask. “ You should be a little scared. Healthy respect.”
You roll your eyes. “ I’ve dissected cadavers. You’re tall, not dead.”
That gets you another soft huff, definitely amusement this time. “ We’ll see.”
He turns to go back into his room, pausing at the door. “ If you need anything…quiet, space, someone to reach the top shelf just ask.”
The door closes softly behind him.
You exhale, only then realizing you’d been holding your breath. Your heart is beating too fast for no good reason.
He’s intimidating, sure.
Abrasive in that blunt, foreign way. But there’s something under it is the dry humor, maybe even consideration. And those eyes…
You shake your head. Focus. You’re here for school, not to develop a stupid crush on your giant masked roommate who could probably bench-press you without breaking a sweat.
Still, when you lie in bed that night staring at the ceiling, you hear him moving around in his room in quiet, deliberate footsteps, the occasional low mutter in German.
The wall between you feels paper-thin. You pull the blanket higher. This year is going to be interesting.
And long.
Very, very long.
…
You finally click the last drawer shut and survey your side of the room with exhausted satisfaction. Everything’s in its place. Textbooks stacked by size, notes color-coded, laptop charger coiled like a sleeping snake.
Your phone screen lights up: 00:47. Shit. No wonder your stomach is staging a full rebellion. You haven’t eaten since that sad airport sandwich at lunch.
The common area is dark and silent when you tiptoe out. Most of the task force guys are probably already rack-out, dreaming of push-ups and gunfire.
You’re halfway to the fridge when a low, rumbling voice slices through the quiet.
“ Still awake, Maus?"
You yelp and spin around, clutching your chest. König is sprawled across the couch like a panther on a branch that’s far too small for him.
One long leg draped over the armrest, the other planted on the floor. He’s reading a comic book that looks comically tiny in his huge hands, the pages almost delicate between gloved fingers.
The only light comes from a small lamp behind him, throwing his masked face into shadow and making those pale eyes glow.
“ Dammit, warn a girl.” You hiss, trying to slow your racing heart.
He tilts his head, amused. “ Didn’t want to interrupt your…midnight raiding.”
You narrow your eyes and march to the fridge, yanking it open. Leftover containers, protein shakes, something labeled in German that you’re not brave enough to touch.
Your stomach growls again and loud enough to echo.
From the couch comes a soft, deep chuckle that does unfair things to your spine.
“ I left food on the table.” He says.
“ Knew you’d be hungry. Students always forget to eat.”
You glance over. There’s a foil-wrapped bundle with a sticky note: For the new one.
Your cheeks heat. “ You didn’t have to—”
“ Eat.” He orders mildly, turning a page.
You shuffle to the table and unwrap it. A burger is thick, juicy-looking with sesame bun. Smells incredible. You take a cautious bite.
König’s watching now, the comic forgotten in his lap. He’s still sitting, but even seated he’s enormous. The couch groans every time he shifts.
“ It’s plant-based.” He says before you can ask.
You pause mid-chew. “ I’m not vegetarian.”
“ Part of my diet.” He shrugs. Those massive shoulders roll like tectonic plates.
“ The taste is the same. Better, even. Try it before you complain.”
You roll your eyes but take another bite. And…damn it. He’s right. It’s rich, smoky, and perfectly seasoned. You can’t tell the difference. You make an involuntary little hum of approval and nod.
He gives a satisfied nod. “ Good. You’ll get addicted.”
“ Don’t get cocky.” You mutter around a mouthful.
He stands.
The room seems to shrink. He unfolds himself slowly, first the legs, then the torso until he’s towering again.
You’re eye-level with his stomach, the black fabric of his shirt stretched tight over abs you’re trying very hard not to notice. He steps forward, and you instinctively back up until your hips hit the counter.
“ Thirsty.” He says simply, voice low.
“ I need water.”
You’re blocking the sink. You scramble sideways, muttering, “ Sorry, sorry—”
He brushes past you, barely. His arm grazes yours, solid and warm even through fabric. You catch a faint scent of clean soap and something sharper, like gun oil. He fills a glass, drinks half in one go, throat working under the edge of the mask.
You focus very hard on your burger.
Sauce dribbles onto your chin. You reach for a napkin, too late.
A big thumb swipes across your lower lip, slow and deliberate, wiping the smear away.
Your breath stops.
“ You eat like a child.” He murmurs, voice rougher than before.
His thumb lingers half a second longer than necessary before he pulls away, sucking the sauce off casually like it’s nothing.
Your face is on fire. Your heart is trying to escape your ribcage. You can’t even form words just a strangled squeak.
“ I…uh…early lecture tomorrow…gotta—” You gesture vaguely toward your room, burger clutched like a shield.
He watches you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “ Gute Nacht, messy eater.”
You bolt.
The door to your room slams harder than intended. You lean against it, panting, burger still in hand, sauce probably smeared somewhere else now.
Your lip tingles where he touched it. You press your fingers there like you can trap the feeling.
Less than twenty-four hours.
You’ve been here less than a full day, and your scary-hot giant roommate has already fed you, laughed at you, and wiped your mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You slide down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, and the burger is forgotten.
This slow torture is going to kill you. And the worst part? Some traitorous part of you is already looking forward to tomorrow’s breakfast.
…
You sit in the lecture hall trying to look like a functioning human being, pen poised over your notebook, nodding along as the professor drones about cranial nerves.
Your friends flank you, whispering snide remarks about how Dr. Kessler gave a 62 to the kid who literally wrote the textbook’s twin.
You laugh in all the right places, toss in a sarcastic “He probably grades on font choice,” and hope it sounds normal.
But your brain is a traitor.
Every time you blink, you see that massive thumb brushing sauce off your lip. Feel the faint pressure, the warmth. Hear that low, amused “You eat like a child.”
You’ve tried everything: reciting the brachial plexus, counting ceiling tiles, mentally conjugating Latin roots.
Nothing works.
Those stupid piercing blue eyes keep sliding into frame like an uninvited guest star.
“ Hey, you okay?” Maya nudges you.
“ You zoned out hard.”
You force a smile. “ Totally fine. Just remembered that the histology paper’s due Friday.”
They buy it, thank God, and launch back into roasting professors. You nod mechanically, pretending to listen while your pulse does an annoying little flutter at the memory of König’s chuckle.
By the time class ends, you’re exhausted from the mental gymnastics. You shove your earbuds in, crank your playlist, something loud and distracting and join the river of students pouring down the main sidewalk toward the dorms.
The late-afternoon sun is low, campus buzzing with the usual post-class chaos.
Then you spot the patrol.
Black SUVs, uniformed officers, a loose perimeter of soldiers in full kit. Rifles slung, vests bulky, moving with practiced efficiency.
A bright orange poster on a lamppost reads SURPRISE SECURITY INSPECTION in bold letters. Students slow to gawk while their phones come out.
You slow too, craning your neck as you walk, trying to figure out what’s happening.
It’s rare to see this kind of presence on campus.
You don’t see the obstacle until you slam into it.
Your face meets something solid and unyielding. Not a wall, walls don’t radiate heat or smell faintly of pine soap and gun oil.
You stumble back, earbuds tugging, and look up…way up.
König.
In full tactical gear, helmet tucked under one arm, mask in place, he looms like a damn eclipse. The uniform makes him look even bigger, if that’s possible, plates and pouches adding bulk to an already ridiculous frame.
Those pale eyes pin you in place.
“ Watch the road, not my colleagues.” He says, voice low but firm.
“ You put yourself in danger.”
You blink, music still blasting in one ear. “ What?”
He sighs and reaches down. Gloved fingers gently pluck both earbuds free. The sudden quiet is jarring. You hear your own heartbeat instead.
His face is closer now, head ducked to bring him level with you. You can see faint stubble shadowing the edge of the mask, the way his lashes catch the light. Dangerously close.
“ I said…” He repeats, slower.
“ Stop staring at distractions. Be attentive on the road.”
Heat floods your cheeks. “ I—I was just curious. It’s not every day the campus looks like a war zone.”
His gaze flicks over your shoulder to the perimeter. You follow it and notice several soldiers watching, smirking, whispering to each other.
One makes an exaggerated heart shape with his hands. Another elbows his buddy, grinning.
König groans, a deep, suffering sound. “ Idioten.”
He turns back to you, expression unreadable behind the mask but eyes softer. “ Surprise inspection. Report came in…possibly the suspect with explosives on campus.”
A cold shiver races down your spine. “ Seriously?”
“ Ja.” His voice drops even lower.
“ Do not spread it. No panic.”
You nod quickly, throat tight.
His massive hand settles on your shoulder in careful, but the weight of it still makes you feel tiny. Warmth seeps through your jacket.
“ Go back to the dorm. Rest. I’ll follow when the shift ends.”
The touch lingers a second longer than strictly necessary before he lifts it away. You swallow hard.
“ Okay.” You manage.
“ Be careful.”
One corner of his eye crinkles, almost a smile. “ Always am.”
You turn to go, shoving your earbuds in your pocket this time.
Every step feels hyper-aware.
You can feel his stare on your back like a physical thing, intense and unwavering. You don’t dare look behind you, but you know he’s still watching until you round the corner.
By the time you reach the dorm, your heart is racing again for entirely different reasons than fear of bombs.
You flop face-first onto your bed and groan into the pillow.
This man is going to be the death of you. And the slowest, most infuriatingly delicious death it’s ever been.
…
You’ve been here six weeks now, and somehow you’ve survived living with a human mountain who wears a mask to bed and could probably deadlift the entire dorm building.
Six weeks of slow, maddening adjustment.
You and König have settled into a rhythm that feels almost…domestic. He grunts a greeting when he gets back from whatever classified hell his task force drags him through.
You tease him about leaving his giant boots in the walkway like landmines. He deadpans back that if you trip then he’ll catch you then watches with thinly veiled amusement as you turn red and mutter something about not needing rescuing.
He feeds you. Constantly.
Every few days there’s a foil-wrapped parcel on the table with a sticky note in sharp block letters: Eat. You skipped lunch again.
Sometimes it’s grilled chicken and vegetables portioned like he’s prepping for deployment.
Sometimes it’s those ridiculous plant-based burgers you’re secretly addicted to now.
Once it was a whole box of those fancy chocolate truffles you mentioned liking in passing.
You still don’t know how he remembered.
Your parents call every Sunday like clockwork.
“ Is everything okay, sweetheart? Is your roommate treating you well?”
You roll your eyes and assure them, again, that König isn’t some creep. He’s quiet, tidy, terrifying to everyone else but oddly respectful to you.
They sound relieved every time, as if the word “soldier” is a magical shield against all bad things.
If only they knew how often you lie awake wondering why your stomach flips whenever he brushes past you in the narrow kitchenette.
The tension is unbearable and delicious. You’re twenty-three. He’s…older. Noticeably. You try not to think about the exact math, because it feels forbidden in a way that makes your skin too tight.
He’s your roommate. Your friend, maybe. Nothing more.
Except for that one evening last week.
You’re sprawled on the couch in oversized sweats, picking at the takeout Thai he brought home “because women always want to eat.”
His words. Delivered with that dry, accented certainty that makes you want to both laugh and climb him like a tree.
“ Thanks for dinner again.” You say, mouth full of pad thai.
“ Seriously, I’m gonna start thinking I’m your girlfriend or something with all this spoiling.”
The words tumble out before your brain catches up.
You freeze.
He freezes in mid-reach for his water bottle and his massive frame suddenly statue-still. Even behind the mask you can feel the shift in the air, thick and electric.
Silence stretches like a rubber band pulled too tight.
Your laugh comes out high and panicked. “ Kidding! Obviously. I mean, you’d have to actually take me on a date first, old man. Buy me flowers or whatever ancient ritual you Austrians do.”
His eyes narrow, but the crinkle at the corners gives him away. “ Old man?”
“ Yeah. You probably listened to vinyl records in your crib.”
He huffs in half laugh, half warning. “ Careful, Maus. Keep teasing and I will stop bringing food.”
“ You wouldn’t dare.”
He leans forward, elbows on knees, voice dropping dangerously low. “ Try me.”
You swallow hard, heat pooling low in your belly. The moment hangs, heavy and sweet, until you both look away at the exact same second like cowards.
There are other moments you pretend don’t happen.
Like the nights you jolt awake to low, ragged sounds from his room. The panting and muffled groans that make your imagination run filthy laps.
You press a pillow over your head and curse him for not using headphones, whatever porn he’s watching. You refuse to acknowledge the ache between your thighs or the way you have to change your own sheets the next morning.
Worse: your favorite black lace panties have vanished.
Then the red ones. You’ve torn apart your laundry basket twice. You’re convinced they’ve fallen behind the dryer or something equally mortifying.
The idea that König might have found them or seen them, touched them makes you want to die on the spot. You’ve rehearsed asking him a dozen times “Hey, random question, have you seen any…women’s underwear lying around?” and every version ends with you spontaneously combusting.
So you say nothing. You buy new ones and pray.
Tonight you’re at the kitchen counter, stress-eating cereal straight from the box because exams are trying to murder you.
The door clicks open at 23:40, later than usual. König ducks inside, gear bag slung over one shoulder, moving quiet despite his size.
He pauses when he sees you. “ Still up?”
“ The brain won’t shut off.” You mumble around a mouthful of frosted flakes.
He drops the bag, pulls two protein bars from his pocket, and slides one across the counter to you without a word. You stare at it, then at him.
“ I’m already eating cereal at midnight. This is not a protein emergency.”
“ Eat anyway.” He says.
“ You’re cranky when you’re hungry.”
“ I am not cranky.”
He arches a brow.
You tear open the bar and take an aggressive bite. “ Happy, dad?”
The eye crinkle again. “ Very.”
He moves to the fridge, back to you, and you allow yourself one quick glance at the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders.
Six weeks in and the tension hasn’t eased, it’s worse. Thicker. Like the air before a storm.
You wonder if he feels it too.
You wonder if he hears you some nights, the same way you hear him.
You wonder how long you can both keep pretending this is just friendly roommate banter.
Because it’s not.
And you’re running out of excuses to ignore it.
…
You’re crammed into your favorite cheap eatery just off campus, the one with the greasy tables and the best bulgogi bowls in a ten-mile radius.
It’s lunch break, and your friends are in full post-quiz autopsy mode, arguing over whether the professor wanted “afferent” or “efferent” for question twelve.
You’re half-listening, half-daydreaming about a nap, chopsticks hovering over your rice.
The sliding door whooshes open.
Conversation dies instantly.
Four pairs of eyes swing to you like you’re the main character in a K-drama.
You feel it before you see him: Brent Kim, club president, 4.0 GPA, literal walking Pinterest board, strolling up to the counter in a cream sweater that probably costs more than your tuition. Dark hair perfectly tousled, and a smile bright enough to power the city grid.
Your mouth drops open. A fly could homestead in there.
“ Close it.” Maya hisses, kicking you under the table.
“Before something nests.”
You snap your jaw shut, but your stare stays glued. Brent orders in a smooth, polite voice and then turns. His gaze sweeps the room, lands on you, and that smile widens.
Oh God.
He walks straight to your table.
Your friends turn into vibrating chihuahuas trying not to squeal. Someone’s foot is rapidly tapping Morse code into your shin: SAY YES TO WHATEVER HE ASKS.
“ Hey…” Brent says, stopping beside your chair. Up close he smells like cedar and winter air.
“ Didn’t expect to see you here.”
You manage a brilliant “Hi” that comes out more like a squeak.
He chuckles in low and warm.
“ Quick question…are you free this Sunday? It’s the club’s founding anniversary. All members are supposed to show, but I figured I’d personally remind my favorite bio major.”
Your brain short-circuits. Favorite?
Your friends are making frantic hand gestures: nodding heads, thumbs up, one of them literally mouthing GO.
You clear your throat. “ I…yeah. I’ll be there.”
“ Perfect.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, embossed card, a thick cream stock with gold lettering.
A ticket.
“ You’ll need this at the door. Security’s tight this year.”
He holds it out. You reach and your fingers brush his.
Electricity shoots straight up your arm, down your spine, pools hot in your stomach. It’s barely a second of contact, but your entire nervous system files a dramatic incident report.
Your friends lose the battle. A chorus of stifled squeaks erupts.
Brent’s smile turns knowing. “ Looking forward to seeing you there.”
He nods to your friends, grabs his takeout from the counter, and leaves while the door sliding shut behind him like the end of a movie scene.
The second he’s gone, chaos.
“ OH MY GOD YOU TOUCHED HIM.”
“ HE SAID FAVORITE.”
“ YOU’RE GOING ON A DATE.”
“ It’s not a date!” You protest, face nuclear.
“ It’s a club thing!”
“ With a personal invitation and actual finger contact.” Maya counters.
“ That’s a date, babe.”
You hide behind your bulgogi, grinning like an idiot despite yourself.
Forty feet away, at a corner booth half-hidden by a fake ficus, four very large men in civilian clothes sit in tense silence.
König’s metal spoon is bent at a forty-five-degree angle in his fist.
Soap is biting his lip so hard to keep from laughing that it’s turning white. Ghost watches the scene like he’s observing wildlife. Price just looks tired.
“ Aw, look at that…” Soap whispers, voice syrupy.
“ Proper college romance. Finger brushin’, blushin’, the works. Makes ye miss uni, doesn’t it?”
Ghost grunts. “ Nobody would’ve dated your weird ass in uni.”
Soap gasps, hand to chest. “ Excuse me, Lt. Spooky is calling me weird? You wear a skull mask to Tesco.”
“ Both of you shut it.” Price mutters, rubbing his temple.
Then, quieter. “ Didn’t think König’s type was…college girl.”
Ghost snorts. “ Don’t know what the fuck he ate to start fancying a student. They’re all headaches and drama.”
Soap leans in, eyes dancing. “ Maybe she makes his soldier stand at ease, if you catch my—”
Ghost kicks him under the table. Soap wheezes.
König’s voice is low, dangerously even. “ I don’t like her. She can flirt with whoever. I don’t give a fuck.”
Soap finally loses it then a choked giggle escapes.
“ Right. That’s why you’ve been nicking her knickers like a bloody magpie. Wanking into them every morning, sniffing them like they’re laced with coke—”
“ Shut. Up.” König’s growl could peel paint.
Soap raises both hands, still grinning. “ Just sayin’. And remember that time you made her a protein shake with your own special—”
Ghost mutters. “ It gave me nightmares for weeks.”
“ Milk mixture for breakfast?” Soap finishes cheerfully.
“ Real romantic, big guy.”
König’s jaw flexes under the mask. The spoon is now a pretzel.
Price sighs heavily. “ Let the man sort his own mess. She’s an adult. He wants to court her properly, fine.”
He fixes König with a hard stare. “ But if you do something stupid like more bodily fluid cuisine…I’ll smash your skull myself.”
Soap leans back, folding his arms. “ My professional advice? Make a move before the pretty boy snatches her. College lads move fast.”
Ghost kicks him again. “ Don’t listen to this idiot. Whatever you do next will already be creepy as fuck after the panty theft and the…milk incident.”
König stares at the bent spoon like it personally betrayed him. His food is untouched.
Across the restaurant, you’re still being grilled by your friends, laughing and blushing and replaying that finger brush in your head on loop.
You have no idea that six weeks of stolen glances, late-night groceries, and carefully portioned meals have built something far more complicated than friendship on the other side of the room.
Or that the man currently mutilating cutlery has memorized the way you blush, the sound of your laugh, the exact shade of every missing pair of underwear now hidden in his locker.
Sunday is four days away, and König’s grip on the ruined spoon finally snaps it clean in half.
…
You float back to the dorm on a cloud of giddy stupidity, the gold-embossed ticket clutched between your fingers like it’s made of glass.
Brent’s cologne still clings faintly to the card in clean, expensive and perfect. You press it to your nose once in the elevator, then feel like an idiot and shove it into your pocket before anyone sees.
The dorm is quiet when you push the door open. No towering shadow, no low Austrian greeting. König must still be on shift.
You kick off your shoes, drop your bag on the couch, and collapse backward with a happy sigh, replaying the finger-brush moment for the hundredth time.
Your gaze lands on the coffee table.
His comic book. The one he’s been nursing for weeks that sits there and spine cracked open like he just set it down.
Curiosity wins. You reach for it.
The cover looks innocent enough: stylized art, bold colors. You flip to the dog-eared page.
Your brain blue-screens.
A woman bent over a desk, skirt flipped up.
A man behind her, a massive, hooded, unmistakably dominant, is thrusting so hard the speech bubbles are just a string of filthy German curses and broken English pleas.
Explicit doesn’t cover it.
You see everything: thick cock stretching her open, her mouth wide in a scream, sweat flying off both of them.
You yelp, hurl the book across the room like it’s radioactive, then frantically cross yourself even though you haven’t been to church since high school.
“ Sorry, sorry, sorry—”
The bedroom door creaks open.
König fills the frame, arms crossed, mask in place, those icy eyes locked on you. He’s in a black t-shirt and tactical pants, sleeves stretched around biceps that look illegally large.
Day off, apparently and he’s barefoot, silent as a ghost.
You swallow. “ When…when did you get back?”
“ Day off.” He says simply, voice gravel-rough.
You stand too fast, nearly tripping. “ Cool, cool. I’m just…gonna head to my room—”
You don’t make it two steps.
“ Enjoy your little lunch date with the college boy?” He asks, tone dripping sarcasm.
You freeze. Turn slowly. “ How did you—”
“ I saw you.” He cuts in, starting toward you with deliberate steps.
“ At the restaurant. You and your giggling friends. Him handing you that pretty ticket like a good little prince.”
You back up instinctively. “ I didn’t see you.”
He chuckles, dark and humorless. “ No. You were too busy blushing at that pathetic boy.”
Your spine hits the sink counter. Trapped. He keeps coming until he’s looming, one hand planting on the cabinet beside your head, caging you in. He has to bend to bring his face close then the heat radiates off him.
“ What’s your problem?” You demand, voice shakier than you want.
“ Why are you insulting Brent?”
König mutters something harsh in German like Scheiße, probably then switches back.
“ Don’t like what I saw. Wanted to walk over, grab him by the neck, throw him across the room.”
His mask brushes your temple as he leans closer. You feel his breath through the fabric, warm and unsteady.
“ I’m jealous.” He growls.
“ I'm possessive. Don’t like sharing what’s mine.”
“ I’m not yours.” You shoot back, but it sounds weak even to you.
He laughs, low and dangerous. “ The moment you walked into this dorm, Maus? You were mine.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut in a hot, coiling need twisting low in your belly. You shove at his chest, but it’s like pushing a brick wall.
He doesn’t budge. Instead he presses forward, pinning you harder against the sink.
You gasp.
Something huge and impossibly hard grinds against your stomach, long, thick and throbbing through his pants.
Your thighs clench involuntarily.
“ I've been trying to control it.” He whispers, voice ragged now.
“ Every night I hear you through the wall. Every time you bend over in those little shorts. Every time you laugh at my notes. I stroke myself raw thinking about you…how tight you’d be, how you’d cry my name while I split you open.”
Your breath hitches. A soft, embarrassing sound escapes your throat.
He hears it. His gloved hand catches your chin, thumb pressing into your lower lip.
“ I want to fuck you so deep you forget that boy’s name exists.” He murmurs against your ear.
“ I want to bend you over this counter right now, shove your panties aside, and bury every inch inside you until you’re dripping down my balls.”
“ I want to feel you clench around me while you beg…louder than you do in your sleep when you touch yourself thinking no one hears.”
You’re soaking through your underwear. Your hips twitch forward without permission, seeking friction against that massive bulge.
“ I want to ruin you for anyone else.” He continues, filthy and relentless.
“ Fill you up again and again until the only thing you remember is how good my cock stretches you. Until you’re addicted to the way I wreck this pretty little pussy.”
His thumb slips into your mouth, just the tip, and you suck on it helplessly while your eyes flutter.
He groans, the sound tortured.
“ Say you’re mine…” He demands, voice cracking with restraint.
“ Say it, and I’ll give you everything you’ve been dreaming about.”
You’re trembling, heart hammering, body on fire. The comic book lies forgotten on the floor, and you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.
…
You stare up into those piercing blue eyes, heart hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it. The air between you crackles, thick with everything you’ve both been pretending wasn’t there for weeks.
His thumb is still pressed against your lower lip, waiting.
You make the mistake.
A tiny, breathless “Yes” slips out.
The second it leaves your mouth, his eyes darken, pupils blown wide. A low, animal growl rumbles from his chest.
Then you’re airborne.
One massive arm hooks under your thighs, the other across your back, and he hoists you onto his shoulder like you weigh nothing.
You squeak in half protest and half thrill as blood rushes to your head. His stride eats the distance to his bedroom in three steps.
The door bangs open as he tosses you onto the mattress. You bounce once, twice, hair fanning across his dark sheets.
The room smells like him, gun oil, pine soap, and something darker. Your eyes dart around. The tactical gear neatly stacked, protein powder on the dresser, and—
You gasp.
One of your missing black lace panties is draped over the back of his desk chair like a trophy, the crotch darkened with dried stains.
König follows your gaze.
“ I haven’t washed that one.” He says, voice rough with satisfaction.
He plucks the fabric from the chair, holding it up between two thick fingers. The evidence is unmistakable, crusted and almost dry cum streaking the center.
“ It still smells like you. And me.”
“ You…you stole my panties?” Your voice cracks, equal parts horror and filthy arousal.
He chuckles, deep and unapologetic, tossing the ruined lace aside.
“ Not sorry, Maus. I need your scent. It gets hard just walking past the laundry room.”
He crawls onto the bed, a massive frame caging you in. “ Addicted.”
Your brain flashes to the comic book on the living room floor. “ That…that comic—”
“ I needed something to look at while I pictured you.” He admits without shame, lowering himself until his weight pins you deliciously.
“ Better visuals when I fuck my fist thinking of this tight little body.”
Before you can form a reply, his hands fist the front of your uniform blouse. Fabric rips like paper. Buttons ping across the room. Cool air hits your skin and you gasp as your bra is exposed.
“ Scheiße.” He groans, eyes devouring you.
“ Perfect.”
His huge palms cover your breasts completely and your chest looks tiny in his grip. He squeezes, thumbs circling your nipples until they peak hard and aching.
Then his mouth descends. Hot, wet suction on one nipple, teeth grazing just enough to sting. You arch with a sharp moan, fingers tangling in the fabric of his mask.
He switches sides, biting down harder, marking you. By the time he pulls away, both nipples are swollen, shining with his saliva, throbbing in time with your pulse.
He doesn’t stop there.
König moves down your body like a predator, shoving your skirt up to your waist. Your panties are soaked as he rips those too, the sound obscene.
You’re bare to him now, trembling.
He spreads your thighs wide, settling between them like he belongs there. A deep, guttural groan vibrates against your skin as he buries his face against your slick folds.
“ Fuck, you smell better than the panties.” He rasps.
He inhales deeply, nose dragging through your slit. The vibration of his groan shoots straight to your clit. You jerk, hips bucking, but his hands pin you flat.
“ Stay still.” He orders, voice muffled against you.
One thick finger traces your entrance, gathering wetness. You whimper when he pushes inside slowly at first, letting you feel the stretch.
He pulls out, stares at the faint red streak on his finger.
“ Blood?” His tone is reverent, almost awed.
“ You’re a virgin?”
You nod, biting your lip.
A dark, possessive sound tears from his throat. “ Mine. Only mine.”
He thrusts the finger back in but this time hard. No gentleness. His digit is huge, stretching you open with brutal rhythm.
You cry out, back bowing. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles that make stars burst behind your eyes.
“ Taking my finger so well.” He growls.
“ I can’t wait to feel this cunt choke my cock.”
The heat coils tighter, unbearable. “ König…I’m—”
“ Cum.” He commands.
“ Explode on my hand. Show me how you fall apart.”
You do.
The orgasm slams through you, thighs shaking violently as you clench around his finger. He keeps thrusting through it, drawing it out until you’re sobbing his name.
When you finally sag, boneless, he withdraws slowly. His finger glistens with your release and that trace of blood. He brings it to his mask, slipping it underneath.
You hear the wet sound of him sucking it clean, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Then he pulls it out, shiny with his saliva, and presses it to your lips.
“ Suck.”
You obey without thinking, tongue swirling around the thick digit, tasting yourself in tangy, musky, mixed with him. His gaze is molten, fixed on your mouth as you hollow your cheeks and suck obediently.
“ Good girl.” He praises, voice hoarse.
“ Clean every drop.”
You do, until his finger is spotless. He withdraws it with a wet pop, eyes never leaving yours.
“ This is just the start, Maus.” He murmurs, settling his hips between your thighs so you feel exactly how hard he is massive, burning against your sensitive skin.
“ By the time I’m done, you’ll never think of that boy again.”
…
König drops his massive body beside you on the mattress, the frame groaning under his weight. He’s still fully clothed except for the gloves tossed aside, mask in place, chest heaving from the restraint he’s barely holding onto.
Those piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, dark with hunger.
“ Straddle me.” He orders, voice low and rough.
“ Take me out.”
You huff, half-hearted protest bubbling up. “ You’re so bossy—”
His glare sharpens, one brow arching above the mask. The look says try me.
You swallow the rest of your complaint and climb over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. He spreads his thick thighs wider, giving you room, watching like a predator as your trembling fingers fumble with his zipper.
The second you reach inside, your hand closes around heat and steel. You pull him free and nearly whimper.
He’s enormous. It's angry red, veiny, easily ten inches and thicker than your wrist.
Your fingers don’t even meet around the shaft. Pre-cum beads at the slit, slick and glistening.
König groans, hips twitching. “ Lube it, Maus. Use that pretty mouth.”
You stare at the monster in your hand. “ I can’t…it’s too big. I’ll choke.”
He chuckles, dark and filthy. “ Don’t deepthroat, Liebling. Just the tip. Suck like you mean it. Use your hands for the rest.”
You gulp, leaning down. Even the head stretches your lips wide, salty and hot against your tongue. You swirl around the crown, slurping messily, cheeks hollowing. Both hands pump what you can’t fit in which is most of him.
König’s head falls back, throat working on a growl. “ Fuck…genau so. Good girl.”
You lose yourself in the rhythm. The sucking, stroking and spit dripping down his length until huge hands suddenly grip your ass, lifting you like you’re weightless.
You squeak around his cock as he positions you higher, tip nudging insistently at your soaked entrance.
“ W-wait—” You gasp, pulling off with a wet pop.
“ It won’t fit!”
“ It will.” He rasps, holding the base steady.
“ Your greedy little cunt will take every inch. Sink down. Now.”
You bite your lip hard enough to sting, hands braced on his chest. Slowly and agonizingly, you lower yourself.
The stretch burns. Your walls flutter and resist, then yield in tiny increments. You hiss, eyes watering as the broad head breaches you. König curses in German, fingers digging into your hips.
“ Scheiße, so tight…mein Gott.”
He slaps your ass sharply. The sting makes you clench, and another inch slides in. You moan despite the ache.
Deeper and deeper. Until your ass meets his thighs and you’re impossibly full, his cock seated so deep you feel it in your throat.
Both of you moan in raw, broken sounds.
“ Look…” He laughs breathlessly, pressing a palm to your lower belly. A visible bulge distends your skin where he’s buried.
“ Taking me like a perfect little slut. My cock’s rearranging your insides.”
The degradation sends heat spiraling through you. You lift experimentally, whimpering at the drag on how your walls cling to every vein. Then sink again. Pain melts into dizzying pleasure.
Soon you’re riding him in earnest, slow rolls turning to desperate bounces. His hands guide your hips, but he lets you set the pace, eyes glued to where you’re joined.
“ Faster…” He growls.
“ Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me how much you need it.”
You do. You are chasing the friction, breasts bouncing, and moans spilling freely. The bulge appears and disappears with every thrust.
Suddenly he surges up, flipping you beneath him in one fluid move. Your legs are hooked over his broad shoulders, folding you nearly in half.
He looms above, massive and overwhelming.
“ Zu klein für mich.” He murmurs, voice thick with awe and possession. (Too small for me)
“ Seht nur, wie ich diese winzige Muschi dehne.” (Just look how I'm stretching this tiny pussy)
He starts moving in deep, punishing strokes that punch the air from your lungs. The bulge drives deeper; you feel him everywhere.
König buries his masked face in your neck, lips brushing your skin as he switches to German, words hot and filthy against your ear.
“ Du gehörst mir…so nass für mich…werde dich füllen bis es überläuft…kleine Schlampe nimmt jeden Zentimeter…” (You belong to me...so wet for me...I'll fill you until it overflows...little slut takes every inch.)
You don’t understand most of it, but the tone, it's possessive, degrading, adoring and pushes you higher. Your nails rake down his back through the shirt.
Another orgasm builds fast and brutal. “ König…please—”
“ Cum.” He snarls.
" Spritz in meinen ganze Schwanz, du verzweifeltes Mädchen!" (Cum all over my cock, you desperate girl)
You shatter.
Pleasure crashes through you in waves. You squirt hard, soaking his hips, the sheets. Your walls milk him relentlessly.
He roars your name muffled behind the mask and slams deep one last time. Heat floods you in thick, endless pulses.
There’s so much it overflows immediately, creamy white leaking around his buried length, dripping down your ass.
He doesn’t pull out right away. Instead he collapses carefully, rolling so you’re tucked against his hard chest, still impaled and full.
His hand strokes your hair, voice softening to a rumble.
“ Gut gemacht, Liebling…so perfect for me…took everything I gave you.”
Only then does he ease out in slow and gentle until both of you moaning at the lewd, wet sound. Cum gushes out after him.
His cock that is still half-hard, shiny with your mixed release rests heavy and twitching against your stomach.
He strokes your hair, blue eyes searching yours.
“ No event on Sunday.” He says quietly.
“ It's useless. You stay here.”
“ But I—”
He cuts you off with a low growl. “ I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk. Until that boy’s name is erased from your pretty head. Then I’ll spend all day making you come again and again. That’s your Sunday.”
You open your mouth to argue, out of habit, mostly but his stare pins you.
Intense. Possessive. Promising.
You swallow. Nod.
A slow, satisfied smile crinkles his eyes.
“ Braves Mädchen.” He presses a masked kiss to your forehead. (Good girl.)
“ I’ll make it memorable. Better than any pathetic invitation.”
You melt against him, sore and spent and secretly thrilled.
Sunday was never going to that club anyway.
…
Everything has flipped upside down in the best, most filthy way possible. Since that first night, the dorm has become a non-stop haze of sex.
You barely make it out the door for class without König pinning you against the wall, fingers or tongue or cock inside you until you’re late and wobbly-kneed.
You try to study at the desk when he crawls under it then spreads your thighs, and eats you out until your notes are smeared with desperate handprints.
He comes back from shift smelling like sweat and gunpowder, and you’re on him before he can drop his gear bag while riding him on the couch, the floor or in the shower wall.
Sunday arrives exactly as he promised: unforgettable.
You wake up naked where clothes are pointless when König is in the same postcode. He’s sprawled beside you, equally bare, that huge scarred body on full display.
The first time you really see all of him in daylight, you nearly drop the orange juice. His body is a map of violence and power while broad chest dusted with dark hair, abs carved deep, a thick happy trail leading straight to that monstrous cock that never seems to go fully soft around you.
Scars crisscross his skin: jagged ones across his ribs, a burn on his shoulder, a long surgical line down his thigh.
He catches you staring and shifts, suddenly awkward for a man who just fucked you senseless.
“ Not pretty.” He mutters, reaching for a shirt.
You stop him, fingers tracing a raised scar on his chest. “ Are you kidding? You look fucking hot. Like a war god or something.”
You press a kiss to one mark, then another. “ Never cover up around me again.”
Breakfast prep starts innocently enough. You’re on the kitchen counter in one of his oversized shirts where the only thing you’re allowed to wear while your legs spread while he stands between them slicing strawberries.
Then two thick fingers slide into your bare pussy without warning.
“ Guten Morgen, Liebling.” He murmurs against your neck, pumping lazily.
“ Already soaked for me.”
You whimper, gripping his shoulders as he works you open, thumb circling your clit until you’re shaking. By the time you come, clutching his wrist, breakfast is forgotten.
He lifts you effortlessly, sets you on his cock, and goes back to chopping vegetables while you ride him slow and greedy. You roll your hips, chasing friction, while he calmly slices bell peppers one-handed.
The sizzle of eggs, bacon, and hotdogs fills the air. When the scent of frying fat hits, you both lose patience then you slam down hard as he thrusts up brutally, and you come together with muffled groans against each other’s skin.
His release painting your insides as the bacon pops in the pan.
The rest of the day is pure debauchery.
Clothes never make a reappearance. You drift around the dorm naked, his cum drying on your thighs, breasts marked with fresh bites.
Every time you pass him. When he's reading reports on the couch or cleaning his gear at the table while his cock is hard and swinging heavy between his legs like a permanent invitation.
You take it often.
You drop to your knees while he’s reviewing mission briefs, deepthroating as much of that monster as you can in which is still only half.
He threads fingers through your hair, abs flexing, voice calm as he turns pages and praises you in German.
“ So ein braves kleines Ding…nimmst meinen Schwanz so tief…” (Such a good little thing...you take my cock so deep...)
Sunday afternoon, your phone rings.
You’re bouncing on his lap again, facing him, his mouth latched to one nipple.
The screen flashes MOM.
You freeze.
König reaches around you, grabs the phone, and holds it out. “ Answer.”
“ Are you insane?” You hiss.
“ They’ll hear—”
He thrusts up hard once, making you gasp. “ You’re too good at ignoring calls. Answer or I stop moving.”
You glare, but your hips are already rolling again.
You swipe accept.
“ Hi, Mom! Dad!”
Your mother’s voice is warm. “ Sweetheart! How’s school? Is everything okay with your roommate?”
You try to sound normal.
König chooses that moment to slam up particularly deep, the fat head of his cock knocking your cervix.
Your voice cracks on a moan. “ Everything’s g-great…oh!”
“ Baby? Are you okay?”
“ Y-yeah!” You squeak, clawing at König’s chest.
“ Just…stubbed my toe!”
König’s eyes glint with evil amusement. He flips you suddenly, pinning you face-down on the couch, one leg hooked over his forearm. He slides back in with one brutal thrust.
You whine involuntarily.
“ What was that?” Dad’s voice sharpens.
“ N-Nothing! Dropped my pen…keep going, Dad. It's the monthly allowance, right?”
Your parents keep talking about grades, allowance and reminders to eat vegetables. König leans over you, chest to your back, and starts a slow, grinding rhythm.
His masked mouth finds your ear.
“ Quiet, Schlampe.” He whispers in German.
“ Don’t want them knowing their precious daughter is getting fucked raw by her big bad roommate, hm?”
You bite the cushion to stifle another moan.
Your father launches into a lecture about budgeting your monthly allowance. König speeds up, pounding deeper, the wet slap of skin barely muffled.
He degrades you softly the whole time. König leans down, mouth at your ear, whispering pure filth in German while your parents talk about finances.
“ Du kleine Schlampe…nimmst meinen Schwanz so gut während du mit Daddy redest…so verdorben…” (You little slut...taking my cock so good while you talk to Daddy...so depraved...)
The coil snaps. You come hard, silent except for a choked whimper, walls fluttering around him. König pulls out just in time, hot stripes paint your lower back and ass then shoves back in to finish deep and flooding you again.
His huge hand clamps over your mouth, catching your muffled cry.
“ Braves Mädchen.” He breathes against your neck.
“ So gehorsam.” (So obedient.)
Your father is still mid-sentence about direct deposits when the aftershocks fade.
“ I…I have to go,” you manage, voice shaky.
“ Assignment due—”
“ Of course, honey.” Your mom says.
“ Just remember…stay safe. Keep your distance from that male roommate, okay? You’re too trusting sometimes.”
König outright laughs in a low, wicked rumble against your spine.
You end the call with trembling fingers. He plucks the phone away, tosses it onto the coffee table, and gives a lazy thrust that makes you gasp.
“ They have no idea…” He says, voice low and rough.
“ That their precious girl is getting fucked raw by her big bad roommate every day. Stuffed full of my cum while she lies to them.”
You swat his chest weakly. “ You’re evil.”
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through both of you as he starts a slow, lazy rhythm again.
“ Evil?” He leans down, mask brushing your lips.
“ No, Maus. Just keep what’s mine.”
You roll your eyes, but your legs wrap tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.
Sunday isn’t even over yet, and you wouldn’t trade it for any club invitation in the world.
You had been terrified your entire pregnancy. Not of being a mother. Not of König. No— you were terrified of the size of the baby.
Because your husband was a mountain of a man.
Nearly seven feet tall, broad enough to block the entire doorway, hands so huge they made coffee mugs look childish. König looked like the kind of man built to father massive babies with bowling-ball heads and shoulders wide enough to ruin your life on delivery day.
The closer you got to your due date, the more emotional you became about it.
“König..” you whispered one night, staring at his chest while he held you against him, “what if your baby comes out built like a full-grown toddler?”
He nearly choked trying not to laugh.
“Our baby is not coming out with a beard, Schatz.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It is a little funny.”
You’d smacked his chest weakly while he kissed your forehead, though the poor man did try comforting you afterward. He promised he’d stay beside you the whole time, promised your body was made for this, promised doctors existed for a reason.
Still, you expected pain.
Expected terror.
Expected to hear nurses gasp in horror at the giant infant you’d somehow created with this massive Austrian soldier.
Instead—
Your baby arrived…..tiny.
Absolutely, unbelievably tiny.
A little thing wrapped in hospital blankets, blinking up at the world with huge blue shiny eyes and the faintest dusting of strawberry-blonde hair across their soft head.
The nurse placed the baby into König’s arms and the sight almost made you cry harder than labor itself.
Because König looked gigantic.
His enormous scarred hands cradled the baby so carefully, so delicately, like he was terrified even breathing too hard would hurt it. His shoulders shook beneath quiet laughter, stunned and disbelieving.
“So small..” he whispered.
Your baby’s hand curled around one of his fingers— and couldn’t even hold all of it. König stared like his heart had been ripped straight from his chest. Meanwhile you were still emotional for an entirely different reason.
“That’s it?” you croaked from the hospital bed. “That’s what I was scared of?!”
König outright laughed then, deep and breathless behind his mask before he leaned down to kiss your forehead repeatedly.
“You were very brave for surviving our terrifyingly tiny child.”
Priest Miguel O'Hara x Incubus reader. I had this idea for two years, only now writing it. The reader is ftm! (cunt, pussy, and clit are used in this! Turn away from this!)
Imagine priest Miguel finishing a sermon, preaching the words of God to the attendees as he stood at the altar, closing the Bible with a soft thud. The light shining on him from the morning sun made him look holy and godly. His black vestments covered his muscular body, underneath which would make every woman in the vicinity want him, but he doesn't dwell on or engage in those desires as they are impure and go against God's vision. He watched everyone leaving their pews, some coming up to chat before leaving, then he saw you.
Imagine you are walking up to the altar, making sure everyone is gone. Your boots clicking along the floor, deliberate and sensual. "Is there something you need, child?" (or whatever the priest says.) Miguel says as he sees your body coming into view, his mouth goes dry. You were handsome, almost divine. Miguel then smelled something strange in the air, not the usual incense; it was sweet, richer, and dizzying. Miguel felt something come over him, but he quelled it, for now.
"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned," you said, your voice soft as silk and warm blankets. A smirk planted on your face as you see the effects the aphrodisiacs were having on Miguel. It's been a long time since you last feasted, priests and married men were your main options, so much pent-up desire and needs that they have to bury for the sake of being deemed worthy for the pearly gates, you didn't understand that. You never will, but you didn't care. Sex is amazing.
Imagine priest Miguel listening to your confession, it was the most sinful confession he has ever heard. You confessed to having sex with a variety of married men and indulging in voyeuristic tendencies. Yet, he continued listening. The smell was getting stronger, his mind was becoming cloudy, and his body was boiling hot. Miguel's breathing got heavier as his large cock was aching in his pants, throbbing and leaking. Something primal and darker was clawing at him as the holy facade was cracking from the pressure. When Miguel looked again, the young man had horns, wings, and a tail.
"You're a demon..." Miguel mutters, attempting to hold himself back and not indulge in sin, with an incubus no less. Having sex in God's holy temple was blasphemy. Miguel mutters scriptures and pleas to God, begging for forgiveness. He was unaware of you kneeling before him, tugging at his robe until he felt your warm fingers grabbing his cock.
"My, My... already leaking and all of this is for me?" you purred, grinning from hearing Miguel's strangled groans and moans. This priest's cock was bigger and thicker than any other you've had. Your cunt leaked, drenching your underwear with the sticky, sweet fluid. Miguel snapped out of his babbling when he felt your warm, hungry mouth wrapping around his cock. His groans echoed in the quiet church, he fell back against the altar as you deepthroated him, gripping it for support. Miguel bit down on his hand as you worshipped his cock, like it was God. Your tongue teasing his cockhead, slit, and undersides, one of your hands fondling his balls.
"You taste divine, Father." That was the last straw for Miguel. He gave in to the temptation.
Imagine priest Miguel yanking your head off his cock and perches you against the altar. He ripped your underwear off, slapping his throbbing cock against your soaked pussy, gathering the slick and smearing all over his cock. Your dominant and assertive attitude was replaced with submissiveness as felt Miguel's cock teasing your swollen clit, purposely stimulating it. Your poor little hole fluttered around nothing, trying to capture the cockhead, so much slick was gushing out.
"F-fuck..." The word is foreign to Miguel as he rarely curses. His cock was sheathed in your warm, tight, and wet cunt, every inch of his cock was squeezed and massage by your warm insides, slick coating his cock, his heavy balls resting against your ass. Your cunt was hungry as it clenched around his cock every time he attempts to pull out, it didn't Miguel to pull out. Miguel was in pure heaven or hell. Was this how sex felt? It felt amazing, specifically gay sex! His cock being massaged and drenched in slick.
"This is what you've been missing out on, Father. Feel my cunt? It wants you, wants your sin, seed."
Imagine priest Miguel fucking you against the altar, his large, worn hands gripping your hips as he fucked your demon pussy. Moans and other debaucheries filled the silent church: wet skin slapping, pussy squelching, and strangled moans. You could feel Miguel's cock stretching your entrance as his cock dug you out. Your arms locked around Miguel's shoulder, back arching. Your mind was cloudy, but you could feel the energy flooding your body; you weren't going to completely drain Miguel.
"M-Miguel-- oh God... fuck." you cried, causing Miguel to fuck you harder. How dare you, a slutty demon, use God's name, shouldn't be allow to leave your mouth. Miguel groans, his hips stuttering as his thrusts become slow but harder.
"S-so deep... s-so full! Yes, yes! Fill me, Father~ wanna feel it inside me~ breed your sins into me~" you babbled greedily sucking the priest's cock deeper. You could feel the tip ramming against your second entrance, you rubbed your swollen clit in rhythm with Miguel's thrusts. Your body quivered from the sensation as it came around Miguel's thrusting cock, clamping around the piece of meat, milking it of its thick, virile load.
That didn't happen; instead, Miguel pulled out in tight and came all over your stomach. His eyes fluttered shut as his cock pulses, spurting more cum. You were impressed: no man has managed to do this, it seems like Miguel has regained a semblance of control.
Oh yeah, you were definitely coming back for seconds
Author's note: I haven't proofread this, and hopefully it sounds good! Kinda rushed tbh and was delirious due to lack of sleep.
Please please please Aerion smut where its a jousting tourney and he sees you (a Lords daughter) give your favor to a knight going up against him, he beats the shit out of said knight, steals your favor from the ground and steals your favor from the bested knights lance like an insane person. Finding you after and confronting you about why you gave favor to someone else
he is insane for you like actually
Knights Earn, Dragons Take
Aerion Targaryen x noblewoman!reader
✿ aerion is obsessed with you, so when you give your favour to another knight, he has to take matters into his own hands and show you who you belong to (or, aerion steals your favour from another knight and fucks you)
✿ 18+
✿ wc: 6.6k
✿ cw: fem!reader, no y/n and reader is an undefined baddie, SMUT, a smidge of plot, unprotected piv, light breeding, fingering, oral (f!receiving), one (1) pussy slap, pussy pronouns, praise, light degradation but not a lot bc he’s obsessed with you, aerion being himself but also maybe slightly ooc, possessive!aerion, threats of violence so maybe not that ooc, tourney violence, strong language, reader is from an unnamed but influential House with non-specific colours, mention of reader having older brothers but her father is a girl dad and reader can do no wrong lol
You have always drawn eyes.
Beautiful, intelligent, the perfect lady. You were admired by commonfolk and nobles alike for your amicability and wit. Your lord father was a loyal ally to the great House Targaryen and a valiant support during the Blackfyre Rebellion, not to mention a loud and magnetic personality. His parties and tourneys drew thousands from across Westeros—even luring nobles and merchants alike from across the Narrow Sea.
Similar has happened today as you watch with bated breath, your ringed fingers interlinked upon your lap, as a pair of lordlings clash in a flurry of splintered wood from your position in your noble pavilion. Your father roars his approval, cheering loudly as one poor knight topples from his horse, a jagged shard of lance protruding from a joint near his shoulder in his plated armour. You can’t help but cup your hand to your mouth, watching as the poor felled knight is dragged from the tiltyard.
Your lord father takes a deep sip from his goblet, resplendent in the midday sun. He is draped in the colours of your House, as are you, with jewels strung around your neck and wrists, decorated like a shrine. He turns to you, wine still glossy on his lips as he eyes your uneasy expression which does little to match the glittering of your jewellery. You’re now fidgeting with a wreath of flowers, an intricately woven ring of heartseases, carnations and lilies, finished with ribbons of your House’s colours.
“What is troubling you, my dear?” Your father asks, reaching across to place a gentle hand atop your own, the metal of his rings cool against your knuckles.
You exhale and then give him a meek smile. “Nothing, father. I apologise—”
“You are my daughter. Do you believe I do not know when you are lying?” Your father interrupts, giving you a pointed look.
Embarrassment claws within your chest as you drown out the cheers from the large crowd beyond the pavilion, realising that there are likely to be dozens of eyes glued to you. You calm yourself, ensuring your face remains as passive as possible, but you can feel the slightest tremble in your lower lip.
“I—what if I do not wish to give my favour away?” You say, fingers brushing the beautiful wreath in your lap. “I see no point in—”
Your father interrupts you again with a smooth and rather diplomatic confidence you’re sure he uses with everyone he speaks to. It usually gets him what he wants, and paired with the irreverent glimmer in his eyes, you realise why he and Lyonel Baratheon get along so well.
“Do not view this as giving your favour away,” he says carefully, drumming his fingers against your hand as he speaks. “View it as lending your favour to a poor, desperate lad who wishes to impress you. You are helping the needy, which all ladies care to do, do they not?”
You can’t help but scoff, your father battering his eyelashes in an attempt to make you smile with his humoured tone.
“These men are not needy. They are knights,” you reply.
“Ah, but they are still men,” your father utters, withdrawing his hand to pick up his goblet and take another drink. He tips his goblet in your direction before he drinks. “And all men, no matter their strength or their status, are needy when chasing the favour of a lady.”
You mull over your father’s words for a while as he gets to his feet and shuffles towards the entrance to the pavilion. You hear him speaking to someone, you hear the thunderous cacophony of the crowd, the stamping of hooves, the blaring of bugles. And you’re not sure how much time passes before you hear a beckoning call of your name. You look to your side, placing your flowered wreath upon an adjacent pedestal, and see that your father is welcoming a pair of men into your pavilion dressed in black and red.
Your heart stammers in your chest as you hurry to your feet, Baelor and Maekar Targaryen appraising you as you drop into a perfected curtsy.
“Seven blessings,” you utter, tone light and airy, your flower-sweet perfume lingering around you as you dip.
Your father introduces you, a beaming smile split across his face, both by name and a proud declaration, “my little dove, my pride and joy.”
Humour sparkles in Baelor’s eyes as he turns back to your father, settling onto a chair on his other side. “You have sons, do you not?”
Your father lets out an annoyed puff at the mention of his sons, then shakes his head as he sinks back into his own seat, Maekar settling with a grunt on the other side of his brother. “My sons are… spirited. My daughter, however, is perfect.”
Something like relatability crosses across Maekar’s face, the subtle hint of a smile as warmth grows in your chest. He’s put you on a pedestal with his praise, and now you can feel even more eyes on you as you settle back into your seat.
—✿—
Across the tiltyard, Aerion Targaryen watches you from the flap of his tent as servants and smiths attend to his intricately plated armour. His violet eyes trace the lines of your face from afar, the curves of your body beneath your dress and skirts as you sit, mostly obscured by the low walls of the raised pavilion. He watches the way you join politely into conversation with your father, his uncle and his father, and he can imagine that you’re saying all the right things. That pretty little mouth of yours would say all the right things, wouldn’t it? Would it plead and beg sweetly too?
“My prince,” some kind of servant says hesitantly as he approaches, cloaked in the colours of your noble House. “Your mount is ready.”
Aerion acknowledges him for the briefest of moments with a bored look, before his eyes find you once more. Your father and Baelor are laughing at something you’ve said, and you dip your head like the polite lady you are to hide most of your smile. He sees, too, the cute little wreath you are now toying with, and he realises, with something sick and sharp building in his gut, that it would look perfect around his lance.
With purpose, the prince strides away from his tent, finding his steed at the edge of the tiltyard. Servants help him into the saddle, before he’s securing his feet into the stirrups and urging his warhorse forward through the sawdust-thickened mud of the tourney grounds. Another knight, already arranged against him at the ruling of your father—“It is my tourney, in honour of my nameday, so I can do as I please,” the lord had announced—canters towards the pavilion.
Aerion pulls his horse to a stop as he watches with narrowed eyes as the knight—a knight from somewhere in the Reach, he thinks he remembers—requests your favour. Or at least, Aerion assumes he does, for he cannot hear anything over the angry rush of blood in his ears as jealousy rips raw through his chest.
You bow your head and rise to the edge of the pavilion, and gods, you look a dream—the material of your skirts flowing around you as you dip, the curve of your breasts and neck on full display as you slip your wreath onto the knight’s lance. Aerion faintly hears the roar of the crowd as the Reach knight says something to you that makes you beam, your smile splitting widely across your face as your father claps.
Then, the knight takes your hand in his and fucking kisses it. Plants a gentle kiss to the back of it before he’s turning his horse away with a triumphant smirk.
Aerion is seething. Anger boils hot inside him, and with an angry, too-hard thrust of his hips, he urges his horse towards the knight, and the pair meet in the middle of the field for a brief moment. Aerion’s eyes drop to the wreath around the knight’s lance, his jaw flexing, violet eyes flashing with an unbridled fury that has him wishing he could drive his lance through the other man’s throat.
Maybe he will.
“It seems the lady has given me her favour,” the Reach knight says with a sickening smile that makes Aerion want to punch him in the face. “Best of luck, for I intend to honour her virtue greatly and de-horse a dragon today.”
Aerion scoffs. “You impudent little rat. If I do not kill you today, I will slit your throat on the morrow for use of such words.”
The Reach nobleman does not look put-off in the slightest, which, admittedly, takes Aerion by surprise. The knight simply smiles and then pulls down his visor, cantering back to the edge of the tiltyard, leaving Aerion alone in the middle, swamped suddenly by the sounds of a jeering crowd of commonfolk. Anger burns in his veins as he turns with a curse, trotting back to where his squire awaits him, his lance primed and ready.
He’s going to kill that fucking knight. And then he’s going to have you.
—✿—
You watch the knights ready themselves as the trumpeting of bugles pierce the clamour of the crowd. Your fingers are crossed against your lap as you watch the young knight you had bestowed your favour on roll his shoulders and clutch his lance and shield, ready. Your father offers you a side-long glance.
“Are you happy now, my dear?”
You don’t turn your head to speak with him, eyes on the tiltyard. You can’t help the way they fall from your favoured knight to the opposing side, where the imposing Prince Aerion is being handed his shield and lance. “Happy may be too strong of a word.”
Your father chuckles. “Well, these men are certainly needy for your favour.”
You huff. “Yes, as you have said.”
“Yes, but I failed to mention,” your father begins, clearing his throat. “That when a needy man does not earn a lady’s favour, well…”
Your stomach squeezes tightly as you watch the dangerously beautiful face of Prince Aerion vanish behind his helm as he shuts his visor with a rough hand.
Your father shakes his head, chuckling again. “They become quite dangerous.”
With a blare of a horn and a surge of noise from the crowd, both knights take off galloping towards one another. You grip the arms of your chair, watching with your heart in your throat as they get closer and closer, lances poised, before they clash—wood chips flying, metal grinding on metal.
You gasp when Aerion forces his lance through the Reach knight’s shield, shattering it completely. The end of the other knight’s lance makes impact with Aerion’s shield, but the now-jagged tip of Aerion’s lance drives through a gap in his plated armour. You hear the Reach knight let out a sharp shout of pain as the lance drives into the flesh beneath his armpit, and he tips sideways off of his horse.
“What a charge!” Your father remarks to Baelor and Maekar, the three men watching, transfixed, as the Reach knight’s horse gallops away and Aerion whirls his around, hounding for a second run.
The black steed takes off again, and Aerion dips his lance low, much to the detest of the crowd, who jeer and curse and throw stones, as Aerion’s lance lands a decisive blow to the staggering nobleman’s armoured back. He is thrown forward into the mud, winded, piece of wood protruding from his side.
You raise a hand to your mouth as you watch Aerion dismount his horse, dragging the tip of his lance through the mud. He’s not stopping, you realise, as he stomps through the muck to kick the fallen knight onto his back. Then, tossing his lance aside, he brings two hands to his shield and slams the heavy base of it down atop the knight’s helm, the visor denting with the impact. Aerion brings the shield down again, and you find yourself shooting a hand out to grip onto your father’s.
Sensing your concern, your father nods to a man near the edge of the pavilion. The man quickly blows into his bugle, and relief washes over you as Aerion, body heaving, pulls away from the unmoving knight. However, terror quickly seizes you when the prince stalks a few feet away to pick the fallen knight’s shattered lance from the ground. He snatches the favour—your favour—from the broken lance and then lifts his visor.
His eyes find yours as he clutches your favour, bringing it to his chest as he stares up at you. The crowd shouts at him, but he ignores them. You can see the way he ignores them, eyes transfixed on you, the dainty garland engulfed by his hand, crushed in a vice-like grip.
You continue to hold onto your father, who angles his head to whisper to you, “See, my dear? Dangerous.”
—✿—
That evening, you successfully manage to avoid Aerion by locking yourself away in your chambers, informing your father that you feel unwell and intend to retire early. Of course, he knew you were lying, but noticing the dullness in your eyes and the unease that seemed to seep from your pores, he let you go with a kiss to your forehead. Now, as the sun sinks beyond the horizon, and your father and the visitors dine across the castle, you light the candles around your chambers until the room is bathed in a soft, golden light, shadows flickering against the wall. You calmed yourself with a bath, and now sit before the fireplace in your soft linen chemise, a book in your lap.
The flames light the pages well and warm the bare skin of your arms and legs.
The quiet is punctuated, however, by a sharp knock on your door. It is much too forceful to be one of your servants, and for the briefest of moments, you wonder if one of your guards has something to ask of you. You pad towards the door, standing just behind it as you unbolt it and open it a crack.
“Open up, little dove,” Aerion utters, and you yelp in fright as his strong fingers curl around the edge of the door and shove inwards.
You jump back, heart in your throat, as he enters your chambers, violet eyes alight and reflecting the flickering flames of the fire and surrounding candles.
He looks you up and down, the point of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
You shake your head, hugging your arms around your body. The heat of his gaze burns through the thin material of your chemise, and despite the trepidation rooting deep in your gut, something warm gathers at the base of your womb, your nipples hardening.
“No,” you whisper. “No, my prince, I’ve just—”
“I won your favour,” he interrupts you quickly, stalking forward after slamming—and bolting—the door shut. “And you’ve been hiding from me.”
Some semblance of courage seizes you in that moment as you remember what your father had told you. You lift your chin a little as he crosses the room, predatory like a lion. Or perhaps a dragon.
“You did not win my favour,” you hiss at him, but you find yourself backing up in response to his movements. “You stole it. No proper knight would steal another’s favour.”
A dark smile splits across his serpentine features as he creeps closer to you. He wears his House colours, blacks and blood-reds, his tunic and doublet dark and fitting against his strong chest and lean torso. The pale skin of his hands and throat are a stark contrast.
“It was always supposed to be mine, little dove, whether you knew it then or not,” Aerion says, stopping only when your back hits one of the wooden posts of your canopy bed. “I simply saw an opportunity to take it back.”
You scoffed, but it came out more as a breathless sigh. “Knights do not—”
“No, they do not,” Aerion whispers, stepping forward once more to pin you to the post, his chest flush to yours. One of his hands seizes your chin, forcing you to look at him, and your hands fly out to rest against his forearm. You don’t push him away. He continues, “Knights earn, my sweet girl, but dragons take, don’t they?”
“I…” You can’t speak, your tongue heavy in your mouth as he maintains eye contact. Your body heats beneath your chemise, blood honey-thick in your veins as you attempt to form a sentence, but your words fail you.
“I am a prince of the realm, blood of the dragon,” he mutters, trailing a finger across your jaw, up along your cheek before cupping your face. The press of his rings are cold to your heated skin. Your lips part, a feather-light sigh escaping you. “And I will take whatever I want. Do you understand me?”
You find yourself nodding, the warmth of his body against yours pulling something tight in the base of your tummy. Your hands squeeze at his forearm, feeling the soft skin and the sparse blond hair there. No scales, no fire.
“So, from this moment forward, you will not grant your favour to anyone but me,” he tells you, hand back on your jaw. He grips you tightly, and a meek yelp leaves you, his hold bruising, the back of your head knocking lightly on the wooden post. “And if you do, I will sever the head of whomever is brash enough to seek your favour, and mount it to the post of your bed for you to look at whilst I fuck you. Do you understand, or shall I repeat myself?”
“I understand,” you say quickly, voice squeaky with both fear and the restriction of your jawbone. “I understand, my prince.”
Aerion approves, for his eyes flash brightly and a purr escapes his chest as he dips forward and presses his lips to the corner of your mouth. It is soft, tender, and he trails his mouth over the curve of your jaw and down onto the slope of your neck. His other hand rubs over your hip, and your breath hitches in your chest as his hand smooths down your front. It trails over the material covering your mound, before slinking beneath the short hem and brushing against the airy linen of your smallclothes.
The heat of his fingers and the gentleness of his touch has your hips bucking involuntarily, eyelids fluttering as he sucks at your pulse which thrums heavily in your jugular.
“I’ve heard whispers about the sweet little dove that nests within this castle’s walls,” Aerion breathes against you. The coarse pads of his fingers press against your clothed core and a quiet sigh is coaxed from your chest. “I never imagined she’d be such a good girl—such a good listener.”
He rubs two fingers back and forth over your clothed slit, the gusset of your smallclothes growing damp with your slick. The heat of your core against his fingers makes him groan into your neck, his sharp teeth skimming your sensitive skin as he sucks at the junction of your neck and shoulder.
You hold on to his forearm as it rocks with the movements of his hand, but you should be wrenching him away, cursing and screaming and begging for your guards to seize him, to haul him away for attempting to corrupt your virtue. But you don’t. Your brain is fuzzy, your heartbeat heavy in your core, nipples catching on the linen of your chemise and brushing against his doublet. You can’t believe how your fear has turned into lust as the Targaryen prince works two of his fingers against you, his lips suckling at your neck while he grips your jaw tightly still.
The hands you have on his forearm trail up, caressing the bare skin, then dancing across the sleeve of his tunic. He groans against you at your touch as you wind your fingers over his shoulder, then flatten across his chest, caressing his pectorals beneath the padded doublet. His mouth withdraws as he pants against the curve of your shoulder, one of your hands threading along the back of his neck, nails scraping through the short hair that grows at his nape. You grab a fistful, stroking his scalp, before tightening your fingers and tugging gently.
Aerion pulls back and growls, then slams his mouth to yours. The kiss is harsh, more teeth and tongue than anything you’ve ever experienced, his lips burning hot against yours. The fingers he pushes against your clothed slit dip against the fabric, pressing against the puffy bud of your clit, pinching before rubbing a heavy circle. It makes you stutter out a moan against his mouth, which he uses to curl his tongue against you deeper, sliding across your teeth. He tastes of wine and ash, and something metallic, the richness of blood on his snake-like tongue. A sound of deep pleasure, a loutish grunt from the back of his throat, knocks against your teeth as he kisses you, the hand he has on your jaw forcing you to be completely pliant beneath him.
Aerion pulls back after a long moment, pressing a wet, saliva-slick kiss to the corner of your mouth once more before speaking lowly into your ear, “Are you going to be good for me, little dove? Are you going to give me what I want?”
“Yes,” you whisper, pleasure a firm knot in the base of your belly already as he continues to slide his fingers back and forth against you, the fabric of your smallclothes soaked through, tacky against your folds.
The prince tuts at you, his fingers vanishing from your core. You whimper at the rush of cool air that hits you, but he quickly closes the space when he taps four fingers roughly against you—a measured smack against your covered cunt, which rips an embarrassingly loud moan from your chest, head falling back against the post.
“You are a lady,” Aerion chastises you whilst he acts more unlike a prince than any nobleman you’ve ever met. His palm cups your core now, soothing the dull ache caused by the smack. “Answer nicely.”
You pant, eyes watering as you meet his, lips swollen from the force of his kiss. “I–I’ll be good, my prince. I’ll be good for you.”
He smiles. “Of course you will.”
Then, his palm shifts, two fingers looping through the band of your smallclothes and tugging. The material all but tears as he pulls it down your legs with such aggression it makes your hips buck. Your slick cunt is bared to the tepid air of your room, the fireplace dwindling now, and you squeeze your thighs together as you kick your undergarments away. His other hand leaves your face to join his other in pulling your chemise over your head, tearing it away from you and tossing it across the room. It disappears into the shadows and you’re left bare before him.
He groans at the sight, eyes dropping to where he kicks your legs apart with his foot, trailing his hand over your mound and dipping into the silken wet heat of your folds. Fingers slide over your puffy clit, and he groans again at the way your body jolts against him. His other hand squeezes one of your breasts tightly beneath strong fingers, nipple crushed beneath his palm, making you moan.
“Oh, my poor girl, you’re soaked,” Aerion whispers, almost in disbelief, as he runs two fingers through your slit, gathering slick between your folds. “Pretty little pussy’s drooling for her prince, isn’t she?”
His middle and ring finger find your hole, slick and warm and too empty. You huff out something that sounds like his name, but the syllables are lost as the pads of his fingers trace circles around you. You lean your head back, baring your throat to him, allowing him to swoop down and attach his mouth to a soft patch along the column of your trachea. As he does this, he—with surprising restraint—works the blunt tips of his fingers past the entrance of your cunt. He pushes, and pushes still, until your silken walls open around the intrusion, the bump of his knuckles rubbing against your posterior wall, sending electric shocks into your womb.
“She’s taking me so well,” Aerion lifts his head to utter against your cheek, and he nearly smiles when he feels how hot you are there.
He curls his fingers and presses further until the top of his palm rests against you. Quickly, he retracts his fingers before plunging them back into you, and the wet squelch that fills the space between you makes you suck in a breath, ears ringing.
The prince hums darkly, kissing your cheek. “Oh, she’s mouthy too, is she? Pussy’s got something to say?”
He repeats the movements, the wet plap-plap-plap of his fingers rutting into you, and his palm hitting your wet folds, makes his cock twitch painfully in his breeches. You whine out, embarrassed, pleasure as heavy as an anvil in the base of your stomach, Valyrian steel threatening to sever the cord of tension that withheld your release.
“Please,” you find yourself begging as your hands grip his shoulders. The contrast of Aerion being completely clothed while you stand before him, naked with slick dribbling down your inner thighs, has a sort of drunkenness washing over you.
His other hand, kneading your breasts still, shoots up to slap a palm across your mouth as he works his fingers in and out, pace quick and unrelenting. He angles his head down to watch where his forearm flexes as he shoves his fingers into you—he pulls out, lines up to add a third, and then forces them in, and the stretch makes you yowl against his palm.
“Easy, little dove,” he utters, pulling his fingers away only to hike one of your legs around his hip, giving him a deeper angle to drive his fingers back into you. Three fingers stretch you open and curl deep inside you, pressing against the gummy spot inside that forces a tremor through you. You moan against his hand, breath coming in quick pants, eyelids fluttering as he fucks his fingers into your cunt.
The pace is animalistic, rushed. Aerion grunts as his arm works, the other gripping the lower portion of your face so he can listen to the way your pussy takes him. He can feel dribbles of slick running down his wrist, smearing across your inner thighs. Your walls clench him tightly as he nails the best spot inside you, and he marvels in the way your leg trembles against his hip, your nails digging into the thick material at his shoulders as he urges you towards release.
You say something against his palm, but it is muffled. He wrenches his hand away and finally looks at your face as you manage to puff out, “M’gonna… come…”
Aerion pulls his fingers from you, your pussy clenching around nothing. You curse loudly, and then moan his name, eyes springing open when he drops your leg. He hides his smile as he sinks to his knees before you, hands grasping the doughy flesh of your inner thighs to spread your legs. His head slots between them, and he exhales a forceful blow onto your soaked cunt. The air makes you keen, hand shooting out to grasp his hair.
“Gods, just look at her,” he voices from below you, hands moving across your thighs. His thumbs find your folds and he spreads you open for him, slick webbing between them. The feeling makes you whine—and then the feeling of his tongue, pointed and firm, curling into your hole has you whining even louder.
The narrow slope of his nose rubs perfectly against your puffy clit as he works his tongue inside you, curling between your walls, slick and warm. His hand is wet against you as he holds you open for him, a series of soft, dragon-like huffs suffocated in the heat of your pussy as his tongue coils inside you.
The stretched cord of your release is pulling taut in your abdomen once more, and you find yourself rocking your hips against his face in chase of it. Pursuing a hare through the long grass, adrenaline mounting, hound’s teeth closing in.
“My prince,” you whine, hips twitching. “Gods, I’m going to—ah—”
He hums against you and the cord in your lower belly snaps and splinters inside you. Your orgasm racks through you, pleasure white-hot in your chest and womb, spreading through your veins as your pussy clenches around his tongue. You moan his title loudly, pelvis stuttering against the rigid lines of his face as he works you through your release. Your hole spasms around his tongue, clit thrumming with your heartbeat.
He hums again when some of your release dribbles down from the corners of his mouth, running down his chin, and when he pulls away, a string connects his lips to you. It snaps when he runs his tongue over his lips, sitting back on his haunches to admire the glossiness of your pussy and the way your hole clenches around nothing.
“Pretty girl…” Aerion muses, leaning forward to press one last kiss to your clit before getting to his feet.
His cock is painfully hard, pressing against his breeches and the seam of his trousers. Grinding his hips against your pelvis, Aerion drags his hands up your sides, caressing you softly, before placing them either side of your face. He kisses you, lips slick atop yours. A sinful thrill runs up your spine as you taste the faint musk of yourself on his tongue, an earthy-sweet ichor that Aerion will fist himself to the memory of for months to come.
“Your favour is mine,” the prince says against you, before the warmth of his mouth disappears and he’s spinning you around. Still fully-clothed, he pushes his body against your back, keeping you warm. “You are mine.”
You suck in a breath as one of his hands brands you between the shoulder-blades, rings biting against the skin as he forces you to bend. You curl over the end of your bed until your chest presses flat to the sheets, your arse bare against the tent in his trousers. You breathe out an “o-oh fuuuck” as he grinds his clothed cock—the imprint thick against the cleft of your arse—in firm, teasing thrusts.
After quickly ripping his doublet from his body, suddenly too hot, Aerion keeps one hand to your upper back, pinning you to the bed while his other works in unfastening the ties and clasps of his trousers. He nudges your legs wider apart with his feet as his trousers loosen finally, and he can dip his hand into his breeches, shucking them down enough to fish his cock out. He hisses quietly behind you as he fists himself, tip red and ruddy, beads of precum wetting the slit. He chokes on a groan when one slips down his frenulum and along a prominent vein on the underside.
“Gods, little dove, what are you doing to me?” Aerion groans, angling his hips forward to drag the head of his cock down the split of your arse before tapping it against your pussy. He spreads your folds with the blood-flushed tip as you mewl out, incapable of giving him a properly-worded answer.
He chuckles at that, and you are surprised when he bends to press a line of kisses down your sweat-dampened spine. You arch for him as he tongues the dip at the base of your spine, teeth nipping at the skin.
“So good for me,” he breathes against you, and groans as he pulls back to stand a bit straighter.
Still grasping the base of his cock, he runs the head up and down your folds once more, pressing firmly to your clit—“there we go, this sweet girl gets a little kiss,” he says under his breath—before he lines up at your entrance. He says louder, “I deserve this, little dove. This is my prize.”
And then he’s thrusting into you in one deft movement. Your eyes roll, fingers gripping the sheets as you cry out, an echoing moan causing the flames of nearby candles to flicker. An animalistic growl tears from Aerion’s chest as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, the silken walls of your cunt moulding like clay around him. The ridges of his cock slide against you just right, and the prince grips your hip and glues you to him.
“Fuck, fuck, you’re so tight,” Aerion grits out, canines gnashing as he bites down the pleasure crawling up his diaphragm.
“Please,” you call out to him, cheek to the sheets, a tear slipping from the corner of your eye. “Please, my prince, please move.”
Aerion grunts, but doesn’t chastise your begging. Instead, he does what you ask of him, withdrawing until the head of his cock is just nestled inside you, before rutting back in. You whimper out a pathetically meek string of gasps—“ah–ah–ah,”—as he sets a pace, his hips smacking against your arse, the fat rippling. He grunts and groans, the sounds have your pussy tightening along with his movements.
He keeps you anchored to the bed. The hand between your shoulder blades is strong and unmoving, and the hand on your hip clenches around the softness there with a vice-like grip, forcing your arse back onto him as he moves. The pace is quick and rough, packed full of desperation as he stuffs your wet cunt over and over. His cock stretches you open, splits you apart, curls up towards the plug of your womb. Desperation is translated through the way his deep grunts end with the lightest lilt, a slight whimper at the end.
All men are needy when chasing the favour of a lady.
“Hgnh—fuck, come on, sweet girl, that’s it. Y-yeah, that’s it, stay just like that,” Aerion mutters, rambling as his eyelids droop low, sweat beading high on his forehead and at the hair on his temples.
You can’t do much but bend and take it, cock filling you perfectly, the angle driving him deep against a spongey spot inside you that punches whimper after whimper from your throat. He groans when your back arches further for him. “That’s my good girl, that’s my girl—pretty little dove taking my cock like a dirty fucking whore.”
You moan in response, clit pulsing and body starting to shake. You tremble against the sheets of your bed, pleasure building like the rush of water beneath your skin. Rising and rising, suffocating you as the head of his cock drives you closer and closer to release.
Aerion knows you’re close.
“I know, sweet girl, oh, I know,” he coos down at you, caressing your back as he plows into you from behind. The bed creaks with the force, the sheets bunching beneath you. “Let me feel you. Give me your favour, little dove.”
The ball of tension in your belly grows tighter and tighter as your body grows hotter and hotter. Small moans of his name fall from your lips. Not his title, but his name. He doesn’t reprimand you for it, too obsessed with your soaked cunt wrapped tight around his cock, but he’ll be sure to scold you later. For now, he maintains his pace, watching the way your hips bounce against his pelvis, sweat still building in a light sheen along your spine.
“Aerion.” Then, with a realm-shattering moan, you come around him, legs locking up tightly, fists clenching the sheets.
Your eyes snap shut as stars burst behind them, your second orgasm crashing over you. Your lower belly pulls taut, pussy clenching around his cock as the pleasure crests, and Aerion takes it with a groan of your name, pace faltering slightly as he pushes deeper into you.
You’re boneless against the bed now as the prince uses you, his cock twitching, thrusts becoming shallower. He’s rutting into you, humping the curve of your arse, cock barely leaving the drooling sheath of your cunt as his high rears like a hissing serpent inside him.
Knights earn, dragons take.
Aerion groans your name, collapsing half-way on top of you, the hand on your back moving to the side of your head to hold himself up as he grinds his cock into you.
“I’m going to spill inside of you,” he mumbles, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Yeah, m’going to fill you, little dove. Fill this pretty pussy with my seed. Every—uh, fuck—everyone’ll know who you belong to i-if you’re round with my babe.”
You whine, screwing your eyes shut, overstimulation leaking into your gut like molasses, but you know he’s not going to last. You can feel his cock jerking inside you with each sloppy thrust.
“Uh-uh, none of that, m’lady,” Aerion murmurs, words drawing together now: pussy-drunk. “You’re mine—your favour is mine. You belong to the dragon.”
Then, with one last growl of your name between clenched teeth, Aerion comes inside of you, release filling you in hot ropes as his cock twitches. He’s buried to the hilt, a wanton groan leaving his lips as the warm walls of your pussy milk him, take him. The heat that fills you, the sensation of growing full, makes you hum out a pleased moan.
Slowly, the prince pulls his softening cock out of you and wipes his shaft along your arse cheek. The stickiness makes you huff out at him, and he laughs as he tucks himself back into his breeches, drawing his trousers back up.
His seed leaks out of you as you attempt to pull yourself onto your bed, turning to lay on your back and watch as he retrieves his doublet from the floor and begins pulling it over his head. You didn’t expect aftercare, but the absence of his warm body against you makes your heart contract beneath your ribcage.
Aerion notices the brief expression of discontent that passes over your face. He rolls his eyes, smoothing his hands through his hair, clearing the strands that stick to his skin with sweat.
“I left your father’s feast for this,” he says, bending down and placing his arms either side of you. He cages you against the bed, nose brushing yours. “I will finish my meal and make your father happy, and then I will return and fuck you to sleep.”
The prince presses one last lingering kiss to your mouth, a surprisingly sweet gesture, before he retreats and heads for the door. He unbolts it and looks back over his shoulder, watching as you reach blindly for your chemise, limbs pleasure-lax, eyes tired. He sighs loudly, stalking back across the room and scooping your chemise from the floor. Pale fingers snap around your wrist and he pulls you into a sitting position.
“Arms up,” he orders, and you do as you’re told. He shoves the chemise roughly down your arms and then over your head. His fingers brush your softening nipples as he lays the fabric back over you. He shakes his head as you blink up at him like a doe. He grumbles, “Pathetic.”
But you’re sure he doesn’t really mean it, especially when he cups your cheek and caresses your cheekbone for a fleeting moment, before he’s heading back towards the door. He opens it and vanishes without a look back, closing it with a firm slam. But even with his abrupt exit, you can’t help but smile as you sink beneath your sheets, his seed and your slick leaking out between your thighs.
All men, no matter their strength or their status, are needy when chasing the favour of a lady.
———
is he obsessed with you? yes. is he going to give you aftercare after you gave his your favour to someone else? no. he’s moody like that smh
cw : male yandere, suggestive, "everyone wanted him so bad but he only wants you" kinda troupe and "that one guy that's mean to everyone but you" troupe, gn!reader/reader's gender is not specified.
an : cillian murphy as jonathan crane looks did something for me the glasses literally screams office siren.
masterlist.
thinking about yandere! office siren boy who never failed to greet you with a cup of coffee made perfectly by your preference every single morning.
he donned on a tailored slacks accentuating a perfectly sculpted ass, white dress shirt that highlighted his model-like physique, with a few buttons left unbuttoned, and those thin-framed glasses adding just the right touch of intrigue and allure, his outfit reflected his effortless charm and seductive presence.
yandere! office siren boy is calm and collected, very professional. a person with sharp wit and no-nonsense attitude demanding respect. yet it was weirdly attractive not just to you, but the other worker in the office as well.
but he paid no mind to other people. his affection is solely for you only, making your coworkers bite their tongue in envy everytime he stroll in and leaning almost seductively on your little cubicle.
yandere office siren boy! who almost never smile unless it's for formality or whenever he's talking to you, and the smile is really different too, there's always a seductive yet genuine smile gracing his lips whenever he's with you.
yandere office siren boy! who give the meanest stare whenever he caught anyone talk bad about you, that glare alone would shut them up because his reputation in the office.
he was hired not just because his looks alone of course, your boss hired him a few years ago for his remarkable ability to navigate any situation with grace, his work ethic is unmatched. he is simply exceptional.
yandere! office siren boy who refuse to do favors for other people, never the one who's easily bend over unless he deemed the payment is acceptable. but also will try to lessen your work load by helping you everytime, even though it was dead obvious that you can handle it on your own.
tired! reader who is not dense of yandere office siren boy's interest in them, they just don't have the energy to really give af abt it lol.
yandere! office siren boy who always refused any offer in after-work drinking by his coworkers, but quickly accept when he knows you're in. he wouldn't drink a single drop of alcohol tho, he will stay quietly by your side the whole night, he had to stay sober so he could drive you home safely.
The air in the private academy’s library tasted of old paper, expensive leather, and the suffocating arrogance of generational wealth.
To Rican, the world had never been a complex web of human emotion or shared struggle. It was a ladder where everything and everyone was either beneath his feet or hoisted above his head.
He, naturally, existed on the highest of the high.
Born with what he fondly referred to as the holy trinity of existence—attractiveness, charisma that border-lined on hypnotic, and an amount of money that could buy a small nation—he had never once encountered the concept of difficulty.
The word "struggle" was a foreign sequence of vowels that simply did not apply to his universe.
And it definitely didn't apply for school either, not when it was like his personal playground.
His father had personally financed entire sports complexes and academic clubs just to ensure Rican’s boredom was kept at bay.
Life was flawless, a golden path laid out before him, except for one tiny thing.
Romantic interest.
Women flung themselves at his feet daily, but a quick, meaningless hookup was all he could muster.
And of course Rican took it upon himself to make it a mission to find someone who could be more than a hookup. (someone who could MAYBE give him a high-five trust)
His first attempt at finding love had been an utter disaster. It ending within thirty seconds when the girl’s voice proved to be a fraction too shrill for his ears, causing him to walk away mid-sentence without a backward glance.
The second target had shown promise until he cast his eyes downward and noticed the scuffed, criminanal sight of her off-brand loafers.
The mere sight of such poverty had induced a physical wave of nausea, forcing him to cross her off his list immediately.
But of course Rican was nothing if not persistent. Third time's the charm, right?
That was when his gaze had drifted to the back of your head.
You were cute, undeniable, but Rican didn't just want a doll—he wanted a prize that felt worthy of his high status.
To test the waters, he had casually slipped a crisp bill into the teacher's palm, ensuring that the seating chart for the semester's most intensive research project was altered.
The investment paid off instantly. Over the first few days, he discovered you were genuinely funny, easy to talk to, and possessed a face that perfectly aligned with his exact aesthetic preferences.
You, however, viewed the entire arrangement through a lens of profound skepticism.
You weren't naive. You knew how wealthy boys functioned.
So of course, you expected him to be arrogant, you expected him to be detached, and you fully expected him to eventually try and pawn all the project's actual research off on you.
What you did not expect, under any circumstances, was the warp-speed at which his brain apparently operated.
By the third day of the project, the casual banter had completely vanished, replaced by an intense, suffocating focus that made your skin prickle.
He could scoot closer to you, and stare at you even when you weren't speaking. It was becoming to the point where you were more shocked if he wasn't staring into your soul.
It was all little things just added up to eachother, like him cleaning the eraser dust off your lap faster than you could or him paying for your bus ride home and even more money so you could buy some food. (You never mentioned how you take the bus)
Then came the fourth day, and with it, the absolute pinnacle of his delusion.
He slid a gourmet bento box across the table toward you—a daily ritual he had aggressively started since the first day of pairing up—before leaning forward on his elbows.
His face was a picture of serene, absolute certainty as he uttered the words that made your entire brain grind to a screeching halt.
"How much for you to date me?"
You immediately froze.
"What?"
You weren't opposed to the concept of financial security, and like anyone else, you enjoyed the idea of having money. But just the sheer audacity of someone trying to buy you like a piece of livestock was completely uncalled for.
He didn't even look ashamed. He just sat there in his expensive chair, a massive, triumphant grin spreading across his face as if he had just offered you the deal of a lifetime, entirely blind to the look of sheer confusion freezing your features.
"Yes, like to have you," Rican clarified effortlessly, his voice dripping with a casual nonchalance that only made the situation a hundred times worse.
He leaned in a bit closer, his eyes bright with a terrifyingly possessive spark. "Preferably forever, and chained wrist to wrist to me."
"What the hell are you talking about?" You looked around frantically, half-expecting a hidden camera crew to jump out from behind the fiction section, but there was nobody—just Rican and his completely unhinged, romantic delusions.
His smile only widened at your reaction, his head tilting to the side as he analyzed your expression with a creepy, clinical fascination.
"Your eyes look pretty, they're big right now," he mused, his voice dropping to a soft, delighted purr. "Is it because you're scared, or maybe excited? I really hope it's the second option."
"Rican, we've literally only known each other for like four days!" you hissed, leaning across the table to whisper-yell, desperately trying to keep your voice down so the librarian wouldn't wander over.
"What are you talking about? Dating? Where did that even come from?" You were genuinely baffled by the absolute lack of self-awareness.
How did rich people navigate the world so completely blind to the discomfort of others? How could he look at your pale, horrified face and see a green light for marriage proposals?
"Yeah, dating then marriage," he replied instantly, nodding his head as if he were explaining a very simple, chronological timeline to a child.
"Or we could just go straight to marriage and babies. But my tutor said it's more normal to become boyfriend and girlfriend first, so I'm trying to do it the traditional way."
You just stared at him. The sheer gravity of his insanity left you entirely speechless.
"I'll give you a weekly salary," he blurted out, misinterpreting your stunned silence as dissatisfaction with the terms.
You stared even more, your mouth slightly open, completely incapable of processing the words coming out of his mouth.
"Daily! Daily, instead?" he corrected frantically, his composure fracturing just a fraction as he leaned further over the table, his hands gripping the wood, desperate to seal the deal.
Your continued silence seemed to throw him into a spiral of panic, his mind incapable of understanding why a human being wouldn't immediately capitulate to the power of his wallet.
"Hourly?" he offered, his breath hitching.
"Every minute?" Rican pleaded, his voice dropping to a desperate, pathetic whine as he reached out, his fingers twitching with the urge to grab your hands.
"Please, I just need you."
eisnewisnshe any new requests yall omg this has been laying in my drafts for like more than 5 months
and also guys I'm kinda in writer's block idk so I'm sorry if this is bad !! I tried my best and hopefully next post is better !! <33
Two Intertwining Melodies || Sung Jin-woo (Part 2 of 3)
Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!Omega!reader
A/N: Hello again everyone! Thank you so much for all of your interest and feedback on part one of this series. Due to the sheer enormity of the second chapter, I've decided to expand the siren au into a trilogy rather than a two-parter. My dear friend and beta reader @forbidden-sunlight has been an absolutely incredible source of support in the creation of this story. She also wrote the imagine that inspired this au. Links to the prologue and first chapter are posted below. Do be sure to read them first before continuing. And as always, heed the content warnings that are listed.
╰┈➤ Chapter Index
🦪 Prologue by @forbidden-sunlight
🧜♂️ Part 1: Master and Apprentice
🦈 Part 3: In a Sea of Fire
Content warnings: 18+MDNI, canon divergent, graphic descriptions of gore, death, and violence, afab!reader, reader is a makeup artist and hair stylist in the entertainment industry, a/b/o dynamics, heavy mentions of heat cycles, knotting, and breeding, threats of assault/non-con made by Kang Taeshik towards the reader (Jinchul intervenes and protects her), suggestive themes, some sexual descriptors, mythical creatures au, yandere!Jin-woo.
Word count - 9.6k
Summary - You find yourself returning to your childhood home of Jindo Island after receiving the offer of a lifetime. However, you can't shake the feeling that someone or something is watching you.
Dividers by @anitalenia and @firefly-graphics
[Skill: "Monarch’s Domain" Has Been Activated.]
“Come on out!”
A cacophony of deafening blasts, wails, and the clash of steel rings across the crimson-tinged horizon of the one hundredth floor of the Demon’s Castle; a perfect accompaniment to the Armageddon currently taking place. Infantrymen by the hundreds emerge from the shadows to skewer Baran’s forces while Iron, Igris, and Tank slaughter the larger and more formidable combatants with wanton brutality. Issuing a non-verbal command, Jin-woo orders Tusk to incinerate his enemies with ‘Song of Inferno,’ and a calamitous ball of flames bursts forth, eradicating most of the battalion.
“Amazing… on all the top floors I’ve been with him, I’ve seen nothing quite like this,” Esil whispered in awe. Although she was a demon princess who grew up in this wasteland and had seen many spectacular sights, the power of commanding shadow soldiers was most certainly not one of them.
In contrast to his companion, Jin-woo calmly observes the cataclysmic destruction with a piercing gaze. Despite gaining the upper hand against his troops, Baran remained steadfast in his refusal to engage directly in the ensuing fight. This simply would not do. Jin-woo needed to secure his victory in this decisive battle, and fast.
Jinwoo’s opponent possessed the last ingredient required to craft the Holy Water of Life: The Purified Blood of the Demon Monarch. A fortnight of endless fighting had culminated to this moment, and he was on the precipice of triumph. But the Demon King was unlike any adversary he had ever faced before. Jin-woo could gauge just from the sheer murderous energy emanating from him that Baran was in a league of his own. And his power spoke for itself: endless demon hordes at his beck and call, a wyvern as a mount, and an insurmountable supply of mana that showed no signs of running out. Jin-woo would need to approach his foe strategically lest he lose this war of attrition.
At long last, as if he could sense the siren’s impatience, the Demon King makes his move. He bids his steed to fly at a lower altitude. Once within range, Baran unhinges his jaw and unleashes a massive beam of white lightning. Within seconds, thunder runs rampant throughout the land, devastating everything in its path. However, Jin-woo and his shadow army stand strong regardless of the imminent danger. The siren even has the audacity to smirk.
So Baran thought he could defeat him with electricity? Excellent. He really could not have asked for a better opponent. As luck would have it, Jin-woo’s oceanic nature gave him the edge in this situation. The surface of water, acting as a conductor of electricity, causes high voltages and amps to spread rapidly. With this in mind, Jin-woo launches a counterattack.
“Wreak havoc on all who dare to stand in my way, Charybdis!”
Powerful torrents of black seawater manifest from the shadows just before Baran’s attack could hit him. The rushing stream then runs across the land and coalesces into a violent maelstrom in the sky. The raging vortex absorbs most of the lightning in its maw before redirecting its flow towards the Demon King. Baran wills his steed to evade by canting to the left, but Tusk incapacitates him by striking the wyvern’s wing with a blast of fire magic. The Demon King leaps from his mount’s back before it’s forced into the whirlpool and electrocuted. He lands gracefully on his feet and shoots a sinister grin at Jin-woo.
“It was worth it to let Tusk have the sphere,” the siren remarks nonchalantly, as if it was just any other day and not a fight to the death. “I’m glad you’re finally on the ground. Constantly looking up was making me tired.”
With the Demon King grounded, Jin-woo no longer required the aquatic effects of Charybdis. The dark water above evaporates as it returns to the abyssal depths of the ocean, its job now complete. With this hindrance finally gone, Baran doesn’t hesitate to release another beam of white thunder, this one even greater than the last. Tusk attempts to lessen the impact with ‘Song of Protection’, but the force of taking a direct hit ends up obliterating him. Undeterred by his comrade’s demise, Iron bellows at Baran and slashes at his body with his axe. But he proves to be no match for the speed of the Demon King, who ruthlessly splits his head in half. Igris then valiantly joins the fray and swings his great sword at the demon. However, this too is a fruitless endeavor, as Baran swiftly catches his blade and wipes him out with a flick of his wrist.
Just as Igris’s body fades, Jin-woo emerges from the ashes in his true sirenic form, Knight Killer and Baruka’s dagger at the ready. “Scylla!” He snarls a second incantation that brings forth another wave of black water, this time in the shape of a six-headed beast. The aqueous leviathan slams into Baran, crushing his body under its weight and submerging the entire floor of the dungeon in water. The Demon King swiftly breaks free from the tides and springs onto the roof of one of the sole remaining towers. Soaking wet and surrounded by large bodies of water, Baran ends up on the defensive; if he were to use his lightning, he risked electrocuting himself. Jin-woo was also in an environment that favored him, and the Demon King could not pinpoint his whereabouts while he was swimming underwater.
Even with this advantage, the gap in power was still significant between the two. Knowing this, Jin-woo doesn’t allow him a moment of reprieve. He uses his tail to project his body from the currents and launches at the Demon King with his daggers. The demon responds in kind, countering his onslaught with a flurry of strikes from his own weapons. Jin-woo holds his own against the extraordinary speed of Baran’s slashes. But he was low on mana, and fatigue was rapidly building up. While oceanic magic was incredibly effective, it incurred a high cost of mana. This, coupled with an extended exposure to a dry, fiery atmosphere, was having a seriously detrimental effect on his endurance. It was time to end the battle after dragging it out for so long. Jin-woo just needed an opportunity to catch the demon off guard–
Klang!
A loud noise reverberates in the dungeon as a lance ricochets off Baran’s head. The demon redirects his focus to the sheepish face of Esil. Huh? I thought I told her to head for higher ground. When did she…? Jin-woo ponders briefly before banishing the thought. He requested a distraction, and someone kindly provided him with one. He wasn’t about to squander his only chance.
Using Baran’s hesitation to his advantage, Jin-woo discards his short swords and sinks his fangs into the Demon King’s neck, crushing down on his windpipe. As Baran struggles to throw him off, Jin-woo unsheathes his claws and gouges out chunks of flesh. The demon howls in agony, his pained cries music to the siren’s ears. “How stupid of me,” Jin-woo sneers, his voice deepening in pitch as his actions became more monstrous, “I was fighting you like a man this entire time, when this is who I really am. Heh, I guess being disguised as a human for so long made me forget.”
Summoning all his strength, Jin-woo uses his muscular arms to tear Baran’s torso from his body. The vicious mauling completely eviscerates the demon, with only his entrails being left over in its wake. His victory now secured, Jin-woo exhaustedly slumps to the ground and reverts to his human appearance. The throes of battle destroyed most of his clothes, much to his chagrin. The only apparel that remained intact were his tattered jeans, and those only just spared his modesty. He scoffed in annoyance; he’d need to purchase a new wardrobe soon to make himself more presentable for you …
“Jin-woo, sir!” Esil dashes towards him with a worried look on her cute face. The siren smirks, satisfied despite the many setbacks he faced during this confrontation.
“Esil, tell your father the Radis clan is now the number one family.”
“Jin-woo sir,” the demon girl responds exasperatedly, “Our family name is Radir.”
6:00 AM, on the outskirts of Jindo Island…
Jin-woo deeply inhales the crisp morning air as he soars through the endless skies. Much had transpired in the short time between the conclusion of his showdown with Baran and now. He had gained the Purified Blood of the Demon Monarch, along with the World Tree Fragment, and Spring Water from Echo Forest. With these three components, he was at last able to craft the Holy Water of Life. Once finished, he cradled the precious vial in his palm, as if trying to ascertain proof of its existence. Afterwards, Jin-woo deposited it into his magical inventory for safekeeping.
Of course, the elixir was just one of the many spoils of war he had claimed. Kaisel, the wyvern who now served as his mount, was his for the taking after Baran’s death. The gift of flight had expedited the journey home, much to his joy. A rune stone had also provided him with the skill, ‘Shadow Exchange,' a means of trading places with any of his soldiers scattered throughout land and sea. Thanks to this new ability, he was able to leave that hellish landscape. After being gone for what felt like eons, Jin-woo was desperate to return. To his family. To Ashborn. To you.
He’s relieved when the familiar cityscape of Jindo-gun comes into view. He estimates it would take roughly 15 more minutes for them to arrive over the briny waters. However, before they can make it past the coastline, the spellbinding fragrance of bergamot and vanilla overwhelms Jin-woo’s senses. This could mean only one thing: you were nearby. The headiness of your musk had also gotten more potent in his absence, signifying your fertility.
“Fuck!” Jin-woo’s hisses as desire courses hot and heavy through his veins. He tries to resist the temptation of your pheromones, but you smelt so damn good; so ready and willing for him and his knot –
Jin-woo grunts as he bites down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. The pain causes him to regain some mental clarity, and he wills himself to calm down. But it’s of no use. His thoughts were currently being clouded by lust and the instinctual drive to breed. Those two weeks he endured in the Demon’s Castle had significantly intensified his longing for you, and the pent-up sexual frustration was coming to a head. Jin-woo really had to nip this in the bud. His stamina was at its limit, and he was in no condition to be seen by you. The siren also desperately needed to go home and check in on his mother and Jin-ah. He was the only alpha and protector of their family after the disappearance of his father. He couldn’t afford to waste another—
The wind carries your scent as it blows past Jin-woo’s face a second time. It was as if you were beckoning him like some sort of enchantress. Unable to ignore your maddening aroma, Jin-woo at last gives in. He knew the decision he was about to make was foolish, reckless even. But he must heed the call of his omega.
He silently apologizes to his mother and Jin-ah and asks them to wait just a little longer. “I’ll only introduce myself… maybe I can even get her name,” he tries to reason with himself while slowly succumbing to delirium. His mind made up, Jin-woo commands Kaisel to deliver him to the area where your scent is the strongest. The wyvern then returns to the void shortly thereafter, leaving the worn out siren to his own devices.
Grainy sand molds against his bare feet as stumbles across the beach in search of you. “Shit. If this keeps up, I might not make it back to Mom and Jin-ah.” Jin-woo mumbles softly. He really was in poor form. Maybe it had been a mistake to depart immediately for Jindo island without taking a break in between. Damn.
As black spots start to obscure his vision, Jin-woo’s gaze finally lands on you. His lips quirk into a tired smile. Even through blurry eyes, you looked absolutely stunning while standing in the sunlight. Like an earthly goddess.
With his consciousness ebbing further and further away, the siren musters up the last of his energy to stagger towards you. He makes it only two steps before his body gives out and he collapses. Rather than hitting the hard ground, a soft and warm embrace met Jin-woo. He blearily cracks open an eye, curious about what broke his fall. It was at that moment your lovely, albeit worried face greeted him. Pretty, he thinks, exhaustion finally taking its toll on him. The last thing Jin-woo remembers before the darkness overtakes him is the soothing smell of bergamot and vanilla.
Two weeks ago, someone or something had been watching you. It was during the first day of filming the mystery-thriller, ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea’, a passion project by renowned producer, Go Gun-hee. The man had an incredible work ethic, with a career spanning over 40 years and numerous accolades to his name. He had recently come out of retirement, and the entertainment industry was buzzing with anticipation. Known as a cinematic miracle maker, every motion picture Go Gun-hee produced set box office records. Suffice to say, you had been over the moon after finding out you were amongst the few who made the cut for makeup artists hired to work on set. Although the instant you found out where the filming location was to take place, you immediately felt your enthusiasm dampen. Jindo-gun. At one point, this had been your home. Now, it was but a distant memory.
You had spent most of your childhood on the island of Jindo. Its scenic beaches, sprawling forests, and crystalline waters made it ideal for shooting a film based on a luxury yacht charter. There was one major caveat however: the sirens. Several pods of these unpredictable creatures resided off the coast of Jindo, and the alphas were infamous for their aggression, especially during the height of the mating season.
Growing up, your parents warned you time and time again not to walk alone along the shores at night. "Don’t ever go to the beach by yourself after dark," your mother had signed this to you almost every day. A constant reminder to stay safe and vigilant of your surroundings. Townsfolk also gossiped and shared sordid stories about the lost souls who fell victim to the sirens. But this wasn’t just word of mouth, a child’s fairytale, or mere superstition. These deadly apex predators were very much real, and a troublingly high number of homicides were committed by them each year. Unfortunately, this did little to dissuade foolhardy tourists and arrogant fishermen from pouring into the island during the hotter months of spring and summer.
Eager to escape the foreboding atmosphere, you had applied to and been accepted into a 2-year cosmetology program in Busan shortly after finishing high school. Makeup had always been a strong interest of yours and with the support of both your parents you flourished in your craft.
Although you had been nervous about the transition from quaint suburbia to the big city life, you found yourself quickly growing accustomed to the fast-paced environment. Your school had also been very accommodating, providing you with a sign language interpreter and captioning services for your classes. A kindhearted young woman by the name of Lee Joohee had been assigned as your interpreter during your time in Busan. You became fast friends and remained close even after graduation.
After receiving your license, you relocated to a small apartment in Seoul and began working as a hair and makeup artist in stage productions, commercials, and musicals. You greatly enjoyed the creativity and networking opportunities of your profession, often getting to bump shoulders with many well-known actors and actresses. Within a few years, your portfolio grew considerably. This enabled you to broaden your horizons by breaking into the film industry. ‘Murder on the Cerulean Sea,’ would be your first foray into this competitive market and you wanted to prove yourself as a newcomer to the scene. So, despite your reservations, you begrudgingly agreed to board the private jet headed for Jindo island.
If you recall correctly, the mating season for the sirens wouldn’t take place for another four months, so everything should proceed without a hitch… right?
You began to feel a little more at ease when you found out Cha Hae-In and Yoo Jinho were cast in major roles in the movie. You had first met them when they were both burgeoning stage actors. Cha was surprisingly camera shy and preferred to keep a more subdued profile whereas Jinho was outgoing and incredibly humble despite his privileged background. The bubbly brunet was the youngest son of the chairman of Yoojin Construction Company, a major industrial conglomerate in South Korea.
Although you came from different walks of life, the three of you had hit it off right away, finding common ground in your passions for campy horror films. You even taught them a few signs, and this inspired Jinho to devote himself fully to learning sign language. Cha also practiced her signs with you whenever she had the chance, but her busy schedule often made it difficult for her to find spare time. Nevertheless, you were deeply touched by the efforts made by both of your friends.
While taking a break on set, you felt a pair of eyes boring into you as you were relaxing with Cha and Jinho. At first, you chalked it up to paranoia. It had been years since you visited the island, and you’d nearly forgotten how oppressive the ocean seemed at night. But it was the middle of May. The mating season for the sirens would not take place until September at the earliest. Regardless, the sensation of being watched still lingered even after the mysterious presence had left.
There was also the enthralling scent of lavender and sandalwood thickly permeating the air. It had a distinctly masculine undertone to it that had piqued your interest. It was far too strong to be from a couple spritzes of cologne or perfume, yet more subtle than the pungent smell emanating from many of the alphas who composed the cast and crew onboard the yacht. Their musk was overbearing at best, but this fragrance was entirely different. It was sweet. Delicate. Intoxicating…
You had to find the source of it. Making up an excuse about wanting to get more fresh air, you stay behind on the deck of the ship while your friends return to their accommodations to retire for the evening. As you lean over the railing to scope out the scent, an intense wave of heat suddenly ignites in your lower belly causing you to gasp and buckle at the knees. It briefly lingers in your abdomen before shooting directly to your core. You bite back a moan as your eyes flutter shut from the pleasure spreading throughout your body. Slowly but surely, you were entering into a primal state; one of pure unbridled arousal. You should be concerned. No, you should be horrified. You were so vulnerable, so out of sorts. And yet…
You had never felt so exhilarated. It was as if ecstasy became you. You were ascending higher and higher to parts unknown, all semblance of rationality long since abandoned. The coil in your gut was wound so tight, it was at its breaking point. If this continued, you would inevitably plummet over the edge and succumb to your baser instincts –
The metallic odor of copper violently infiltrates the air, abruptly bringing you back to your senses. Your eyes bolt open, and you release a shaky breath. You’re surprised to find yourself on your knees. They must’ve given out on you at some point. However, your shock shifts to horror when you catch sight of an unruly mop of purple hair from the corner of your eye.
It could only belong to one individual: Kang Taeshik.
Shit. You’d been acquainted with the man just yesterday, but he terrified you. Taeshik was an up-and-coming actor on the scene; one who excelled in any role he played. In spite of this, the first impression he left on you was enough to make you keep your distance. Although Taeshik’s demeanor was docile, there was a cold and calculating look in his eyes that made you shudder. It reminded you of a predator eyeing its prey. The most off-putting aspect of the man, however, was his stomach-churning scent. He positively reeked of blood.
You could feel panic setting in as he began to saunter towards you, a lascivious smirk spread across his face like a dark promise. You’re unable to rise to your feet, still weakened and lightheaded from the erotic sensations affecting you earlier. Worse yet, you feel a lump in your throat, making it difficult to shout or scream for help should the need arise. You were essentially cornered, defenseless, and alone with a menacing alpha. And if the pungency of his musk was anything to go by, he was on the verge of a rut. You sink back into yourself in fear and begin to tremble uncontrollably.
You can see Taeshik’s mouth moving as he closes in on you. You’d become adept at lip reading over the years, although it was difficult to decipher everything he was saying in the darkness. The only words that you can make out are "little omega" and "whore." Your blood curdles. Someone, anyone, please help me! You silently plead, knowing it was futile. For a moment, you foolishly imagine the owner of that enticing scent coming to your rescue.
Thankfully, just before Taeshik can grab you, a large hand envelops his wrist in a vice grip.
The purple haired nightmare cants his gaze to the side and narrows his eyes. He’s greeted by the furious expression of none other than the film’s director, Woo Jinchul. Relief floods your chest at the sight of him. Thank God, you think.
Taeshik rips his arm away and leaps back, creating some distance between himself and the taller man. Jinchul quickly assumes a protective stance in front of you. His broad back prevented you from seeing your would-be assailant, something you were extremely grateful for. For a few tense moments, you can only sit and stare at Jinchul’s imposing figure as he confronts the other man.
Despite how scared you are, you wish you could partake in the conversation if only to defend yourself. Taeshik may try to manipulate the situation by implicating you as an instigator or seductress, something many male actors in the industry unfortunately got away with due to their connections or wealth. It was despicable and made you seethe with anger at the salacious lies and rumors spread by the press and social media.
After several minutes, Taeshik departs with nary but a shrug of indifference. Apparently Jinchul’s status and power as director did nothing to intimidate him. He waits until Taeshik’s figure disappears before turning to face you. There’s an uncharacteristic warmth in his usually hard gaze, and you’re able to catch a whiff of his natural scent: cardamom and cedarwood, a calming combination.
Jinchul gently offers his hand and effortlessly hoists you to your feet. Your legs are still somewhat stiff but functional now. He permits you to steady yourself by grasping onto his shoulders and it doesn’t escape you how oddly intimate these actions are. As if to further prove this, Jinchul, in a strange display of affection, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your breath hitches.
A beat passes before the realization of what he just did hits him. Jinchul’s eyes widen, and he quickly snatches his hand back as if he was scalded. And was it your imagination, or were his ears turning pink? He awkwardly clears his throat before opening his mouth. ‘Are you alright? Did Taeshik harm you in any way?’ You read his lips closely, appreciating the pauses and slow enunciation of his words. Jinchul was aware that you could lip read rather efficiently, and this made it easier to communicate with him since he would not have to always rely on an interpreter.
You shake your head and see him breathing a sigh of relief. ‘He won’t ever be allowed near you again; I will make sure of it.’ Jinchul is back to his usual no-nonsense demeanor it seems. But what had caused him to act so… tender towards you? And Taeshik? The man had always been creepy and taciturn, but he never went out of his way to torment you. If Jinchul hadn’t arrived at just the right time, you could have been assaulted. You feel bile rising to your throat at the thought. Why was this happening? You were always careful and made sure to take your heat suppressants every day. None of the alphas you worked with had ever tried to hurt you before, so why? Unless you were going into heat, but that shouldn’t be possible…
You suddenly break into a sob, overcome with emotion. Your distress causes Jinchul to spring into action. He promptly removes his blazer and drapes it over your shoulders to ward off the chill of the night. Jinchul then produces an embellished handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to you. He hesitates before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and his lips move again. ‘I’m here for you,’ he mouths. You wipe away the tears with the handkerchief and stifle your cries into its soft fabric. All the while, Jinchul remains by your side and grants you as much time as you need to collect yourself. When the tears finally run their course, you lower the ruined cloth from your face and chance a timid glance at him.
Jinchul regards you with a pensive expression on his sharp features. He withdraws his hand from your shoulder and reaches back into his pocket to pull out his phone. He then begins typing away and once finished with his message, he hands the device over to you, displaying the contents of his notebook app.
"As director of this film, I want you to know that I will always prioritize the wellbeing of our cast and crew. With that being said, the actions I witnessed Kang Taeshik commit tonight were morally reprehensible. I won’t disclose the full details of the discussion I had with him, as I do not wish to cause you any further emotional distress. I will say that I can personally attest to the fact that Kang Taeshik sought to menace and harm you while you were in a vulnerable state of heat."
You feel your heart sink into the pit of your stomach as you skim over the last sentence. So Jinchul knew you had unexpectedly gone into heat? Of course he would; he was an alpha. How could you have been so stupid? The director was most certainly going to see you as a liability now… you may even end up losing your job.
You reluctantly force yourself to continue reading. If this to be the conclusion of your tenure, then at least you would see it through to the bitter end.
"Please do not blame yourself for what has happened. Your disposition as an omega has no bearing on your contract or employment, nor does it offer an excuse for an alpha, or anyone for that matter, to harass you. It is with impartial and sound judgment that I have made the executive decision to terminate Kang Taeshik and remove him from production effective immediately. This will cause some inevitable delays, but an impromptu casting call can be arranged in the meantime. I’m willing to run over schedule if it guarantees everyone’s safety."
You exhale and feel all the tension dissipate from your body. So, you weren’t the one being let go, Taeshik was. You hadn’t known much about Woo Jinchul beforehand, but you were thankful that he was a man of good character. This was becoming exceedingly rare in an industry composed of unscrupulous and morally bankrupt members of the upper echelons.
You type back a response before handing him his phone.
"I am so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I really don’t understand what happened. I’ve been taking suppressants for years, and an alpha has never tried to threaten me before. Thank you for stepping in to protect me. I really don’t know what he was planning to do."
You couldn’t help but apologize even though Jinchul had vindicated you. What leaves you reeling, however, is the reply he gives you when the mobile device is back in your hands.
"I should be the one to apologize, not you. My behavior towards you earlier was incredibly uncouth, and for that, I am deeply sorry. As director, I should be conducting myself in a manner that is more befitting. Instead, I allowed my instincts as an alpha to impair my judgement. I promise this shall not happen again."
Uncouth behavior? Did he mean when he was brushing your hair from your face? How could he be apologetic about something so innocuous? The implications don’t fully register until you replay that last sentence: My instincts as an alpha. Instincts…alpha…!?!
He was reacting to your pheromones.
That evening, Jinchul insisted on having you treated at the on-site infirmary. Alas, with few medical staff and even less equipment it was difficult to determine what was causing your symptoms. Was it possible your medication was no longer working? Omega suppressants were highly effective, but that didn’t mean they were infallible. A missed dose or interaction with another drug could negate the effects. But you weren’t taking any other medications, and you never missed a dose.
Needing a second opinion, you were transported to the emergency room at a nearby hospital for further evaluation. Jinchul had opted to let Cha and Jinho drive you there after explaining your circumstances to them (minus the issue with Kang Taeshik; he was keeping it under wraps for now). Unlike him, they were both betas which made them immune to your pheromones.
You ended up being kept overnight for observation. After running a series of tests, including labs to assess your hormones and an ultrasound, you were found to be undergoing a pseudo estrus or ‘false heat’ as it’s more commonly referred to.
Unlike a regular heat, a false heat occurs only when a highly compatible alpha is within close vicinity of an omega. This in turn triggers a massive release of pheromones leading to an increase in libido, fever-like symptoms, cramping, and fatigue. Whoever this alpha was, their presence was so virile that your heat suppressants were fully canceled out by them.
You were questioned extensively about your experience by the healthcare team. "Do you have any partners? Are you sexually active? Is there anyone you work with who is an alpha? When did you first start experiencing the signs of your heat?" The list was never-ending. With the help of an interpreter, you answered everything to the best of your ability. And by the end of it all, you were still at a loss.
No one on that yacht had been emitting that scent, you were sure of it. It had to have been someone wholly unrelated. Perhaps a fisherman or a swimmer? But it was late and everyone who was local to the island knew better than to risk the waters at night. Everyone except you and the entourage on board the yacht, that is.
Frustrated, you eventually gave up on trying to figure out the identity of your potential mate. Your physician, a compassionate fellow omega by the name of Min Byung-Gu, strongly recommended an entire week of bed rest for you. This was to serve as a means of letting the heat cycle run its course. You were also provided with prescription medications to alleviate your symptoms.
Resting was crucial. Any physical stress or strain could worsen your condition, and omegas were particularly susceptible to injury or illness while at their sexual peak. In addition to this, your doctor recommended ceasing all contact with alphas, effectively barring you from returning to work. You were crestfallen at this, but you acquiesced knowing it was for the sake of your recovery.
To avoid any mishaps, Jinchul arranged for you to stay in a penthouse for the time being. The lavish suite was situated on the very top floor of a deluxe condominium, affording you all the personal comforts and privacy you would need. You couldn’t help but snort when you opened the door to your new living quarters. It was like you were a goddamn princess trapped in a tower.
As if that wasn’t enough, your boss had also hired two very intimidating bodyguards. Both were betas who had been tasked with protecting you during your heat. The first to be introduced was a hulking beast of a man called Thomas Andre. He was huge, with a herculean frame that looked to be made of steel rather than flesh and blood. A wild mane of blonde hair and intricate patterns of black ink also adorned his chest and arms, making him even more imposing.
The disarming smile he gives you is anything but, however. He’s also surprisingly gentle with you when he shakes your hand.
Your other bodyguard had a physicality that was far less egregious, but his razor-edged gaze, unnervingly calm composure, and the bulging muscles of his arms revealed a powerful aura that was not to be underestimated. This man had gone by the name of Liu Zhigang, a master swordsman of the highest caliber and one of the strongest individuals in China.
He too, had been unexpectedly friendly, even going so far as to ruffle your hair and calling you a “good girl,” in his native language. Your interpreter had been particularly scandalized while signing this to you after you were insistent on finding out what he said. You, on the other hand, thought it was rather cute, especially when juxtaposed with his tough guy image. There had also been no ill intent or malice in his words; he was being genuinely amiable to you, just as Thomas Andre had been.
Perhaps you could make do with this situation. But you could only imagine how hefty of a price tag these two highly skilled warriors could warrant. Jinchul was sparing absolutely no expense on you. He must have felt terribly guilty about your traumatic experience that night…
You make a vow with yourself not to take his generosity for granted.
And so, the next week passes by rather uneventfully. You ended up becoming stir crazy right from the beginning. You had been so accustomed to the fast-paced lifestyle of a makeup artist and hair stylist that the very concept of wasting the day away seemed foreign. Gone were the 12–14-hour shifts that had once encompassed your daily routine. It was maddening, this sudden lack of purpose.
Sleeping, reading, eating, and binge-watching dramas with closed captioning had been your main escape from the dullness of being confined to bed all day. No one, not even your parents, Jinho, or Cha had been permitted to visit you while on bedrest. Jinchul and Min Byung-Gu had advised you to limit all external stimulation while you were in heat. You understood the importance of this, but it did nothing to prepare you for the overwhelming loneliness that awaited you.
Sure, your bodyguards had been cordial to you, but they were preoccupied with keeping watch over the premises and warding off any intruders. Neither one had time to engage with you beyond a simple greeting or farewell. Even your interpreter kept her presence scarce, coming only twice per day to check in with you and to relay messages from your friends, family, and the director.
It was as if you were a bird in a gilded cage. Locked away, out of sight, and out of mind. You hated every second of it. You wanted to curse the cruel hand you were dealt, to resent the alpha who had caused you all this misery in the first place. But…
You couldn’t bring yourself to do it no matter how unbearable the isolation became.
Once those seven agonizingly slow days were over and done, you were given medical clearance to resume your job. You never thought you would be so happy to work again. Of course, you still had some restrictions in place. Jinchul wanted you to take it easy, so he requested that you work no more than 4-6 hours per day. At this point, you were willing to do anything if it kept you out of that forlorn penthouse.
In addition to this, you were prescribed a significantly higher dosage of oral heat suppressants. It was to be used as a prophylactic to ensure you would not enter a second heat. The side-effects had been merciful, with nothing more than the occasional bout of nausea and a loss of appetite to show for.
Jinho and Cha were ecstatic to see you again, although your other colleagues were far less enthusiastic. The attentiveness and apparent favoritism towards you by the director did not go unnoticed. You were predictably met with the cold shoulder by many of your peers upon your return. It didn’t help that Jinchul had kept the confrontation between him and Taeshik confidential. Only executive producer Go and your bodyguards were made aware. This was done to protect you and to prevent the besmirching of your character by the media. The rest of the cast and crew had simply been told that Taeshik had departed from the film due to ‘irreconcilable and creative differences.’ The purple haired man’s PR team, for their part, also appeared to be going with this story.
Frankly, you could care less about what your coworkers thought of you. You were just glad that you never had to be around a horrible psychopath like Taeshik ever again. Cha and Jinho, on the other hand, had taken it upon themselves to act as your newly appointed bodyguards in Thomas’s and Zhigang’s stead. Any nasty gossip or snide remarks were met with a frosty glare from the blonde woman and threats of litigation from the heir apparent of Yoojin Construction.
You couldn’t have asked for better friends or a more considerate boss, but you were starting to find the constant protection and coddling from them to be too much. You were a woman with her own autonomy after all. And yet you were being treated like a piece of glass, as if you would shatter with the slightest gust of wind. It was suffocating and your newly toxic work environment certainly wasn’t making matters any better.
To keep yourself grounded (and from going insane) you had taken to embarking on early morning walks along the beach. The peace and tranquility were a welcome solace from the tumultuous reality of your situation. You could spend hours getting lost in the beauty of the dawning sun.
You should have known this temporary serenity was not to last.
That Sunday had started out much like any other morning. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, changed into a pair of leggings with a matching sports bra, and slid on some comfortable running shoes. It was a little before dawn, and you were hoping to catch the breathtaking sight of the sunrise along the sandy marshes of the island. You weren’t scheduled to work, so you had all the time in the world to explore and enjoy nature. You planned to make the most of it.
You start off by walking to a well-known bakery to purchase some freshly made kkwabaegi. The crispiness of the fried dough complements your coffee perfectly. After eating your sweet treat, you continue your journey, heading southbound for a local beach. The area was usually a tourist trap in the summer, but it was much less populated at this time of day.
The moment your foot connects with the sand, you are instantly hit by the familiar smell of lavender and sandalwood. You begin to panic.
Shit! It was that alpha from a few weeks ago!
You know the right thing to do, the reasonable thing to do, would be to turn back and run. You were all alone in a secluded area with someone who was potentially dangerous. The last time you were near them, you had been rendered completely helpless just from their pheromones alone. If you got too close to them, you could end up going into another heat.
The other possibilities were more nightmarish. You’d heard horror stories about depraved alphas who would kidnap omegas and force them into becoming their mates against their will. Dominance amongst alphas these days was often synonymous with entitlement, something many of them would use to justify their disgusting actions. If this person nearby was of the same barbaric mindset…
Despite the storm of conflicting emotions raging within you, you remain rooted to the spot. It was just no use; you couldn’t convince yourself to retreat. Curiosity and the need for closure far outweighed your fear and anxiety. You had to find out the identity of this individual, regardless of the risk.
You steel yourself before nervously trudging in the direction of the scent. For whatever reason, the strength of the alpha’s pheromones was nowhere near the same extent as it was on that night. It was soothing this time, like a hot shower at the end of an exhausting day. Had the increased dose of your heat suppressants been responsible for this? Well, no use in questioning it now.
As the aroma grows stronger, you find yourself heading closer towards the sea. The sun was starting to peak over the tussling waves, and you briefly turned your head to avoid receiving an eyeful of blinding light. It’s in the periphery of your vision that you finally see him: the alpha that had been evading you for so long.
Even from a several yards away, you can tell he’s quite tall; standing at a height of around 185 cm. He’s also naked from the waist up, with only a pair of shredded jeans on his figure. But what captivates you most is the feverishness and intensity of his gaze. No one had ever looked at you like this before. It was almost reverent. Like you were some kind of deity.
The man staggers towards you slowly. Had he been hurt? There didn’t appear to be a scratch on him, although his remaining clothes were a mess. You reason that he must be experiencing heat exhaustion. This would explain why he had taken off his shirt. Your hackles lowered, you decide to throw caution to the wind and approach the man.
His body gives out just as you begin to close the distance between the two of you. You immediately pick up the pace, turning your walk into a jog. You’re able to catch him right before he falls face first into the sand. That was a close one, you think, releasing a breath you weren’t even aware you were holding. You’re able to fully take in the man’s appearance now that he was close enough to hold.
He was unspeakably handsome. As a stylist in the entertainment industry, you’ve seen your fair share of gorgeous celebrities. But all of them paled in comparison to the robust beauty of the man before you. Unblemished olive skin that was smooth to the touch. Silken ebony tresses that you were tempted to run your fingers through. And a God-like physique that had your pulse quickening. What you’d give to caress the rippling muscles of his torso...
Just who in the world was this ethereal alpha? And how was he able to sleep so soundly in the arms of a virtual stranger? The man had even nuzzled his face in between the valley of your breasts as if it was the most natural thing on earth! Oddly enough, you weren’t put off by his actions. In fact, you found them to be endearing. Was this what it was like to form a predestined bond with someone?
You briefly consider texting your friends to get help for the man but decide against it once you start weighing your options. If he was transported to the hospital, there was a chance he would be forcibly separated from you. What’s more, if it was found out that he was the one who caused your false heat, there could be far reaching consequences. You were still being monitored on set, and Jinchul might deem this man to be a threat to you.
He didn’t look to be injured, at least not physically, so you rule out the hospital. You deliberate for a few more minutes before ultimately choosing to wait and bide your time until he regained consciousness.
The two of you remain entangled in this strange embrace as stunning shades of orange, red, and yellow paint the sky. The waves shine incandescently in the sunlight, and you find yourself facing the ocean, distracted by its splendor. After a few minutes, you feel something shifting in your arms.
You return your focus to the man. He’s finally started to stir, groggily raising his head from your chest. You both lock eyes, your wide-eyed gaze contrasting with his half lidded one. You see his chapped lips open and close, mouthing only one word: 'Omega.'
You feel a shiver run down your spine. Alpha, your inner omega silently preens, instinct taking over.
The man attempts to talk to you again, but you hush him with the gentle press of your index finger to his lips. He obeys right away and makes no further efforts to speak. You had many questions that you wanted to ask, but that could wait for just a little longer. Your alph – no, this alpha, was in desperate need of some water. He looked awfully parched.
You unzip the tote bag you brought with you and sift through its contents before producing a canteen filled with water. You open it and push the lid to his mouth, motioning for him to drink. He follows your orders without a second thought, taking several generous gulps. Rivulets of excess water drip from the corner of his mouth, down his Adam’s apple, and you find yourself getting distracted by his body again. You internally curse as you feel yourself growing wet. You discreetly press your thighs together, hoping to dull the ache building between them.
You fail to notice the flare of the man’s nostrils or his blown-out pupils as he watches your actions from the corner of his eye.
When he’s finally had his fill, you cap your canteen and place it to the side. You then reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. The man shoots you an uneasy look when he sees it in your hand. Was he unfamiliar with mobile devices? You type a quick message in your notebook app and turn the screen towards him.
“I’m going to use my phone to communicate with you because I have a hearing impairment. Is that alright? I just want to make sure you aren’t hurt.”
The boyish look of surprise that crosses his face while he reads doesn’t escape you. He must not have been expecting you to be deaf. You anxiously await his response, unsure of what his reaction will be.
His expression morphs into something akin to barely concealed wonder, and he nods his head. You breathe deep and type away on your phone again. Your next message elaborates on your concerns.
"First, can you tell me if you’re in any pain or if you’re injured? If you are, I can get an ambulance for you. My name is Y/N, by the way.”
His eyes quickly flit over your words. In response, he dips one of his fingers into the wet sand. You’re curious at first, until you start to recognize the shapes that he’s drawing as letters. Why was he writing in the sand? Was he not comfortable with using your phone?
Once finished, his message reads:
“I’m unharmed. I do not need help. Thank you for the water.”
Great, so he wasn’t hurt. Now you can finally focus on getting some damn answers!
You start typing furiously, pouring all your heart into unspoken anger. As soon as you’re finished you nearly slam the mobile device into the man’s face. He blinks owlishly, looking adorably confused by your actions. You don’t know whether you want to slap or kiss him.
“Now that I know you’re okay, can you please answer a few questions for me? Tell me, were you sailing near a large yacht a few weeks ago? There was this scent that day, an alpha’s scent. It smelt incredible. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to find this person. And then I came across you! You have the exact same smell as them! And you’re obviously an alpha yourself since you recognized me as an omega right away. Please, just tell me who you are! I ended up going into heat because of that alpha, and I feel like I’ve been losing my mind over them!”
The man’s face flickers from shock to guilt as he reads your explosive words. You regret typing them almost immediately when you see the sadness in his steel gray eyes.
He tries to use your phone to write back, but he’s clumsy and ends up swiping his fingers over a bunch of random characters. He huffs and bites his lip, clearly embarrassed. Crap, now you were feeling even worse about unleashing your tirade on him. You’ve always had a temper on you, and it often led to you lashing out and hurting the people you cherished most. And now you had allowed your mounting frustration to get the better of you in front of this poor man. For all you knew, he could be an innocent bystander who was just trying to get some help after becoming overheated.
You had to set things right.
You gently take the phone from the man’s hands, place it in your lap, and cup his cheek. He nervously glances at you, afraid that you’ll still be mad at him. But he’s greeted by your warm smile instead. Reassured, his shoulders relax, and he leans into your touch. After a few moments, you withdraw your hand, eager to continue the conversation. You can’t help but mourn the loss of contact as you resume your typing, however. Your next message reads:
“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have taken out all my anger on you, especially when you probably don’t have anything to do with this. Please, allow me to start all over again and explain everything to you. Just so I can confirm if you’re the same person I bumped into several days ago. And don’t worry about having to use my phone. I’ve got a pen and a notebook you can write on.”
His eyes take on a hopeful sheen, and you have to force yourself to part from him in order to get to your bag. He really was too charming for his own good, this strange alpha…
That reminds you, you still hadn’t gotten his name!
Once the writing utensils are given to him, he starts scribbling away. His chicken scratch is barely legible, but it was better than nothing. Your handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best either, if you were being honest. He wrote:
“Omega, you are not at fault for anything. I should be the one asking for forgiveness. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most. My name is Sung Jin-woo, an alpha from Jindo-gun. I am the person who was exploring the area around that large boat several nights ago. I became worried when I smelt an omega’s scent. It was you; you were the omega I was seeking that day. I should have shown myself to you sooner. What happened to you after I left? Did any other alphas approach you?"
Sung Jin-woo, huh? It suited him. He had an oddly formal way of writing though, one that clashed with his youthful appearance. This time, you don’t miss the possessiveness in his eyes as he writes that last sentence.
‘Did any other alphas approach you?’
You gulp, reminiscing over the entire ordeal with Kang Taeshik. Should you even tell Jin-woo? By now the problem had been resolved and Taeshik was already fired. There was no reason for you to make Jin-woo feel even worse about causing your heat.
In the end, you choose not to mention Taeshik. He was out of the picture, and you didn’t have to worry about him anymore.
You resume typing in your notebook app, your response stating:
“No, not really. My boss found me on the verge of passing out, though. He’s an alpha so he could tell why I wasn’t feeling well. I was taken to a hospital by my friends since they’re both betas. I had to stay in bed for a week, but as you can already tell I’m alright now. I’m just glad I was finally able to meet you, Jin-woo 😊 You see, I work on that big ship. I’m a makeup artist and hair stylist, and the yacht is the set for a movie that’s being filmed…”
The next few hours pass in companiable silence as you communicate through pen strokes and text messages. Both you and Jin-woo had shared a considerable amount about one another over this time span.
You learn that Jin-woo had grown up on the island, much like you. He lived with his mother and little sister on the outskirts of town and served as the sole provider of the family after his father passed away. When you question what he did for a living, he paused before writing he was a fisherman. This would explain why he was out so early in the morning. The most ideal times to fish were sunset and sunrise. But how had his clothes gotten torn up like that? When you asked, he merely answered that he fell off his boat and had almost gotten swept up in the propellor. Apparently, his shirt and pants had been destroyed by the turning of the blades. You were incredulous at first, given just how dangerous that sounded, but Jin-woo had a way of selling you with his words. You eventually found yourself believing him despite your previous skepticism. He must have also been fishing that night two weeks ago.
Jin-woo had asked you many questions as well. He seemed particularly concerned about your heat cycle. When you disclosed the cause of it was your compatibility with him, his entire body tensed. Jin-woo’s hands then started to shake and you took one of them in your own to calm him. He glances at you, and you’re taken aback by the fire in his eyes. For the briefest of moments, you fear that you might’ve revealed something you shouldn’t have. Before you can compose an apology, Jin-woo releases your hand, picks up his pen, and starts writing again. Once finished, he gives you the notebook with an expression of apprehension on his face.
“Is this something you’re comfortable with? Now that we’ve met, I’m really interested in getting to know you more. But how do you feel about me? Do you want to continue this conversation? I understand if you’d want me to leave after everything you were forced to endure.”
How did you feel about him?
You mull over all that’s occurred since returning to your hometown. You had never expected to encounter so many trials and tribulations. By all accounts, you had every right to cease any further contact with Jin-woo. But you were undeniably intrigued by him. He had been nothing but respectful of your boundaries, and you found yourself being drawn in by his earnest personality. If nothing else came from this meeting between the two of you, then at least you could become friends.
You type an honest response and wait on bated breath as he reads it:
“I’m not sure how I feel about us right now. Honestly, I don’t believe in things like destiny or fate when it comes to finding a soulmate. But I do want to continue seeing you. I also would like to learn more about you as a person. Maybe we can take things slow and figure it out from there. What do you say, Jin-woo😉?”
All the anxiety seems to melt away from Jin-woo’s face. A cute grin tugs at his lips, lighting his darkened visage.
His answer is succinct:
“I’d really like that, Y/N.”
Your heart skips a beat. That was the first time he used your name.
A small part of you starts to wonder if the two of you really are fated to be together. Cheesy as it sounds, you were more than willing to take a chance on this budding relationship with Jin-woo.
Little did you know this meeting would set in motion a series of tragic events that would shatter countless lives and forever leave a stain on the island’s reputation.
synopsis: your pathetic boyfriend, Tenya, misses you after barely two hours without you.
warnings: NSFW (MDNI), masturbation, semi-public masturbation, phone sex, panty sniffing, footjob, teasing, cowgirl, missionary, sucking nipples, breeding kink, eating pussy, fingering, mating press, praise, creampie, aftercare, Tenya has a big dick, Tenya is pathetic for you
a/n: Thanks for the request! It was so much fun to write, yum 😋 I didn't even think I'd write so many words 😭 I think Tenya would be truly pathetic for his girl (so for me 🤭)
words: 9.1k.
You’re getting ready for a girls’ night out at a chic bar downtown. You love this ritual: feeling beautiful, powerful, and desirable. Even though you’re in a relationship with Tenya, you’ve never felt like you had to give up that feeling.
You’re standing in front of your large vanity, wearing only the tight black dress you just slipped on. It hugs your curves perfectly, short enough to highlight your legs.
He’s never asked you to deprive yourself. On the contrary, he loves seeing you shine, go out, laugh with your friends. It’s part of what he loves about you. Besides, what right would he have to forbid you from going out?
You adjust your earrings, then apply one last layer of gloss. Your signature combo lip that makes your mouth irresistible.
Even before he says a word, you feel his burning gaze on you. Tenya is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his imposing chest. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing the prominent veins on his forearms. His blue eyes slowly glide over your reflection in the mirror, from your ankles to your face, with palpable intensity.
“You look stunning, darling…” he murmurs in a deeper voice than usual.
You meet his gaze in the mirror and can’t hold back a satisfied smile. You know exactly what effect you have on him. You turn slightly.
“Thank you, my love. I’ll try not to come home too late.”
He approaches slowly, as if drawn by a magnet. His large hands settle on your hips, firm and warm. He leans in, his chest brushing your back, and buries his face in your neck to breathe in your perfume.
“Mh… okay, darling,” he breathes against your skin. He kisses your neck then tries for your lips but stops just before, eyes fixed on your perfectly made-up lips in the reflection. “I almost…”
You laugh softly, amused. “For once, you remembered.” Tenya smiles against your skin, that slightly sheepish smile that makes you melt every time. “Last time I kissed you after you did your lips, I got scolded by you.”
“I didn’t even hurt you, idiot,” you reply, laughing. “I have no strength compared to you.”
He gently turns you in his arms to face him. His hands slide down your back, dangerously low on the curve of your ass. His body is warm, imposing. You clearly feel against your stomach how aroused he is. His already hard cock strains against his pants.
“You wounded me with love, darling,” he murmurs in that half-serious, half-teasing tone he masters so well. “Shut up,” you say, giggling, placing your hands on his muscular chest.
But instead of pulling away, you slowly caress his pecs through his shirt. Tenya lowers his head, his gaze darkened by desire. He runs his thumb just under your lower lip, carefully avoiding touching your lips.
“I don’t know how I’m going to survive a whole evening without you,” he admits more quietly. His voice is hoarse, loaded. “You’re too beautiful. It should be illegal to go out like that.” His hands move up your ribs, brushing the underside of your breasts. He looks at you as if he wants to devour you on the spot.
“I already want to pin you on that bed, lift this dress and fuck you slowly until you can’t walk…” He swallows, jaw clenched. “But I’ll behave. For this time.”
He leans down and places a series of light kisses on your jaw, your temple, your collarbone, breathing in your scent deeply as if trying to memorize it for the next few hours.
“I’m going to miss you terribly, you know,” he murmurs right against your ear. His voice becomes more intimate, almost vulnerable. “The apartment is going to be too empty. Too quiet.”
His fingers slide over your nape, gently caressing your skin. You feel his heart beating hard against your palm resting on his chest. He’s fighting himself, torn between the pride of letting you enjoy your evening and the visceral urge to keep you here with him.
You wrap your arms around his neck and press yourself a little more against his warm, solid body. “I’ll send you messages, I promise.”
“I hope you have fun… really,” he says sincerely, even though his voice betrays how tense he already is. “But know that I’m going to count every minute.”
He kisses your forehead one last time, lingering, then reluctantly steps back a little, his hands sliding slowly down your arms as if he doesn’t want to let go.
Tenya doesn’t pull away completely. His hands stay on your hips, his thumbs slowly caressing the thin fabric of your dress. His gaze is darker now, almost hungry.
“You’re really going out like that?” he murmurs, sliding his palms over your ass and squeezing gently. “This dress… it’s way too perfect on you. All eyes are going to be on you…”
You smile, amused and flattered by his quiet possessiveness. “So what? You know very well that I only want you.”
He lets out a slight growl, a hoarse sound that vibrates in his chest. He pulls you closer again until you clearly feel his hard, hot erection against your stomach.
He’s really turned on, and it’s only been a few minutes since he started watching you get ready.
“I know,” he breathes against your temple. “But that doesn’t stop me from being frustrated. Look at what state you put me in…”
He takes your hand and slowly guides it to his pants. You feel under your fingers the thick, rigid shape of his throbbing cock. Tenya closes his eyes for a moment when you caress him over the fabric.
“See?” he says in a lower, almost pleading voice. “I’ve been like this since I saw you. And you’re going to leave like it’s nothing…”
You continue to stroke him slowly, feeling his breathing grow heavier. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes half-closed.
“Stay a little longer,” he murmurs. “Just five minutes…”
Without really waiting for your answer, he easily lifts you and sits you on the edge of your vanity. The perfume bottles and makeup products shake slightly. He positions himself between your legs, spreading your thighs with his hips.
“Tenya…” you say, laughing softly, “I’m going to be late.”
“I know. I already feel bad. Punctuality and respecting your friends’ time is important but… I don’t care right now,” he says as his lips descend to your neck, placing hot, wet kisses. His hands slide under your dress, caressing the inside of your thighs with torturous slowness.
“You’re already hot…” he growls against your skin when his fingers brush your panties. “You’re already wet for me, baby?”
You bite your lip, trying not to moan. His fingers press a little harder, gently rubbing your clit over the fabric. “Tenya… not now, I have to leave…”
“Just a little,” he almost begs. His voice has become hoarse, desperate. “I need to touch you. I need to feel you before you leave. Otherwise I’m going to go crazy all evening.”
He pushes your panties aside and slides two thick fingers between your soaked lips. You let out a small sigh of pleasure. He starts fingering you slowly, deeply, while kissing your throat and jaw.
“Fuck… you’re soaked,” he breathes, breathing ragged. “How am I supposed to let you leave when your pussy is like this?”
His movements become more insistent. The wet sound of his fingers sliding in and out fills the room. With his other hand, he opens his pants and pulls out his thick, hard cock. He starts stroking himself slowly in front of you, at the same rhythm as he fingers you.
“Look what you do to me,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes are burning. “I’m already ready to cum just from touching you.”
You wrap your hand around his thick length and stroke him at the same time. Tenya moans louder, hips instinctively pushing into your palm.
“Baby…” he growls, “if you keep going like this, I’m really not going to let you leave. I’m going to fuck you on this vanity until your makeup is ruined.”
His fingers penetrate you faster, curled to hit that sensitive spot inside you. You feel your pleasure rising quickly, your thighs trembling around him.
He kisses you just under your ear, voice broken: “Tell me you’re coming home early… Tell me you’re going to think about me all evening. Because me, I’m only going to think about this… about you, about your tight pussy, about your moans…”
You feel he’s already close, his cock throbbing hard in your hand. He’s really turned on, almost too much. His body is tense, his muscles bulging under his shirt.
“I’ll come home early,” you breathe between two sighs. “Promise.”
Tenya gently withdraws his fingers, brings them to his mouth and licks them with an intense look, as if he wants to taste you as much as possible before you leave.
He steps back a little, breathing heavily, his cock still erect and glistening with precum.
He looks at you for a long moment, as if engraving this image of you in his memory: sitting on the vanity, dress hiked up, lips parted, visibly aroused.
“Go have fun, my love,” he finally says, voice still hoarse. “But know that I’m going to be in a pathetic state all evening.”
“You’re… incorrigible baby,” you say, laughing, still breathless. You place a hand on his chest to gently push him back. “And desperate.”
Tenya lets out a low, almost embarrassed chuckle while rubbing the back of his neck. His face is still flushed, his eyes shining with frustration and desire. He looks at you for a long moment, as if he’s really hesitating to let you leave.
“Guilty as charged,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “You drive me crazy and especially desperate, that’s all.”
He carefully adjusts your dress, running his large hands over your hips to put it back in place. He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm down. His still-hard cock continues to strain his pants, but he steps back, giving you space.
“Go on… have fun with your friends,” he finally says, voice still a little hoarse. “I won’t hold you back any longer. But know that it’s costing me a lot.”
He walks you to the front door, one hand resting on the small of your back. Before you leave, he pulls you against him one last time for a tight hug, breathing in your scent in your hair.
“Have fun, my love. And be careful.”
“Yes, don’t worry,” you say, smiling at him and placing a quick kiss on his cheek, then you leave the apartment, heart still racing from the tension he built up.
…
About twenty minutes later, you arrive at the chic bar where your friends are already waiting. The place is elegant: dim lighting, lounge music, velvet booths and colorful cocktails. Your friends greet you with excited screams and compliments on your outfit.
“Fuck, look at you! You look so hot!” one of them exclaims, pulling you into a hug.
You settle at your reserved table, and the atmosphere quickly becomes light and joyful. You order the first round of cocktails, laugh while sharing your latest work stories, couple anecdotes, and dance a little on the floor when a catchier song plays. You feel good, relaxed, powerful. You laugh loudly, clink glasses, and fully enjoy the moment.
But your phone vibrates in your bag.
My robot💕👀 (21:47)
Did you arrive safely?
You smile and reply quickly:
You: yes I just got here everything’s fine baby ❤️
My robot💕👀 (21:49)
Perfect. Have fun. I miss you already.
You put your phone away and go back to your friends, but the messages keep coming throughout the evening.
My robot💕👀 (22:12)
The house is too quiet without you. I tried to read a book but I can’t concentrate.
My robot💕👀 (22:28)
You’re still so beautiful in my head. That dress looks too good on you. I should have kept you here with me.
You laugh softly while reading his messages, a little surprised by his honesty tonight. Usually he’s more reserved, even if he’s affectionate.
You: You’re so cute. I’ll be home soon promise
My robot💕👀 (22:41)
I’m not cute. I’m desperate for you.
My robot💕👀 (22:42)
I can’t stop thinking about you on the vanity earlier… about my hand between your thighs. You were so wet.
You can’t stop the heat rising in you. Your friends are chatting and laughing next to you, but you’re staring at your screen, cheeks slightly flushed.
My robot💕👀 (23:03)
Come back soon plss. I need you.
My robot💕👀 (23:10)
I’m going crazy here all alone.
My robot💕👀 (23:14)
I can’t think about anything but you.
My robot💕👀 (23:17)
I still have your perfume on me. It’s driving me insane.
My robot💕👀 (23:22)
Come back soon my love. Please. Please?
Your friends, who are sipping their cocktails, notice you looking at your screen for the umpteenth time. You smile to yourself without realizing their looks, biting your straw while reading. The heat in your belly returns slowly.
Your friends, who aren’t blind, eventually notice your constantly vibrating phone and your attention on it.
“Well well!” your best friend says, raising an amused eyebrow. “Who’s sending you so many messages? Is your man spamming you?”
You nod, a little embarrassed. The other girls lean toward you, curious and teasing. “Yesss, show us!” one of the curious girls asks. “Is he jealous? Does he want to know who you’re dancing with?”
You laugh, a little embarrassed but mostly amused by the situation. You put your phone screen-down on the table. “He’s… a bit needy tonight. Usually he’s calmer, but tonight he won’t stop.” you admit, laughing.
“Is he sending ‘I love you’ messages or ‘I want to fuck you in every room of the apartment, come back now’ messages?” your friend says.
You blush slightly and shrug, laughing harder. “A mix of both… He saw me getting ready earlier and… let’s just say he had a hard time letting me leave. He even told me he was going crazy alone at home.”
The girls burst out laughing.
“Tenya? The Tenya we know? The super serious and proper one? I never would have thought he’d be like that! It’s too cute.”
“Cute and hot at the same time,” another adds, elbowing you. “Enjoy, girl. That man is clearly addicted to you.”
You all laugh together, and you quickly tell them about the vanity scene without going into details, which makes them laugh even harder. The atmosphere is light, complicit, and joyful.
A little later, a more rhythmic song starts. Your best friend pulls you by the hand. “Come on! Let’s dance, that’ll take your mind off your horny boyfriend!”
You laugh and follow her to the small dance floor of the bar. The lights are dim, the bass resonates in your chest. You let yourself go, moving with her, laughing when she makes exaggerated moves. You feel good and free.
That’s when your phone vibrates in your hand. This time, it’s not a message. It’s a call. It’s Tenya.
You answer while still dancing lightly in place, a smile on your lips.
“Hello?” you say, a little breathless from dancing. At first, you hear nothing but his breathing. Heavy breathing. Hoarse. Irregular. “Tenya?” you ask, frowning slightly.
Then you hear him clearly: a low, muffled groan, followed by a trembling sigh. His voice finally comes through, low, almost painful: “Baby… fuck…”
You stop dancing completely. Your friend continues a little further, signaling you to join her, but you stay planted there, phone pressed to your ear.
His breathing is ragged, fast. You hear the characteristic sound of skin against skin in the background, slow and wet. “Tenya… don’t tell me you’re…” you murmur, eyes wide.
A long moan escapes him, which he’s clearly trying to contain. “Yes…” he breathes. “I couldn’t take it anymore… I waited as long as possible but… your voice, your dress, earlier… uhh I’ve been jerking off thinking about you.”
You swallow, immediately feeling a wave of heat between your legs. Around you, the music plays, your friends dance, but everything suddenly seems distant.
His hand continues its movement, the sound clearer now that you’re paying attention. Small wet noises, regular, getting faster and faster.
“I tried to hold back…” he growls, voice hoarse. “But I can’t cum. I need to hear you. I need you too much…”
You hear him panting harder, almost desperate. “Talk to me… even just a little… Say something, baby. Please.”
You stay frozen on the dance floor, phone glued to your ear, while Tenya’s ragged breathing fills your head. Your friends signal you to come back, but you shake your head and make a quick hand gesture to tell them you’ll be back.
“Wait two seconds,” you murmur to Tenya. You slip between the people, heart pounding, and quickly head to the bar’s bathrooms. Luckily the bathrooms are clean and empty. You lock yourself in the last stall at the back and lean back against the door.
“I’m in the bathroom now,” you finally breathe. A relieved groan escapes him. “Good… I didn’t want your friends to hear you.”
His voice is even hoarser than before. You clearly hear the wet, rhythmic sound of his hand sliding over his cock.
“Tell me what you want me to do to you when you get home,” he asks, almost pleading. “I need to imagine…”
You close your eyes, feeling your body react violently to his voice. Your free hand slowly slides down your dress.
“When I get home…” you begin in a low, sensual voice, “I want you to pin me against the wall as soon as I walk through the door. Without saying a word. You’ll lift my dress up to my waist and take off my panties.”
Tenya lets out a louder moan. “Continue…”
“You’ll finger me, like earlier on the vanity, but deeper. I want your thick fingers filling me while you kiss my neck. And after… I want you to put me on my knees. I want your dick in my mouth. Slowly at first, then harder. I want to feel you at the back of my throat while you pull my hair.”
You hear him breathing faster, his hand speeding up on his cock. “Fuck… yes…”
“And then,” you continue, slightly lifting your dress, “I want you to fuck me. Hard. In one of the rooms of the apartment. I want you to take me from behind while holding my hips. I want to feel your balls slapping against me with every thrust.”
You slide your hand into your panties. You’re soaked. Your fingers brush your swollen clit and you let out a small sigh. Tenya notices immediately.
“Baby… what are you doing?” he asks, voice broken with excitement. “Tell me…”
You bite your lip, hesitating for a second, then confess while sliding a finger between your wet lips.
“I’m touching myself…” you murmur. “I’m all wet because of you. I’ve lifted my dress and I have my hand in my panties.”
A deep groan escapes him. “Oh shit… Are you serious?”
“Yes…” You circle your fingers on your clit, then push one inside you. “I wish it was your fingers instead of mine…”
Tenya breathes loudly, almost animalistic. The sound of his hand becomes faster, wetter.
“You know what I’m doing right now?” he suddenly says, voice ashamed but terribly excited.
“No… tell me.”
He hesitates for a moment, then confesses in a breath: “I have one of your panties… the one you wore last night. The black lace one. I took it from the laundry basket when you left. I… I’m smelling it while I jerk off.”
Your stomach contracts violently with desire at hearing that. “Tenya… you’re- fuck.” you breathe, shocked and excited at the same time. You push a second finger inside you, imagining the scene.
“It still smells like you… your pussy…” he growls, almost desperate. “I’m holding it against my face and breathing deeply while I jerk off. I’m pathetic… but I can’t stop. I need you so much, my love.”
You speed up your movements, your fingers sliding in and out faster, your swollen, sensitive clit under your thumb. You press your forehead against the stall door, legs trembling, while continuing to finger yourself faster and faster.
Tenya breathes hard into the phone, almost like he’s running. His voice becomes deeper, dirtier, while the wet sound of his hand on his cock speeds up.
“Fuck, baby… you’re fingering yourself in the bathroom of a bar? Instead of being with your friends? You’re really a little slut in heat tonight…”
“Shut up. It’s because of you.” You close your eyes, biting your lower lip hard to hold back a moan. Your fingers slide faster between your soaked lips, your swollen clit under your thumb.
“Tenya…” you breathe, voice trembling.
“I love when you say my name like that,” he growls. “Imagine if I was there… I’d pin you against that door, lift your dress and fuck you so hard the whole bar would hear you screaming. I’d fill you with my big cock and my cum. You want me to fill you up, baby? Say it.”
Your legs start trembling violently. You sit on the toilet so you don’t collapse and push your two fingers deeper, trying to replicate what he’s describing.
“Yes I want that.” you murmur, panting. “I want you to fill me Ten-…” You can no longer hold back completely. A small high-pitched moan escapes you. You clench your teeth right after, hoping the bar’s music covers the sound.
Suddenly, your phone vibrates. Tenya is requesting a FaceTime call. “Accept it,” he almost orders. “I want to see you.”
Heart pounding, you accept the video call. The image appears. Tenya is sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, pants open. His face is red, hair messy, blue eyes completely dilated with desire. He holds his phone with one hand and with the other…
He’s slowly jerking off with your black lace panties wrapped around his cock. His cock is thick, veined, red, glistening with precum. He squeezes the fabric of your panties against his skin while sliding his hand up and down.
“Look…” he breathes, bringing the camera a little closer. “Look what you do to me. I’m jerking off with your dirty panties. It still smells like you.”
You swallow, hypnotized by the image. Your hand speeds up between your thighs. “Tenya… fuck…” you murmur, voice broken.
He points the camera closer to his face while continuing to stroke himself. He inhales deeply, eyes half-closed.
“Mmmh… your smell drives me crazy. I want to eat your pussy until you beg me to stop. I want to lick you everywhere, push my tongue inside you and make you cum on my mouth. And then I’ll turn you over and fuck you the way you deserve. You want that, huh? Say it.”
You have trouble speaking. Your fingers move faster, your thumb rubbing your clit in quick circles. You try to hold back your moans, but they still come out, higher, more desperate.
“Yes… yes I want that…” you manage to articulate. “please Tenya…”
Tenya groans, his hand speeding up on his cock. The panties are now completely wrapped around his head, absorbing his precum.
“Show me,” he demands. “Lower the camera a bit. Show me your hand in your panties. I want to see how wet you are.”
You hesitate for a second, then lower the phone slightly. He can now see your dress hiked up on your hips, your panties pushed aside and your fingers plunging between your glistening lips.
“Fuck… look at that pussy… so wet…” he moans. “You’re making a mess of your hand. I wish I was there to drink your juices.”
Your legs start trembling violently. You feel the orgasm rising very fast, almost too strong. “Tenya… I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum…” you breathe, voice strangled.
“Go ahead baby, cum for me,” he growls, his hand moving faster and faster. “Cum while looking at my dick wrapped in your panties. I’m going to cum too… fuck…”
You can’t hold it anymore. Your body tenses brutally. You cum hard, biting your arm to stifle a long, trembling moan. Your walls contract violently around your fingers, an intense pleasure running through you.
At the same moment, Tenya lets out a deep, animalistic groan. His cock pulses in his hand. Long, thick, hot jets of cum shoot out, landing on your panties, his stomach and his hand. He continues stroking himself through his orgasm, face twisted in pleasure, eyes fixed on you.
For several seconds, only your ragged breaths fill the silence.
Then his voice returns, low, pleading, still breathless: “Baby… come back, please… I can’t take it anymore. I need you. I need to feel you for real, to kiss you, to fuck you properly. I’m going crazy without you. Come back now… I’m begging you.”
He looks at you with almost vulnerable eyes, his hand still on his half-hard cock, your panties completely soiled with his cum.
“I-…” you finally murmur, voice still trembling. “I’m coming back. I’m coming home now.” Visible relief passes over his face. He closes his eyes for a moment and sighs deeply.
“Thank you… fuck, thank you. Be careful on the way, okay? But hurry. I still want you.”
You hang up after a few tender words. You stay a little longer in the stall, legs weak, heart pounding. You clean yourself up and quickly touch up your makeup in the bathroom mirror, adjust your dress and try to regain a normal expression, even though your cheeks are still flushed and your thighs a little shaky.
When you return to the main room, your friends are still on the dance floor or sitting at the table, cocktail in hand. One of your friends sees you coming back and immediately raises her eyebrows.
“So? Was that Tenya on the phone? You disappeared for twenty minutes!” she says with a big curious smile.
You laugh, a little embarrassed, grabbing your bag. “Yes… it was Tenya. He… uh… he’s not feeling well tonight. I’m going to head home earlier, girls. Sorry.”
One bursts out laughing and elbows you. “Not feeling well? As in ‘I want you too much, come back right now’? We saw your idiot smile when you came back from the bathroom! You’re all flushed pervert.”
The other girls gently tease you, making jokes about “urgent needs” and “horny men.” You laugh with them, face burning, while hugging them one by one.
“You guys are dumb… Alright, I love you. We’ll do this again very soon, promise.”
“Yeah, but next time tell Tenya to last more than two hours!” your friend says with a wink.
You wave one last time and leave the bar, heart pounding with anticipation. You call an Uber to go home.
During the ten-minute wait and the whole ride, you stay silent on the back seat, legs squeezed together. Your body is still sensitive, your soaked panties sticking to your skin. You feel a little pathetic… leaving your friends like this, in the middle of the evening to go fuck.
The Uber finally stops in front of your building. You quickly thank the driver and run up the stairs almost at a sprint. As soon as you slide your key into the lock, the door opens abruptly.
Tenya is there.
He doesn’t even give you time to fully enter. As soon as you cross the threshold, he pins you against the door that slams violently behind you. His large hands cup your face, and he kisses you as if his life depends on it.
It’s a hungry, desperate, almost brutal kiss. His tongue immediately forces its way in, caressing yours with urgency. He moans into your mouth, a hoarse and vulnerable sound that makes you melt.
“You came back…” he murmurs against your lips between two voracious kisses. “Thank you… fuck, thank you…” hearing him swear like that does something to you.
His hands immediately move down your body. One grips your waist, the other slides under your dress to grab your ass. He lifts you slightly, pressing you even harder against the door. You feel his massive erection, already hard, moving against your stomach through his sweatpants.
Tenya kisses your neck, nibbling your skin, breathing in your scent like an addict. Then, without another word, he drops to his knees in front of you.
It’s almost comical and terribly cute at the same time. This tall man who is usually so proper, so serious, is now on his knees on the entryway floor, looking up at you with an expression that is both pathetic and burning with desire.
“Tenya…” you breathe, voice already hoarse.
He doesn’t answer. His hands tremble slightly with impatience as he lifts your dress up to your waist, revealing your soaked panties. He groans at the sight.
“You’re soaked… because of me.”
Without waiting for your answer, he grabs the fabric on both sides and pulls hard. The panties almost tear, sliding down your legs. He throws them aside and spreads your thighs with a possessive gesture.
His mouth immediately lands on your pussy. His hot, wide tongue slides between your soaked lips in one long, slow stroke, collecting all your juices. At the same time, he pushes two thick fingers deep inside you.
You let out a high-pitched moan, head falling back against the door. Tenya moans against your flesh, the sound vibrating directly on your clit.
He fingers you deeply, curling his fingers to massage that sensitive spot inside while his tongue licks and sucks your swollen bud. He alternates between long, flat strokes of his tongue, then quick circles around your clit.
You look down at him. The sight is almost too much for your mind. Tenya, on his knees, face buried between your thighs, eyes half-closed in pleasure, breathing ragged.
He devours you like a starving man, with wet, obscene sounds that fill the entryway. His broad shoulders tremble slightly, and his hips move instinctively against nothing, as if he can’t control his arousal.
You slide one hand, then both, into his short hair. You tug gently, holding him against your pussy. He moans louder in response, doubling his efforts. His fingers pound you deeper, faster, making a wet sound with every thrust.
“Tenya… it feels so good!- ugh..” you moan, legs trembling.
He lifts his face for a moment, glistening with your arousal. His lips are swollen, his chin shines, and his eyes are almost glassy with desire and relief.
“I couldn’t wait any longer…” he breathes, voice broken. “I needed to taste you so badly. You taste so good… I could get addicted to you baby, even though I already am.”
He dives back in immediately, more voracious. His tongue flattens against your clit while his fingers fuck you relentlessly. He sucks, licks, gently nibbles your lips, completely lost between your thighs.
He is pathetic in his devotion, and it drives you crazy: the strong, perfect hero reduced to his knees, silently begging you with his mouth and fingers.
You pull harder on his hair, your hips moving instinctively against his face. Your thighs tremble around his head. The pressure rises dangerously, your belly contracting in stronger and stronger waves.
Tenya senses you’re about to break. He doesn’t slow down for a second. On the contrary, he doubles his intensity. His thick fingers pound you deeper, perfectly curled to rub your G-spot with every pass, while his tongue works furiously on your swollen clit.
Your hands clench in his hair, pulling almost hard now. Your thighs tremble violently around his head, your hips moving against his mouth.
“Tenya…! I’m gonna… mhh uh I’m gonna…!” you manage to moan, voice broken.
He groans against your pussy, as if to encourage you, and pushes a third finger inside you. The sudden stretch, combined with his tongue that never stops flattering your hypersensitive clit, makes you tip over.
The orgasm hits you like a powerful wave. Your body tenses brutally, your walls contracting violently around his fingers.
You cum hard, very hard, a long muffled cry escaping your throat as your pleasure explodes. A small hot jet escapes from you, soaking his chin and fingers even more.
Your legs almost give out. You cling to his hair and the door behind you to keep from falling, body shaking with spasms.
Tenya slowly slows his movements, continuing to lick you tenderly to accompany you as you come down. He carefully withdraws his fingers, but stays on his knees, face buried between your thighs. He kisses the inside of your left thigh, then the right, slowly, with almost religious devotion.
He lifts his head slightly toward you, chin and lips glistening with your juices and your orgasm. A proud, almost awed smile stretches his lips. His blue eyes shine with love and satisfaction.
“Good, my love…” he murmurs, kissing your trembling thigh again. “You came so well for me. Look at you… you’re so beautiful when you cum like that. So perfect.”
He continues to cover your thighs with warm, wet kisses, slowly moving up toward your stomach, while caressing your hips with his large hands.
He stays on his knees for a moment, looking up at you with that adoring and pathetic gaze that makes you melt. His hair is messy from your hands, his chest rising rapidly, and his erection strains his sweatpants.
After a few moments, he slowly stands up, towering over you again with his full height. He kisses you deeply, making you taste your own pleasure on his tongue. You return his kiss with the same intensity, your hands sliding over his bare, muscular chest.
You nibble his lower lip before pulling back slightly, a playful smile on your lips despite your still trembling legs. “Come on,” you murmur in a hoarse voice.
You take his hand and lead him to the living room. Tenya follows without resistance, his massive erection clearly straining his gray sweatpants. You sit in the middle of the couch, legs slightly spread, your dress still hiked up on your hips. With a look, you indicate the floor in front of you.
Tenya understands immediately. He kneels between your legs, eyes raised toward you with that irresistible mix of burning desire and vulnerability that makes you even wetter. He is so tall, so imposing, and yet on his knees in front of you.
“Take off your sweatpants,” you order softly, but with clear authority in your voice. “I want your cock.”
Tenya swallows, cheeks red. He slides his thumbs under the waistband and lowers his pants in one smooth motion, freeing his thick cock that springs out, heavy, thick and curved toward him. It pulses in the air, the swollen head glistening with precum already running down the main vein. His balls are tight, full.
You smile seeing him so hard, so desperate. You kick off your heels and slowly place your bare foot against his chest, sliding it down gradually until his cock. With the tip of your toes, you brush his burning length.
“Look at you…” you murmur, laughing softly, voice teasing. “On your knees in front of me. You were so pathetic tonight Tenya. I was really surprised.”
He moans weakly when your foot slides lower. You press the sole of your foot against his cock, pinning it against his stomach, and begin to stroke him slowly up and down. Your soft skin slides over his taut skin, spreading his precum over his entire length.
Tenya closes his eyes for a moment, jaw clenched, hands resting on your ankles as if afraid you’ll stop.
“Yes… I’m pathetic,” he confesses in a hoarse breath. “I’m pathetic for you… I couldn’t hold back all evening. You’re so beautiful darling.”
You smile softly, increasing the pressure of your foot. You slide your heel along his cock, then use the sole to massage it in slow, firm movements.
Your other foot joins the first. You press them together around his thick cock, forming a sort of sheath with your feet, and begin a slow footjob.
You move your feet up and down his length, squeezing just enough to torture him. With every movement, your big toe passes over his sensitive head, spreading the precum that now flows abundantly.
“Look at how much you’re leaking…” you continue, teasing him. “You’re really desperate, huh? You’re so cute.”
Tenya moans louder, hips instinctively pushing between your feet. He watches the sight with glassy eyes: your pretty pedicured feet stroking and masturbating his thick cock. His hands squeeze your ankles tighter, but he doesn’t take control. He lets you play with him.
You speed up the movement a little, alternating between firm pressure and lighter, teasing caresses. Sometimes you stop completely, leaving just your foot resting on his throbbing cock, feeling it pulse against your arch. Then you resume, more slowly, to frustrate him even more.
Tenya breathes hard, chest rising rapidly. Beads of sweat pearl on his forehead. His cock is even harder, more swollen between your feet, the head almost purple and leaking.
“You like that, huh? Being on your knees in front of me while I play with your pathetic cock with my feet…” you murmur, looking him straight in the eyes, a mischievous smile on your lips.
You continue to torture him with your feet. Your feet slide easily over his cock thanks to all the precum now flowing abundantly. You feel every vein throbbing against your soft skin, every contraction of his cock between your arches.
You squeeze your feet tighter around his thick cock. Your big toe regularly rubs his sensitive head, spreading the clear liquid that doesn’t stop flowing. You feel he’s very close.
A few moments later, Tenya suddenly tenses. A long, deep groan escapes his throat. His cock pulses violently between your feet and he cums hard. Long, thick, hot jets of cum shoot out, landing on your feet, your ankles and even a bit on your calves. He continues moaning as you maintain the pressure, making it last as long as possible.
When he finally finishes, he stays there, on his knees, panting loudly. His muscular chest rises rapidly, his face is red, his glassy eyes fixed on you with a mix of adoration and shame. His still half-hard cock rests against your foot, covered in his own cum.
You smile at him, a satisfied and slightly sadistic smile. You slowly rub your feet together, spreading his cum on your skin, then deliberately wipe them on his stomach and chest, leaving shiny traces on his abs.
“Look what you did… You got my feet all dirty.” you say, laughing softly. Tenya looks at you, still breathless, without protesting. “Come on,” you say, standing up. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”
You take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. Once there, you gently push him so he sits on the edge of the bed. Standing in front of him, you slowly slide the straps of your black dress off your shoulders. The fabric slides down your body and falls at your feet, leaving you completely naked in front of him.
Tenya swallows, eyes wide open, admiring every curve of your body. You climb onto the bed, straddle him and sit directly on him, your knees on either side of his hips. His cock, already hardening again, ends up trapped between your two stomachs.
You wrap your arms around his neck and press yourself against him. Tenya moans softly and immediately buries his face in your chest. His hot mouth closes on one of your breasts. He licks it slowly, at length, running his wide, flat tongue over your already hardened nipple. He then sucks it greedily, taking it deep into his mouth while caressing the other breast with his large hand.
“Mmmh…” he groans against your skin, voice muffled. He alternates between your two breasts, licking, sucking, gently nibbling them. His tongue is hot and insistent, tracing circles around your sensitive nipples before sucking them again.
You arch your back, pushing your chest harder against his face. Your hands slide into his hair, holding him against you while you begin to slowly roll your hips, rubbing your still wet pussy against his rapidly hardening cock between you.
Tenya is completely lost in your breasts. He licks, sucks, kisses every inch of skin, as if he can’t get enough. His hands squeeze your ass, guiding you in your movements against him.
“You have such perfect breasts my love…” he murmurs between two licks.
You continue moving slowly against him, rubbing your soaked pussy along his hard cock. Tenya groans against your breasts, his hands squeezing your ass with force. You lift yourself slightly, grab his thick cock with one hand and position it at the entrance of your pussy.
“Look at me,” you murmur as you slowly sink down on him. You impale yourself progressively on his thick length. A long moan escapes your throat as he stretches you completely. He is so big that you feel him everywhere, filling every inch of you.
“Fuck…” Tenya breathes, head thrown back, eyes closed in pleasure. “You’re so tight… so hot…”
You start riding him, moving up and down on his cock with smooth, deep movements. Your hands resting on his muscular chest to keep balance, you gradually speed up, making your ass slap against his thighs with every descent.
Tenya tries to hold back. His hands grip your hips, trying to slow your rhythm, jaw clenched.
“Wait… baby… if you keep going like this I’m not going to last…” he growls, voice hoarse.
But you don’t listen. You continue fucking him harder, rolling your hips, contracting your walls around him with every rise. Tenya finally cracks.
His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips and he takes control. He lifts you almost completely before impaling you brutally on him, resuming a fast and powerful rhythm.
“Ah!” you cry out, surprised by the sudden force.
He fucks you deep, his hips rising to meet you with every thrust. The sound of skin against skin echoes in the room. With one hand, he slides between your bodies and starts rubbing your swollen clit with his thumb, in fast, firm circles.
“Yes… like that…” you moan loudly, head tilted back. Your moans become louder and more uncontrollable. Every powerful thrust makes your breasts bounce and sends waves of pleasure through your whole body.
Tenya looks at you with burning eyes, sweating, the muscles in his arms and chest tense. “Moan louder,” he orders in a deep voice. “I want to hear you. I don’t care about the neighbors. I want the whole building to know how well I’m fucking you.”
He speeds up even more, pounding you deeply and quickly while continuing to mercilessly massage your clit. You completely lose control. Your moans turn into high-pitched, desperate cries. “Tenya! Oh ugh- mhh fuck… yes!”
You lean forward and sink your teeth into his muscular shoulder to muffle your cries a little. You bite hard enough to draw a hoarse groan of pleasure from him. Small tears of pleasure pearl at the corners of your eyes as you whimper against his skin.
“Tenya… it’s too much… I… ah!” you whimper, voice broken, while continuing to get fucked violently.
He doesn’t slow down. On the contrary, he holds you firmly by the hips and hammers you even harder, his thumb rubbing your clit at full speed.
“Let go, baby,” he growls against your ear, voice breathless but authoritative. “Scream. Cry. Bite me. I want it all. I want you to cum screaming on my cock. Don’t hold back… the neighbors can listen to how good you feel because of me.”
You completely let go. Your moans and gasps fill the room as he fucks you relentlessly, deep, fast, brutal. Your nails scratch his back, your teeth stay planted in his shoulder, and your tears of pleasure run down his skin.
Tenya is completely lost in pleasure, but he keeps enough control to continue stimulating your clit while pounding you like an animal. His hips slamming violently against your ass.
“Tenya…! I’m gonna…ugh I’m gonna cum!” you scream, voice broken.
“Cum, baby. Cum on my dick,” he growls, speeding up even more.
Your body tenses brutally. The orgasm crashes through you like an explosion. Your walls contract violently around him, squeezing his cock in powerful spasms. You scream loudly, almost a howl, scratching his back. Your thighs tremble, your whole body shaken by the intense pleasure.
Tenya barely slows down while you come down. He lifts you as if you weigh nothing, flips you onto your back and positions himself above you in missionary. He spreads your legs wide, placing them on either side of his hips, and sinks back into you with one powerful thrust.
“Look at me,” he orders. You look at him even if your mind is too lost in pleasure.
He kisses you messily, deeply, his tongue invading your mouth without restraint. It’s a wet, noisy, almost animalistic kiss. He fucks you at the same time, with long, powerful thrusts that make the bed shake. His tongue licks yours, sucks your lip, swallows your moans.
“You feel so good…” he murmurs between two sloppy kisses. “Your pussy squeezes me so tight…”
He speeds up, pounding you deeply. Every thrust hits your most sensitive spot. You are completely overwhelmed, exhausted, but unable to not want more. Your hands cling to his shoulders, nails planted in his skin.
Tenya groans against your mouth, his rhythm becoming more erratic. His eyes are locked on yours, intense, possessive.
“I’m going to cum…” he breathes, voice hoarse. “I’m going to fill you up, baby… You would make such a pretty mom… Imagine your belly rounding with my baby… Fuck…”
Those words make you shiver violently. At the same moment, he sinks all the way in and cums inside you with a deep groan.
You feel his hot, thick jets filling you, pulsing for a long time deep in your pussy. He stays buried inside you during his orgasm, unloading everything he has.
But he doesn’t soften. His cock remains hard, throbbing inside you.
Without giving you time to catch your breath, he grabs your legs, folds them completely and pushes them toward your shoulders, putting you in mating press.
Your body is folded in half, your knees near your ears, completely open and exposed. He presses down on you with his full weight and starts fucking you again, even deeper than before.
“Again…” he growls, his voice almost animalistic. “I can’t stop… I still need you.”
You are exhausted. Your muscles are trembling, your breathing is ragged, tears of pleasure rolling down your temples. But you completely melt into his desire. The feeling of his heavy body on top of you, of his thick cock hammering you in this incredibly deep position, is overwhelming and addictive.
“Tenya… it’s too much… I’m going to break! Ugh baby I-” you whimper, your voice weak and broken. He kisses you again, messily, swallowing your complaints while continuing to pound you mercilessly.
His balls slap against your ass with every thrust. The position makes everything more intense: every penetration hits your cervix, rubbing your G-spot relentlessly.
“I know you can take more, my love,” he murmurs against your lips between two sloppy kisses. “You’re so perfect like this… all folded for me… I want to fill you again.”
His movements are powerful, rhythmic, almost obsessive. You feel a new orgasm rising despite your exhaustion, fueled by his insatiable desire and the crushing pressure of his body on yours.
Tenya looks you straight in the eyes, forehead pressed to yours, sweating, muscles tense. “Stay with me… Let me fuck you a little more…”
He completely dominates you, his muscular weight pinning you into the mattress. His thick cock slides effortlessly into your soaked pussy already filled with his first load, making a wet, obscene sound with every powerful thrust.
He fucks you deeply, without mercy, his hips slamming hard against your ass. “Fuck… look at how well you take me…” he growls against your mouth, voice hoarse and breathless.
“Your little pussy was made for this… made to be filled by me. I’m going to get you pregnant tonight, baby. I’m going to fill you until my cum leaks out of you for days. You’re going to carry my baby… I want to see you with a round belly, full breasts… all because of me. You want that, don’t you?”
His crude words make your head spin. You moan loudly, almost screaming every time he bottoms out. Your hands desperately cling to his back, your nails scratching his sweaty skin.
Tenya speeds up, hammering your body with animalistic force. The bed creaks violently beneath you. He kisses you messily, his tongue invading your mouth, swallowing your moans while he continues to pound you relentlessly.
“I’m going to breed you…” he breathes between two savage thrusts. “I want you full of my cum… I want you to carry my child. Tell me you want it too…”
You can no longer form coherent sentences. Your moans are uncontrollable. “Yes… ugh yes fill me…” you manage to say.
The pressure becomes unbearable. Your entire body trembles. Your toes curl violently, clenched with pleasure, as a new orgasm rises at full speed.
Tenya senses you’re about to break. He slightly changes the angle of his hips to rub even harder against your g-spot and presses his pubic bone against your clit with every thrust.
“Cum for me, my love. Cum squirting on my cock while I breed you.”
You explode.
A raw, powerful cry escapes your throat. Your body arches as much as possible in this folded position. You squirt hard, a hot, abundant jet that splashes his stomach and thighs, soaking the bed beneath you.
Your walls contract violently around his cock, pulsing and squeezing as if they want to keep him inside you forever. Your toes remain curled, your legs tremble uncontrollably, and your moans turn into sobs of pleasure.
Tenya growls like an animal as he feels your squirt soaking him. He doesn’t slow down. On the contrary, he fucks you even harder through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure until you see stars.
“That’s it… good girl… squirt all over me…” he growls, voice broken.
A few seconds later, he sinks to the hilt and cums violently inside you. You feel his cock pulsing deep, unloading long, thick, hot jets of cum directly against your cervix. He continues giving small thrusts while he cums, as if to push his cum even deeper.
“Take it all… take my cum my love…” he murmurs against your mouth, kissing you deeply, languorously, almost tenderly this time, while continuing to pour his seed into you.
You stay like that for a long moment, entwined, breathless, his heavy body still pressed against yours in this folded position. His cum is already starting to slowly leak around his cock still buried inside you.
You are completely exhausted. Your body is trembling, your muscles are on fire, and you know you’re going to have trouble walking tomorrow. Yet you still melt into his embrace, into his warmth, into his possessive desire.
When he finally pulls out slowly, you let out a small plaintive moan. You look at him with bright, tired eyes.
“Tenya-” you breathe in a broken voice, “I won’t be able to walk for days… You completely destroyed me…”
He smiles, both proud and tender. He showers your face, lips, and neck with soft kisses while gently caressing your trembling thighs.
He props himself up on one elbow and looks at you. His blue eyes have lost their animal intensity. All that remains is tenderness, a hint of guilt, and deep love.
“Wait… don’t move, my love,” he murmurs in a hoarse but soft voice.
He gets up carefully, disappears for a few moments into the bathroom and comes back with a warm, wet towel, a glass of fresh water, and a small bottle of massage oil.
He kneels beside the bed, gently spreads your still trembling legs and begins to clean you with infinite delicacy. The warm towel slides between your thighs, wiping away the mixture of your pleasures that leaks from you.
“I’m sorry…” he breathes while carefully passing the towel. “I was too rough. I completely lost control. You must be exhausted.”
He brings the glass of water to your lips and helps you drink slowly, one hand supporting your head. Then he pours a little oil into his palms, warms it and begins to massage your sore thighs with slow, firm strokes. His large hands glide over your trembling muscles, releasing the tension, caressing your hips, your ass, your calves.
“I’m really sorry, baby,” he continues, voice low and sincere. “I shouldn’t have taken you like that. I was… possessed. I could only think about filling you, marking you, getting you pregnant. I don’t know what came over me.”
You look at him, touched because he apologizes like a little boy after doing something naughty. You reach out and caress his cheek.
“Come here, idiot,” you murmur.
You pull him toward you and kiss him softly, tenderly. Your lips are still swollen from all your sloppy kisses, but this one is slow, full of love. Tenya responds with infinite gentleness, as if afraid of breaking you.
When you separate, you laugh weakly, still lying on your back, unable to really move.
“I loved it, Tenya. Really. Even if I can’t feel my legs anymore… or my arms… or anything else actually. I think you broke me in half.”
You laugh harder, a tired but joyful laugh that makes his eyes shine. He smiles too, relieved, and showers your forehead, cheeks, and the tip of your nose with little kisses.
“Are you sure? I didn’t hurt you?” he asks while continuing to massage your thighs.
“A bit sore, yes… but in a good way. I loved every second. It was intense, but I loved it.”
Tenya blushes slightly and buries his face in your neck, holding you carefully against him. “I love you my love.”
“I love you too.” you say smiling and kissing him passionately.
You’re attracted to Bakugou for many reasons – he’s tall and ripped and handsome and a bit of an asshole – but really, what you like about him most is that he doesn't seem like he’d be too much trouble. And you mean that in many ways.
You’ve been in relationships before, and none of them have ended on good terms – always leading to deep upsets and disappointments. You’d come to the realization that boys, on any level that wasn’t purely sexual, were something you didn’t really need or want at the moment – which is why Bakugou, in all his disinterested glory, was just perfect for you.
He’d fold you in half in filthy places like the locker room or bathroom or in his smoke-steeped car – making your heart beat from the thrill without that nagging feeling of being underappreciated because, well, you didn’t really care. He wasn’t your boyfriend and you weren’t committed to each other in any serious way, so there really weren’t any grounds for standards or expectations – it was just sex – carnal ball-clapping sweaty sex – pure and simple and just what you needed. No more, no less.
You didn’t go on dates or meet each other's parents or give each other chocolate on Valentine's Day or any other presents on any other holiday – you didn’t even hang out aside from seeing each other at parties and sometimes in the school hallways. He’d cock his head with a grin, and you’d smile coyly up through your lashes, and you’d meet in the handicapped bathrooms between classes to get drilled over the sink with your face smudged against the cool mirror.
It's only when he starts knowing things about you that you grow a little stiff with your arrangement - things he couldn’t possibly know from you as you’d never cared to speak about your private life. And sure, some of those things he could have easily found out through your social media standing – which already makes you feel a little iffy – but there are other things he’ll slip out, specifics about your interests and classes and whereabouts and the stuff you do with your friends – stuff you’re positive you’ve not posted anywhere.
When you asked him about it, halfway jokingly with a somewhat nervous laugh, he’d only quirked a brow and brushed it off, insisting you’d been the one that told him. And you, despite being sure he’s lying, decide to believe it anyway. Because what the two of you have right now is still good – much better than any other fuck-friend you’d had before. Katsuki makes you so wet, and he's always so able to just pound your orgasm right out of you.
If payment is small talk, you can humor him.
But then the sex becomes a little dull. Instead of his fist wrapping tight around your throat, he’s now sucking gentle love bites into the skin. And he no longer has his hand in your hair, forcing your face down against a cold surface with nails digging into your scalp to keep you still while fucking you fast and selfishly from behind.
Both his hands are instead holding you around the waist, keeping your body skin-to-skin against his chest as he gently lolls you on his lap – so slow you can’t even feel your heart – so slow you’re still breathing through your nose. He hasn’t slapped your ass once, and it’s beginning to get a little sad.
You want to tell him that you want him to fuck you like he’s a dirty cop and you’re a criminal resisting arrest – and not this old married couple shit. But you also don’t want to be rude.
However, after all the one-sided heart-to-hearts he’d sat you through lately – spending more time chatting than making you cum – you were left feeling a little awkward, honestly. And between that and how he’d started texting you goodnights at eight-thirty – you were afraid he’d lost his original raw sex appeal.
He’s become so pedestrian in your eyes he might as well have been wearing glasses and a sweater vest.
You let him finish without saying anything – but you can't deny you’re happy when you feel him finally blow his load.
Dismounting him, you jump to your seat in the car and pull your underwear back up without a word.
It’s silent while he lights a smoke and rolls down his window – his hand coming to rest on your thigh after.
You look out your own window, your face in your palm while you think. And then talk. “I think… we need to stop.”
He's a little busy with his cigarette, but still, he answers, casually. “Stop what?” Smoke goes out his mouth and up his nostrils, then out again.
“This.” You answer. “Fucking.”
The hand on your thigh stirs and you catch him shifting his head to look at you, but you don’t return the gesture – keeping your eyes fixed on the puddle peppering with raindrops out on the empty parking lot the two of you’ve often spent time burning rubber drifting donuts before making the windows steamy.
“Why?” He eventually says. Flicking the spent filter out onto the wet pavement. Rolling the window back up and leaving the both of you in a way too tense silence of muted rain.
You sigh, leaning back against the headrest. “We’re not strangers anymore... It’s just getting a little boring.”
He taps another cigarette up from his box but doesn’t light it – just rolls it around in his fingers with his head bowed. “Boring, huh?” He repeats. And then there’s a pause.
A hefty pause. A silent one that lasts a little too long and makes you forget the subject in favor of thinking about other things – like, had your roommate done the dishes this time, or were they still on the counter?
“What if I lock the car and drive us off a cliff?” He breaks through your thoughts, and this time, it’s you who turns your head. Looking at him while he still fingers the same slim roll in his hands – mumbling to it, it would seem. “I’ll laugh, you’ll scream… and maybe I’ll light this cig’ while we’re in the air…”
He sighs – as though what he’d just said was not what he’d said – then copies your action, letting his head fall back to rest against the leather – his face blank and his breath steady.
“If you fuck someone else, I’ll break their face.”
This time you blink when staring at him – face riddled, doubting what you were hearing come out of his mouth. “You what?”
“If- you fuck- someone else…” He repeats slowly. “I- will break- their face.” He says it so calmly you’re still unsure whether you heard him right. “Understand?” He asks – chin cocked up while glancing at you from the corner of his red eyes. “I won't stop punching until their teeth are on the ground and their eyes are so bloated and bloody they can no longer see who it is that’s throwing the hits.”
You blink a few more times. Stunned into a stupor, picturing it with parted lips without any words escaping them.
He rolls down the window again and puts the smoke between his lips.
And while he lights it and blows the roof full of grey, you’re still hung up on the image…
Maybe Bakugou wasn’t as boring as you thought.
♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist
♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist
Full altered fic with smut available here:
Read before bedtime! College Years is a collection of twenty short erotic thrillers, each with a loose theme revolving around college—and co
sometimes you swore ceo!higuruma loved your butt more than he loved you..
⚚ “missed this s’much. never let me leave again,” the lanky man had his face stuffed into the fat of your bottom, laying out flat. he took one biiggg sniff— which then turned into four, then six, and maybe seven. “you hear me? jus’ tell me no, i can’t go. alright?”
his usual gravel voice came out muffled, most of the sound getting lost between your cheeks that were basically his second home. you were on your stomach, reading some romcom as you gave your husband and your ass some alone time.
“well i definitely can’t tell you not to work, romi..” you flipped a page, choosing to ignore his huffs of disappointment. it was rare that higuruma even got a day off— but with much preparation he was able to make it happen.
he definitely did it because he was so overworked and exhausted. not because he missed the smell, shape, or touch of your butt pushing against his face. the man wanted to be marked in your aroma, and sometimes he’d purposely disable the bathroom water, just so you wouldn’t shower.
when you came home from the gym? yeah, don’t expect a nice hot shower to soothe you— not when you had a man like higuruma yanking you straight upstairs to have his fill.
just got off your period? so what, didn’t matter to him in the slightest. he would take you in whatever state, for the rest of his life and then as a ghost. that’s what it meant belonging to higuruma hiromi.
usually, the only way he made it through the dreadful long hours of work, was with your scent still sticking to his mouth. you knew how overworked your husband could be, and most mornings you would bend over, letting him do whatever he pleased before clocking in.
he’d smell you throughout the day and immediately become much more positive… relaxed. one time he spent the day licking his lips so much they turned burning red.
“ughhh.” he closed his eyes, resting his chin on one cheek for just a moment. “guess y’hate me then. want me to be deprived of my favorite, hm? you’re so cruel baby.” your weak shorts were slipped off in a matter of seconds, higuruma had thrown them across the room.
you finally put your book down, the cold air of his home office/man-cave hitting your cheeks harshly. “hmph no! you’re just so obsessed with me..” you playfully pushed back, hitting his temple with your butt— hard.
and he fucking loved it.
you never wore panties when he was home anymore, knowing the fiend would just rip them all to pieces. he’d proven that plenty times before.
“always.” he answered swiftly, kneading both cuffs of your ass in his hands slowly. you couldn’t help the whine that slipped from you mouth, and you arched just a bit more, pulling a smirk from the man. “that a problem.. can’t i be obsessed with my pretty lil wife?..”
“n..never said you couldn’t-” your words were cut off midway as he inched closer, spreading you open for him. one glance at your second hole that was already pulsating, and he hadn’t even done anything yet— made his dick twitch.
higuruma latched his mouth on your hole, kissing it softly before sniffing. his eyes nearly rolled back and got stuck there, your soft whimpers not making his condition any better.
then you felt it. a sharp pain on your right cheek, one that hurt like hell— but hurt soo good. when you looked back you saw it, your husband biting into your flesh with the most animalistic look, he was very gentle but you really wouldn’t mind the opposite.
“could jus’ eat you forever. you’re too perfect, way too damn sexy. and allll mine,” his teeth left indents all over, but he no longer had interest in biting. he needed to eat. now. now. now. “isn’t that right, mama?”
then his tongue was sliding up your crack, swirling spit all over as his huuge nose pushed against you. he pulled back, and sloppily spat out a glob, watching it drip.
“y..yes sir.. you’re right.” the way you whispered the name had him cumming in his trousers. he was relived you couldn’t see the drool dripping down to his chin, or how his eyes were childishly clenched tight in joy.
“please please, say that again. need to hear you again.. please.” his voice was cracking once his tongue finally latched on your hole which was still pulsating. he slowly pushed inside, shaking his head to each side precisely.
you could’ve swore you heard a whimper, then you cried out. “yes s-sir, whatever you say.” your soft hands pushed at his temple— grinding your ass into his nose until he couldn’t breathe.
“thank you m..mommy.” it came out so muffled you almost didn’t catch it, but once you did.. you were sent into an orgasm of your own, juices oozing down your thighs just the way he fucking liked.
“i don’t know, think you need to spread f’me again.. wider this time, hm. know you can do better than that angel.”
A tale as old as the ages. A human hopelessly enamored by a selkie. Captain Frederick Farview, in his early thirties, was the human. He owned and sailed a large leisure vessel for wealthy customers.
And you were the selkie. An abnormal male one at that.
He had first encountered you while doing a cruise for wealthy clients. From the boat, he had seen a strange sight. He saw a beautiful man put on some sort of cloth and transform into a beautiful seal before sliding into the water and swimming away.
He had been so enamored by the creature he had seen in the moonlight that he had to see it again. Out of pure curiosity, and to assure himself that he had not imagined it, he took a smaller personal boat back to the location after the cruise finally ended.
The captain knew it was likely a long shot, but he had to know for sure. To his surprise, he actually went around you, sitting on a rock jutting out of the water in the distance. Though you swam away when you noticed him.
You had been warned about humans.
But eventually, your curiosity got the better of you, and his persistence paid off. You allowed him to approach within speaking distance. He was charming and kind. Curious about your origins and culture.
Soon enough, he won you over. You shed your seal skin lower half, which allowed you to morph into a human form and board his fancy yacht.
After a few times, you let your guard down, and he wrestled your magic skin from you and forced you to be his.
He hid it away and took you to his home. Having nowhere else to go in this strange world and owning nothing, not even clothes, you were dependent on him and had to endure marriage to him.
But worse than that, you had to endure his cock constantly. Filling your mouth or ass with his seed constantly. It seemed there was nothing he liked more than having his hands caressing you as he fucked into you while babbling about how perfect and beautiful you were.
One day, though, you finally found your skin. He had taken you for a small trip on his personal yacht, and you found it still stashed there all this time while he slept. Like a treasure to be hidden away from the world.
A treasure indeed.
You took it to the deck and slipped it on before jumping into the water with a splash. Captain Farview woke up and found you missing from his side. He arrived just in time to see you swim away.
With a growl of frustration, he got some fishing gear and was in hot pursuit. The waters here were shallow, so he knew if he was fast, you wouldn't be able to escape.
In the end, he caught you in a net. When he took you home, he tied you up in front of the roaring fireplace and threw your seal skin, your selkie birthright, into the flames.
You screamed and lunged forward, but his strong hands kept you in place as you howled in agony. It pained him to see you like this, but it was the only way to get it through your head that your place was with him.
He picked you up and buried your face in his chest as you wept.
"Come on, let's get you to bed. You've had a long day."
He’s been hopping from one Air Temple to the next with Appa and Momo, scouring every dusty corner of every nations. He’s collecting every preserved scrap of pottery, every ancient scroll, and any relic that survived the century he spent on ice.
Let’s be real: looking in the mirror and knowing you’re the end of a bloodline is a different kind of heavy. Usually, being the Avatar is all about peace, balance, and bringing unity to the nations—but it’s hard to build unity when your own people aren't even at the table. Honestly, it’s a bit heart-wrenching. He has friends, of course; Katara, Sokka, Toph, and Zuko, well, practically his family now, but being the 'Last Airbender' is a lonely, heavy kind of 'exclusive' that no one would ever actually ask for.
So, here he is—deep in the ruins of a temple that’s more "ghost story" than "tourist trap"—digging for something, anything, that is still preserved from his culture. He’s fully prepared to be alone, per usual, when he turns a corner and stops dead.
He isn't alone.
His eyes go wide with disbelief. Sitting at the center of the temple, plain as day, is someone who looks like they stepped straight out of a history scrolls. They’re meditating amidst a cloud of incense, a small figurine placed before them carved with a script Aang can’t quite make out—though it looks like it starts with an ‘S.’
And this robed person has… tattoos?
From this angle, Aang can see the Airbending master markings running down the stranger’s arms to their knuckles. There’s a glint of gold, too—heavy wrist bands and a pair of hoop earrings—but the tattoos are what keep him frozen. These aren't the standard blue arrows Aang has. These markings are intricate, looking more like ancient calligraphy than the bold lines we’re used to. It’s like a prototype from a thousand years ago. Could they be…
The person in the white robe doesn't even turn around before they sense him. One second Aang is just standing there, and the next? A sharp, localized blast of air is whistling toward his head.
Now, airbending is usually about those big, flowing spirals—powerful, sure, but flexible. This? This is different. This is sharp and precise, channeled through just two fingers and coming at him like a physical blade. If a normal airblast is a hammer, this is a surgical scalpel. Aang barely manages to roll out of the way in time.
"…An airbender," he breathes out, his heart doing jumping jacks in his chest.
The figure in the white robes scrambles back, instantly dropping into a defensive stance, fingers already twitching for a second strike. They look ready to take his head off, honestly.
"Woah! Woah—relax!" Aang yelps, throwing both hands into the air in a universal sign of 'please don't kill me.' "I’m not a threat! I promise!"
The robed figure doesn't answer. Instead, they take a sharp breath and sweep their arms in a circular motion, whipping the stagnant air into a frenzy. The move purposely kicks up decades of dust and grime, thick enough to blanket the chamber in an impenetrable grey haze and knock over the small antique figurines nearby. Under the cover of the smog, the stranger blasts themselves upward, vanishing into the rafters.
Aang coughs, squinting against the grit stinging his eyes. “Wait—hey!”
He performs a quick, sweeping airbending motion to clear the room, pushing the dust out of the open windows. Catching a glimpse of a shadow darting from the tallest ledge, he sprints toward the main entrance, hoping for a better look at their face.
They’re gone, but something catches his eye.
A soft, yellow sash drifts lazily through the air, having snagged and torn away during the stranger's frantic escape. Aang reaches out, catching the fabric as it floats down. It’s light, woven with a craftsmanship he hasn't seen in a century.
Momo chatters and perches on his shoulder while Appa lands softly behind him, letting out a low, inquisitive grumble. Aang runs his thumb over the silk, a genuine smile breaking across his face and look around, still hoping that he can catch a small glimpse of that person.
“I can’t believe it…” He immediately looked up and smiled, eyes full of hope.
when FIRELORD ZUKO takes a liking to AVATAR AANG'S mysterious new BRIDE.
TORN BETWEEN TWO ROADS ! — aang x reader x zuko
PLOT. republic city is finally at peace, and for once, katara allows herself to hope—maybe now, after everything, she and aang can finally become something real. but when aang returns after eight months, he isn’t alone. he comes back with you at his side, introducing you as his wife. suspicious yet helpless, his friends do their best to welcome you, even as nothing about this sudden marriage makes sense. but while everyone else keeps their distance, one person doesn’t. and perhaps Zuko gets a little too comfortable with the avatar’s new wife.
CHARACTERS. AANG and ZUKO.
WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, angst, takes place 10 years after atla, age gaps. reader is 21, established relationship, fem reader, atla spoilers, no spoilers for legend of aang but follows the characters, not canon compliant to legend of korra, not proofread.
(please check the story masterlist for the story warnings.)
WC. 4.6k
masterlist : story masterlist
a/n: this idea is still rough, but it's there. i am so excited to write this.
The world had not returned to what it once was after the war; it had moved forward, reshaping itself. And nowhere was that more evident than in Republic City.
It stood at the meeting point of nations that had once defined themselves by their differences. It was not a quiet city. Movement never ceased; there was always a hustle and bustle ensuing amidst it.
At the center of it all was the Avatar, whether he intended to be or not.
Aang had not envisioned this city when the war ended, nor had he set out to create something so vast, but his presence had shaped it regardless. Balance had not become easier to maintain; it had only grown more complicated, stretching across a world that was learning to exist without war yet had not learned how to exist without division.
He traveled more than he stayed, moving between disputes, negotiations, and responsibilities, but mostly, his own curiosity. The boy who once avoided duty had grown into someone who could not escape it, and the world, in turn, had come to rely on that.
It had been eight months since he had last returned.
Eight months had passed since the harbor had seen the familiar shape of Appa descending from the sky. The city carried on, but those who knew him felt his absence.
Katara found herself searching the skies every loose minute. She told herself it was a habit, that she preferred the open air to the confines of the city, but even she did not believe it entirely. She longed to see Aang, worried his adventures had gone askew.
She understood the reason for his absence. The world demanded his presence in ways that could not be ignored, and she wouldn't ask him to turn away from that. Understanding, however, did little to ease the sense of distance that had settled over time.
For her, those expectations had taken on a shape she could no longer dismiss.
What they had shared in the past had never been defined, left suspended between their small moments or shared kisses, something that hadn't resurfaced since the end of the war.
They had been younger then, shaped by the urgency of war and the closeness it forced upon them, but time had not erased what remained. It made it a lot heavier to hold, at least for her.
The time spent building and growing the now Republic City had kept them close yet far apart because of duty. But once it had been over and settled into this new world, Aang took to finding more of his heritage, travelling wherever Appa could reach.
Now, another anniversary of the Republic City had arrived, bringing her friends along with it.
Sokka, her brother, arrived a few days ago from the Southern Water Tribe. And Toph arrived just yesterday from the Earth Kingdom with a few of her pupils in tow.
And although the responsibilities of a Fire Lord were inexplicably heavy, Katara was sure Zuko would draw upon a visit as well.
But the person she hoped to see the most had yet to show his face. She had hoped that his return would bring clarity, that distance would have resolved the unlabeled tension.
That this time, he would stay long enough for something to begin.
No one ever receives an advance notice of his arrival. The Avatar came and went as needed, his presence guided more by circumstance than by schedule. Even so, there was always a shift in the air when he returned.
It was no different this time.
The anniversary celebrations had filled Republic City with life, the streets crowded with people, music threading through the air, and voices rising in easy celebration beneath the afternoon sun.
The city center was alive, and it was difficult to notice anything beyond what was directly in front of you.
Until something passed overhead, casting a swift, giant shadow onto the people. It moved across the ground and over the buildings, drawing attention upward.
Heads tilted back, the crowd already bubbling with excitement. And then someone said it.
"Look! It's the Avatar—!"
High above, Appa descended through the open sky. The wind shifted with him, carrying the force of his arrival down into the streets below as the crowd instinctively moved back, clearing space without needing to be told.
On his head sat Aang. He was so easy to recognize, even from a distance.
Katara saw him first, as always. Her breath caught, her gaze fixed upward as the shape of him became clearer with every passing second.
Sokka followed her line of sight, squinting for half a moment before breaking into a grin.
"I told you," he said, nudging her lightly. "I told you he'd show up today."
Toph tilted her head toward the ground, arms still crossed, though her attention sharpened immediately.
"Took him long enough."
Appa lowered, the air swirling around him as he descended into the open space ahead. The ground seemed to brace for it, and when he landed, the impact sent a gust of wind outward that forced the nearest onlookers to step back further.
The crowd erupted. Cheers broke through all at once, voices rising over one another.
"The Avatar!"
"He's back!"
Aang stepped down with ease, his movements light despite the height he had descended from. The moment his feet touched the ground was light and controlled, like he was the air itself.
He reached up briefly, unfastening the straps of the packs secured behind him before lowering them— setting four large bags (something he had not originally set out with) carefully onto the ground.
Above them, Momo settled with a contented chirp, curling into place as though the journey had not bothered him in the slightest.
Aang straightened as he looked out at the crowd, taking in the faces, the noise, the energy of the city that had continued in his absence. But he was hoping to catch a sight of his family above all.
His eyes skimmed across the crowds and he found them easily, smiling at the familiar faces. It was the same smile they remembered, remaining unchanged despite the months that had passed.
Sokka took a step forward immediately, already raising a hand.
"Aang—!"
But Aang did not move toward them.
Instead, he turned back to Appa once more. Before they could even take a step forward, he lifted himself lightly from the ground with a small current of air, rising just enough to reach the edge of Appa's saddle.
Then he held out his hand.
They were confused. Momo had claimed the travel bags without concern, already drifting toward sleep despite the noise that still lingered around them.
Aang didn't really have anyone else who had accompanied him when he left. The thought settled between them without needing to be spoken, drawing their attention back toward the saddle they had assumed was empty.
Before any of them could voice it, they saw a hand appear first, fingers settling into Aang's before the rest of you followed, rising into view as you pulled yourself upright from where you had been seated along the saddle.
Your hand remained in his as Aang's grip tightened enough to steady you, and in the same movement, he drew you closer, closing the space that existed between you.
Your arms circled his shoulders as the two of you remained there, suspended in the air. Then, gently, he brought you down.
The air shifted around you as your feet met the ground beside him. His hold lingered to ensure your balance before easing. When you separated, it was only by a small measure that left the connection between you intact.
The crowd, once loud with excitement, had begun to thin as attention returned to the celebration, though a handful remained, watching with quiet curiosity, their earlier cheers settling into murmurs that carried more questions than answers.
No one reached for a conclusion just yet.
Katara, Sokka, and Toph moved forward almost at once, their attention pulled in two directions at once, drawn to Aang yet returning, again and again, to you.
You had already turned slightly, your hand lifting to rest against Appa's head, and your touch was seemingly familiar enough that the great sky bison leaned into it without resistance.
By the time they reached him, the distance had closed enough that the moment could no longer be delayed.
Katara moved first.
She closed the space quickly, and whatever restraint she had held dissolved the moment she reached him. She wrapped her arms around him without hesitation, the force of it enough to make him shift back a step before he steadied.
"Aang," she breathed, relief threading through her voice despite her effort to keep it composed.
"It's so good to see you."
Sokka followed without pause, stepping in with a grin, his arm wrapping around them both and pulling them in.
"Yeah, pal, good to see you," he said.
Toph approached last, her head angled slightly as she reached out and pulled him into an embrace once the siblings had stepped back.
"Well, I can't see you," she said, her voice carrying its usual bluntness as she smirked, "but it's good to have you back, Twinkle Toes."
Aang laughed quietly, slipping easily into the space between them as though the months apart had been mere minutes.
"It's been one hell of an adventure," he said, his smile widening, his energy returning despite the changes that had settled into him.
"But it's really good to see you guys."
He looked between them, taking in their presence fully now, before something shifted in his expression.
"Where is Zuko?" He noticed the absence quickly, as Katara stepped in.
"He'll be here tomorrow." She ensured. Aang nodded once in understanding before smiling back at them.
"I'm really glad you're all here," he added, turning slightly.
"Because there's someone I want you to meet."
He called your name.
You turned at once, your attention shifting back to him, your hand lowering from Appa as you stepped forward when he beckoned you closer. When you reached him, he guided you gently to stand in front of him, your back pressing close to his chest.
His hands settled at your shoulders, as though presenting you to his friends (which he technically was).
The space around them seemed to narrow again, attention pulling inward and onto you.
And then, without hesitation, he spoke.
"Guys, this is my wife."
The space was quieter than the open streets of the city, removed from the curious eyes that had followed them from the city center. It was Katara's home, a short tower much like Aang's, warm and simple.
There was a low wooden table set at the center of the room and cushions arranged around it. The scent of food lingered in the air, a spread of dishes laid out with attention. They sat together on the floor, as they had many times before, yet it no longer felt as comforting with the addition of a new presence.
Aang settled easily, his posture relaxed as though the weight of his responsibilities had been set aside for the moment. You remained close beside him, your arm linked through his, your shoulder leaning lightly into his side.
The food was passed between them, and Sokka had already begun eating with little restraint, serving himself generously from the meat-filled dishes Katara had whipped up. Aang remained with the vegetarian plates set aside for him, thanking Katara quietly for the effort before beginning to eat.
You followed his lead, keeping to the same dishes, avoiding the drinks that Sokka and Toph had taken for themselves, your silence unbroken, your attention lowered more often than not.
The moment they had settled, the questions were poured over Aang all at once. Sokka and Toph tried to remain respectful to your presence while asking for your story, meanwhile Katara hadn't questioned the two of you at all, but evidently curious herself.
Aang had kept it brief, offering information sparingly about your history. He had said that the two of you had met while he was traveling, that things had moved quickly and you fell in love, that it had simply felt right.
And being the Avatar meant having to oversee Republic City, he couldn't stay where he had met you, so the decision to get married had been made quickly, making you two return together, to build something here instead.
It was obvious they had many questions, but they sure as hell would not question their friend right in front of you.
Congratulations had followed, quiet and measured, and then the moment had passed, left to settle beneath everything that came after.
It was Sokka who filled the silence again, though this time not with questions, but with usual new ideas that spawn in his tinkering brain.
"So I've been working on this new design," he began, already gesturing with his hands despite the food still in them, his voice picking up pace as his excitement took over.
"It's basically a reinforced mechanism—stronger joints, better rotation, and if I get it right, it could handle way more pressure than anything we've built before."
Aang leaned forward slightly, interest immediate.
"Wait, so for like quicker transportation?"
"Exactly!" Sokka said, pointing at him with a quick nod. "I'm thinking something that could carry more weight, maybe even support multiple functions depending on how it's built."
Toph snorted softly. "So... you're just upgrading what already exists?"
"That's not—it is to improve efficiency." Sokka replied quickly.
"Sounds the same to me."
"It's not the same," Sokka insisted, already leaning further into it.
"Efficiency is important. You can't just throw things together and hope it works."
"You literally do that all the time."
"That's different," he said, without missing a beat. "That's instinct."
Aang laughed, slipping into place as though nothing had changed between them, his attention fully caught now.
"No, wait, that actually sounds really interesting," he said, his tone brightening. "If it can handle more pressure, you could use it not only for transportation, but construction too!"
"Exactly," Sokka said, pleased, already building on the idea. "See, this is why you get it."
Toph tilted her head slightly. "Yeah, because he's the only one listening."
The conversation carried on like that, Sokka speaking the most, his words running ahead of themselves as Aang kept up easily, asking questions, offering ideas, while Toph cut in whenever she pleased, her remarks sharp and comical each time.
You remained quiet beside Aang, your hand still resting around his arm, your gaze lowered more often than not, contributing nothing to the conversation yet not removed from it either.
Katara was quieter still, her attempts to keep up with the conversation falling short no matter how carefully she held her smile in place.
She spoke when needed, but for the most part, she said nothing at all, her attention shifting, her gaze returning to you more often than she would have liked before pulling away again.
Time passed quickly as it does when you're enjoying yourself, until the light outside began to soften, the sun lowering, shifting the room into a quieter shade.
Eventually, Aang took note of the time and your tired figure, his attention drifting from the conversation as he set his cup down.
"I think we should head home," he said, his tone gentle, though final.
"It's been a long journey, and I want to get her settled in."
No one protested, agreeing quietly with a few nods as the evening drew to a close without resistance.
You both rose slowly and Aang moved toward the open balcony, the evening air slipping in as he stepped outside, a soft note leaving his whistle.
It did not take long for Appa to respond.
He floated close to the railing as Aang secured the travel bags onto the saddle before turning back to you, offering his hand as he helped you up first. Only once you were settled did he follow, stepping lightly onto Appa's head as he glanced back one last time.
"See you guys soon."
And then Appa rose, the wind lifting around him as you both left the balcony behind.
Once you had both left, a quiet settled over the three of them. The room, which had only moments ago carried conversation and liveliness, now held something far more glum.
Katara no longer held onto her smile. It faded slowly, the effort behind it slipping away until her lips formed a frown. She remained seated for a moment longer, her hands resting in her lap. The situation pressed in around her, suffocating her.
Sokka noticed it immediately. He had been watching her since Aang stood to leave.
"Katara..." he started, softer now, the edge gone from his voice.
She blinked, as though being snapped out of a dream. When she looked up, the smile she gave him was small and practiced, held together with effort.
"I'm just going to get some air," she said, not waiting for him to respond.
She stood up, her hands smoothing briefly over her clothes, an unnecessary gesture meant to steady herself, and then she turned toward the door.
Sokka pushed himself up immediately.
"Katara, wait—"
She didn't.
She stepped out before he could reach her, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft finality. And whatever she had been holding in place gave way, unseen.
Sokka stopped short, the words he had meant to say left unfinished, his hand lowering slowly back to his side. He remained standing for a moment, staring at the door, as if expecting it to open again.
He exhaled sharply, the tension in him settling into something heavier as he dragged a hand through his hair before dropping back down onto the cushion, leaning back on his hands.
For a long time, he had not been entirely thrilled when he first noticed what had been forming between Aang and Katara. It had been uncomfortable at first, something he had watched with suspicion, protective instinct getting the better of him.
But time had softened that resistance and he came to to accept it once he noticed how much his sister really adorded Aang. And Aang, was his best friend. Of all the people, he could trust him with Katara.
He had come to see it as inevitable, something that was bound to happen, and had secretly been expecting to take place already.
This—
This had not been part of that expectation.
"...Okay, what just happened?" he said after a moment, his voice sharp.
Toph did not answer immediately. Her head tilted slightly, getting more comfortable on the floor as she stretched out her limbs.
"That was bad," she said finally.
Sokka let out a short breath, sitting up straighter.
"Bad? Toph, that was really bad." He ran a hand through his hair again, frustration settling in now that the moment had passed.
"He just—what, disappears for ten months, comes back, and suddenly he's married?" His voice lifted slightly, disbelief breaking through.
"Since when does Aang do something like that without telling anyone?"
Toph leaned back slightly, her arms crossing, her expression unchanged.
"Since apparently eight months ago."
"That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
Sokka pushed himself to his feet again, pacing once across room before turning back toward her.
"She was waiting for him," he said, quieter now, though the weight behind it remained.
"You know that, right? She didn't say it, but she—she was waiting."
Toph didn't interrupt.
"She thought..." he started, then stopped, exhaling through his nose as the frustration tightened again.
"I thought—We all thought—!"
He didn't finish that either. The pieces didn't fit together cleanly anymore.
"He didn't even say anything! I am sure one letter wouldn't have hurt! I mean, what the hell was that story? I don't buy it for a second." Sokka continued, his voice lower now, though the edge hadn't left.
Toph shifted slightly, her tone still calm, though less dismissive now.
"Yeah. He was lying." She says casually, as if it hadn't been the confirmation Sokka was looking for this entire time.
"What?! What do you mean?"
"What you said, Snoozles. Their story. Aang was lying. He probably didn't say much because he knew I would catch his lies."
"Wait...does that mean Aang is in trouble?"
"Don't think so. From what I sensed, she didn't seem like much of a threat, and Twinkle toes did seem to care for her, there was no lie there." She explained her observations.
"Then I don't get it, Toph. What did Aang lie about?" Sokka questions, keeping his motive straightforward.
"None of what he said was a lie, but it wasn't the entire story. All I'm saying is, he said just enough of the truth to not make me suspect anything."
Sokka was livid.
"Why do you look so relaxed?! Aren't you mad at him? This doesn't seem like the Aang we know!"
"Chill out. I'm sure he's okay. Although...he's not one to think things through. Not when it comes to helping people anyway."
Sokka perks up at Toph's insinuation. "You think he's helping her?"
"My best guess."
"Well, that's no excuse," Sokka shot back immediately.
"He knows better than that. He should know better than that. We are always here to help, he knows that!"
"Maybe he just didn't need our help for this. From what I felt, he seemed happier, at least since I last met him.
Sokka's shoulders remained tense, his jaw tightening as his gaze stayed fixed on the door, though there was nothing left there to see. The space Katara had occupied was empty, her absence settling heavily into the room as Sokka grew worried for her.
"...I should go after her," he said, already half-turning.
"Give her a minute," Toph replied, her tone steady. "She won't want an audience right now."
Sokka stopped, even though the tension in him remained coiled tight, he did not argue. Instead, he hesitated in his step for half a second before lowering himself back onto the cushion.
"...He really messed this up," he muttered, the frustration slipping through despite the effort to contain it.
Toph tilted her head slightly at that, her expression unchanged.
"Did he?"
Sokka looked up at her, frowning. "What do you mean did he? You saw her."
"Yeah, I did," she said calmly. "I'm not saying she's fine. I'm asking how exactly this is all on him."
Sokka let out a short, disbelieving breath, the sound sharp against the quiet. "Toph—"
"No, think about it," she cut in, forcing him to listen whether he wanted to or not.
"It was obvious Katara liked him. I'm not arguing that. But we also thought it was obvious Aang liked her too."
Sokka opened his mouth to respond, but the words stalled, choosing to let her finish.
"And maybe he did," she continued. "Maybe he still does. But technically, they were never official on any grounds. "
"That doesn't mean—" he started, but she did not let him finish.
"It means nothing was decided," she said. "If somehow Aang's feelings changed, we can't blame him for it. "
Sokka's expression tightened, then softened enough to show that he understood Toph's argument.
"That doesn't make this okay," he said after a moment.
"I didn't say it did," Toph replied. "I'm saying we can't act like he broke some rule or something."
Sokka leaned back slightly, dragging a hand over his face as he let that sit, the frustration in him shifting.
"It's just—ughh! Married? Aang won't do something like that on a whim!"
"But he did it already."
"I know. Did you see Katara's face? Even Aang must have noticed it, it was that obvious, fuck!"
"He didn't do it to hurt her."
Sokka didn't respond immediately.
"No," he admitted after a pause. "Of course not."
Aang was not careless, and he was not cruel. He did not make choices like that without reason, which meant there had to be one.
If Toph was vouching for the authenticity of Aang's marriage to you, then—
"...He really meant it," Sokka said, the realization settling in slower this time, heavier.
Toph nodded once. "Yeah."
Sokka exhaled, some of the tension leaving him, though it did not ease what remained.
After a pause, Sokka spoke again.
"What you said earlier... about him not telling the whole truth." His gaze flicked toward her. "Do you think we should tell Katara?"
Toph didn't answer right away. She leaned back slightly, considering the situation. Katara was a fierce woman, and although Toph was sure she won't do anything drastic, even she couldn't trust to stop things from going downhill.
"Not yet," she said after a moment. "She's already dealing with enough. Telling her that now isn't going to help."
Sokka frowned, though he didn't argue.
"So we just... don't say anything?"
"For now," Toph replied. "We wait. Maybe once Zuko gets here. We'll have a good old Team Avatar huddle! Uhh...without the Avatar, of course."
The answer did not satisfy him completely, but it settled enough for him to let it go, at least for the moment.
Toph shifted slightly, adjusting her posture before speaking again.
"When is Zuko getting here anyway?"
Sokka glanced at her, the shift in topic catching him slightly off guard before he answered.
"He should arrive by tomorrow afternoon."
Night settled over the city without resistance, the last of the noise fading. By the time you got settled in your new home, the world outside had quieted, leaving only the soft hush of the empty streets.
Inside your home, you lay beside Aang, the distance between you nonexistent, skin against skin beneath the covers, the warmth of him melting into your flesh. Your head rested against his chest, eyes fluttering to a close to the steady rhythm beneath your cheek.
Each breath of his matched your own without effort, his arm lay beneath you, holding you in place, while his other hand moved slowly through your hair.
Your fingers shifted lightly against him before your voice broke through the stillness.
“It seems your friends do not like me.”
Aang’s hand stilled for a brief moment before continuing its slow movement, his touch no different than it was before.
“They just met you,” he said. “It was unexpected.”
“That is one way to describe it.”
“They’ll come around,” he said after a moment. “It just takes time.”
There was no bitterness in your voice, only an acknowledgment that did not seek to challenge him. You shifted slightly, lifting your head to look at him.
“That water tribe girl,” you said.
His hand slowed, and you felt the shift immediately. You held his gaze for a second longer before letting it fall, settling back against him, your cheek returning to its place over his chest, though now, the rhythm behind his chest had upped its tempo.
“That was her,” you continued, lifting your head again, your eyes finding his. “Was it not?”
He did not answer immediately. To be honest, he did not need to. You had understood plenty.
“Yes.”
The word settled between you, and you smiled.
“I see.”
You heaved a sigh, feeling your own heartbeat speed up.
“I am sorry,” you said after a moment.
Aang's reaction was immediate as he frowned faintly
“There’s no need for that.”
"I feel as though there is." His hand stilled again, resting lightly against your back now, no longer moving.
“I made my feelings very clear to you, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.
“Perhaps not,” you answered. “But that does not mean no one was hurt.”
The honesty in your voice did not leave room for dismissal. Something in his expression shifted then, softening.
“She’ll be alright,” he said after a moment, though the words carried less certainty than he might have intended.
You did not respond to that directly.
“Your friends are important to you.”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation.
You nodded faintly, your breath evening out again against him.
“Then I hope they will come to accept me.”
“They will,” Aang replied, more certain this time, his hand resuming its slow movement through your hair, steady, grounding. “It just might take some time.”
The tension eased slightly, but Aang didn't need to see your face to know what you were feeling at the moment.
Then, almost as an afterthought, his tone shifted.
“And you haven’t even met my closest friend yet.”
You tilted your head slightly, just enough to look up at him again.
“Oh?”
Aang smiled faintly.
“Zuko,” he said. “The Fire Lord. He’ll be visiting soon.”
He leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, urging you to sleep, before settling his head back onto the pillow.
Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit tho, we’re already married in his head] wc: 4.8k
m.list | chapter one | next chapter
“You want me to do your hair?”
His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “Yes, precisely.”
You sigh as you step into the man’s chambers, walking up to the vanity that’s more fitting for a queen, in your opinion. If only people saw this side of the fire lord. Zuko, the pretty boy. He has zero insecurities over the scar his tyrant of a father left on his face, but he’d faint at the sight of seeing too much hair shed on the marble floors of his bathhouse.
“When you decide to have me summoned like this, do you ever wonder, hm— what would her father think?” you ask as you grudgingly pick up the boar bristle brush and begin to brush his hair.
“I do,” he dryly responds. “I like the way you do your hair, though, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell on me. You wouldn’t want me getting in trouble, right?”
Zuko might be the fire lord, but he still has to watch his relationships with the other clans in this nation— especially with a certain hot-headed strategist that just so happens to be your father. You can only imagine his outburst upon learning that his daughter is playing with the lord's hair, rather than playing your role as his advisor.
Most fathers would be pleased by the information— not yours, he’s a little more… strict. He already doesn’t like him from a joke made over a decade ago, suggesting you’d make a fine concubine, which wasn’t taken lightly.
Your father threatened to usurp the throne, sending a chill running down a then 21 year old Zuko’s spine.
There was no way in hell he’d hand you off to the imperial palace to become a concubine. You’re the only child of his that inherited firebending. If your father had it his way, you’d be a warrior, for fucks sake.
Lord Zuko may have a dry sense of humor at times, but you have your doubts about how much of a joke that statement was, especially with how much he likes to bug you throughout the day.
Perhaps another conflict should erupt— the man has too much time on his hands. Maybe then you’d fulfill your fathers wish of finally working in the military— put your talents to use, as he’d say.
But would Lord Zuko allow the gentle hands running through his hair to commit such violence? Or would that be when he’d draw a hard line with the aggressive strategist?
As progressive as he is, you sometimes wonder just how much it extends to you. Even as children, he’d go easy on you during trainings. He’s only grown softer with you as the years passed. Despite not being a concubine yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if he saw you as one of the flowers in his garden— one he’s not allowed to touch.
You slide the hair stick through his headpiece, securing the top knot he had you redo. It looks the same, but you hold off on making a comment. “Is that better?”
“Much better.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, lips curving into a sly smile. “Now— what are we doing today?”
We. You hate how much he likes to emphasize that at times.
“Well,” you sigh. “Aside from the usual council meeting, nothing much. Perhaps you can visit one of your concubines today… for once.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Are you saying I don’t fuck my concubines enough?”
“Precisely,” you say almost mockingly.
It’s all they ever complain about, and honestly, you’re sure you would, too, if you were one of them. Having to wake up and sit around all day, waiting for a man who never comes. And on the rare occasion that he does, he doesn’t stay long. He’ll show up, fuck the shit out of you for a couple rounds, then leave right after. Allegedly.
“Don’t you want an heir?” you ask.
“Depends,” he hums.
With the way he’s looking at you, you can already tell what it depends on, and it has nothing to do with his current concubines. Lucky for you, he never gets the chance to actually say it because he gets interrupted right after, putting a conversation you’d rather not have to a screeching halt.
“The council is waiting for you, my Lord.”
—
The silk district was notoriously known for two things: brothels and bandits. It was the wild, wild west compared to the other districts in the capital due to high crime and the growing wealth gap. The governments always kept a watchful eye on it, which was never enough in your opinion.
Are you surprised to hear that an entire brothel, including the madame, was discovered to be slain and robbed in the early hours of this morning? Absolutely not.
“Send more military officers to patrol the area,” the chamberlain says without hesitation. “We’ve been too lenient with them. If they want bloodshed, we’ll give them bloodshed.”
Yikes, he wants to rule the area with an iron fist when they’re already clearly struggling. You can’t help but think of how much of a dictator this guy would be if he were in Zuko’s place.
You make eye contact with the lord, who’s sitting at the end of the table right next to you. In that brief moment, he notices the concern in your eyes and gives you a subtle nod.
“Perhaps we can send more public aid?” you suggest. “They’ve been testing out a new rehabilitation program in Republic City as well. I’m sure the Silk District could benefit from—“
“Nonsense,” the chamberlain cuts you off, wondering why you’re even here right now— he thought you only assisted in matters within the court, not outside of it. “I-“
“Careful,” Zuko interrupts the man rather playfully as he continues to read through the scroll. “That’s the military strategist’s daughter you’re speaking to.”
The comment makes you nearly roll your eyes, knowing the only reason why he said it was because you’re having to constantly remind him yourself when he gets too close.
The chamberlain, however, straightens up immediately. You have no idea why it took him this long to realize it. He’s been here for nearly over a year, but at least he knows now. The chamberlain can be quite rude at times, you wouldn’t want him to slip up with your father in the room. Not only would that earn him an earful of insults that are as creative as they are hurtful, but it’d also be embarrassing on your part.
That old man embarrasses you enough when he’s around. Following you around like a lost puppy after meetings, asking if you’ve eaten and if your superiors are treating you right, while side eyeing the fire lord himself. You’d agree so yourself that he has too much power in the court. He enjoys holding it over everyone’s head even more. It’s sickening, really.
You look at the chamberlain, who is now pouting, and offer an apologetic smile. “May I continue?”
“Yes, of course,” the old man nods, struggling to hide his shame.
Always one for games, Zuko finds himself suppressing a laugh, which in turn makes the chamberlain’s slouch worsen. He’s grown to find more and more amusement in his daily tasks, a trait his father would definitely disapprove of— good thing he’s not here anymore.
The rest of the meeting went by as smooth as it could be, with the fire lord, of course, praising the chancellor in the end for being so well behaved, pretending to wonder what could’ve changed his usual demeanor. The usual teasings, all while you once again found yourself thinking of how light he’s become. Even after receiving such upsetting news, he stayed calm while finding a solution.
A humane one.
No longer the grumpy, angsty boy you grew up with. He’s actually quite charming. But you keep that to yourself.
The palace grounds are empty, as they should be during the afternoon. Everyone’s off either eating, napping, or tending to duties such as cooking or cleaning. It’s quiet, surprisingly peaceful. Your footsteps echo throughout the breezeway as Zuko defies the basic etiquette of walking ahead of you as a ruler should. Instead, the bastard walks a little slower than you. If given the opportunity, he’d turn it into a mini competition of who could walk the slowest, up until you both come to a full stop, with him looking at you all smug.
“Your chambers are this way,” you remind the said bastard as if he’d already forgotten.
He doesn’t bother to look back as he responds, walking down a gravel path leading directly to the flower garden. “How about we take a detour today, hm?”
You watch him for a moment, waiting to see if he’d stop. He doesn’t, and you shouldn’t be surprised by it. You’re able to catch up with him in just seconds given his slow pace, this time not bothering to walk behind him as he’s clearly in the mood to be extra stubborn today.
You’re all alone and away from the hearing distance of anyone else, yet you still choose to speak quietly as you start to gently tease the man. “What a surprise to see the king taking some time to enjoy his garden.”
He lets out a soft laugh that fades into a hum. “Only around a select few.”
“Oh, wow,” you pretend to be impressed. “How charitable.”
“It’s an honor that you think so,” he says, placing a hand over his chest to add to the theatrics, trying not to laugh once again. “Tell me, when was the last time you walked through here?”
You hum as you walk further into the sprawling garden filled with wooden arches covered with green vines and flowers in full bloom. “Can’t say I actually remember when.”
“That’s a shame. I had the gardener plant new rose bushes,” he murmurs. “Wanted to ask what you thought of them.”
“I think they’re lovely,” you admit, softly pinching a petal, rubbing your thumb over the velvety skin.
He smiles. “I figured.”
They were your favorite after all.
Why is he like this? The garden’s already filled with enough flowers. A new section wasn’t needed.
Again, he’s just bored.
In an attempt to keep the conversation from getting any more personal, you change the subject. “Are you looking forward to your trip to Republic City?”
At the end of the meeting, it was decided that he’d visit with the purpose of getting more information about the new rehabilitation program the city was rolling out. While the chancellor wanted to take a more aggressive approach, he decided to take a more peaceful route. It’s admirable how hands on he’s chosen to be since taking his father's place.
“Mhm. It’ll be nice catching up with some old friends while I’m there—“ he cuts himself off and looks at you with slight suspicion, “you’re going, right?”
You never said you would, nor did you want to, honestly. It’d be nice to take a break. “I’m sure you and some of your subordinates can handle it.”
“Weren’t you the one who came up with the idea, though?” his tone slightly clips as he reminds you.
“I was,” you respond tentatively, taking back your thoughts from earlier as you look him in the eyes.
This man looks like he’s about to throw a fit.
Zuko opens his mouth again, already knowing he shouldn’t be this pushy towards you, of all people, but he is far from perfect.
So with a forced smile and all the resolve in the world, he murmurs, “you’re going.”
You smile back despite feeling an annoyed heat creep up your neck, heart starting to pick up. “Alright.”
—
Imagine being the fire lord, a literal ruler, and getting the cold shoulder from your own advisor. Every answer is so curt and clinical, and it’s going to drive him up the wall.
Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Apologies, my lord.
Give him a fucking break.
As if you weren’t punishing him enough, you went ahead and had two of his concubines “accompany” him on the trip. It’s not like he can say no to that, either, since it’s considered to be one of his duties. Not to mention they both come from high-ranking families that would not be very pleased to hear of their neglect.
So now he has to deal with two spoiled, pent-up brats hanging on him during the entirety of this flight, all while trying not to glare at the biggest brat of them all— you, as you sit directly across from him, reading probably what’s some pathetic romance novel.
This is fucking ridiculous. You haven’t looked at him once since you first sat down.
You’re no better than him. There was a strike of lightning in the direction you walked off in, and given how it was a perfectly sunny day, he’s pointing his finger at you for the damages done in the east wing, despite keeping his mouth shut on the matter. Complain about being dragged to Republic City all you want, but you still have it better than most. If you really did have it that bad, you would’ve been punished for such an offense.
Like, seriously? Blowing shit up, like a fucking child— a terrifying one, to be frank, you are absolutely your father’s daughter— just because you had to do your job? Grow up. His grandfather’s statue was shattered in the midst of it all, thanks to you. You’re lucky he never liked the bastard.
In protest, you’re dressed like a noble's daughter rather than a member of the court. Wearing the finest silk and adorned in gold imported from the Earth nation, quietly refusing to represent your actual nation as you claim to be representing your clan— proof that you have enough power on your own to be acting like he’s actively denying you of basic human rights.
As if he even cared about your attire. Be his guest! You look fucking hot. Someone might even mistake you for one of his concubines, and he might just not correct them, since you think you’re more petty than he is.
Zuko gets pulled out of his thoughts when Concubine Aika speaks, still leaning against him and rubbing on his chest. She asked what book you were reading, which is when you finally looked up from it.
“It’s sort of an adventure novel.” You look at the cover, speaking to her with a certain warmth you’ve been depriving him of. “It’s about a girl escaping an abusive orphanage once she turns 18 and follows her journey for the next 10 years.”
So now you’re fantasizing about leaving him? Good luck with that.
“You look troubled, my lord,” the woman to his right, Concubine Saiyo, says. She’s leaning against him as well, now tracing her fingers along his jaw. “Are you alright?”
“M’fine,” he murmurs, trying to fix his face as he takes a sip of sake. “It’s been a long flight.”
“There’s a private cabin you can retreat to, if you’d like,” you suggest, going back to your little book, missing the way you just made the lord’s eye twitch.
“I know,” he says.
It’s his airship.
Without warning, he gets up from his seat. Was it a little rude? Perhaps. But surely the two women beside him could understand what feeling hounded could do to someone. They don’t, they do their jobs and get up as well, which he understands. However, Zuko’s not in the fucking mood right now and waves a dismissive hand.
“No need,” he curtly says, making his way to the back of the airship. “I just want to close my eyes for a bit.”
. . . . . .
The trip starts off strong with a banquet being held in honor of the fire lord's arrival.
Contrary to Zuko’s wishes, nobody’s stupid enough to mistake you for one of his concubines. At least not within the circle of people you’re mingling with tonight, who all recognize your family's crest engraved on your hairpin.
They were an ambitious bunch that spread all over once Zuko came into power— reaching amongst the highest positions within the military, medicine, and even education.
Funny enough, your position in the court was nothing special in comparison to some of your relatives’ achievements. Some are even bothered by the fact. Being the first of all your cousins to master the art of firebending, being your grandfather's favorite solely for bending lightning with the same grace as he did in his prime, all while excelling in your studies.
All of that potential, just wasted on being the lord’s “pet”.
You don’t have much of an opinion on the disappointment some of them have expressed in the past, though it would’ve been nice if their words had stayed behind closed doors. You didn’t want to hear any of it. If you truly wanted to make use of that said potential, you would’ve worked directly under your father as his subordinate.
Maybe it was the result of growing up feeling like you were enough. You have nothing to prove, and quite frankly, you’re content with having a role that really only requires you to share your opinions with a ruler that shares the same ideals as you… for the most part.
If only he’d also agree that you two spend way too much time together.
Luckily, you’re not required to be by his side tonight since you’re attending the banquet as a representative of your clan— something Zuko had no clue about until the moment you stepped onto the airship, which had him looking like he was about to blow a fucking gasket. He absolutely sucks at masking his frustrations. You’re surprised his concubines still had the courage to cuddle up with him. He looked like he was 2.5 seconds away from throwing you off the ship mid-flight.
Zuko would never do that, by the way, but you’re sure he was daydreaming about it.
But even then, with all the distance between you tonight, you can still feel his eyes on you. Just watching and waiting for you to do something he didn’t like. Very masochistic considering how he wouldn’t confront you if you did end up doing something wrong in his eyes.
You spend the entire night avoiding eye contact, which isn’t too hard given how all you’ve done is catch up with old peers from school and relatives who’ve decided to move here to start new lives.
The relatives you got along with, that is.
You were enjoying yourself. Truly. Until Sokka called you over to their table.
Funny how Zuko wasn’t looking at you then and was instead stuffing his face with spicy dumplings, then downing it with whatever liquor was in his cup.
You walk over with two thoughts running through your head— please don’t let this man be as drunk as Sokka and Aang, and don’t let this be a conversation about how work was been. Sokka tends to ask those things at the wrong time, despite his heart being in the right place.
This time around, it’s not Sokka.
“How’s our flaming hot lord treating you?” Aang asks, throwing an arm around a very drunk Zuko, who’s laughing his ass off over the avatar’s words for once.
Your lips may have twitched a little, as well. Only because Aang gave even less fucks when in an inebriated state.
“Oh, you know— the usual.” You let out a lighthearted laugh, and only you notice the way Zuko’s face momentarily drops.
The air around him quickly screams ‘don’t fuck with me’, then settles back into something more suitable for someone who’s already had half their water weight in alcohol.
“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Zuko forces out a laugh, leaning back in his seat.
You laugh a little harder. “Can I?”
“Yeah, you can.”
Sokka lets out this weird, giddy gasp because he loves drama, and cuts in. “Are you two fighting?”
“No.”
“No.”
You and Zuko look at each other after shutting down Sokka’s question at the same time. The fake smiles you’re wearing are not helping your case at all.
“Where’s Katara? I’ve been wondering where she’s been this whole time,” you ask in an attempt to keep the energy between you from getting any more awkward than it already is
Aang grows a little pale— the instant karma feels nice. “She’s a little sick tonight.”
There’s a bit of fear in his voice. She’s totally pregnant. Not that you say that. Instead, you just point in some random direction behind you. “That’s terrible— my cousin actually just mentioned a bug going around. I hope she feels better soon.”
“Thank you,” the man lets out a sigh of relief, allowing himself to be delusional for just one more night.
“What about Toph?”
“Home. Asleep.” Sokka rolls his eyes. “She’s like a little old lady now. You’ll see her tomorrow, though, she’s been volunteering at the center.”
“Volunteering or beating everyone into submission?” Zuko murmurs, and they all erupt in laughter. “She probably runs that place like the military.”
You find yourself starting to zone out as the conversation moves on to a different topic. You’d like to blame some of the wine you’ve been sipping on throughout the night for that. Everything starts to melt together— the live music, the endless chatter in every which direction. The only thing that pulls you out of it is seeing another one of your cousins who had just arrived, waving at you, and you don't shy away from taking that as an opportunity to excuse yourself.
Aang and Sokka were as kind as usual when you said your goodbyes. Zuko, on the other hand, was harder to read through the pathetic excuse of a smile he gave you. One only meant to save face.
If only he knew just how much worse he makes things sometimes. Although they’re rare, this isn’t the first fight you two have been in. Perhaps you have been a little petty towards the man, but it’s not you who grows so frustrated at someone’s anger that you begin to hold a grudge yourself.
You arrive back to your room in the early morning with the regret of not cutting yourself off from the drinks sooner than you did. You wouldn’t say you were drunk, but you were definitely tipsy as you started to shed layers of clothes and jewelry to get in the hot bath that had been prepared prior to your return.
Aang may be childish at times, but fuck was he a great host. Or maybe it was Katara who had all of these amenities set up for you. Candles and bath salts— you could die a happy woman right now as you settle into the stone tub, taking deep breaths, letting your muscles relax.
Twenty minutes in, you hear rattling and heavy footsteps that seem to hit the ground with more confusion than the determination an attacker would usually have. It forces you to leave the warmth of your bath, slipping on a robe. Getting hit with annoyance rather than fear may be a little foolish. Overconfident, even. But there’s still alcohol running through your veins, and you aren’t the pride and joy of your clan for no reason— you can absolutely hold your own in a fight.
When you walk out of the bathroom, you come face to face with exactly who you were thinking of.
“Fuck,” he looks away for a moment, regretting his decision thinking it was okay to just walk in.
Zuko didn’t think you’d be bathing, for some odd, stupid reason. Judging by the fact that he’s still wearing his usual day clothing and his hairs not up in a bun, it’s safe to assume he went straight here after leaving the banquet.
You let out a long sigh. “God— what are you doing here?”
You don’t even sound mad— just disappointed that you have to see him once more before you lay your head to rest, which slightly hurts the man’s ego. Truth be told, he came here to argue with you, but even in his drunken state, he’s finding it quite difficult to do so since he looks like a fucking pervert now.
“Your comment from earlier— what the hell was that about?” Zuko sounds more wounded than anything right now.
You cross your arms, leaning against the door frame that connects the room to the bathroom. “What comment?”
“The usual,” he says with air quotes. “Do you not like me anymore or something?”
“You’re seriously asking me that right now?” Your face twists, just dumbfounded at this point. “You ask me that as if I don’t work for you?”
He scoffs. “So what, you’re saying I’m not your friend now?”
“I mean, yeah— you are, but I’m still your subordinate at the end of the day,” you attempt to spell it out for him, trying to get it through his brain that he can’t just act like you two are a pair of besties.
But he just continues to argue with you.
“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, people don’t fight their superiors.”
No, they do not. You’re not sure why you even tried to make that an argument, the line between you has blurred a long time ago.
“You know what, just— forget it.”
The thing is, you're not the best at taking accountability. Most of the arguments you’ve had with him have been swept under the rug after a while. Zuko's not having that right now, though.
“Hm— actually, no— I don’t think I will,” he stubbornly says. “You have been punishing me for fucking weeks now and now you just want me to forget it?”
Punishing him?
You roll your eyes, muttering “oh my god” under your breath, not even bothering to look him straight in the eyes anymore as you walk to the nightstand and pick up a small jar of body cream.
“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” you say dismissively, rubbing the jasmine-scented cream into your hands. “I need to go to sleep, and so should you, honestly.”
It doesn’t matter how well he can handle his alcohol— he reeks of it.
“I’m trying to talk to you right now so I don’t have to deal with your attitude tomorrow,” he says, as if he hasn’t had an attitude himself the last couple of weeks.
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to,” you murmur back.
What feels like minutes pass after your pathetic attempt to settle your issues with him. At first, he just lets out a sigh, trying to keep his composure, but then he laughs under his breath.
“So that’s it?” he asks in a condescending tone. “We’re all good now?”
“Yes. Goodnight, Zuko,” you hum.
More silence follows after. You can just feel his eyes on you despite still facing away, now reaching for some hair oil, waiting for him to leave.
He never does. Even after working the product into your hair, you have yet to hear the door to your room close, making you grow wary.
There are many things telling you not to turn around at the moment— your blurred mind and tensed body. But even you make mistakes, lots of them with Zuko, and so you finally turn around.
His lips are on yours.
You don’t know how long he’d been standing directly behind you, you never even heard his footsteps. All you know is his hands are snaked behind your neck and he’s kissing you and you’re letting him.
It takes you a moment to realize you’re kissing him back— too focused on how soft his lips are, how his tongue glides across your lower lip before slipping inside, so commanding yet so gentle.
Then you sober up— pressing your palm flat against his chest and pushing him back so you two can look at each other, eyes wide and filled with instant regret.
“What the hell was that?” you try to snap at him, but the sharp edge was dulled from the start, already fearing what’ll change between you from this moment forward.
“I— fuck,” he stutters, taking another step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Immediately, you cut him off. “No, you shouldn’t have and you know that.”
“I know.” It sounds like a plea coming from him as his chest tightens. “I’m sorry.”
Even you start to look apologetic, which breaks his heart a little since you did nothing wrong. The one who crossed the line was him, after all. “You should go. You’re drunk.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it shortly after. There was nothing to say.
And so he slowly nods and turns around, still in shock by his own actions as he begins to walk away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of what the fuck just happened on your own.
This was going to be the longest work trip of your life.
notes: i hope u guys enjoyed this first chapter!! this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.
