#[ for whom the sun speaks ]

[whitherwanderer]

- N I N E T Y -

💎💥 - 🗡️🏹 🌸⛏️ - 💀🥀

[pseudowho]

Fire and Iron

Forced to stay the night with Nanami Kento, the town's blacksmith, after tending to his wounds, you find yourself smouldering in his irresistible flame.

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, loss of virginity

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Your boots cracked through the ice-topped slurry puddles scattering the mud path in the village. The shawl bundled over your shoulders was not enough, and the biting cold wind whipped your cloak back, stripping its usefulness off your shivering shoulders.

Townsfolk waved to you, nodding, smiling; greetings for a familiar face, many of them grateful for your travels to their icy town over the years, lacking even a basic healer of their own, let alone one so talented.

Passing by the blacksmith's hut on your way, you paused out the front, feeling the heat bellowing forth like dragon's breath. You tipped your head back, the smell of ash and steel filling your nose. As you paused, moments after, so did the clang of hammer on anvil.

You opened your eyes, stinging in the brutal cold and smoke. You, once more, like a hundred times before, had caught the eye of the blacksmith. He, whose name you did not know. He, who looked but never touched. He, to whom you had passed so many thousands of hours of your life, and his life to you, through gaze alone.

Stood proud at the anvil, shadowing the forge like the door to hell behind him, his broad shoulders wore only an open-chested white linen shirt, and a thick brown leather apron. With his ashy blond hair, and the lines of his face filled with soot, he was ageless and unknowable. He looked to you, his sharp face quiet and impassive; expression always somewhere between fury and tranquility.

Your lips parted once, as if to speak, and it jumped the blacksmith to life. With a barely perceptible nod, and a grunt, he swung his hammer back, brought down in beautiful accuracy, shaping smouldering steel. The clang rung through you, your chest jolting with a short gasp, and you collected yourself, stepping onwards. You were sure you could feel his cool gaze through the back of your head.

Another patient; another healed. Another grateful family; another life prolonged. The days were short now, and as you stepped out of the house of rough-hewn wood and stone, the forest pines were bathed in dying light, netting the low winter sun above the horizon. It was a punishing journey home, on foot, and the horses were long since put to bed.

The blacksmith's hut held its own sunset, the forge open but unattended. You heard stamps, heavy feet and cursing. You paused in the burst of warmth, illuminated, listening. Curiosity carried your feet into the hut, the heavy wet hem of your skirts collecting ashes, absorbing the blacksmith's domain.

"Are you...are you alright?" You called, uncertain, "Sir?" The footsteps, the swearing, had stopped. You stepped further in, feeling the forge belch at you, almost excruciatingly hot now.

"Get away from there!" The bark, deep and commanding, made you squeak and stumble. Darting through the side door, the blacksmith looped one thick arm round your waist before you fell towards the forge, effortlessly lifting you round, his back to the furnace, his face in shadow.

He was close; close enough that you could smell the soft sweat, the tang of fire and metal. He hissed as your hands dropped to his forearm, and you felt a cold dripping cloth draped over it.

"Do you often wander into places uninvited?" He snipped at you. You recognised the cadence in his low voice-- pain.

"I-- ...you're hurt," you insisted, voice barely above a whisper. Looking up, your eyes tried to gauge his unreadable face in the gloom. You felt him huff, warm air across your cheeks. His arm loosened, releasing you. As he stepped back, turning away to close the forge, you saw the blacksmith's mountainous shoulders tense, twitching.

"It's nothing," he retaliated, brisk. You stepped forwards again, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. At first, he flinched, then begrudgingly allowed you to turn him, and lift the damp rag covering his forearm. A thick welting burn, running the length of his forearm, lay weeping and angry on his skin, already nicked with so many little scars. You heard his teeth grit as the air hit his wound.

"Nothing," you scoffed, "this needs dressing. Let me help you." You felt him flinch beneath your hands, hesitant. He felt his skin prickle under yours, finding such curious pleasure in your touch alongside his pain. Your beseeching eyes took him the rest of the way, and he found himself accepting you.

"I...not here," the blacksmith toned, his eyes flitting to the town around him, "if they believe me injured, I'll lose business." You nodded, rummaging in your overburdened satchel, until he took you gently by the hand.

"My home," he began, hesitant, your hand so soft and small in his broad calloused palm, "you'll...you are welcome. It is clean. Quiet. I...I will not harm you. I promise."

Aware of his size and strength, aware of the air of mystery surrounding him amongst the townsfolk, the blacksmith was quick to reassure you. Your eyes softened, and his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles at your words, electricity crackling up your arm.

"I know you won't," you assured. The briefest smile graced his severe face when you offered your name. You felt it warm you from the belly downwards. As he pulled encouragingly on your fingers, leaving the forge to die naturally with the approaching nightfall, you were led through the back of the hut, seeing a newly revealed sprawling cabin of wood and stone, at the edge of the forest. You felt the first kiss of snow upon your cheek.

"Nanami Kento," the blacksmith replied, welcoming you over the threshold. You smiled up at him, taking in his home; barely lit, at first, until he struck a lantern to life. You placed your bag upon a table, rummaging for salves as Kento began to build the fire, skilled and efficient.

You basked in the homely room; autumnal tapestries lining the walls, skin rugs on the floor and furs on the chairs, hanging herbs above a countertop, circled with hung skillets and pans. You relaxed easily into the sincerity of Kento's welcome. A frigid wind slapped the windows, rattling the door.

Before long, an enormous cast iron pot boiled with water, and you knelt before Kento, appraising his wound in the orange glow. Cleaning your hands, wetting a rag with clean water, you moved to clean the ash from his arm before pausing.

"This will hurt," you apologised, looking up to him. Kento's heart stuttered; how many hours had he spent, imagining those sweet eyes, those gentle fingers? Too long. Too many words unspoken over too many years. He was not used to such tenderness.

"I am used to pain," he hushed, smooth and barely audible above the crackle of flame, "my job has certain...hazards, after all." You hummed, swiping the cloth gently, removing dirt and debris.

"Still," you hummed, "I don't like to hurt a friend." Kento chuckled, and you felt yourself blush from hairline to toes at the rich mirth of it.

"We are...friends, are we?" His voice was low and conspiratorial, and you felt it stir a hunger deep within you. You smiled back, mulish as you dabbed salve onto his burn. His knees were parted, with you knelt between them, and your elbows rested on the thick muscle of his thighs. You felt safe, warm, held.

"All those years, passing back and forth," you sighed, teasing, "and not one hello? Just lots of nods," your stomach swooped as Kento laughed again, "and our friendship is just that. An accumulation of nods."

"Would we have stopped at 'hello'?" Kento retaliated. He caught the brief pause in your bandaging, before you continued. You spoke, uncertain again.

"Well," you hummed, testing the water, "offer me one now...and we shall see where it goes." Looking up, you gasped to find your face just inches from Kento's. He smiled at you, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips and back up again.

"Hello," he whispered, quiet and mischievous, "and thank you."

Your breath fluttered out; Kento could feel it against his lips, beckoning him.

"I...it's getting late," you started, and Kento blinked out of his reverie, glancing to the inky black outside his windows, "I should go."

Kento grasped your fingers once more, rising with you as he stood, your shawl shushing against his chest, barely covered by his soft linen shirt. Kento hummed, sounding grave, stepping to the other side of the room.

"It is night," he said, hands cupped around his eyes as he squinted out of the windows, "and the woods are barely safe in the day. I...I cannot allow you to travel. Alone, in the snow. You must stay."

His tone broached no argument, yet still you tried, packing your bag, your cheeks aflame.

"I...it isn't..." you stuttered, and Kento turned to you, chin inclined to the floor, one fine eyebrow raised. You took a deep breath, certain that if you didn't leave now, you may fall too deeply into Kento's insistent heat. Yet...you knew he was right. The path was treacherous. The snow would take you before the dawn.

"Would you like a bath?" Kento offered, turned away to save you your blushes; a gentleman.

"I-- please don't go to any trouble--" Kento swiftly ignored you, beginning to grasp the enormous iron pot, lifting it with stunning ease. His voice didn't even hitch.

"It's no trouble. I bathe every night. You can go before me." Kento carried the pan, stepping behind a folding wooden screen, and you followed him as if to argue, watching him begin to fill an enormous copper bathtub. Your hands shook as you began to remove your shawl, still blushing, so briefly overwhelmed before squashing it down.

Kento glanced up at you, pausing as he poured hot water, "This will take me some time," he said, apologetic, "please make yourself comfortable. I'll call for you."

You nodded, clearing your throat, hands twisting in your removed shawl. Kento chastised himself for admiring the soft curve of your breasts into your waist, the hidden delight of the swelling of your hips beneath your heavy skirts. He did not see how the steam rose fast, dampening his white shirt, how you could see all the way to his navel as he leaned over the bath. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

As you walked the length of the room, your fingertips brushing tapestries and grazing over warm furs, your curiosity drew you to a wide, flat trinket box, inlaid with mother of pearl, the colours an aurora in the rolling firelight. You stroked the box just once, before lifting the lid.

Your eyes crinkled immediately with joy at the treasures within; the box was full of lovingly crafted necklaces of gold, silver, pearl and gem, the chains finer and softer than any you had ever seen. You did not feel Kento approach as you admired them.

"I'd like for you to choose one," he offered, sincere, as you spun to face him. He raised his hands placatingly, a smile at the edge of his mouth, "not in lieu of payment, of course. A gift, I...made them with no real aim as to who should receive them."

"You made these?" You gaped, unable to fathom how such enormous hands crafted such intricate delights, "Kento, I-- they're beautiful, I couldn't possibly..."

If Kento had held any reservation, after hearing his name tumble from your lips, he was filled with the burning certainty that the jewellery should be for you, and you alone. His hand closed over yours as you moved to shut the box.

"Please," he breathed, so close, "choose one, or I shall give you them all." Swallowing, your hand hovered over a fine chain of silver and emerald, your fingertips brushing the gem. Kento hummed his approval, before picking it up, his calloused fingers all softness and grace.

"My favourite, too," he rumbled, brushing your hair off the nape of your neck as he clipped the necklace into place. You shivered at the feeling of his fingers on your neck, and almost ran as he whispered beside your ear, "Your bath is ready."

Stripping behind the wooden screen, hearing Kento amble around the room beyond, you sighed as the hot water enveloped you. Washing yourself with a soft sponge, cleaning off the grime of the day, your hand wandered absentmindedly downwards, fingertips grazing through your folds, naturally moving to relieve yourself of the building tension--

"I've left you a shirt." Your hand darted upwards with a guilty splash, Kento's voice only meters away behind the screen.

"Thank-- thank you," you squeaked, blushing, before climbing out, so naked apart from your exquisite new necklace. Drying on a soft towel, your hand hesitated over the shirt draped over the screen, before pulling it on over damp skin. It reached down your thighs, but left little else to the imagination.

Kento remained outwardly stoic, unreadable, averting his gaze as you crept out, arms holding yourself and squashing your breasts together, the colour of your nipples as faint as a ghost under the white linen shirt. He cleared his throat, coughing lightly before skirting past to the bath. You felt heat creep up your neck at the gossamer hush of his clothes hitting the floor, the shifting water as he stepped in, the way he sighed in relief, almost as if--

"I shall sleep in the chair tonight," Kento said, slow and considered, "and you shall have my bed." You felt indignation roll within you.

"Don't be ridiculous," you scolded, "you're injured, and this is your home--"

'-- and you are my guest," he grumbled.

"I won't allow it," you insisted, almost forgetting yourself as you approached the wooden screen, "I'll put some furs on the floor and--"

"You believe I would let you sleep on the floor?" He growled, furious at your suggestion, "I should rather you have me share the bed with you over that--"

"Fine. Then we shall share the bed. And there will be no more argument." You clapped a hand over your mouth as the words tumbled forth, unbidden. Mortified by your own suggestion, you removed your hand to speak again.

Kento stepped round from behind the screen, his towel draped lazily round his waist. You gaped up at him, stunned. He was...younger than you thought, his blond hair now soft and floppy, the ash removed from the lines in his face, taking ten years off him. You faced him, his towering form, the practiced rolls, peaks and planes of muscle belonging to a working man, his forearms so thick--

"Then...we should get to bed," Kento insisted, stepping past you, through a doorway to his bedroom, where you heard him rummaging for clothes, "it is late and I am up with the lark."

You hesitated where you stood, feeling your heartbeat between your legs, desperately curious, but paralysed.

"I don't bite," Kento called out, and you gulped down the sounds of soft fabric dropping over his body, still crippled with indecision and embracing yourself as he stepped out to put out the fire. You were lost momentarily in darkness before he stepped to you, the lantern between you, a beacon in the dark. You felt his hand close around your fingers again. You heard him whisper.

"It will become cold quickly, now the fire has died. Come. Stay warm."

You allowed yourself to be led to Kento's bedroom, hypnotised by the small swinging lantern. Kento led your hand downwards, placing it to the edge of the bed for you to feel your way, your fingers gliding through soft fur and cool sheets. With shaking hands, you crawled across to the head of the bed. Kento waited for you, flipping down the sheets, flipping them back up to your chin as you both slipped between them.

You heard nil but your own heartbeat. Kento faced you, the torch light embering behind him leaving him only just visible as your eyes adjusted to the light. The sheets had not yet warmed from your bodies, and you shivered. You felt Kento shift beside you.

"You...are cold," he stated as if in question. You remained quiet, gripping your hands to your chest lest they reach out for him.

"I'm...I'll warm up. Soon," you reassured yourself as much as him. You heard one doubtful grunt from him. Five minutes passed, and still, Kento felt you shiver against the sheets. Pulling a fur up to your chins, he felt prickles up his legs as one of your feet reached hesitantly out to touch him. He felt rather than heard you sigh.

"So warm," you whispered, your little voice soft with comfort in the dark. Kento's breath caught in his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside his soft trousers.

"Do you...need me?" He offered. He felt your other foot reach out in answer, cold toes wiggling against the downy hair on his leg. He felt a dangerous, needy arousal thread through him.

Reaching out his uninjured arm, he hooked it round your waist, chuckling as you squeaked when he pressed against you. You hummed in pleasure at the heat rolling off him, basking in his warmth, forgetting your awkwardness for a moment. Kento and you lay intertwined like that, with you softening like butter in his arms.

After a few minutes, you shifted against him, about to drift off to sleep. Kento must have been near sleep as well, groaning into your hair as you shifted, reflexively clinging you closer to him. Your bottom, completely bare with his shirt shifted up your body, pressed back to his groin. His clothed cock was hard and barely restrained in his loose trousers, and pressed between your thighs.

You felt a jolt run through you, feeling a warm trickle of arousal, so alien to you, seep out between your thighs. Kento almost saw stars as it dampened the trousers over his cockhead, and he frowned, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade in apology and embarrassment.

"I-- I'm sorry, I--...it's been so long...since I've felt a woman-- shit, I'm--" Kento rested his nose against your neck, unable to stop himself from ghosting his lips there. You dropped your head back to him, and he growled in appreciation, nuzzling your neck, feeling your thighs clamp around the tip of his cock, your arousal seeping through his trousers and mixing with his own.

"I've never--" you whispered, blushing furiously, drunk on the feeling of his body against yours, feeling so curiously empty and aching to be filled. Kento understood immediately, and moved to pull back.

"No!" You squeaked, holding onto his arm, pushing yourself back to chase him along the bed, "Please, I-- I want--...you. I want you." Your words sat heavy in the air. Kento shifted behind you, at war with himself.

"You don't know what you're asking," he growled, fighting against you to remove his arm, "I am no boy."

"And I'm no girl, nor stupid," you reassured, "I'm not ignorant."

In an instant, Kento moved above you, on all fours, his arms caging you in, corseting you to his bed. He stared down at you, enormous chest heaving, eyes roving down your body, quickly intoxicated by your peaked nipples, beneath his shirt, the hem of it barely covering your sex, still feeling your arousal dampening his cock.

He leaned down, nestling his mouth against your neck again, tongue flicking out, tasting you. He felt you still under his lips, just a little mouse, in the jaws of a bear.

"And yet, all that knowledge is just academic, until you're crying out that my cock is too big for you," he growled, warning you away, barely able to stop himself. He felt you squirm beneath him, his head swimming with you. He was lost, then, to your tiny whisper in the gloom.

"Show me-- please." Kento shuddered, a drop of pre-cum seeping out of his cock, soaking through his trousers and your-- his-- shirt, to dampen your belly. You shivered, desperate to know Kento biblically, desperate for this fabled ecstasy.

Kento raised his mouth from your neck, reading your eyes, seeing such certainty in them. Tangling his fingers with yours beneath the sheets, he pressed the length of his body down against you as he kissed you, his other hand framing your jaw, gently encouraging it open to slide his tongue against yours. Your soft little moan was like music to his ears.

Kissing you deeply, learning your voice and your mouth, letting you learn the peaks and planes of his body with your free hand, Kento kept your other hand plaited with his own, fearful of leaving you to take this journey alone.

He felt himself shudder with the unbridled privilege of being able to worship you, jealously grateful that you had not been left to some boy. He was overwhelmed by the need to set your standards high at the first hurdle.

"Let me taste you," he murmured into your mouth, and you hesitated, unsure of what he meant. Swiping his thumb across your palm, Kento's mouth ventured downwards, sucking the skin of your neck, nipping before soothing the skin with his tongue, feeling you become pliable, supple as water. His fingers danced over the laces holding your shirt together, giving you opportunity to stop him, before untying them, freeing your breasts.

Laying his tongue flat over one nipple, Kento allowed it to curve to the shape of you, to know you, before drawing it into his mouth, sucking on your nipple while his hand toyed with and kneaded the other. He revelled in your whines, a high, keening mewl as you arched off the bed into his mouth. You felt his licks and sucks, curiously, between your legs, and you could not help but buck up against him.

Kento grunted at the feeling of your pussy pressing against his thigh, and moved one hand down to hold your hips still.

"Slow down-- let me show you," he ordered, gentle in his insistence. You trembled under his fingertips, your hips settling back to the bed. He rumbled his approval, rolling your nipple under his tongue again until you sighed, breathy and ecstatic, "Good girl."

In reward, his mouth continued to trail downwards, and your eyes fluttered closed, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, your fingernails scratching through his damp hair. Kento shivered at the sensation, feeling his cock leap against his thigh.

When his mouth reached your mound, you squeaked out in alarm, flipping the blankets down to see Kento, illuminated in the orange light.

"What are you-- your mouth, Kento--" Kento's eyes crinkled up at you, and two arms came to loop round the top of your thighs, pulling you down the bed towards him, your shirt being rucked up against the drag of the mattress to completely expose your glistening pussy to him.

Maintaining eye contact with you, you trembled with anticipation as Kento poked his tongue out into a point, first grazing your folds, before stroking from side to side to ease in between them. The sound that broke out from you as his tongue stroked over your clit, hot and wet, was one Kento masturbated to for years to come.

You felt as though you had been lifted from earth and dropped amongst the clouds as he licked at you, sucking, stroking, tasting, the pleasure so otherworldly compared to what your own hand could achieve, that you felt yourself being rushed towards your peak at speed.

Twisting and squirming against his mouth, you reflexively tried to pull your pussy away from Kento's attentions. His arms tightened around the tops of your thighs, growling into you, pulling you back as you tried to scoot away. Your hand tugged at his hair as you arched, whimpering, coated in a fine sweat. As Kento groaned into your cunt, you watched his hips roll and hump against the bed, the sight alone enough to send your orgasm crashing through you, and you worshipped his name in a long, keening cry.

Kento let his laps and sucks become softer, languid, letting you float through the haze of your pleasure. Nuzzling at you, tasting you as you trailed lazy blissful fingers through his hair, Kento planted soft kisses to your inner thigh.

Moving back up, stroking his nose against your neck, Kento felt your hand move down his shoulders and back, before coming round to ghost over the front of his trousers. Kento shuddered, kneeling above you to remove his shirt, skin prickling with the need to feel yours against his own.

Gazing down at you, his eyes like whiskey in the flickering light, he grazed a palm from in between your breasts, down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one swift tug, exposing you completely to him.

Your hand still trailed over his groin as he knelt, and you were captivated, obsessed with the shape, weight and length of his cock in your hands, blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. As you grasped the lace at the front of his trousers, undoing it, and squeezing the head of his cock between your fingers, Kento moaned, ragged, leaning one hand sideways to support himself.

"Fuck-- I haven't-- not for so long," he moaned, low and husky, feeling your inexperienced fingers explore his cock and balls in a way that felt almost abusively naive. As your thumb glided beneath his foreskin, collecting the wetness of his pre-cum, exploring his slit, Kento hissed, panting and grabbing your hand.

You broke out of your reverie, blushing with mortification, tears pricking in your eyes as you began to apologise. Kento interrupted, shushing you, one hand still gripping your fingers around his cock, the other coming up to cup your face, his thumb swiping across your cheek.

"Not you," he huffed, stroking your cheek, smiling down at you with fevered eyes, "me, it's-- I-- I'll cum in your hand if you carry on." Your eyes glimmered, hungry to see how he looked as you pleasured him, and you moved yourself, leaning close, squeezing him again beneath his own hand, and he cried out in pleasure. You felt another drip of his arousal across your fingers, and you gulped, your tongue darting out across your lips.

As you lowered yourself to his lap, Kento's eyebrows raised in shock, and desperate awe, as you licked the weeping cockhead sticking out from your joined enclosed hands.

A low rumble ebbed through Kento, his eyes suddenly dark and hungry as he looked down at you, wordlessly using your hand inside his own, to pump the length of his cock. Feeling the intoxicating glide of soft skin over woody hardness, you let him use your hand to masturbate himself as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, licking, tasting the musty pre-cum there.

Every instinct screamed at Kento to chase his orgasm, to press your head further down his cock so he could use your little hand to jack off into your mouth, and he felt overwhelmed by the innocent licks and sucks you gave him, eyes cast upwards to see what effect they had on him. Kento moaned desperately, twisting on his haunches, fingers in turn tangling into your hair and coming away, clenching and unclenching at speed.

He felt the approaching rush of divine ecstasy, thrumming up his back in waves, his balls tightening up against the base of his cock--

Snapping, Kento pulled your hand and mouth off him, heaving you up the bed and back onto the pillows, before pinning you down with his body, panting into your neck, trying not to spill his seed over your belly. You were thrilled, ecstatic with Kento's pleasure, eager to see more of it.

You crept your hips up to his, trying to ease his cock into you. Kento huffed, his hand shooting down to press your hips down again.

"--going to kill me-- I swear-- no idea...you have no idea what you're doing to me--" Kento panted, quaking above you, one forearm planted above your head. As his peak ebbed away, Kento plaited his hand with your own again, above your head. He felt his cockhead resting against the smooth resistance of your entrance, and he suddenly felt so responsible for you.

"I don't want to hurt you," he huffed, aware he was bigger than average, but knowing from the fevered look in your eyes that he could not dissuade you-- not that he wanted to, at this point, his cock throbbing with urgent need.

"Please," you begged, "please." You felt Kento's hips press forwards into your soaking wet heat, feeling a slight sting as it met resistance. Kento rested his nose to yours, his eyes still feverish, his body still smelling of iron and ash and smoke.

"On one condition," he pressed, authoritative as his cockhead pressed deeper against your stinging resistance, breaking past thin membrane, gripping your thigh up to his hip as you trembled, biting your lip, tears in your eyes as you nodded-- anything, you thought, anything.

"Marry me," he whispered against your lips, and you squeaked as you felt a twang of pain, his cock suddenly nestled deeply inside you. Kento rocked his hips gently, shushing you, soothing you, his thumb stroking your palm. Not moving, just holding you as you adjusted to feeling so full, Kento waited for an answer.

"Y--yes...yes," you mewled, and Kento growled his approval against your neck, slowly pulling out of you before rutting back into your wet, tender pussy again, so intimate and deep that you cried out for him.

Kento rolled his hips, like a boat on the waves, whispering into you, certain he wouldn't last long; "First-- I'll cum inside you-- then I'll treat you like a queen...haaah...for the rest of my days."

You clung to Kento, lost in the ecstasy of him plowing into you, delighted by his rumbling groans in your ears, blissfully proud of being able to make such an unflappable man fall apart inside you. When his grip on your hip faltered, his shaking hand dropping to stroke quick little circles around your clit, Kento growled and bit into your neck to feel you rock your hips upwards to meet his own.

The sting almost completely eased, you felt quick pangs of pleasure, rising with every beat of your fast little heart, completely carried along by the eroticism of Kento's frantic groans and mumbles into your ear.

"My love I-- you feel so good...so good...god, I need to cum, need you to cum I-- aahhhh, fuck--" Kento felt your pussy clench around him, and he came inside you as you drank down his moans, fascinated by how they matched up with the bounding twitch of his cock, how his hips juddered into you involuntarily, how his face contorted, jaw clenched, somewhere between rage and serenity.

You were famished, starved of him, immediately desperate for more, and you felt him crumple into you, caging you in, shoulders heaving and spent. Kento chuckled as you peppered him with kisses, gripping your thighs round him and rolling him over so you lay above him, straddling him as his cock softened within you.

With his chin on his chest to look down to you, and a lazy lopsided smile across his face, Kento played idly with your hair, stroking your nose, your cheeks. He proudly fingered the beautiful necklace, resting against your breasts, squashed and plush against him.

"You meant it?" He asked, eager, concerned.

You hummed in delight, pressing a tender kiss to his chest as you nodded; "You had me at 'hello'."

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Would the anon who requested Blacksmith!Kento PLEASE STAND UP so I can credit you for breaking my brain.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Jace and betrothed unable to wait until their wedding night to have sex??

Request: Jacaerys and his future wife fooling around because they are horny and scared they will die before getting married. I don’t want my boy to die without tasting the greatness of sex

How did this smut piece get to 2.2k words? 😳

Warnings: 18+, smut, masturbating, fingering, p + v, 

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’I’m scared, Jace,’’ you confessed as you stood by the banister of Dragonstone castle, watching as Vermax and Silverwing flew together over the bay. Hopefully Silverwing will lay eggs when you and Jacaerys have children. ‘’The war is getting closer to us. Soon, we’ll have to get on our dragons and battle against the enemy. We…we might die.’’

Death was inevitable during a war. Especially one with dragons, as Rhaenys once said. Team Black had already suffered a couple of losses — Lucerys, Rhaenys, Ser Erryk —, but more would come. 

‘’The thought of what’s coming is terrifying, but we can’t let ourself be paralyzed by the possibility of dying,’’ Jacaerys said, his hand securely on the handle of his sword. He had taken the habit from Daemon, whom he looked up to in certain aspects. 

You looked down at your bare hands on the top of the banister. ‘’I’m not scared of death, I’m scared of dying without ever calling you husband.’’ 

A few weeks before the petition of Driftmark, you and Jacaerys had announced your betrothal. Rhaenyra had a feast in celebration, proud and happy that her eldest son would marry without any politics involved. The wedding should have happened in the summer, but the King fell to his illness and from there unraveled a series of unfortunate events that postponed the wedding.  

‘’When the war ends and I sit on my throne, we’ll have a large celebration in the Red Keep,’’ the Queen had promised.

But you were tired of waiting. 

‘’Every night, as I lay in bed, I think of you and our life if there hadn’t been a war of succession. I would call you husband, my prince husband, and we would not be sleeping in separate beds across the castle. No one would be chaperoning us from afar and we would not get scolded for sharing ‘too long’ kisses.’’

Jacaerys put his hand over yours on the bannister, sharing the same feelings. He wanted to call you his wife and glare at whoever dared speaking wrong to you. He wanted to spend the evening alone in your shared chambers, eating cakes and talking about your day until one of you fell asleep first. He wanted…he wanted to take you to his bed and have a family with you. Not whilst the war was going. He could not deal with the stress of his pregnant wife going to battle on her dragon. 

A few days later, you were sitting in your settee, reading in your nightgown when you heard a light knock on the door. You raised your head from your book, and saw that a piece of parchment had been slipped beneath your door.  

Meet me when the moon is bright. Careful when you take the stairs, Ser Godric is keeping guard.

The message was not signed, but you recognized the handwriting. 

When you judged the moon was bright enough, you slipped a robe over your nightgown and quietly walked down the corridor to take the stairs to Jacaerys’ chambers. You listened carefully for any guards, not wishing to get caught sneaking to you betrothed’s chambers at the hour of the owl. It would make quite the scandal amongst the servants and the staff. 

You knocked delicately on the door and bit your lip as you waited, your stomach bubbling with excitement. Within a few seconds, the door opened and Jacaerys pulled you inside. 

The room was quite dark as the sun was asleep, only the fire of the hearth and a few candles on a table as sources of light. You noticed the small crumpled balls of parchment on the study, assumingly drafts of his message to you. It had to be not too suggestive, but also not too plain that you would not want to come.

‘’I didn't know if you were going to come,’’ Jacaerys said, his lips curved into a shy smile. 

He was wearing just a tunic and wool trousers. It felt strange to see him without his doublet and riding gear. His dark brown hair was messy and his cheeks flushed from what you could make from the light. He looked so different from the usual picture-perfect prince. 

‘’You asked to see me.’’ 

Jacaerys stepped closer. He raised his hand to stroke your cheek, then your hair, which he seemed taken by. ‘’I didn’t know your hair was so long. You always have them up in braids or pins,’’ he said, his tone soft with wonder.

A slight smile tugged at your lips. ‘’What is it that you wanted, Jace? I doubt you summoned me her to talk about my hair.’’ 

‘’I’ve been thinking. About us.’’ He paused for a moment, looking into your eyes. ‘’The Gods have been unfair to us. So let’s not wait for them to bless and unite us.’’

Your brows drew into a light frown. ‘’Jace, what do you—’’ you began, but he stepped closer, his forehead resting against yours. 

He stepped closer, the fire in the hearth reflecting in his eyes. ‘’Do you love me?’’ 

‘’With all my heart,’’ you replied without hesitation, your eyes filled with sincerity. 

‘’Let’s not wait, then. I…I don’t want to waste our time together waiting for this damn war to be over to take you to bed.’’ 

Jacaerys placed his hands on your hips and pulled you flush against him, his grip loose, giving you time to pull from his grasp if you wanted it. But you didn't. 

Instead, you looked up at him and kissed him, closing the remaining space between you. You kissed him like you've done many times before, only this time you didn't have to pull away every twenty seconds to check if a maester, guard or the Queen was around. You’ll never forget the embarrassment you felt that day…

Jacaerys whimpered as you pulled his bottom lip with your teeth, and pressed you against him, desire spreading through his veins, hot like dragonfire. With less layers between your bodies, you could feel the warmth of his chest through your nightgown, and his...little friend stiffening in his trousers.

‘’Someone is excited,’’ you murmured with a giggle as you broke the kiss to plant a trail of kisses down his neck instead. 

He let out a low moan, tightening his grip on your hips. ‘’I cannot control it when you’re around. Especially when you kiss me.’’ Jacaerys captured your lips into another kiss, and tingles caressed your spine and tickled your lower stomach. 

His hands grabbed and pulled at the material of your robe and nightgown, and you rolled your hips, igniting more of his dragonfire. Jacaerys moaned at the contact, louder than he intended. Your own cheeks turned red, realizing you were starting to reach an intimacy you had never breached before.

‘’I’m nervous,’’ you whispered, biting your lip as you thought of getting intimate. 

You placed your hands on Jacaerys’ chest, distracting yourself from your mind. His heart was beating fast, probably just as nervous. 

‘’We don't have to do anything if you don’t feel ready to.’’

You shushed him with a finger to his lips. ‘’I want to.’’ 

To prove yourself, you untied your robe and placed it on the back of the settee, right next to Jacaerys’ sword. The prince's breathing quickened, his dark eyes fixated on your fingers as you unlaced the ties of your nightgown, slowly unraveling the knot. You sucked in a breath as you pulled it down your shoulders, letting it slip down your body until it reached the floor.

Silence greeted your naked body, and you felt shy suddenly. You almost reached for your robe to cover yourself, but your betrothed sensed your uneasiness and stroked your cheek before taking off his tunic and trousers. He found it unfair for you to be naked while he was still clothed.

Once you were even, he guided you backwards towards his bed. The headboard had a large dragon engraved in the stone and seemed a little bigger than yours. The sheets were pale, and over top was a deep red blanket made of velvet to keep warm from the winds coming from the bay.

Jacaerys sat on the edge and, with an expression of fascination, he reached for your breasts. He made sure to be gentle, sliding his thumbs gently over your rapidly hardening nipples. ‘’By the Sevens, you’re beautiful,’’ he marveled, stars in his eyes. 

‘’I can say the same, my prince.’’ You pressed your palm over his chest, smooth and warm.

Jacaerys smiled, that one soft and genuine smile he reserved for you. ‘’I love you,’’ he said, his hands caressing your side in small, gentle circles. 

‘’I love you to— Aah,’’ you whimpered as his hand reached between your legs, stroking your slit clumsily. He didn't know what he was doing, and lacked finesse as he bumped against your clit at random moments, but it still felt amazing. 

He checked on you, wanting to please. ‘’Does that feel good?’’

‘’Yes.’’ 

His fingers were getting slippery from your arousal, making it easier to slide against your cunny. You’ve done it to yourself a few times, alone in your bed. 

‘’Can you put one inside?’’ 

Jacaerys’ fingers were a bit thicker than yours, and longer. 

He nodded. 

A breathy moan left your lips instantly, pleasure sparkling as your walls clenched around his middle finger. 

‘’Like that?’’ Jacaerys slid his finger out, then back in, repeating the motion as you grabbed his shoulder. 

‘’Yes. Again.’’ 

He listened to your needs, almost forgetting his own as his cock remained untouched against his stomach. It was engorged and painful. While one hand was busy pleasuring you, he wrapped his second around his cock and jerked himself. 

 You noticed and thought of helping him, but Jacaerys added a second finger and your knees almost gave out. The feeling was overwhelming, but you craved more. 

You pushed Jacaerys away, and clambered over his lap. His gaze met yours, equally filled with lust. With a nod from your lover, you reached down to grab his cock and lined it at your entrance, sinking down slowly, inch by inch. 

The intensity of the sensation had you gripping at each other, needing to anchor yourself to something. It was unpleasant at first, feeling a pressure and a stinging inside your intimate tunnel. You felt full in a way that was impossible to describe.

Feeling your fingers dig into his skin, Jacaerys kissed your shoulders and neck to sooth you, trying his hardest not to move by fear to blow too soon or hurt you. It was overwhelming for him too — the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him.

You rose up slightly, and then sank back on with tenderness. Jacaerys moaned deeply with you, his head dropping against your collarbone. He closed his eyes, his hands squeezing your hips as you moved up and down again, the pressure around his cock heavenly.  

Your bodies moved together in a rhythm, becoming one. 

When your legs fatigued, you let Jacaerys know and he moved you on the bed and laid you down on the rich velvet. He adjusted himself to the new position, his dark curls falling like curtains around his face as he thrusted into you with long deep strokes.

‘’Kiss me,’’ he demanded.

You complied, winding your arms around his neck and rocking your hips to meet his thrusts until you reached your high with a broken cry. 

Seconds later, Jacaerys pulled out and spilled onto your thighs, not wanting to deal with the consequences of having sex out of wedlock. 

The bed creaked as he collapsed beside you, breathing heavy. As if an invisible string was pulling you to him, you rolled on your side and clung to him, needing to be close after sex. You stayed that way for a long time, relaxing with your head on Jacaerys' bare chest. Your legs felt like jelly, still dizzy from the intense emotions and the overwhelming pleasure. 

You wished you could suspend time and stay there with him forever. But a soft yawn brought you back to reality.

‘’I must leave,’’ you said, feeling the tiredness catching you. It was difficult not to be lured to sleep when you were cuddling under the covers and Jacaerys’s hand was stroking your back gently.

His arms caged around you, protesting. ‘’Stay.’’ He nuzzled into your neck, his voice muffled. ‘’It’s a command from your prince.’’ 

His tone was unserious, but it still made you guilty and sad to leave him. 

‘’I do not wish to leave and sleep in my bed alone, but I must be found in my own chamber when the maids come in the morn.’’ 

Jacaerys sighed, rubbing his face into your hair. ‘’I know,’’ he said, his voice a mixture of resignation and frustration. 

Reluctantly, his arms slowly unwound from around you and you peeled yourself from him, releasing a small hiss when you sat up. The septa had warned you about the pain after breaking your maidenhead. It wasn’t unbearable, only sensitive when you moved. 

‘’I didn't hurt you, didn't I?’’ Jacaerys immediately asked, his eyes filled with concern as he checked on you.

You shook your head and smiled, washing his guilt away. ‘’No. You were perfect, Jace.’’ 

He knew it was untrue. No one was perfect the first time. 

You struggled dressing back into your nightgown and robe, having to fight with Jacaerys’ lips trying to kiss you and his arms pulling you against him. You gave him a last longing kiss before slipping out of his chambers, promising to see him to break fast. 

—

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[emmaofnormandy]

Imagine Aegon is the father of your children.

Warnings: fluff all the way; canon divergence; long post.

( @dracaryxzs for you! One hopes you might like seeing Aegon happy here)

***

• How it all began…

You are his twin, his other half… What one feels the other feels it too. Naturally, as a result, bond came. Courtiers like to say how “wherever the Lord Aegon goes, Lady Y/N is after him like a loyal puppet.”

What they don’t understand is that you and him are two sides of the same coin, blood of dragon, despite the prince calling you his sun, to which he himself gravitates.

“I cannot not believe you are never bored whenever we are together”, says Aegon.

You both are blossoming into youth. You are the only one he trusts, the one he is naturally charmed to. But something about his age doesn’t let him admit there are feelings too.

“I am unlike any other”, you tell him in turn, a smile on your rosy lips. “We came together to this world, Aegon.”

He gives you a shy smile, lowering his gaze—you tamed him, like, it is said, your grandmother had tamed her husband, your grandsire, when they were both the same age.

Lively and so full of life, not even Aegon can deny you anything.

“Let us ride, shall we?”

And not waiting for a response, he takes you by the hand and in between giggles and chuckles the two of you go after your respective dragons.

Sunfyre has been enamored by Dreamfyre and as a result the female dragon has put some eggs. As soon as you are told this, you tell the object of your affections that:

“See, Egg? Evident signs that we are bonded right here”, and you show him the different coloured eggs.

Aegon smiles at you. How can you make him forget the scars of his troubled soul? How can you even sweep away grey clouds, making it seem that it is possible to find happiness?

When looking at your serenity, at how beaming you are before the eggs you cling yourself to, the prince sees himself in you.

You are the light of my world, Y/N.

As if you feel the tenderness his thought emanates, you turn your head at him and give him an egg.

“We are grandparents now, I’m afraid.”

That makes him cackle. A sound so rejoicing, full of life. Few could tell to have ever heard Lord Aegon laugh merrily.

“Too young for that. Come, Y/N!” And then turning to Sunfyre, Aegon is the image of a boy who finds love and happiness where at home such were taken from him.

You smile warmly when seeing the golden dragon almost smiling itself the moment he welcomes his rider.

A bond as strong as the one I have with my beloved.

Then you are distracted by nearly losing balance when Dreamfyre comes at you, resting her head against your face.

“Calm down, girl. I am not as heavy as you are”, you giggle, gently laying your head over the scales of your dragon, whom you claimed when you were ten years old. “Ready to fly high? To some adventures, eh?”

A sound comes from your dragon’s throat. It’s almost as if she speaks excitedly: “Aye, let us go! I’m ready for it!”, which only increases your good mood.

Now here you two are, flying synchronized, one being the extension of the other. Skies may have some clouds, but sun shines high with some warm breeze that announces summer.

“I suggest we could fly atop Dragonstone”, you tell Aegon over your shoulder. “There’s a spot no one goes there.”

“Rhaenyra is settled there with her children”, says Aegon with an unread expression.

You shrug your shoulders.

“So what? I’ve been there frequently and not once she scoffed me off. I doubt she ever knew I flew to this spot.”

And you flash him a mischievous smirk.

Aegon laughs in turn, realizing he’s unable to deny you anything. Flying as high as he could, there’s little need to tell Sunfyre where to go. As if the creature captured the rider’s thoughts, he flies exactly to where he wants… as does Dreamfyre.

It is almost as if both dragons suspect something may come up… even if you and Aegon don’t know that yet.

*

There is a lake in the midst of vast forests, where silence reigns and there is no sign of any living being. A few hills here and there separate the spot of the rest of Dragonstone.

“How did you come here?”, Aegon inquires you, intrigued by this unusual place. Hardly a man acostumed to wild life, his eyes scan these new surroundings with a mix of suspect and curiosity.

You are untying your hair and loosening your gown—you often ride Dreamfyre in your feast gowns, much to the Queen’s dismay— when you say:

“I don’t think I fit very well at court. I tend to flee whenever I can.”

Aegon is somewhat distracted by your curves, and how poorly hidden your curves are beneath the fabric you dress. He swallows hard, then says:

“We are betrothed. One day you’ll be queen.”

You flash him another of your typical mischievous smirks.

“When have I never performed my duties, brother?”

Aegon shakes his head, but he’s chuckling when he comes next to you.

“Well?”, you tilt your head and the prince seems to notice how handsome you look, wild and free—the way you are born to be. “Aren’t you going to swim with me?”

“Is that a challenge?”, he asks you in a whisper.

You like how he looks at you. Maybe this makes your nipples hard. And maybe this makes him burning inside.

“Perhaps.”

And without waiting for a response, you jump in. Aegon smirks, soon following you.

***

• Summer Children.

His kiss is indescribable. No words can do justice to the warmth his breath gives you, to the bliss it inspires you, to the affection it craves in you. Oh, where are the words when we need most?

Whispers at court regard you and Aegon as the “Baelon and Alyssa” of your age, perhaps two souls reincarnated. Whatever the truth, all you can think about is the taste of his lips against yours.

Not only that, there is more to inspire. As you are riding Dreamfyre in the absence of your lover—he’s been summoned by your father to attend the council—, summer breeze cannot cool down the heat in your heart. And you still recall that night.

Where no living being is found amidst corridors, when, for a moment of weakness, no guard lies awake; when unprotecting is at stake… Here he comes, visiting you.

Boldly so, his steps are silent—right under his demeanor there is a haunted boy, famine for affection, filled with desire to please… but above all, a very insecure man who needs to play pretend before all.

Even though you are not like any other, being in fact the only one who’s witnessed his fragility, he remains blunt in his manners.

Yet when the door opens… and you stand there in your line nightgown with your hair loose, his confidence dies.

“I feared you’d not come”, but there is nothing blunt or arrogant in how you welcome him; but rather tenderness from the moment he’s engulfed in your arms. “I missed you, Aegon. Too much I long for you.”

“My dear Y/Nickname…”, he buries his head against your neck and from the moment he inhales your scent, no pride is strong enough to resist the obvious. “In vain have I struggled to repress my sentiments for you.”

Hearing these words give you the reassurance you’ve been longing.

“Oh you took long enough, didn’t you? I’ve been kept in waiting, but it was worth it.”

One kiss and you are doomed. Aegon waits no longer, not anymore. He takes hold of your face and presses his lips against yours, biting your bottom lip and slamming the door as he leads the way.

“You must promise, though”, you push him away gently, much to his frustration. But you need to be sure… just in case.

“Anything”, his voice comes out in a plea.

You raise your eyebrows and Aegon, though sensing what might be asked of, is willing to pay the price. He is not letting go of you.

“No more whoring. I am no woman of sharing”, you tell him seriously.

Aegon smiles warmly, but you spot relief behind his eyes. He grabs you by the waist and says:

“I am yours and yours alone, Y/N. We came out to this world together, didn’t we? So we are dying together as well.”

“That is some drama you put in there, love”, you smirk before clashing your lips against his.

That night you came to learn you loved riding your dragon and we are not talking about Dreamfyre.

*

Nine moons later, the results of you and Aegon’s indiscretion comes to the world with a very strong pair of lungs.

“Here comes a very strong prince”, so announces the midwife.

You are exhausted after almost 12 hours in labour, a puddle of sweat and blood, but from the moment you are told you delivered a boy, you beamed proudly:

“I performed my duty well.”

Aegon, in the meantime, is left waiting outside, pacing impatiently in the corridors.

“One wonders what witchcraft has Y/N used to keep you in this state”, muses Aemond in his unusual show of sense of humor.

The prince of Dragonstone doesn’t bother answering Aemond, rather limiting to shooting a glare. It’s when Princess Helaena comes with a smile on her lips.

“My brothers.”

“We salute you well, sister. But pray tell us the news soon: is Y/N well? How’s the child?”

“She is doing great, Aegon. She’s recovering and getting some rest. As for the child… congratulations! You have a healthy baby boy!”

Aegon is paled by the news and even Aemond gets somewhat concerned with his older brother, holding him by his elbows.

“Are you well?”

“A boy”, he mumbles. “Y/N gave us a boy.”

“Our line is safe”, Aemond agrees. Then turning at Helaena, he asks: “Has the name been chosen?”

“Well, Y/N wants a traditional name… so she decided to have the boy named after you, Aegon.”

No one had ever seen the prince Aegon this overjoyed. The way he smiles… who wouldn’t be captivated by this sight? Even Aemond smiles too at this sight. Of all the misadjusted family, at least two of them found happiness… though when Helaena looks at him, he’s not too far from it himself.

“I must see her!”

Ignoring Helaena’s advice that no man is allowed in these chambers, Aegon, tradition-breaker, storms inside, demanding to see you.

You have just left your privy quarters dressed in a line nightgown with your hair wet and recently brushed when he comes at you.

“Husband!”, you giggle quietly when you are engulfed by his strong arms. “You should wait for me. I am not churched yet and we must…”

“Fuck traditions. I wanted to see my wife”, says he, peppering your face with tender kisses before looking at you with the devotion of a lover. “Are you well?”

You cast him the most infatuated glance to him, locking your hands around his neck as if there were no witnesses in the room.

“I am, thank you. Nothing that I could not handle myself”, you assure him. “Aegon, I performed my duties. I gave you a son.”

“Even if it wasn’t, as long as the child is healthy and you are healthy too, nothing else matters”, he whispers in your ear.

The prince cannot state enough his relief in seeing you well and safe. By how he holds you close, it is as if he needs another reassurance that childbirth will not steal you of him.

Feeling his fears, you raise your chin and give him that blunt gaze that marks your lively personality which he’s familiar with.

“I have no intention in leaving you alone in this world, unless you choose another to be in my place.”

Aegon gives you a meaningful look before snorting and scoffing at the same time.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N! How could you possibly consider I’d find a substitute for you? I thought you knew me better, woman.”

You both share a quiet laugh before kissing as if to seal an unspoken vow. Not too far from the scene is the Queen, with her father by her side.

“Who’d know this was coming?”, she sighs, content with the merry scene that rolls before her gaze. “I may have been deprived of happiness myself, but on the other hand… thankfully such a burden is not placed on the shoulders of mine own offspring.”

“Do not be so dramatic, Alicent. This match is as fruitful as yours was”, says Otto, nonchalantly like usual. “But at times even I admit that I can see Baelor and Alyssa once more.”

A struggle he keeps to himself, since Otto and Baelor never saw eye to eye. Leaving such personal haunting aside, eventually this summer prince also named Aegon is seen placed in the arms of his mother.

“He’s a lovely child”, murmurs Aegon, whose head is now resting over your shoulder. “I cannot stop looking away of his delicate features.”

“Perhaps you should hold him”, you suggest in a whisper since the regal baby is asleep in your arms.

“I do not wish to wake him up”, says your husband, though you may detect a degree of panic in his voice.

You find his concern adorable, respecting his time. This afternoon, you and him watch over your newly born soon in great delight of how your love produced a handsome baby.

“Our summer prince”, you beam at him.

Aegon shares a smile with you. He looks thrilled before kissing your forehead.

“I cannot believe I am his father.”

“A doting father as I’m sure you will be.”

At times he doubts it, but this is a shadow he is unwilling to cast in such a bright moment. All Aegon can say is:

“Thank you for believing in me.”

He does blush though when you kiss his cheek and tell him in turn:

“How could it be otherwise? As my other half, you shall burn as bright as any dragon, my sun and stars.”

***

Little Egg, as he is called, is getting every attention Aegon’s father never bother doting his son. Whilst you are breast feeding, just nine months later his birth, a baby girl whom you named Alysanne after your favourite ancestor, father and son are found together at the nunnery.

“Your mother told me she plans to take you and Dear Alys to fly our dragon. I am not discouraging her, but we should best wait for a litttle bit, uh?”, says the protective father whilst rocking his lively and often chuckling boy in his arms. “Oh so you think this is funny? Are you planning to take after your great-grandparents?”

Aegon is holding him still, playing with the boy when the moment is interrupted by a maid.

“Excuse me, sire. His lordship must be fed. And your lady wife has summoned you.”

“Very well”, he stands, with the prince in his arms. “Before I handle you my precious jewel, Lady H/N, I must be certain you have been fed well. After all, you are responsible for feeding my child.”

“Indeed, lord. I am healthy and robust from the day I started the service”, the woman says seriously.

“Good. I appreciate it”, he nods before kissing his son’s temple. When seeing he’s about to weep, Aegon softens: “Do not cry, my prince. This is not a farewell. I shall go back later, I assure you.”

Reluctantly, he parts, though he does wish to go back when hearing a cry. Aegon pauses at the door but when looking back, Lady H/N has taken little Egg inside the quarters.

*

“How is mine faire ladies?”, the soon to be king asks you the moment he steps inside.

“Looking better than you”, you giggle quietly. “What happened, love?”

“I had to leave him with those women”, Aegon grumbles.

“I know. I don’t like leaving him there either, but thanks to you I can only feed one child now”, you laugh quietly.

Alysanne, whose hair is as silver as her parents’s, makes noises and Aegon, now more confident in how handling babies, carefully holds her.

“If I remember well, you were climbing on me when I was trying to sleep just the day you were churched”, Aegon chuckles.

“You keep saying that to yourself”, you lean to kiss his cheek. “You have been blessed with a handsomeness that makes me difficult not to merrily engage in marital affairs.”

Again, your bluntness makes him blush, a deed only you could brag in succeed doing so. Aegon gives you a long, meaningful look.

“Watch your tongue, woman. You don’t know what you are saying.”

But his mischievous smirk tells you precisely otherwise. The connection you two share has never grown stronger…

***

• Midnight Sun.

Little Egg is barely three when Aegon takes him for a ride in Sunfyre and you take two year old Alysanne with you as you mount Dreamfyre. It’s late night and since this family is restless, there’s no obligation to stop them in doing so—as if any would do in other period of the day.

“Fly high, Dreamfyre”, you whisper the command in High Valyrian and the dragon doesn’t need much before taking impulse and… weeeee, you and your excited child finally get to the skies.

“Let us do this, S.”, Aegon tells his beautiful golden dragon, resting his face against the creature’s forehead. “Look, this is the son I told you about. He gets my name, and Gods hope that he takes after my best traits. Not that I have many, but…”

Sunfyre buffs as if saying: oh please, you may not be perfect, but you have great qualities! To which Aegon blushes and smiles.

“You are a great friend, Sunfyre.”

“Daddy”, says Little Egg. “Fly!”

“Calm down young man. Are you in a rush?”, Aegon chuckles at his demanding son.

“Mommy… flew.”

“Oh. She’s always in a rush that woman you call your mother. Let’s do it then.”

And soon Aegon’s smile would spread larger if possible as Sunfyre finally spreads his large wings and begins to fly, the reason why Little Egg is happy.

When they are finally getting higher, Aegon makes sure his son is enjoying it. He wants to create this memorable moment that shall reinforce the bond father and son has.

It’s working since little Egg turns his head to his father and says:

“Amazing!”

“Are you enjoying that, my boy?”

“Yes! More, more! Please!”

Aegon laughs happily and does as requested. They fly as high as possible before diving below to meet you and Alysanne. The scene makes the prince emotional. His wife is looking as beautiful as wild as the day he realized he loved you to an unbearable point.

Sensing his gaze, you turn your head to meet him. And feeling your feelings, Dreamfyre is instantly drawn to Sunfyre.

“How’s it going?”, you ask him, eyes sparkling with delight for making it possible an old dream where you and Aegon, together with children of your own, would fly with your respective dragons.

“Just the way you wanted”, so Aegon tells you as if he’s read your mind.

You and him exchanged loving gazes and sweet smiles, letting the dragons taking the reins of the situation.

Indeed, as your children beam, Dreamfyre and Sunfyre dance.

Such is the dance of the dragons.

**

The toddlers are snoring by the time you and Aegon land.

“They should sleep with us in bed this night”, he suggests you, as he passes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, placing a kiss on top of your forehead.

“I agree”, and then you instantly pause before the door of the red keep. “Aegon… I would like to thank you.”

“What for?”, he asks you, intrigued.

“For giving me these lovely children, for being the partner I’ve always known you’d be. For being my other half.” You smile softly. “I’d die for you, I hope you know that. You deserve to be loved, to all that you are given.”

“Y/N…”, he’s surprised to hearing these words of you, even though Aegon never needed proof of how you felt for him.

You stroke his face, wiping away his tears. Both of you know that you only have each other, and yet it’s enough. Specially now you have children of your own.

Resting his forehead against yours, the prince closes his eyes and kisses you.

“Whatever our souls are made of…”

“…mine and yours are the same.”

***

• Epilogue.

Alysanne is fast asleep when she dreams of dragons. Dragons that fight, dragons that die, dragons that survive. In the midst of chaos, she runs after her father.

Where is he? She calls out his name only to find another who is not in his throne. She wakes up thus, unable to remember the usurper’s identity, a mere shadow. But it’s enough to scare the seven year old princess.

She leaves her privy chambers. It’s still dark, but she needs to be sure he’s there somehow. Alysanne runs barefoot to her parents’ chambers. She opens its door, holding her breath but praising the Gods there’s some fire in the fireplace.

She sees you’re sleeping next to your father, but when seeing he’s there…. what a relief. Yet, the princess is scared to go back to her chambers.

“Papa”, she pokes him. “Papa, wake up.”

Aegon groans lightly, but when seeing it’s his oldest daughter calling him, he only rubs his eyes and makes sure to sit properly, careful in not waking you up.

“Lys”, he calls her affectionately and is probably thankful for wearing some proper garments after early copulating with you. “What’s wrong?”

Alysanne quickly throws her arms around his neck.

“I am scared. I don’t want to lose you”, she sniffs.

Aegon rocks her in his arms, smiling quietly for doing so.

“You’re not losing me. Who told you this nonsense? Has Little Egg been teasing you again?”

“No. He’s been good, actually”, she tells him, holding tightly against his neck. “I had a nightmare.”

For some reason, this gives him shivers. But Aegon isn’t inclined to dig into this deeper.

“A nightmare is just a nightmare. Come. Do you want to sleep with mama and papa today?”

Alysanne smiles brightly. She then kisses his cheek just as you are waking up.

“What happened?”, you ask, worried. “Are you well, my dear Alys?”

“She had a nightmare”, Aegon tells you as if this doesn’t mean anything, but one exchange of glances tells you this isn’t anything. Yet neither should feed it. And you agree. “So I’m letting her sleep with us tonight.”

You nod discreetly before kissing your daughter’s forehead.

“Of course. Like the good old days uh?”

And you watch as Alysanne makes herself comfortable in between you and your husband. Aegon strokes her hair as you cover her.

“Do you think…?” Aegon leaves the question in the air.

“Let us leave to concern about it tomorrow. It’s late.”

Aegon agrees. But neither looks forward to go back to sleep. As he casts a fond gaze at the princess, you take his hand and give it a small squeeze.

“It’s going to be all right. Helaena is doing well with it.”

“I know. But…”

“And at the same time she’s not like Helaena”, you tell him. “Let us not confuse things. It’s going to be well.”

“I just worry. I do not wish…”

Aegon looks away, remembering the wounds of his neglect childhood. There’s little need to explain since you can feel what he feels.

“Aegon, my love. We are not like them”, you tell him firmly. As he looks at you, you stroke his hair and place a lock of his messy hair behind his ear. “We are not like our parents. We are better than them. I’d not say so if I believed otherwise. Just look at how Egg seeks to impress you, how Alysanne came after you tonight… or how our twins Jaehaerys and Jaehaera often run after you.”

Aegon smiles quietly.

“How can you convince me that easily?”

“It’s the truth I speak. Besides… I have to tell you something”, and here you whisper. “I conceived again.”

“Oh how fertile we are!”, Aegon chuckles merrily.

You both kiss, before settling to lay down, careful now with your daughter fast asleep in between you. Shadows for once are pushed and in late night midnight sun comes to shine bright.

Oh these delights…

[nba24highlights]

BIYOMBO BLOCKS Westbrook! Must be related to MUTOMBO! #biyombo #blockshot#westbrook#nbaedits#shorts

[wileys-russo]

summer christmas II a.russo

third little christmas fic installment! summer christmas II a.russo

"less, you're being a little bit dramatic." you chuckled, laid on the bed watching your girlfriend rifle through her suitcase grumbling and mumbling under her breath. "i am not! this is just wrong, its all wrong." the english woman shook her head with a huff as you merely smiled in amusement.

"baby you're just hot and bothered, you'll adjust in a few days! you've barely been here twenty four hours." you assured, pulling yourself to sit against your headboard and crossing your legs underneath you.

"exactly, and in that twenty four hours i've slept for about two of them!" the normally soft spoken blonde snapped, yanking a red bikini out of her bag and tossing it into the ever growing piles of clothes on the floor beside her.

"that's just the jetlag babe. it was the same when you came here last time, unfortunately the flight and the time differences don't change lessi, i tried speaking to someone about it but apparently mere mortals can't change geographical lines and locations." you teased gently with a grin, perfectly manicured eyebrows furrowing together in a scowl sent your way shortly after.

"it wasn't anywhere near this hot when we were here in august, i'm going to melt!" the girl groaned, kicking her case closed and flopping down backwards on the end of the bed, face buried in her hands.

"thats because again its summer right now less. i also spoke with mother nature but she won't drop the temperature, turns out she's nearly as stubborn as you." you sighed sarcastically, laying down so your head was near hers as she rolled onto her side.

"you are not cute." the blonde warned as you winked, poking her nose as she smacked your hands away and rolled onto her back again.

"this is like opposite day on repeat! its supposed to be freezing cold and you wear hundreds of layers and drink hot chocolate and get cosy and have a fire and chop down a tree an-" your british girlfriend rattled off her regular traditions, ticking them off with her fingers.

"we can still do that stuff! well maybe not all of it, but we can watch christmas movies and go look at lights and have iced chocolates! we can take my nieces to the carols in the park, we can also go to the beach everyday and out on my brothers boat and we can stay out later because the sun doesn't set till after nine, and my mum got us all matching pyjamas! they're just...summer ones." you tried to assure, moving onto your stomach and looking down at her with a few encouraging nods.

"but its not the same! i've never had a hot christmas, all of its just wrong." alessia moaned, arms covering her face as you deflated a little and wriggled back to sit up, fiddling with your fingers in your lap for a second as doubts began to swirl around in your head at her words.

the two of you played at arsenal together and quickly clicked when alessia transferred, having met at a few social events the last couple of years you'd been in england and gotten close with some of your english teammates who'd gone above and beyond to make you feel welcome.

it helped having steph and caitlin around, and then now kyra, plus the rest of your matildas teammates scattered throughout london whom you regularly made efforts to catch up.

you and alessia had only been seeing one another for about a year and a half now but if you asked anyone who'd spent time with you during that period they'd tease you acted as if it had been much much longer.

last year you'd spent your first christmas in england with the russo family, finally having a reason not to go home which as much as it broke your mums heart she was overjoyed you'd met someone, bonus being it someone as kind and thoughtful as alessia was.

but this year you'd promised to come home for christmas, not having much of a chance to see your family all season between the olympics, international games, league games and champions leagues matches that had kept you more than busy the last twelve months.

you'd not expected your girlfriend to come with you, the two of you more than accustomed now to having to spend time apart playing for different countries. but when alessia teasingly floated the idea over dinner, feigning offence you hadn't asked her, it had all blossomed from there and now here she was.

you were much more used to the long haul flight home than the blonde was though, having done it dozens of times over the years for international commitments among the league games in england.

you'd come home pretty much the very day your break started, just under a week earlier than alessia to allow her to spend a little bit of the december break with her own family before she flew herself to australia.

but ever since you'd picked her up from the airport yesterday you could tell she was rather miserable.

there'd been turbulence and two screaming babies on the flight despite the fact the striker had flown business, which meant she'd not slept anywhere near as much as planned, and adjusting to the time difference hadn't been kind.

so slowly those doubts that you'd made a wrong choice asking her here grew louder and louder, until you just had to say something or else it felt as it you might burst.

"do you wish you'd stayed in england?" you asked quietly, attempts to mask the insecurity in your voice null and void as your girlfriend shot up, guilt written clear all over her face which sank as it caught the obvious nerves in your features that she regretted her choice to come home with you for the holidays during break.

"what? baby no of course not. i'm so excited to finally meet your whole family and spend time with them and with you, i'm so sorry for being so negative. i'm just tired and grumpy but that is not at all fair to take out on you." the blondes hands moved to settle either side of your face, bright blue eyes scanning yours as you gave a small nod, clearly not believing her.

"oh my love, really i am excited! we're going to do all that stuff you just said and i want to learn about your traditions and what you like doing for christmas. a summer christmas is just new for me thats all! but new things aren't bad things." alessia pushed, thumbs stroking your jawline and feeling the obvious tension in your body drop just a little at her words.

"less are you sure? it wouldn't be easy but we can find a flight back for you before christmas eve." you questioned, the taller girl nodding enthusiastically and leaning in to press her lips sweetly against yours a few times.

"more than sure, there's no need for that at all. this is no different to when you stayed in england with me and had a winter christmas last year, and you were nothing but cheerful and sweet and lovely the entire time." the blonde promised with another nod, stealing a few more kisses as the corners of your mouth upturned a little.

"mm theres that smile, welcome back." the striker grinned happily, a laugh finally leaving you as she practically tackled you back to the bed, moving on top of you as her hair fell around the pair of you like a curtain.

"i wasn't the one with the smiling problem russo." you poked her as she winced sheepishly. "i know. but from now on, i will embrace these new experiences with open arms!" the english woman announced, laying down on top of you and kissing all over your face.

"i'm happy to hear that." "yeah? i'm happy to say it." "good, because its thirty two degrees outside right now and the air cons only in the living room." you scrunched your nose up as the blonde faltered, taking a deep breath and exhaling.

"thats fine! i'm fine. lets just go to the beach!"

~

it turns out you and your girlfriend clearly had different expectations of what open arms and a beach day meant, as alessia lay on the beach recharging herself in the sun and you'd spent the entire time begging she get in the water with you.

"lessi come on! what happened to being open to new experiences?" you groaned, stealing her sunglasses and slipping them over your nose as she squinted up at you, sheltering her eyes with her hand.

"give!" the blonde demanded, making grabby hands as you shook your head and shuffled back on your knees. "swim!" you countered, smacking her thigh gently as she sighed heavily.

"swimming in december feels illegal." "not going in the water when you're at the beach is illegal." "babe the waves are huge, i'll get...what did you call it again?" "mm, dumped? we're not going surfing alessia!" you laughed, pushing her hand away where she reached for her sunglasses back again.

"but tanning feels so nice!" the blonde whined, arms covering her face. "you'll have plenty of time to get sunburnt like a little lobster baby, i promise." you cooed sarcastically, your girlfriend shoving you and finally sitting up on her towel.

"that was one time." "lessi its every time, you refuse to wear sunscreen!" "sun cream, and because it feels...sticky." "well does crying about how much it hurts to shower and peeling off your burnt skin feel better?" you countered quickly, the striker opening and closing her mouth.

"come on!" you hopped up to your feet, holding out your hand toward her and wiggling your fingers impatiently. "you know your persistence is incredibly irritating." alessia gave in, grabbing your hand as you pulled her up to stand.

"and here you used to find it endearing." you teased, the blondes hand smacking against your ass as you blushed and pushed her. "theres families here!" you warned as the girl smiled, simply shrugging and interlocking her fingers with yours as you tossed her sunglasses onto her towel and lead her down to the waters edge.

"how do you get in without being smashed by the waves?" her grip on you tightened as another set came rolling in. "timing. you see how the waves all crash here? thats the breaking point, once the last wave crashed you move past that, and then you just duck dive under the big ones until you get out the back!" you explained, the english woman staring on clueless as you laughed.

"come on, on three we run into the water. one, two..." again her grip on your hand tightened but she nodded none the less. "go!" you raced off but felt her hand slip out of yours, glancing back as alessia shook her head and remained rooted in position.

"how is it thirty five degrees and the water is freezing cold?" the striker scoffed having stepped one foot in and recoiled immediately as you grinned at her from the shallows.

"i swear babe if you say something about mother nature when i get out there i'll drown you!" the blonde warned seriously as you held up your hands, glancing over your shoulder.

"okay now, go baby!" you encouraged, waving for her to run to you, a moments hesitation passing before she gingerly waded in, wincing every few steps until finally she'd made it past the break point, the water barely up to her hips.

"jesus christ i'm going to get hypothermia!" the older girl wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver making you roll your eyes. "but i'm the dramatic one?" you questioned in disbelief. "no not dramatic baby, sensitive." the girl patted your cheek condescendingly with a pout as you narrowed your eyes at her.

"dickhead." you poked her with a shake of your head. "do you want to know a secret to adjusting to the water faster?" you asked as your girlfriend nodded eagerly.

"well its quite simple, you just get your head wet!" you grinned and before the taller girl could blink you'd barreled into her, sending her toppling over into the water as she surfaced with a gasp.

"oh you're dead." you squealed as you were tugged down into the water with her, plunged in head first before you popped back up with a cough, having swallowed a lungful of water in the purpose.

"hey you said snowball fights was a big thing in england?" you questioned, the two of you moving into water a little deeper as alessia nodded. "well we can do that too." you promised as the girl looked at you clearly confused.

"how? theres no snow." "no, but there is sand!" you grinned, smacking a handful of wet sand from the ocean floor into her hair as she gasped.

"are you fucking kidding-" "wave! duck!" you interrupted, grabbing her by the arm and pulling the pair of you under, tugging her out to swim even deeper past where the waves started and you could relax a little more.

"it was a joke!" you laughed as your girlfriend launched at you once you did, latching onto you and forcing your head back underwater with a grunt, the two of you wrestling in the water before you yelled for a truce.

"maybe this isn't so bad." the blonde admitted, swimming up behind you, arms circling your waist and her chin making a home on your shoulder as the pair of you stared back toward the beach, the water now calm and bright turquoise, sparkling where it was hit with the sun.

"thank you for agreeing to come." you turned your head, capturing her lips in hers with a soft smile. "thank you for asking me to come." alessia squeezed you appreciatively before you both turned back to your people watching.

"are they playing...cricket?" your girlfriend asked in bewilderment watching a young family race back and forth across the sand. "yeah! beach cricket, an aussie classic. but not surpassed by backyard cricket, which you'll get to experience on christmas day." you explained as the blonde hummed curiously.

"really?" "yeah! we have a tournament every year with the whole family even my nan and pop, between lunch and presents." "so we do christmas lunch, not dinner, right?"

you nodded, answering a few more questions about what the next few days had lined up for the pair of you, stopping your explanation of why santa was left a beer and not milk when familiar lips started to trail across your neck.

"you're going to get us in trouble if you leave a mark russo." you chuckled in warning, relaxing in her hold as the striker merely hummed, your eyes closing as your face was bathed in sunshine and soft kisses were peppered down your jaw.

"well your mums already made it very clear that i have permission." you groaned at that, pushing her away and pulling a face. "well you've ruined the mood with that haven't you." you huffed, starting to wander back in until fingers hooked into the sides of your bikini bottoms and tugged you backwards.

"i'm sorry! i've just never met a woman who took such healthy interest in her daughters sex life." alessia teased, your response swallowed with her mouth pressing to yours with a cheeky grin.

"its not funny! its humiliating she has no boundaries and we're stuck with her for the next week." you groaned, head resting against her shoulder as the girls thumbs traced circles against your hips, the two of you staying in your childhood home where everyone would be gathering for the holidays.

"baby its not that bad. she's just very...progressive! and supportive." "you know i think if you were a boy she'd have left condoms on the side table and the book of karma sutra on the bed."

~

"santa came get up get up get up!" you groggily lifted your head feeling three little bodies jump up and down on top of you, alessia stirring next to you with a tired exhale.

"are you awake yet? wake up!" one of your nieces shouted in your ear as you tiredly lifted a hand and made a thumbs up, the three young girls belonging to your older brother taking that as a yes and jumping down, racing off to wake up the rest of the family.

you exhaled tiredly, dragging your hands down your face and jolting as your door swung open again. "hope no ones naked! merry christmas girls, up we get!" your mum sung out, flinging open your blinds as you groaned.

"jesus christ mum come on!" your cheeks flushed red at her brash words feeling alessias body vibrate with a small chuckle beside you as the woman shrugged, flicking on your light and striding on out again.

"i think i'm adopted." you grumbled, rolling over and burying your face in your girlfriends shoulder. "well thats quite the wake up." the brit rasped out with another chuckle, hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly.

"merry christmas less." you pulled back and rested your head on your pillow again, bright blue eyes and a tired smile staring back at you. "merry christmas love." she repeated, pecking your lips quickly given neither of you had brushed your teeth yet.

"get up!" you both winced as a hand smacked against the wood of your door, your brother flipping you off in the doorway as you rolled your eyes and forced yourself up into a sitting position, alessia rubbing her eyes and exhaling, face still puffy with sleep.

"how is it already hot?" the english woman groaned in disbelief, the two of you sleeping under a thin sheet and even then barely able to touch one another bar a bit of hand holding when you were dozing off due to the thick humidity of your childhood bedroom.

"welcome to your first summer christmas." you laughed, running a hand through her hair as she hummed, the two of you gradually getting out of bed and already hearing the commotion of your family downstairs.

"mum no photos! its seven in the fucking morning." you groaned, wincing at the obvious click of her phone camera shoved in your face as you and alessia stumbled into the kitchen.

"oi you watch your fucking mouth!" your dad chimed in with a point making your girlfriend laugh and your eyes roll as the pair of you followed everyone into the living room.

"look look! this ones for me!" your eldest niece gasped, all three of them already riffling through the mountain of presents as you sent her an encouraging smile and collapsed onto the corner of the sofa.

alessia took a seat beside you as you slung one of your legs over hers, the pair of you exhaling in relief at the air con blasting right above you and wishing a merry christmas the rest of your family who were lounging around the room, your dad taking charge to handing out presents.

"oh thank you!" your girlfriend smiled appreciatively as he handed the pair of you one each, labeled from santa which you knew meant they were from your mum which was what you whispered in the blondes ear who chuckled and squeezed your knee.

though as you began to unwrap yours you realized very quickly you may have been a little too quick with your excitement, catching the word 'dental dams' on the side of the box and stuffing it down the side of the sofa before anyone else could see.

"oh my god mum!" "what? santa just wants you to be safe darling!"

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

--------------

"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

-------------

“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[creamflix]

happiness is a butterfly — sukuna x female reader   content warnings: fluff, wholesome crack, arranged marriage, yapper reader, implied heinen!era sukuna   — masterlist here ☆

it was a rather silly sight, truly. a queen pacing her chambers, speaking aloud to herself as if carrying on a conversation with another. 

but it wasn’t uncommon for you, especially on days when even the estate’s servants — those with whom you’d built a steady rapport — weren’t in a position to entertain your musings.

you often spoke of the little things that caught your interest: the peculiar patterns on a foreign tapestry that had arrived earlier in the week, the way the evening sun cast golden streaks across the estate’s garden, or a particularly intriguing passage you’d read about distant lands and their customs. then, of course, there were your personal passions — musings on literature, art, or even the intricacies of floral arrangements you wished to try your hand at.

tonight was no different. pacing back and forth across the polished floor of your chambers, you animatedly discussed the potential arrangement of a rose and lavender bouquet, occasionally breaking into thoughts on how such combinations symbolized both passion and serenity.

your voice was lively, your gestures animated as you imagined the possibilities, oblivious to the passage of time. 

it wasn’t until the faint creak of the door broke your reverie that you froze mid-sentence.

turning sharply, your heart leapt into your throat when you saw sukuna standing in the doorway. his crimson gaze swept the room before landing on you, a single brow arched in mild curiosity.

“who is it you’re speaking to?” he asked, his tone neutral yet laced with an edge of command.

heat rushed to your face, mortification settling in as you clasped your hands together, suddenly acutely aware of how unqueenly your actions had been. “no one, my lord,” you said hurriedly, bowing your head in shame. “just... my own thoughts.”

he stepped further into the room, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. you braced yourself for some scolding remark about dignity and decorum, but instead, he simply observed you in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“you seemed quite invested in the subject,” he said finally, moving toward the edge of the chamber where his robes awaited removal.

“it was nothing of importance,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

he scoffed softly, unfastening the heavy belt at his waist. “then why did you speak of it with such passion?”

you hesitated, unsure if his words were meant to mock or if he truly sought an answer. when his gaze flicked to you, sharper and more expectant now, you relented. “i didn’t think anyone would hear me. it is... embarrassing, my lord, to prattle on about trivial matters aloud.”

“trivial?” his tone hardened, and he set the belt aside with deliberate care. “if it was so trivial, would it compel you to pace about like a court philosopher delivering some grand discourse?”

your lips parted in protest, but no words came. he sighed, turning back to you fully now, his arms crossing over his chest.

“continue,” he said simply.

your brow furrowed in confusion. “my lord?”

“whatever it was you were discussing — continue. i’m listening,” he clarified, already reaching to undo the clasps of his outer robe.

“but...” you faltered, glancing down at your hands. “it’s hardly fitting of a queen to...”

“enough,” he interrupted, his voice firm but lacking any true menace. “do you think i’d demand such a thing if i didn’t intend to listen?”

the room was quiet save for the faint rustle of fabric as he removed his robe, setting it aside with practiced precision. his gaze returned to you, expectant but patient.

tentatively, you began to speak again, your words slower now, less animated than before. but as you continued, weaving through the intricate details of floral arrangements and their symbolic meanings, his steady presence eased your nerves.

sukuna said little, merely nodding here and there or humming faintly in acknowledgment. his sharp gaze, however, remained fixed on you, betraying a level of attention you hadn’t anticipated.

when he finally moved to sit at the edge of the bed, his tunic undone and his posture more relaxed, he gestured for you to come closer.

“you’ve more knowledge on the matter than i gave you credit for,” he remarked, his tone devoid of sarcasm. “and here i thought your talents were limited to courtly affairs.”

your cheeks burned, unsure whether to take his words as praise or something else entirely.

“does it amuse you, my lord?” you asked cautiously, your hands clasping together once more.

his gaze softened, though his expression remained impassive. “amuse? no. intrigue? perhaps. you’ve a mind for such things — a pity you keep it to yourself.”

his words struck something within you, a mixture of validation and guilt swirling in your chest. you bowed your head again, this time not in shame but in gratitude. “thank you, my lord.”

“enough of that,” he said gruffly, leaning back against the bedpost. “if you have more to say, then say it. and next time you find yourself pacing this chamber, don’t wait for me to step in.”

a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself, and as you continued speaking, sukuna closed his eyes — not in disinterest, but in quiet appreciation of the sound of your voice filling the room.

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[elysiansparadise]

With the gentle caress of Neptune's blissful hand, a dreamy aura evolves. In the dawn's soft embrace, and twilight's whisper, pisces paints the sky with a suspire.

Pisces Rising: Divine Charm

They look mysterious and distant but their gaze, like the ocean, deep and profound, reflecting the emotions untold. A wise mind and soul, with a gentle and caring heart, remains protected from the dangers from outside. Many of them tended to isolate themselves, as the tensions of their early environment could be difficult to deal with. They seek calm, and would love to live in a world where they felt at peace and free to be who they truly are. They have the ability to adapt to their environments and the people they meet, making the number of people with whom they truly feel like themselves very small. Their beauty lies more in delicacy, like angels fallen to heaven, their skin is soft, their gaze slightly sleepy and many of them give an unapproachable vibe. 

From a young age they learn to achieve things on their own and we can attribute that to Aries in the 2nd house. They greatly value their independence, being able to do things their own way, because these natives highly value their independence and that clearly includes financial independence, which is why they like to make their decisions for themselves when it comes to money. Some of them may have a tendency to be somewhat impulsive with their spending, especially if Mars is making tense aspects to Jupiter or Neptune. Ambition to find stability in their lives, they fervently desire to feel powerful and not with respect to others, but with themselves and the management of their lives. They are people who have that entrepreneurial spirit, since they were young, they may have defined what they want to achieve, be it a certain status, economic position, or simply a set of things to have in the future. Some of these natives are prone to becoming demotivated quickly if they do not perceive or have tangible results, so it is necessary for them to find a way to motivate themselves. It is a kind of challenge to be more constant and persistent in your productive projects. They may possess a certain level of competitiveness and winning and/or achieving things can increase their self-esteem, especially if Mars makes tense aspects to Sun or Jupiter. It is possible that at some point in their lives they feel that to be valuable they have to achieve or have things, they may equate success with the idea of ​​"I have to create or do something.”

Talking to them is one of the most comfortable things in the world, they are responsible for not only talking to you and giving you their point of view, but also listening to you carefully, and we can see that with Taurus in the 3rd house. These natives take their time to process what is happening around them, they do not jump to conclusions, they are observant, capable of sensing when things are not as before, when there are changes around them, nothing goes unnoticed, no matter how minimal the change may be. They like clarity, that people speak with bluntness, that is, without losing tact if the situation requires it. They have a very attractive and soothing voice, and their way of speaking, the words that come out of their mouths can be a caress to the soul. They are sensible, rational and patient. They calm others with ease with their words and voice, there is something simply magnetic about them. Talent for singing and taste or interest in music. They have a great facility for creating and generating ideas, and not only that, but they also materialize them. They have aptitudes for poetry and any genre that allows them to express their feelings through letters. They may have hands-on skills, from sculpture, drawing or any form of design. They are constant people when it comes to learning something that catches their attention. They easily move the people around them, as they seek to say what they genuinely feel and think. They tend to be somewhat reserved with their thoughts at first but when they express them, they will not express them abruptly or shouting. They take their time to learn, they like to do things at their own pace and not feel pressured, as they are susceptible to stress. It is difficult to change their mind, because even if they listen to yours, it is likely that they will not stop thinking the way they do.

Since they were children, these natives questioned everything, from what surrounded them to the actions or behaviors of those who accompanied them. Pure and present curiosity for as long as they can remember, a clear representation of Gemini in the 4th house. A desire to understand others at a deep level because of the feeling of never having been understood themselves. Many of these natives experience constant changes in their home, from moving to issues of family dynamics. They may have grown up in a chaotic or changing environment; one parent may have been emotionally distant. It is likely that since they were children they have had problems, whether it be excess mental and/or physical energy, nerves or anxiety in some cases. They may have closeness and constant communication with a particular member of their families. They are very reserved people with their past and emotions, they hardly feel that they can talk about it with others. They do not enjoy small talk much, they tend to prefer deep and more meaningful conversations. These natives are fun, spontaneous and very expressive, but due to circumstances and experiences, they have learned to hide this side of them. They prioritize fluid communication with those with whom they have an emotional bond; they will always seek to make the other person comfortable to speak freely about what they feel. They may have had tense experiences in their childhood, such as dealing with people who were hypocritical or overly critical of them. They find comfort in the idea of ​​learning new things, yes, but most likely these natives have comfort series, books or movies that they return to when they don't feel well. Many of them express their discomfort, or in general any type of emotions through writing. Journaling, making poetry or simply writing can be activities that allow them to feel better and more liberated.

These natives are incredibly romantic and attentive in their relationships. They look for a relationship that allows them to be emotionally vulnerable and that is related to Cancer in the 5th house. Love with them feels like a warm blanket, which gives you warmth, protection and reaffirmation. For them there is no better sign of love than dedicating time, energy and devotion to the other person. They nourish their relationships a lot and always work on them, making necessary changes both in the dynamics of the relationship and in their love language, since they adapt to their partner's to make them feel loved. They prioritize the comfort of both themselves and their partners. Its beauty and appeal lies more on the tender, tender and soft side. They usually have attractive and sweet faces, as well as expressive eyes. Regardless of how they show themselves to the world and how they decide to face it, in their relationships they are softies, and they tend to attract people who become attached to them. They attract mysterious and reserved people with their emotions who have a huge heart. For them, a relationship equals comfort, unconditional support and a deep connection. Their partners' past matters to them as a way to understand them better. Caring and being cared for is important in the dynamics of romance for these natives to enjoy.

With Leo in the 6th house it is very likely that the native has excellent creative and/or artistic abilities. These are people who can gain a lot of recognition through their work or a skill they have worked on for a long time. In the work area they may be very loved or appreciated, they are seen as talented, capable and charismatic, however, that natural brilliance that they possess can attract envious people or people who want to steal some of their light. They are generous people par excellence, they will never hesitate to help, support or share with those they love. Having a strong work ethic, being responsible, honest and devoted are values ​​that have been instilled in them since they were young. It is likely that from childhood they were taught to work hard and value not only their own efforts but those of others. Many of these natives tend to prefer to be given compliments about their abilities, the way they do things or their results, not forgetting to mention that they can be modest or dismissive with other types of compliments, not knowing how to react to them. They like to do things that they can put their whole heart into. They need to see the importance behind a task to want to do it and will not waste their time on things that they do not perceive as genuinely useful or important to them. They have this way of doing things well or not doing them at all, they can be very demanding of themselves and of seeing tangible results. Many of these natives may experience pain in the chest and/or back if they are subjected to a lot of stress. For them it is crucial to truly love their job, because they feel that hating their job is no longer bearable for a little more money. Passion is important for them when starting a project, so if the passion runs out they will not hesitate to drop the task in question.

With Virgo in the 7th house we can observe what these natives look for in their relationships, especially those they want to maintain long term and this is reliability and mutual support. They are so used to giving a lot to others and supporting them fully no matter what, they are extremely devoted and giving to those who have the place of their heart, but it is highly disappointing when that is not given back to them. They tend to be so hard on themselves, overly self-critical of their actions in a relationship. If Mercury makes tense aspects, it is very likely that after breakups they will think that they are guilty or have a feeling of responsibility about it. They will always seek to improve their relationships, frequently asking their partners about how they feel more comfortable or how to make them feel more loved. They are looking for a reliable partner who supports and motivates them, someone who looks after their well-being and who accepts them without conditions, someone who makes them feel sufficient and happy with who they are. With this placement the natives will have a future spouse dedicated to them and the relationship, someone modest who will work hard and know how to appreciate the natives' efforts and intentions. It will be a relationship that will emerge little by little, they will get to know each other more and more and along with this, not only love but admiration will grow more and more. Both will try to resolve any issue that arises, knowing how to listen to each other and proposing solutions. Both will arrive at a point in each other's lives where they are focused on themselves whether it is improving, healing or working.

Giving and receiving equally is an internal desire that lies in Libra in the 8th house. That longing to show oneself completely to their special one and fully know the other, that fervent yearn, the need to be transparent with someone willing to be genuine with them. There is a set of internal conflicts between wanting that intense, passionate and extremely devoted connection with the fear of being vulnerable, the fear of becoming dependent on someone or that someone becomes too absorbed with them. The fear of giving everything and being betrayed. It is difficult to trust opening up and there is nothing that terrifies them more than the risk of doing so to the wrong person. Having them as a couple is an experience like no other, not only because of the passion and sensuality of these lovers, but also because of the intense and genuine devotion that they give you. They are able to love you completely, to form a connection that feels real, one in which you do not pretend to be someone you are not or one in which you do not feel like you have to be someone else. They experience great transformations during and after their relationships, they have a tendency to seek or attract deep relationships where there is a strong bond between them. They are fascinating lovers who manage to make you feel desired with a look, who through their touch transmit the whirlwind of emotions that you provoke in them. They love intensely, there is no doubt in them, all or nothing, I love you or I don't love you. They think a lot before entering a relationship, and once they are in one, they immerse themselves completely. 

These natives are constantly searching for a deep meaning to the world around them, something beyond the visible, and that need to see beyond what simple sight allows them to do is thanks to Scorpio in the 9th house. They feel a growing attraction for complex topics that mark them in some way or leave them introspective, since they spend a lot of their time in their heads, analyzing and trying to understand what seems intriguing to them. A desire to investigate topics that seem mysterious to them, inclination for spiritual topics, psychology or solving mysteries/riddles of all kinds. A lot of transformation through travel and chances of traveling to distant lands. Physical and spiritual journeys, many feelings of epiphanies throughout their lives. Fascination or fixation with a specific type of culture. A complex relationship with religion, being either very devoted to their beliefs or having experienced complex things thanks to the religious beliefs of their parents or family. Inquisitive minds, however they do not make it obvious that they know many things, they are very humble people regarding their knowledge, but they firmly trust in what they know. In them there is more knowledge than what is seen, they are very astute and although they seek to see the bigger picture, it is difficult for the details to go unnoticed, since they have the mixture of perception and strong intuition, which makes them perceive things that can be subliminal.

Natives with Sagittarius in the 10th house are curious souls by nature, people who aspire for great things and constantly dream of obtaining, achieving and being. They look for jobs that allow them to expand, intellectually, or expand their joy and emotional well-being. Many people tend to see them as genuine people who are easy to work with and people who, regardless of whether they are introverted or extroverted, will always be cordial. They can become very influential people in their work, since Jupiter, the planet of luck, rules this house, making them prone to finding success at work and easily moving or influencing people. They are likely to travel constantly and come into contact with foreign things thanks to their work. These people aspire to do good, to do the right thing and in many cases to contribute positively to the lives of others through their work. Some jobs for these people are teachers, artists, journalism, international relations, human resources, work in travel agencies, lawyers. In the eyes of the public they have charm, as they have a mixture of charisma, ambition and authenticity. Despite wanting to be recognized for their abilities, many of these natives can find it overwhelming to have a lot of attention, so they need that balance between alone time and public time.

Precisely because of their energy and sensitivity to other people's vibes, they are very selective about who they surround themselves with. Capricorn in the 11th house makes them accept their friends as they are and seek to give them a lot of support, but it is difficult for them to give that title to anyone. They prefer closed and stable circles, they take friendship seriously and can be very devoted to them. These natives have a tendency to attract friends with greater maturity or age, and they will admire the maturity and abilities of the natives. Friendships with long age differences. They may see it as a strong support for a friend/certain group of friends, finding a sense of family more in them than in their biological families. They can have great economic gains thanks to their career, from having high or important positions, or even a lot of prestige in their work. They aspire for big things and it is not enough for them to just dream, they like to make them come true and work hard to achieve them. Contrary to what one would believe with this placement, they are very ambitious and hardworking dreamers, as they will always be thinking about how to materialize everything that they have always longed to have. They believe in the power of hard work and many of them are not naive or excessively overzealous as they are projected.

The noise out there has become overwhelming, the looks of some have become heavy, all those times you felt judged, underestimated or left out for being your precious self has led you to lock yourself away, that beautiful and enormous heart and everything. That which makes you unique in a small world, where you can be safe from being viewed with disdain. People with Aquarius in the 12th house are reserved with certain sides of themselves, be it their thoughts, hobbies or in some cases feelings, on some occasions they may feel separated and different from others, the feeling of being an outsider can be common with this placement. In them lies a creative mind and an accepting soul, which seeks to know others deeply and remove from their lives everything that is superficial. They always seem very perceptive of their environment and those around them, they even generate interest in everything that allows them to know themselves and others better, as a result of a feeling of not having been understood. They have a high creative potential and can excel enormously in a hobby or one of their passions, but they may fear criticism and little acceptance from others. These people fear rejection from people, especially from those they open up to, thinking they are different. They have an open personality, they do not run away from or criticize minds other than their own, they will always try to understand and accept people. They feel that impulse in them to accept and include others because of the wound of not having been accepted themselves. In these natives lies a beautiful being, with unique ideas and emotions, who will hardly show himself completely to others, only those who inspire true confidence. Their longing and desire is to be free from these internal chains and cages that hold back those sides of their being that they feel will be judged.

[pucksandpower]

Fantasy Come to Life

Day 23 → Consensual Non-Consent 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content, CNC, drugging, and conditioning

Kinktober Masterlist

The streets of Monaco glimmer under the soft afternoon sun, a golden haze coating the narrow lanes of boutiques and cafés. Your sandals click against the cobblestone as you make your way towards the boutique district.

Excitement pulses in your veins. The air smells of salt from the sea mixed with expensive perfumes wafting from open shop doors. A vacation, you think. Finally, a breath of freedom.

There’s a group of tourists ahead, their laughter bouncing between the buildings, but you don’t pay them much attention. You’re too busy thinking about the new dress you’ve been eyeing since last night. Just a few more minutes, and you’ll-

A hand. Suddenly.

It’s over your mouth. It’s over your nose. You barely process the scent of something sweet before your body reacts, muscles tensing as you thrash, trying to scream. But your voice is gone. Your world is tipping sideways. The bustling streets dim, muffled voices becoming far-off echoes.

You struggle. Harder now, your legs kicking wildly, hands flailing to grab onto something — anything — but it’s useless. The arms around you are too strong, pulling you back, pulling you down. The cloth over your face smells like chemicals, sickly sweet and heavy.

The light above you begins to blur. Your fingers twitch, reaching for the fading streetlights, for the sky, but everything’s too far away. Your limbs stop responding. You’re falling.

And then — nothing.

***

When you come to, your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. Everything is hazy, dark. You try to move but your body doesn’t listen. Panic flares. You can barely breathe, and your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.

Then you hear voices. Men, low and murmuring, their words filtering into your consciousness through the haze.

“... should be waking up soon,” one of them says. His voice is smooth, calm, like this is all perfectly normal.

“Why her, though?” It’s the driver, speaking in a clipped tone. The rumble of the engine thrums beneath you, the subtle vibration reminding you that you’re in a car. “There are thousands of beautiful women here, Max. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

There’s a pause.

And then, a deeper voice, Max, answers.

“I knew the moment I saw her,” Max says, his tone dark, possessive. “She’s meant to be mine.”

Your heart thuds. You can hear him shifting in the seat next to you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him.

The driver scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know her.”

“I don’t need to,” Max replies smoothly. “Some things are undeniable.”

His words drip with confidence, like this is all part of some grand plan that only he understands.

You try to move again, to make a sound, but your limbs are heavy and unresponsive, and fear curls in your stomach like a fist. You’re trapped, lying motionless in the backseat of this car with two strangers, one of whom thinks he owns you.

“She’ll resist,” the driver says. “They always resist.”

Max chuckles, low and quiet. “Of course she will. At first.” There’s a pause, then you hear him shift closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “But I’ll make her understand. She’ll be perfect once I’ve made her mine.”

The air around you feels suffocating, his presence overwhelming. You want to scream, to cry, but your body remains limp, powerless under whatever they’ve drugged you with. You try to focus, to force your eyes open, but it’s like swimming through quicksand.

“She’s pretty,” the driver remarks after a beat. “But not worth all this. You really think she’s the one?”

Max lets out a quiet laugh, a sound that sends chills down your spine. “She is the one. I’ve seen plenty of women, but none like her.”

The driver grunts, unconvinced. “You sound obsessed.”

“I’m not obsessed,�� Max corrects him, his tone calm, deliberate. “I’m certain.”

A silence stretches between them, the only sound the hum of the engine and the faint rustle of fabric as Max leans back.

You fight against the drug still clouding your senses, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The luxurious leather beneath you, the soft vibrations of the car — this isn’t just any car. It’s expensive. You can tell by the way it smells, by the subtle way it moves over the road. These men — they aren’t amateurs.

“What’s the plan, then?” The driver asks, breaking the silence. “You can’t just keep her like this.”

Max takes his time responding. “I’ll introduce myself properly once she wakes up. Once she’s calm.”

“And if she’s not?”

“She will be,” Max says, a thread of steel weaving into his voice. “She doesn’t have a choice.”

Your stomach churns. You try again to move, to scream, but nothing comes out. It’s like your body is a prison, and you’re trapped inside, helpless. You feel Max’s gaze on you, heavy, unyielding. Even though you can’t see him, you know he’s watching, waiting.

“You’re insane,” the driver mutters, shaking his head. “This is a bad idea.”

Max doesn’t respond immediately. When he does, his voice is low, quiet, almost intimate. “You don’t understand,” he says. “She belongs to me. I knew it the moment I saw her walk out of that hotel. I could feel it.”

The driver sighs. “I still don’t get it. Why go through all this trouble? She’s just a girl.”

“She’s not just a girl,” Max snaps, his patience thinning. “She’s the girl. The only one.”

Your pulse quickens. You’ve heard enough to know that whatever Max wants from you, it’s not something you can just walk away from. There’s something dangerous about the way he talks about you, like you’re an object, something to be claimed and owned.

“Whatever,” the driver says, clearly done with the conversation. “Just make sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I always do,” Max replies, the confidence back in his voice. “Now, keep driving.”

There’s a shift in the car, a turn, and you feel the momentum change as they head somewhere new. You fight to stay conscious, to fight through the fog in your mind, but it’s getting harder and harder to focus. The drugs are still working their way through your system, and you can feel yourself slipping.

Max leans in closer again, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll wake up soon. And when you do, we’ll start over. Properly this time.”

The car hums beneath you as it continues its journey, and with every second that passes, you feel yourself fading again, drifting away into the darkness.

***

Time slips away, and you don’t know how long you’ve been out when you finally stir. Your eyes flutter open, and the world slowly comes back into focus. The car has stopped, parked somewhere dark and quiet. You can barely move, but you manage to shift slightly, just enough to feel the weight of the leather seat beneath you, the tightness of your clothes against your skin.

There’s a rustle next to you, and then Max is there, leaning over you, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr. “You’re awake.”

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and all that comes out is a faint croak.

“Shh,” Max soothes, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Don’t try to talk. You’re still a little out of it.”

Your heart races, and you try to push yourself up, but your limbs are still sluggish, your body refusing to obey.

Max watches you for a moment, then smiles. “Don’t worry,” he says. “This will all make sense soon enough.”

You want to scream, to lash out, to fight, but you can’t. You’re trapped, and Max knows it.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, leaning in close, his breath warm against your skin. “And I’ll make sure you understand that.”

Terror grips you, but there’s nothing you can do. Not yet.

Max sits back, his eyes never leaving you, and for the first time, you realize just how much danger you’re in.

The world outside the car is quiet, the faint rustle of leaves the only sound in the stillness. You’re groggy, trying to push through the fog in your mind as Max’s hands move to unbuckle your seatbelt. His touch is efficient, calculated, not gentle. The door opens with a soft click, and you feel the cool night air wash over your skin.

Max leans down, his face close to yours, eyes sharp and watchful. “I’m going to carry you inside,” he says, almost as if he’s giving you permission to protest. But you can’t. You can barely lift your head. The drug still lingers, turning your limbs to lead.

Without another word, he slides his arms under you, lifting you effortlessly. His grip is secure, possessive, and you can feel the strength in his muscles as he carries you out of the car and toward the looming silhouette of a villa in the distance. It’s massive. Larger than anything you’ve ever seen in real life, with sprawling gardens that stretch into the darkness. The villa itself is lit from within, a soft glow spilling through tall windows. It’s beautiful in a cold, detached way, like a piece of art you can admire but never touch.

As Max carries you up the long driveway, his pace is steady, unhurried. He isn’t worried about anyone seeing him. He’s confident. Why wouldn’t he be? There’s no one around. No one to help.

“Where are you taking me?” You manage to whisper, your voice weak but steady enough to ask the question that’s been burning in your mind.

Max doesn’t stop walking. He doesn’t even look at you. “Home,” he replies simply.

You swallow, the word landing like a stone in your chest. “This isn’t-”

“It will be,” he cuts you off, his voice calm, like he’s already made up his mind about everything. “You’ll see.”

You try to focus, to take in every detail. The way the villa seems to stretch forever, the heavy scent of flowers in the air, the distant hum of the sea. The weight of Max’s arms around you, the way his fingers press into your skin as though he’s afraid you might slip away.

But you’re not slipping anywhere.

He carries you through the grand entrance, past doors that swing open with ease, revealing a marble-floored foyer that’s so pristine, it feels untouched. There’s a quietness to the place, a hollow, echoing silence that sends a chill down your spine.

The sound of Max’s shoes against the marble floor is steady, rhythmic, as he carries you through the house. You catch glimpses of rooms as you pass — an opulent dining room with a crystal chandelier, a sitting room with velvet chairs and enormous windows. But it’s all a blur, your mind struggling to hold on to details as exhaustion pulls at you.

Finally, Max stops in front of a set of tall double doors. He shifts you slightly in his arms, then pushes one of the doors open with his shoulder. The room beyond is lavish, even more opulent than the rest of the villa. The bed is massive, draped in silk and velvet, with heavy curtains framing the windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. The walls are lined with dark wood, polished to a shine, and a crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting soft light across the room.

Max walks over to the bed, lowering you gently onto the soft mattress. Your body sinks into the silk sheets, and for a moment, it feels like you’re floating. But the comfort is fleeting, replaced quickly by the suffocating weight of reality.

He stands over you, his eyes scanning your face as if he’s searching for something. “This is where you’ll stay for now,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “Until you understand.”

You blink, struggling to keep your thoughts from spiraling out of control. “Understand what?”

Max’s lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. “That you belong here. With me.”

You want to argue, to scream, to do anything to break through the haze that’s clouding your mind. But the words catch in your throat, and all you can manage is a shaky breath.

Max moves to the foot of the bed, his hands clasped behind his back as he regards you with that same unnerving calm. “This is the beginning,” he says softly. “The conditioning will start now.”

Your heart lurches. Conditioning. The word feels clinical, detached, like something out of a textbook. But the way Max says it makes it clear that this is no abstract concept. This is real. It’s happening to you.

“What are you talking about?” You whisper, forcing the words past the lump in your throat.

Max steps closer, his gaze steady, almost gentle. “You’re going to learn to associate certain things with me. Pleasure, comfort, safety. And you’ll learn that being without me ... hurts.” He says it so simply, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your stomach twists. “You can’t ... you can’t do this.”

“I already am,” he replies smoothly, his eyes dark and unreadable. “The process is simple. Every time you wake up, you’ll feel better when I’m here. Worse when I’m not. Eventually, it’ll become instinct. You’ll crave my presence. You’ll need me.”

Your breath quickens, panic rising in your chest. “You’re insane.”

Max tilts his head slightly, as though considering your words. “Maybe,” he says, almost casually. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

Before you can respond, there’s a knock at the door. Max doesn’t react, doesn’t even turn to look as the door swings open. A man enters, dressed in a white coat, carrying a small bag in one hand. He’s older, with graying hair and a sharp, clinical air about him. He looks at you briefly, then turns his attention to Max.

“Everything’s prepared,” the man says, his voice clipped and professional.

Max nods. “Good. Let’s begin.”

The man moves to the side of the bed, setting his bag down on the nightstand. You try to push yourself up, but your body still feels sluggish, uncooperative. Fear surges through you as the man opens the bag, pulling out a syringe filled with clear liquid.

“Wait,” you rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, don’t do this.”

Max moves closer, his gaze fixed on you. “It’s for your own good,” he says softly. “You’ll understand soon.”

The physician takes your arm, finding a vein with practiced ease. You flinch, but the needle is in before you can even protest. The liquid burns as it enters your bloodstream, a slow, creeping warmth that spreads through your body.

Your vision starts to blur again, the edges of the room fading into darkness. Max’s voice is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

“You’ll wake up soon,” he says, his voice gentle, almost soothing. “And when you do, I’ll be here. Right where I belong.”

***

The next time you open your eyes, it feels like hours have passed. Maybe days. You’re not sure. The room is the same, the heavy curtains drawn, the chandelier casting its soft glow across the dark wood and silk.

Max is there, sitting in a chair by the bed, watching you. His presence is like a weight in the room, something you can feel even before you fully register it. The sight of him sends a strange warmth through your chest, a flicker of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice low and steady.

You blink, trying to shake off the fog that still clings to your mind. “What ... what did you do?”

Max leans forward slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I told you,” he says softly. “The conditioning has begun.”

You try to sit up, but your body feels weak, drained. The drug — whatever they gave you — is still working its way through your system, dulling your senses. But even through the haze, you can feel it. The strange pull toward Max, the inexplicable comfort that his presence brings. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.

“You can’t-” you start, but your voice falters. The words don’t come as easily as they should.

Max stands, moving to the side of the bed. “I know it’s confusing right now,” he says, his tone almost kind. “But it’ll get easier. The more time we spend together, the more natural it’ll feel. You’ll stop fighting it.”

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog. “I’ll never-”

“You will,” Max interrupts, his voice firm but not harsh. “You don’t have a choice.”

He reaches out, brushing a hand over your hair, his touch gentle but possessive. The warmth that spreads through you at the contact is immediate, overwhelming, and you hate it. You hate the way your body responds, the way your mind seems to betray you.

“I’ll leave you for now,” Max says, pulling his hand back. “But don’t worry. I won’t be gone long.”

Your heart races as he steps away, moving toward the door. The thought of him leaving sends a sharp pang through your chest, and you can’t understand why. This is what you want. To be free of him. To be alone.

But as the door closes behind him, the room suddenly feels colder, emptier. The warmth he left behind begins to fade, replaced by an aching void that gnaws at you from the inside.

You close your eyes, trying to fight it, trying to cling to your own thoughts, but the emptiness crashes over you like a tidal wave. It’s immediate — sharp and suffocating, spreading through your body like a cold fog. You close your eyes, trying to focus on anything else, but the ache pulses deep inside you. Your muscles tense as though they’re bracing against a storm, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

The room feels unbearably quiet without him, as though the air has been sucked out, leaving only a hollow silence behind. You hate this. You hate how quickly your body has betrayed you, how quickly the comfort of his presence has taken root inside you.

This is wrong, you tell yourself. It’s the drugs, the conditioning.

But the longer he’s gone, the more unbearable the ache becomes. It’s subtle at first, like a distant pressure, but it grows stronger, clawing at your insides until every nerve feels raw and exposed. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you fight against the pull, but it’s relentless.

Time stretches out. You don’t know how long you’ve been lying there, staring up at the ceiling, but it feels like an eternity. Every second without him feels like a thousand needles pressing into your skin. Your body screams for relief, for the warmth of his presence to soothe the burning ache inside you.

You grit your teeth, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. This isn’t real, you think, but your body doesn’t care. All it knows is that it hurts.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, the door opens.

The relief is instant. The moment Max steps into the room, the ache that’s been gnawing at you recedes, replaced by a wave of warmth that rushes through your veins. You hate it. You hate how quickly the pain fades, how easily your body responds to him, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

Max walks in slowly, his eyes locked on you, taking in every detail of your face as if reading the changes in your expression. You don’t need to speak for him to know what you’re feeling. He can see it. He can see how desperate your body is for the comfort he brings, even though your mind is screaming for it to stop.

“I told you,” Max says softly, moving closer to the bed. “You’ll feel better when I’m here.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your throat feels tight, the words trapped inside you, and the worst part is you don’t know if they’d come out as anger or something worse.

Max sits on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. The touch is gentle, careful, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m here to make you feel good,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “That’s what I’ll always do. As long as you behave for me.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. He says it like a promise, like he genuinely believes that he’s helping you.

“I don’t need you,” you manage to whisper, your voice shaking. “I don’t want this.”

Max’s smile is soft, almost pitying. “Your body says otherwise.” His fingers trail down your cheek, brushing against your skin. “You can fight it all you want, but you’ll always feel better when I’m close. That’s the way it’s going to be.”

You try to pull away from his touch, but your body betrays you, craving the warmth and relief that comes with his proximity. The ache that had threatened to consume you moments ago is gone, replaced by a simmering heat that spreads through your limbs, making your skin tingle under his fingertips.

Max watches you closely, his eyes dark and calculating as he gauges your reaction. “See?” He murmurs, his voice soft and coaxing. “You’re already starting to understand.”

“I hate you,” you whisper, but even as you say the words, your body is reacting to him, leaning into his touch despite the protests screaming in your mind.

Max doesn’t flinch at your words. If anything, he seems amused. “Hate me if you want,” he says, his tone light. “But your body knows the truth.”

His hand moves lower, trailing down your arm, sending a ripple of sensation through you that you can’t control. Your breath catches in your throat as the warmth intensifies, and you clench your fists, trying to fight the pull.

Max’s fingers skim the edge of your dress, his eyes never leaving yours as he watches the way your body reacts. “You’ll feel good, I promise,” he whispers. “Better than you’ve ever felt before.”

You shake your head, panic rising in your chest. “No-”

But Max doesn’t stop. His hand slips under the fabric of your dress, his touch deliberate and slow as he hikes it up over your thighs, exposing your skin to the cool air of the room. Your heart races, a mixture of fear and something you don’t want to name thrumming through your veins.

“Shh,” Max soothes, his voice steady. “You’ll learn to trust me. To need me. It’s already happening.”

You try to close your legs, but his hands are firm, guiding you open, controlling the movement of your body as if you’re nothing more than a doll in his hands. A small, broken sound escapes your throat, but he doesn’t stop, his fingers tracing patterns over your skin, making your pulse quicken.

“I told you I’d make you feel good,” he says softly, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “You don’t have to fight it.”

Tears prick at your eyes, your chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths. You want to scream, to kick, to fight him off, but the weight of your own body holds you down. And worse — the warmth that follows his touch, the heat building in your core, it betrays you. You can’t stop the way your body reacts to him, no matter how much you want to.

Max shifts, his knee pressing against the bed as he leans over you, his hand sliding higher under your dress. His fingers graze the edge of your underwear, and your breath hitches, panic and unwanted anticipation coiling together inside you.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Don’t.”

But Max doesn’t listen. His hand slips beneath the fabric, his fingers brushing against you, and the sensation is overwhelming. You arch against him involuntarily, your body moving without your consent, and the heat inside you builds, the ache that had threatened to consume you earlier morphing into something entirely different.

“You’ll come to love this,” Max says, his tone calm, confident. “In time, you’ll crave it.”

You want to scream that he’s wrong, that you’ll never crave this, but your body doesn’t listen. It reacts to his touch, to the way his fingers move, coaxing a response out of you that you can’t control.

Max’s other hand moves to your hair, brushing it back gently as he leans down, his lips close to your ear. “Let go,” he whispers. “Stop fighting it. I’ll take care of you.”

Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as the heat builds inside you, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge, caught between the need to escape and the unbearable sensation that’s pushing you closer to a precipice you don’t want to fall over.

“I’ll always make you feel good,” Max murmurs, his fingers moving faster over your clit, his voice a steady, calming presence in the storm raging inside you. “As long as you’re good for me.”

Your body tenses, the wave crashing over you, pulling you under. You gasp, your back arching off the bed as the sensation overwhelms you, drowning out every thought, every protest, until there’s nothing left but the blinding heat of release.

Max’s hand stills, his touch softening as the aftershocks ripple through you, and he watches, his expression unreadable as you come undone beneath him. You hate it. You hate every second of it. But the worst part is that your body craves it.

Max leans back, his hand trailing away from you, leaving your skin burning in its absence. He stands, adjusting his sleeves as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

“You did well,” he says, his voice soft, almost tender. “I’ll leave you to rest now.”

Your body is limp, your mind spinning as you try to process what’s just happened. The ache is gone, replaced by an empty exhaustion that weighs heavily on your limbs.

Max heads toward the door, pausing only briefly to glance back at you. “Remember,” he says quietly, his eyes dark and intense. “You’ll always feel better when I’m here.”

Then he’s gone, the door closing softly behind him.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, the echo of his touch still lingering on your skin. The room is silent again, but this time the silence isn’t cold. It’s suffocating, pressing down on you like a heavy blanket, and for the first time since you arrived in this place, you realize just how trapped you are.

And worst of all, you know that he’s right.

***

The door opens again.

This time, when you hear it, your body doesn’t flood with fear, or even confusion — it’s anticipation. The ache that had returned in his absence is quickly soothed as Max steps into the room, his presence undeniable, filling the space with a charged energy that you’ve come to crave.

His steps are measured, deliberate, as he crosses the room to you. There’s no hesitation in his movement, no uncertainty. He knows exactly what he’s doing and what you both agreed upon. The room feels smaller when he’s in it, like the walls close in, but in a way that feels safe, protected — like nothing can touch you except him.

Max’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile as he comes to the side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. He says nothing at first, letting the moment linger between you, thick and heavy. You’re not sure if you should speak or wait for him to break the silence.

He doesn’t make you wait long.

“Good girl,” he murmurs softly, his voice like velvet as he leans down, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “You were perfect.”

There’s a flutter of warmth in your chest at the praise, something that makes you feel both proud and vulnerable all at once. You blink up at him, your body still exhausted from what just happened, but there’s something comforting about the way he’s looking at you now. The way his hand reaches out to caress your cheek, tender and affectionate, as if to erase any remnants of the harshness from before.

“I wasn’t sure if you could handle it,” Max continues, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with an intimacy that feels far more personal than anything he’s done before. “But you did. You always do, don’t you?”

You nod, your throat tight, the words caught somewhere between your mind and your mouth. You can’t quite shake the feeling of how intense everything was, how quickly it all escalated. But now, with him here, touching you like this, the pieces of the scene start to fall away, revealing what lies underneath.

Max watches you, waiting for your response, but he’s patient. He always is, especially after something like this. He knows you need time to come back down, to find your footing after the role you’ve both played.

“Was it … okay?” You manage to ask, your voice still soft and hesitant. There’s a vulnerability in your tone, a need for reassurance, even though you know how he feels.

Max’s eyes soften, and he leans down to kiss you — soft, slow, and deliberate. His lips linger against yours, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss. It’s a different kind of intensity now, one that speaks to the connection you both share. When he finally pulls back, there’s a hint of amusement in his gaze.

“More than okay,” he whispers. “You were incredible.”

The tension that had been coiled inside you loosens at his words, and you feel yourself relax against the pillows. Max’s praise always has this effect on you, like it fills in the cracks and makes everything feel right again.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lower lip as he studies your face. “Every second of it was perfect because it was with you.”

The weight of those words settles into your chest, grounding you in the reality of what you both share. It’s all an act — a scene you agreed upon. Max has always been careful, always made sure you were okay with everything. That’s how it works between you two. The intensity, the control, the power dynamic — it’s all part of the game, part of what you’ve both built together. But underneath it all is the love, the trust that binds you to him.

He presses another kiss to your lips, softer this time, a gesture of affection rather than dominance. When he pulls away, there’s a lightness in his expression, a warmth that makes the remnants of the scene melt away completely.

“I have something for you,” he says, standing up and walking toward the door. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

You watch as he exits the room, the anticipation building again, though this time it’s mixed with curiosity. Moments later, Max returns, pushing a small cart laden with trays of food. The smell hits you first — rich, savory, and mouthwatering. Your stomach growls in response, reminding you that you haven’t eaten in what feels like forever.

Max notices, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a satisfied smile. “I thought you might be hungry.”

You sit up slightly, propping yourself on your elbows as Max wheels the cart over to the side of the bed. He lifts the lids from the trays, revealing an array of delicacies — perfectly grilled meats, roasted vegetables, fresh fruit, and decadent desserts. It’s more than just a meal, it’s a feast.

“Let me,” Max says, reaching for a fork. He cuts a small piece of steak and holds it out to you, his eyes watching your every movement, waiting for you to take the first bite.

You hesitate for only a moment before leaning forward, letting him feed you. The flavors burst across your tongue, rich and savory, and you can’t help the small sound of appreciation that escapes your lips.

Max’s smile widens. “Good?”

You nod, swallowing before responding. “It’s amazing.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and there’s that familiar warmth in his voice again, the praise sinking into your skin like sunlight. He cuts another piece of food, feeding it to you before leaning in to kiss you between bites.

Each kiss is soft, slow, and filled with an affection that feels worlds away from the intensity of earlier. You sink into the moment, into the comfort of his presence, letting yourself be taken care of.

“You were so perfect for me,” Max whispers between kisses, his lips brushing against your cheek. “I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

You smile softly, feeling the tension of the day melt away as you let him feed you, let him take care of you. There’s something intimate about the act, something grounding. It’s not just about the food — it’s about the connection, the way he looks at you with such devotion in his eyes.

Max takes his time, savoring the moment as much as you are. He alternates between feeding you and stealing kisses, each one a little longer, a little deeper than the last. His hands are gentle as they move over your skin, brushing your hair back, cupping your face, his touch always lingering just a little longer than necessary.

“You have no idea how proud I am of you,” he murmurs against your lips. “The way you trust me, the way you let go. It’s everything I could ever want.”

You close your eyes, leaning into him, the warmth of his words settling deep inside you. It’s always like this after a scene — the tenderness, the closeness. Max knows how to bring you back, how to make you feel safe and loved after everything.

“I couldn’t do it without you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softening even more. “We do this together. That’s what makes it so special.”

There’s a weight to his words, a promise that echoes in the quiet of the room. You nod, knowing it’s true. You wouldn’t be able to do any of this without him — not the scenes, not the intensity, not the way you let yourself go completely when you’re with him.

Max leans in again, kissing you deeply this time, his hands cradling your face as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. When he finally pulls away, there’s a hunger in his eyes, but it’s not the same hunger from earlier. This one is softer, more intimate, and it makes your heart swell in your chest.

“I love you,” he says again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too,” you reply, the words coming easily, naturally, because they’re the truest thing you know.

Max smiles, a slow, satisfied smile that makes your stomach flip. He reaches for one of the desserts on the tray — a small piece of chocolate cake — and holds it out to you. You take a bite, and before you can even swallow, Max is kissing you again, his lips tasting of chocolate and sweetness.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against your lips, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of kisses and laughter, the food slowly disappearing from the trays as Max continues to feed you, praising you with every bite and every kiss. The intensity of earlier is long gone, replaced by something deeper, something that feels like home.

And as you lie there in his arms, sated and content, you know that no matter what happens, no matter how intense the scenes get, you’ll always have this — this quiet, tender intimacy that belongs to just the two of you.

[sofstiltskin]

Astrology observations pt 4 🌺

❀ sun-moon synastry : you will always come back to each other 🫣 ( great indicator for strong mutual attraction )

❀ mars-venus synastry : the mars person finds very sexually appealing venus person

❀ when air placements have crush on you they will either be mean (without any reason) or very pleasant to you, due to their childish behaviour in love 🤪

❀ venus in 3rd transit -> someone will be attracted to your way of speaking or vice versa

❀ I read somewhere that 12th house signs are your hidden enemies, but I think that they are the people from whom you can learn a lot bout urself ! ( from my experience)

❀ Your childhood friends can have a placements in sign of your 4th and 5th house (even 11th house) 🎀

Have a nice evening/day guys & tysm for 100 followers <33

- Sof

[br0kenangel]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

The Red Keep's garden was a haven of peace, its vibrant blooms and lush greenery basking in the warm embrace of the afternoon sun. You sat on a stone bench beneath a pergola, a book open in your lap. The pages fluttered slightly in the breeze, but your attention was divided between the words and the laughter of the children playing nearby.

Aegon and Aemond were chasing each other around. Little Daeron, still unsteady on his feet, toddled after them, his giggles rising each time he stumbled and was helped up by his brothers. Your heart warmed at the sight, a tender smile curving your lips. These were the moments you cherished most—when the weight of court life melted away, leaving only the simple joys of your children.

Beside you, Helaena sat cross-legged on the grass, her silver hair shimmering in the sunlight. She was engrossed in watching a beetle crawl across her palm, her violet eyes following its every movement with a kind of dreamy fascination. Helaena had always been different—her mind seemed to wander in places others couldn’t follow, and her words often carried an unsettling weight, as if she were speaking from another world.

“Do you like your new friend?” you asked, closing your book and watching Helaena with affection.

Helaena glanced up, a faint smile on her lips. “He’s searching,” she said softly, her tone faraway. “But he doesn’t know what he’s looking for… not yet.”

You chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Helaena’s ear. “Perhaps he’ll find it soon.”

Helaena’s gaze shifted to Aegon, her expression growing more serious. “He will,” she murmured. “But when he does, it will be heavy… heavier than he can bear.”

You frowned slightly, your heart skipping a beat at the odd phrasing. “What do you mean, sweetling?”

Helaena’s eyes, still fixed on the Aegon, seemed to see something beyond the present. “The sun will wear a crown,” she said, “But the crown will burn, and the throne will weep.” her voice low and melodic. “It’s made of thorns, and every rose has its price.”

The cryptic words sent a chill through you. Helaena often spoke in riddles, but this one felt different, more ominous. “A crown of thorns?” you echoed, trying to decipher the meaning. “What kind of price?”

“He will lose a part of himself, stolen by the shadows,” Helaena answered. She turned her gaze back to the beetle, her fingers lightly tracing its path. “The moon will pay the price in blood,” she whispered, almost as if to herself. “He will close an eye to gain a flame. A shadow will fall where the moon once shone, and he will see the world through only one eye.”

Your heart pounded as you tried to make sense of the riddle. “Helaena, what are you talking about? Who will lose an eye?”

Helaena looked up at you, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of clarity in her violet eyes. “And the star… he's the brightest, but he will be dead before his time” she continued, her voice tinged with sorrow, “The star will fall far from home, he will shine brightly before he falls, where no one can hear his cries. The sky will mourn, and the ground will drink his tears.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The words were like pieces of a puzzle, each one pointing to a grim fate for the children you loved so dearly. The sun—the moon—the star… You didn’t need their names to understand whom Helaena was speaking of.

“Helaena,” you said, your voice trembling slightly, “how do you know these things?”

But Helaena had already retreated back into her own world, her attention once again focused on the beetle. “The dreams,” she whispered, “but no one listens until it's too late.”

You felt a wave of cold fear wash over you. Helaena wasn’t just a child with strange thoughts—she was seeing the future, though her visions were veiled in riddles that most would dismiss as nonsense.

Most, but not you.

You gently took Helaena’s hands in your own, your voice soft but urgent. “Sweetling, please… tell me more. What do the riddles mean? What can we do?”

Helaena looked up at you, her eyes distant once more. “You can’t change the wind,” she said quietly. “It will blow as it wishes. But… the lioness can shield her cubs from the storm, if she’s strong enough.”

You pulled Helaena into a tight embrace, your heart aching with a mix of love and fear. “I’ll protect you all,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to Helaena’s forehead. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Helaena rested her head against your shoulder, her small arms wrapping around you. “The darkness is coming,” she murmured, “The lioness is strong.” she murmured, her voice muffled against your dress. “But the storm is stronger.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you held Helaena close, the girl’s cryptic words echoing in your mind. You glanced over at your sons, who were still playing, oblivious to the dark future Helaena had glimpsed.

For now, all you could do was hold them close and prepare for the storm that Helaena had foretold. You would be their shield, even if the dragons themselves came to tear them apart.

“Everything will be alright,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Helaena. “I promise.”

Part 1 ♡ Part 3 ♡ Part 4 ♡ Part 5 ♡ Part 6

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[sashiavi]

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

this has been rotting in my documents since October </3 abandoned kinktober prompt I just couldn't get out of my head :((

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♡𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗♡ Wriothesley x Reader - wrio finds you stuck in a wall

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Well, well. What an amusing predicament. Wriothesley certainly didn't expect his morning to turn out so… Interestingly. 

The Duke makes his rounds through the Fortress of Metropide twice a day. Once in the morning and again during the young hours of the night, right when the sun sets. Not that its rays could be seen so far down under the surface of the sea, but the sentiment was there. Wriothesely would often be seen passing through the establishment's pleasantries, always making a stop by the inmate sleeping quarters, he ought to have an idea of exactly whom he had in his Fortress.. Right?

He ventures further than the guards are assigned, boots clicking coolly against the metallic flooring, echoing through the high domed ceilings of the holding pods. The Duke makes an effort into personally peeking a look into each isolated cell, sometimes striking up a small conversation with an inmate or two. The man knew all-too-well just how lonesome time in prison was, he could at least acknowledge their existences. 

Speaking of, his mind wanders as he approaches a specific cell, isolated and cold - Away from the rest, segregated by the Fortress’ rule of separating cases, depending on their verdict - Wriothesley flitters back to a conversation he held the night before -

- “Now, what's a girl like you doing here in my Fortress?” Wriothesley leans himself upon the bars of your cell. The area was quiet, isolated with little inhabitants, even more so during the day time, while inmates congregated within the public area of the fortress. You jump slightly, whipping around to face him. 

“Oh, you know.. Stuff..” You reply, looking a little shameless towards him. He had an inkling that you were up to no good. But he’d bite.

“How’s the Fortress treating you? Despite the whole prison aspect,” He chuckles to himself, earning your own laugh, dancing in his ears.

“It’s.. a little boring in here,” He watches your eyes wander around the cell.

“Well- At least you have that poster there, plenty of fun to stare at, I’m sure.” Wriothesley lets his eyes crinkle. The poster was large, stuck to the wall haphazardly, crooked and torn on one corner. “That thing could cover up anything,” He side comments. He watches your interest pique, head tilting in what he could only describe as thought - A stupid one he thinks. 

“I wouldn't try it, you just might escape. I can't have that happen, now can I?” He winks, finally continuing his evening round throughout the section of the fortress.

All of that circles back to the now, as Wriothesley approaches your cell on his morning patrol. Something stirs in his chest, a tickling inkling. He nearly half expects you to have followed his gracious ‘advice’ - If you could even call it that. 

Lo and behold, the Duke spots a special individual poking out from the cracked cell wall. Your lower half nearly dangles from the partition, practically on tippy toes, ankles surely close to giving out from the awkward position. The poster from the night before lays perfectly on the floor next to your frame, comically outlining just how bad you had messed up. He nearly chuckles at the sudden jolt of your body as he unlocks the cell door, craning it open with an obnoxious creak.

“Well.. Aren’t you something?” His heavy boots resonate through the near barren cell, echoing as he makes his way towards your predicament.

You helplessly squirm, whining out of your throat as you fruitlessly struggle in your impromptu confines. Wriothesley stares down at you in utter bemusement, his face cracking with an audacious downturned smile; not that you could see his face through the thick prison wall. Poor You. All lodged and stuck.

"Y-Your Grace! It's not what it looks like-" Your voice manages through the wall, a little muffled to the ear. However, Wriothesley was sure you hadn’t even broken into the adjacent room.

"It's exactly what it looks like. Who knew you'd actually try it." He almost laughs. It wasn’t like you were going to go anywhere - Last he checked, the Fontainian Ocean was right outside their door.

“Seemed like a decent idea..” Wriothesley has to strain to hear your mumble.

“We’re far under the water dear.. Or did you forget in your haste?” This time, he makes no effort to stifle his laugh, chuckling out loud when your form visibly slumps - Whether out of embarrassment or defeat - He was thoroughly amused.

“Hmm.. Now, what do we do with you?” Wriothesley teases. He cranes his body, bending his back with purpose, inspecting the damage you had added to the already faulty wall. How you had managed to wiggle your way in this far, he hadn't a clue. Your body noticeably tenses, you make an attempt to find a proper footing, easily failing from the height of the hole.

“P-Please Your Grace- I’ll do anything, really! Anything you want just- please don’t add time for this..”

“You’ll do.. Anything…?” Call him confused, what were you on about?

“Yes, anything- ch-chores? Solitary? I’ll be good I swear, really- Or you could..” You trail off, leaving the Duke to sit with his whirring brain for a moment. “You.. Can take me… Use me how you want- Please~ Y-You’re stressed right? U-Use me.. Do whatever you wanna-” You sounded nearly delirious. Your pretty ass shakes, brushing up against the front of his pants, a feeble attempt to press back into him.

Were you trying to bargain with him? Wriothesley was more than ready to pull you out, maybe give a little slap on the wrist and send you on your merry way. But now? The Duke couldn't help but indulge in the feeling of his pants tightening around his groin. The idea of taking your pretty self, stuck helplessly in the wall. He couldn't refuse your offer, right? Not when you sounded so eager. Not when you begged for him, for his body, for his thick aching cock, threatening to burst the seam of his trousers. 

Before he can properly stop himself - Not that he was really going to - Wriothesley finds his hands on the soft swell of your ass, squeezing the flesh in his palms. You jolt under his touch, footing slipping slightly against the floor that barely brushed against your toes. Wriothesley breathes hard from his nose, hooking his fingers into the cut of your waistband, pulling the fabric over your form. He hears a whimper from beyond the wall.

“Y-Your Grace…The wall..” Your voice wobbles, body tensing against the brush of his hands.

“What? Having second thoughts?” He can’t help but tease you, squishing his fingers into the soft meat of your ass, digging his hands into your half-on pants. You did say anything. You gasp out, voice cracking with muffled little pleas. ‘Never’ you say ‘Want it bad - so bad’.

Your pants come off quickly, thrown to the floor in a crumple. Wriothesley’s hands are on you again, spreading the fat of your ass apart, marvelling at the pretty swell of your pussy hugged against your panties. He watches your plush thighs squish together, rubbing and squirming in his hold, he couldn't tell if you were wiggling away or keening into him. Not that you could go anywhere. The thought irks a chuckle out of Wriothesley. His fingers wander again, caressing over the soft skin of your ass, digging them in and jiggling cheekily. His thumbs slide over and hook into the elastic of your panties, hugging around the thick of your legs. He meanly tugs at the snappy material, pulling it up and taught, forcing the fabric to cling achingly against your cunt. His tongue instinctively pokes from behind his lips, itching to lap at the pretty wet spot that had formed over the fabric. 

Wriothesley swallows thickly, eyes locked on your pretty cunt, head swimming with the short, hiccuped whines that cut through the wall. You babble and cry, repeating his title over and over - Your Grace, Your Grace - begging him to just touch. To do anything - Anything. 

Your pretty voice gets to him and he finds himself nearly ripping your drenched panties off of you. He pulls them down, leaving them dangling off of your legs, showing off your wet cunt just for him. Gods, he wasn't disappointed. Your pretty pussy peeks from behind the swell of your thighs, already dripping wet, all over yourself. He swears he twitches, breath hissing through his teeth, cold on your core. The sweet jump you make - as best as you could - sends him reeling. 

Wriothesley’s thick fingers tentatively poke at your dripping pussy, catching your sweet, dribbly slick on his fingertips. He awes at how it webs between his fingers, how you’d managed to work yourself up with your own babbling. Perhaps the wall aided a little - Showing off your bottom half, on full display just for him to enjoy, your own vision obscured. You wouldn't see anything coming. The thought runs straight to his cock, making itself well known again against the fly of his trousers. 

Wriothesley licks against his lips, enamoured at the pretty string of your slick on his fingers, sticking between his digits like a lattice. He needs more. He wastes no time, easily slipping in two of his fingers, knuckle deep right into the doughy swell of your hole. Gods, you felt so soft. Silky to his touch, pussy pretty and plushy and warm. The squeal that muffles through the wall forces him to sink his teeth into his own bottom lip. Toying with you came to him naturally. Ever so easy with you all snug and stuck, silly enough to try and swindle him and escape your commitment to the Fortress. 

“W-Wriothesley… your g-grace..” He ignores you, fingers digging into the sweet, supple curve of your cunt. He curls them downward, earning the prettiest, muffled cries through the wall. He releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Wriothesley thrusts his fingers hard. Pressing meanly into the achy swollen bump in your core, getting a kick out of the lewd suckling squelch of your pussy on his fingers. Your poor legs practically give out, ankles going limp, your body holding itself up thanks to the wall hugging your body. Your voice crackles through the cement, whiney and keening, babbling dumb nonsensical begs and pleads to him. Your slick pools against his knuckles, threatening to overturn the snug fit of his rings on his fingers. He can't help but stare, locked in, mind reeling with the way your cunt wrapped around his digits. He couldn't help but wonder just what that pretty little thing would look like, all red and puffy, hugging on his thick cock.

He shamelessly lets out his own groan. Finally managing to remove his fingers, watching in awe as your slick drips off of them, connecting him to you with a thin, dribbly line. 

Just a taste…

The thought zaps through his brain, tongue shamelessly poking its way past his teeth, running over his lips with a quick tilt of his head.

Wriothesley wastes no time. Wrapping his lips against your slick cunt, eyes rolling hard into the back of his skull. Fuck. Your taste on his tongue, sweet and tangy, oh so decadently coating his throat. Archons, he laps and suckles, nearly sinking his teeth into the heat of your core, into the puffy swell of your pussy lips. You keen back into him, whining never-ending, absolutely ceaseless, voice managing to pierce through the heavy material of the wall you’d stuck yourself in. That thought charges through his mind again. Poor little you, all stuck and lodged in the wall all for him to play with. The man was sure he would cream in his own pants if he kept up. He barely registers his knees beginning to ache under the heavy pressure of his own body meeting the floor. Since when had he managed to sink down? Finding his hands back on your plushy ass cheeks? Chin dribbling slobber and slick, sticking wetly to the scratchy stubble shadowing over his face? He couldn't take it anymore. 

Wriothesley stands with a start, ignoring the stiff crack of his knees in favour of unbuckling his godforsaken pants. His hands are clumsy, large palms pawing at the metal of his trousers, his belt suddenly too intricate for his rough, fervent body to figure out - Not with how his mind reels, with the sight of you stuck in the wall, pretty pussy drooling, on display all for him. He barely shoves his pants to his thighs, the material wrapping around his legs in a mess. His cock weeps as it's free, slapping up into his stomach, heavy balls hanging over the waist of his trousers. He leaks beads of sticky pre, messing up the surface of his dress shirt. Wriothesley groans out loud, hand coming up to wrap around the base of his cock, squeezing it up and down to ease the hot tension pulsing through his thick cock vein. 

He was sure you heard the cold clink of his belt, the only inkling of what was to come for you. He can't help but jerk his length off to the sight of you, shamelessly stalling just to mess with your head. No matter how much you squirm and beg, crying out as best as you could, stupidly asking for a reply to gather any kind of indication of what he was about to do to you. He stays silent.

Wriothesley meanly slaps his cock over the sticky, wet folds of your achy cunt, he chuckles when you jump again, going absolutely crazy for your every little reaction. Your pussy sounded so pretty on his tip, all wet and sticky as he slapped and rubbed against it. His fat tip slides over your warm, slick folds, craning his hips forward, catching against your sopping hole, earning him the softest gasps from within the wall. Your little jumps all but spur him all the more on.

“M’ not even in yet.. Pussy’s already tryin’ to suck me in,” Wriothesley pokes his tip against your hole, catching it against the warm, supple squeeze of your cunt. He growls through his teeth, head quickly draining of any cohesive decision making. Your babbling continues through the wall, your hips crane up into his own, wiggling and catching back on the thick head of his dick. Gods, that does it. You were insatiable, all stuck waiting for him to come along and ravage your pretty cunt with his cock. 

It all urges him to dive in, give your poor cunt no warning for his thick, dribbling cock.

And so he does.

“Fuuuckk” Wriothesley can’t help but groan, finally feeling the sweet swell of your cunt enveloped the fat length of his cock. He has to bite into his thumb, just to slow himself down, let himself relish in the sweet squeeze of your cunt on his cock. Gods the way you wrapped around him, silky soft walls hugging on his length. He can't help but awe at the way your achy pussy squeezed on him, all puffy and sore from neglect. His hands find your hips, one of the only parts free from the wall.

“Your Grace~.. So big- so biiig… Filling me up- please please… please” Your silly voice cracks through the wall. Wriothesley digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips, purposely lifting your poor legs off of the floor, leveraging your body just for him to use. You squirm in his hold, easily forcing him to grip you tighter.

“Fuck, stay still. Gonna make me go crazy..” Wriothesley finds himself mindlessly rocking his thick cock into your silky cunny, humping his hips against your ass like some kind of dog in rut. Archons, he could get used to this. His own personal little wall slut, always there for him to use and abuse. His eyes roll at the idea, his snapping hard, earning a loud hiccuped cry from within the thick wall. The hot squelch that follows has him nearly drooling, mouth dropped open in a soft frown, eyes locked on to his heavy cock sliding in and out of your dumb cunt. He fucks his hips hard again, cock head smacking into the deepest parts of your pussy.

Wriothesley doesn't remember speeding up. But he sure as hell won't be slowing down - not anytime soon. Your gushy pussy squelches on his cock, dribbling down your thighs, messing all over your poor aching legs. Wriothesley’s fingers keep a hold of your hips, rocking them slightly to meet his brutal pace. He doesn't have to crane his ears to hear your pretty moans, effortlessly reaping through the solid wall, barely muffled by the sheer loudness of your voice. 

Fuck, he didn’t care about the noise. Let everyone hear them. What were they going to do about it? What were you going to do about it? About getting all stuck in this wall, going against the Fortress’ protocol? Seducing the Duke of the Meropide, forcing him to fuck your dumb brains out to teach you a lesson? A growl resonates from his throat, hips snapping hard, clapping into the sweet swell of your ass cheeks as he fucks up your cunt. 

Wriothesley’s eyes wander, locking down on the sweet jiggle of your ass and the puffy red throb of your cunt on his cock. A heavy breath makes its way through his nose, eyes hyper focused on the pretty, creamy ring around his length as he fucks his hips against you, slowly leaking its way on to his pants. An ache builds in his pelvis, thick vein pulsing on the underside of his cock. Your moans don't stop, legs continuously squirming in his grasp, body stuck in the juncture of your silly wall. He thinks you beg, maybe you scream, crying out for him to keep going, to fill you up to cum hard and deep and mess up your insides. 

Wriothesley drops your legs, forcing you to dangle, his hands press into the wall above, grinding his hips upwards, stabbing your pussy impossibly deeper with his length. Sweat beads off of his nose, his calves cramp and ache with every thrust he makes, but Gods, he wasn't going to stop. He finds himself moaning out loud, complementing the pretty noises that creak through the wall. Your pussy hugs on his length, squeezing nice and tight, wrapping around his fat tip every time he slams it back into you. 

His teeth grit hard. Eyes still locked on to the messy slide of his length, in and out, in and out. He was coming close. So fucking close.

Wriothesley’s brow scrunches, relishing in the aching squeeze of your messy pussy on his cock. He couldn't take it anymore. The creamy ring he’d fucked out of you, the pretty ripple of your ass on his hips, how juicy and gushy your cunt was on his length. Gods, it was all so much. His hips snap, pace faltering, clapping his hips in heated staccatos, dragging his length out and slamming right back in with a hard smack. You cry with every thrust, silky cunt squeezing on his tip, babbling his name over and over and over. 

He finally spills with a deep, hard fuck. His thick tip spurts hot rivulets of cum into your silky pussy. He messes your insides with white, fucking himself through his orgasm, humping up on your cunt, mounting your pussy with his cock. His throat growls with every fuck, sweat beads off of the tip of his nose, he watches his hot spurts leak steadily out of your hole, leaking around the base of his length. He can’t help but nestle right into your cunt, relishing in the sweet squeeze of your milky walls on him, he cranes his hips every so often, teasing his aching tip with your soft insides.

You kick and whine as eventually, he pulls out, dribbling his hot white cum down your thighs. 

“No~ need more! More more!” Your muffled voice cries, pitifully wiggling within the hug of the wall, attempting to squirm your way out.

Wriothesley chuckles hotly, eying off the sweet gush of cum that drools out of your puffy pussy. His mouth waters, salivating like a dog. Surely he could take you out of the wall a little later? You’d understand. You’d been a great little wall slut for him so far, so why not indulge for as long as he wanted? Maybe he'd let you cum, spray and mess all over yourself - He could even let you out as a reward.

His finger comes up to caress over your spent hole, scooping up the leaking slick that coated your poor pussy. The cry he earns makes his half-hard cock stiffen, bobbing to life with a flex.

Archons, weren’t you something?

hnnnnnng gg g wrio wooof wOof - my longest fics are always wrio </3

Idk what possessed me to create this- I hope you enjoyed ;3

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always, Always Appreciated! Ilysm <333

♡ᵀᵃᵍˡᶦˢᵗ♡

@madsw9 @pvbbyb0y @heath-sama @shiningpaint-marbleheart @the-massive-simp @tericula @a-random-weeb @mechalily @mydarlingdahlia @finnie9479

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Do Not Translate Or Repost - Property Of SashiAvi ♡

[lxdymoon0357]

I’m seeing requests are open, craving Callisto (from Death is the only ending for the Villainess or Villains are destined to die) X reader. Prompt; they are in a relationship for years, and it’s healthy as it can be, and in healthy relationships arguments are bound to happen no? One day they have an argument that escalates so much that the reader cries, and this is the first time that Callisto witnesses them cry ever. Feel free to range this from tears sliding down the cheeks or full on bawling, but how would Callisto react to seeing his beloved cry for the very first time in an argument in a relationship they have been in for years?

(Okay, now I'm too sure if this came out well....But it's pretty short, kinda upset about that)

© Writing belongs to me, Lxdymoon0357. Do not plagiarize, but reblogging, liking and commenting is deeply appreciated.

The heart tears apart...

...They say guilt is like rust- it is slow...but powerful and it eats the person alive...How was Callisto suppose to realize that saying was true until your cries fell on deaf ears...? This was not what he thought was result in tonight's anger...And it was all his fault...

He had been upset all day after someone spoke ill of your relationship, saying you're too good for him or he's too wild or he's not deserving of it...He's proud of his achievements, including achieving your love, but sometimes when chronic words are repeated...

They're like tiny pebbles, they don't hurt but there is one stone once in a while which when thrown bleeds into the skin...and that's what happens with vile words of stupid nobles who speak the same thing over and over again...Suddenly he didn't like your relationship for a second, not because of you...Because of himself, he felt angry as his mind spoke that he was tying you down, that he was not worthy of this and that there was someone better for you...

"WHAT DON'T YOU REALIZE, IT'S YOUR UTTER FAULT THAT I DON'T LIKE BEING WITH YOU ANYMORE?!" He yelled angrily, his eyes seeing red

......Was that really him? The one who fell down on his knees in a dying breath when he was away form you for too long, and Callisto didn't realize what he said until it fell in your ears and tears slipped down your cheeks..

Those eyes whom he always wanted to be filled with happiness, the same face he wanted to glow with beauty, smiles and laughter were now covered in tears because of him and suddenly inside him broke as he stopped in between his words, frozen..

You staring down on the ground with tears down your cheeks as he stopped his words, absolutely torn apart,

"Baby-I...I."

he couldn't say anything as he walked closer, he had never seen you cry and he knows why he doesn't let you even cry cause the sight was mentally painful to make him cry on his own as he walked a bit close, taking a hold of your wrist of the hand you were using to rub your eyes harshly to wipe the tears away.

You tried to pull away, but his grip on your wrist was tight as he pulled you in a tight hug, hiding your face in his chest, letting your cry ins expensive tuxedo, inhaling his cologne to calm yourself, clinging to him...

You would have never expected an argument to end with this, as he gently cried in your neck as he sat down and picked you up, pulling him on your lap, apologizing over and over in your skin.

You can't deny, it felt bad...but seeing him upset felt even worse, as you softly ran your fingers through his golden-blonde hair, as if threaded with the purest gold in this world...with the shine of a sun, such a bright smile he had..how sad most people couldn't see it, you did...it was gorgeous and so his sadness hurts just as bad as his anger..

You softly pulled his face up and kissed him, maybe you'll try to fix this again, how gorgeous he was..you couldn't deny his love...and you didn't mind his anger directed at you, even if heart tears apart, he fixed it with all he had..

[cordidy]

A few days ago I wrote this

https://www.tumblr.com/cordidy/769603546439172096/just-needed-to-get-this-out-of-my-head-after?

just because it was in my brain and I'm sooooo happy people liked it.

Here is the part two as demanded. I'm proud with how it came out and I hope you will love reading it as much as I loved writting it 😊

SPOILER for Sylus's Myth

TW : Alcohol, "lady of the night", sadness,

English is not my mother tongue BUT this time it was proofread by @thedeadstoryteller1 whom I love sooooo much for that.

“...Flowers bloom as far as the eye can see…”

“What did you say ?” You groaned, the familiar voice still in your ears as you opened an eye lazily, expecting an answer that never came.

Waking up felt like dying.

Spinning head, dizziness, whole body aching, clearly mistakes were made and atonement was due but God it still hurt.

Slowly opening your eyes as you tried to avoid the blinding light of the sun pouring into your room, you tried to recollect the events of last night…not very efficiently.

A quick look around.

You were alone in your room, not in a drunk tank and fully dressed indicating you did not do nor bring a mistake back home with you, thanks to your bodyguard.

Speaking of bodyguard, you found him in your kitchen, over the stove making ...pancakes ?

“So I did bring an ass…” you started in a tired and raspy voice as you made your way towards the counter before Sylus quickly gestured to his ear.

“I think I’ve been more than generous in my payment planning…”he said calmly while flipping a pancake in the pan as you grabbed a glass of water and some Tylenol before taking a seat, focusing your attention on him.

There was always something intrinsically fascinating when it came to him working. Most of the time you saw two types of Sylus, the asshole trying to get a rise out of you for his own entertainment (kind of cute honestly) or the combatant who would obliterate his enemies while using his Evol to throw things at you when fighting to “keep you on your toes” and because it was “fun”.

Seeing him do things as serious as negotiating a deal or doing his accounting reminded you he was not just a pain in your arse but also a very functioning person.

“Kieran, how many fingers does Mister Vaulric need to play the piano ?” He casually asked on the phone, making you choke on the water you were drinking.

Alright, a psychotic functioning adult…

Silence

He did not turn around when you threw a dishcloth at him, only lowering his head with a sigh.

“You have 1 more week. Increased loan interests, Kieran will handle the details” he finally said, setting the pancakes in a plate before putting them in front of you with a jar of jam, completely ignoring you and your gleaming eyes “Oh and I suggest you don’t leave the N109 Zone for now, we can’t guarantee your…safety…outside of it” he added before he ended the call and took a seat in front of you.

“Did you just threaten a guy in my kitchen ?” you asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the frown on your face. Yes you were friends with a criminal but you were still a law abiding citizen…

Besides, threats made with a lace apron sounded….weird.

“I don’t make threats , only warnings. Eat your pancakes” he retorted, casually sitting in front of you.

“I didn't expect to see you here ” you said while eating.

“Someone had to make sure you were alive after all the alcohol you drank last night”

Whoa, that was cold. You looked at him, uncomfortable.

“No I mean in the kitchen, knowing you, I half expected to wake up to you in my bed” you chuckled trying a bit of humor. Of course you trusted him, knowing he would never attempt anything if you could not or would not consent but…well, no harm in some banter right ?

The joke felt flat though as he remained silent.

“Sooooo no snarky comment about the way I look today with my hangover ? No making fun of me for my poor choices in life ? ” you asked him, trying to break the ice with a bit of teasing. Surely he wasn’t mad at you, was he ?

“Does your head hurt ?” he asked, still not looking at you, texting.

“Yeah ?” you answered your mouth full.

“Do you feel like an idiot for getting so shitfaced you don’t remember anything from last night ?”

You remained silent. 

Last night…clearly something happened last night.

Something bad judging by his attitude towards you. What...what did you do to deserve the cold shoulder from him of all people ? 

You were too slow to respond though as he was already getting up.

“Then the Universe already took care of it on my behalf” he simply said while putting his phone back in his pocket, clearly avoiding eye contact as he grabbed his jacket. “Drink water and take a nap” he added before leaving your apartment without even a goodbye.

Something was wrong.

“Hey, you did not really cut this guy's finger right ?” 

Clearly something was wrong between the two of you and it was starting to bug you.

“Everything alright ? No news for 2 weeks is soooo suss coming from you. Even your pigeon from Hell is not around“

That was the only explanation you had to the fact that Sylus had literally vanished from your life since that morning a month ago.

“Sylus, seriously I'm worried, you ok ?”

Then there was the issue of Luke and Kieran. 

1 month

1 FUCKING month without a call, without a text, without even a reaction on your Moments and the worst part ? It hurt !

At first you had figured he probably was busy with that Vaulric dude he had been talking to at your place and that’s why he did not answer your messages but a whole month just to deal with a loan gone late ?

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on but you….you’re not yourself lately…” Xavier said, leaving his boxing stance after you tripped while attacking him, barely avoiding falling face first on the ground thanks to your partner's quick reaction.

When you had not been able to reach Sylus, you turned to the twins for info, reassurance, a death certificate, anything to just know what was going on but still, nothing. You knew your messages were read by the pair so they had to be at least alive, but they remained unanswered.

This radio silence was starting to take a toll on you as reflected by your sleepless nights that turned you to a mess both physically and emotionally.

“I’m fine. Again !” you brushed off as the young man tried to get to the bottom of what was happening to you. While you had been the one insisting on sparring, hoping it would allow you to blow some steam off, you clearly were not at it and it was getting dangerous.

“No, I'm not fighting until you tell me what's happening !” 

You suppressed a frustrated growl.

Alright, if he wanted to be an easy target…

Next thing you knew, the easy target's fist met your nose as you tried a sneak attack and he reacted out of instinct, color draining from his face when he saw blood dripping from your nose.

“Fuck Y/n I'm sorry ! I…I didn't mean to !” 

This got you a week off duty and another scolding from your physician who had threatened to tie you up on a therapist's chair if you did not work on your current issues.

You didn’t need therapy, though, you needed answers and you were going to get them.

Kudos to Zayne for giving you the idea of tying Sylus up until he talked if need be.

Clearly you were not expected.

You didn’t know what to expect when you pushed Sylus’s office door open that night. Your nose was still puffy, wicks still in one of your nostrils, blood all over your shirt but you did not care what you looked like right now.

You wanted answers and he was going to give them to you, as soon as the stunning woman sitting on his desk, half naked, her long silver hair cascading her back, would be gone.

“I…”

There he was, sitting casually, his shirt half open, engrossed in conversation and your blood ran cold into your veins as the woman leaned towards Sylus to refill his glass with a giggle.

Based on his look, it was not the first…The sound of your voice got his attention though, and, for a split second, you saw shock in his eyes before the mask was up again.

Something you did not like.

“Oooooh, you invited a friend ? The more the merrier I guess but…I charge more for this kind of…fun…” the hooker cooed, playing with Sylus’s hair. “No offence sweety, women are just not my…first choice” she added, smiling at you.

Technically, he didn’t owe you anything. You were friends, nothing more, despite the constant flirting, the glances, the brushing of his hands…yet, seeing him with another woman stirred something inside of you. 

Maybe it was just the global exhaustion you were into but you felt a surge of…possessiveness towards him and you had to refrain yourself from jumping at the young woman in order to not claw her eyes out.

Seeing you hurt, Sylus, your Sylus anyway, would already be on you, checking your nose, getting the twins to bring you clean clothes while pestering you about the how ? When ? why ? and especially who’s teeth he needed to remove for doing that to you but all you got from the man in front of was a laconic “what happened to your nose ?” as he grabbed his glass, barely looking at you, focusing his attention on the young woman.

Part of you wanted to jump at him and hold him tight as you saw he was alive and well but at the same time you wanted to smash his head on the fucking mahogany desk for giving you the cold shoulder.

“What are you doing here ?”

“What I…” yeah, the head smashing was definitely an option as you walked towards him, trying to remain calm. “I came to see you since you decided to avoid me like the Plague lately” you said coldly.

“Leave us” he commanded the woman who didn't need to be told twice. 

She still seemed disappointed as she passed you before grabbing some cash on the coffee table, understanding the party was over. “Well, you saw me”

He remained silent and it made your blood boil with anger. 

“So this is what you’ve been doing for the past month ?” you asked, dumbfounded.

"As far as I can remember, what I do in my free time is none of your business” he pointed out in the same laconic tone.

“Alright…what did I do ? Ever since that night you brought me back home you've been avoiding me !”

You couldn’t bear his attitude towards you, the way he had left the situation fester and rot between you two.

“Don't…” he warned you.

So something did happen and, since you couldn’t remember a thing, you could only rely on him…

“What ? What happened ?! Did you try something ?” 

Deep down you knew it was not that. You trusted him and you knew he would never take advantage of the situation, hence why you called him but maybe…

“You tried something, I pushed you away and you didn't like that…”

…maybe provoking him…

“I think you should leave Y/n” he said in a straight tone, still avoiding your eyes and that's when you snapped.

“LOOK AT ME YOU FUCKING PRICK !” you yelled at him, losing control of your emotions, finally getting a reaction from him as he was not used to being bossed around or insulted. 

That’s when he saw them.

The tears you’ve been keeping up for the past month.

Neither of you could tell if they were tears of sadness, of frustration or of rage but right now, as you looked at him with so much anger and hate and…heartbreak, you were terrifying.

Breathtaking.

A vision for sore eyes that stirred something in him…

Truly and utterly terrified of the man you had been trusting with your life only a month ago.

“A month Sylus…A month without a word ! without a call, without a sign of life ! Do you have any idea how worried I was ?! I thought you were…you were…” you couldn’t say the words, couldn’t admit how the mere thought of it terrified you.

“What ? Dead ?” He let out a resentful  chuckle before taking a sip of whiskey “...you made sure this was never an option for me…” and the bitterness of words hit you like a tone of brick.

“You know…You’re good at that little game of yours” he added casually, finally rising from his chair, making his way towards you “I actually believed in that little…amnesia game…”

“What are you talking about ?” you asked, but he did not listen, too focused on his own train of thoughts.

“...But stupid people say stupid things when they get drunk…” he continued, puzzling you even more “What I don’t get though, is the why” he pondered like he was looking for the answer to a complex riddle.

“Please expla…” you started, confusion replacing the anger.

“STOP WITH THE BULLSHIT !” he yelled back, throwing his glass against the wall and, for the first time, you were scared of him. 

It didn’t take being a genius to know that, between brute strength and his Evol, you were no match if things were to go south. 

“I did everything you asked…” he started, getting closer as you slowly backed away, shaking.

“Sylus you're scaring me…” you said in a genuine tone, fear replacing anger.

“You're noisy…”

That voice again…his voice…

“We set the Sanctuary ablaze…”

“...Fulfilled all of your mortal desirs…” his words dripped…hatred.

He was obviously drunk.

And dangerous.

“Stay back” you warned him, looking for the gun at your belt before aiming at him. Not that it would be of any use anyway but it could eventually buy you time.

“...3 chances..”

“You remind me of a young…”

“I WILL shoot you if you don't back the fuck away Sy !” you warned him but he didn’t stop and you couldn’t bring yourself to shoot.

Your head started to spin as he kept getting closer, your hand shaking, your will faltering as the smell of smoke filled your nose.

Smoke ? What smoke ? What Sanctuary ?

Just like in those nightmares plaguing your nights ever since Sylus and you Resonated…

“We bathed in the blood of your enemies and danced on the corpses of those who wronged you…” 

You could hear it, the screams of terror as fire drowned the city and you laughed in bliss, strong hands laced around you

“Are you satisfied, Beloved ?” 

“Sylus I don’t feel alright…” you whispered as you started to stumble, feeling the familiar sensation of a new Resonnance which didn’t make sense as resonating with him was a tedious process.

It could not happen just like that…could it ?

You were having a hard time focusing on him and his image started to shift ? Almost as if reality was...glitching...and you needed to close your eyes from the dizziness.

When you opened them again, his head was pressed against your gun.

 “Don’t know where to aim ? I can tell you…” he said and the way his eyes darkened was a striking contrast with the tenderness he used to caress your cheek and you couldn’t help but lean into his palm, like you were not holding a gun at his face.

“Only the fiend's archnemesis can kill it…” he whispers with pleading eyes.

“...My dragon is…here”

“Sylus…”

“I curse your soul” 

The words spilled out of your mouth…echoes from a buried past…

“Why Beloved ?” he asked in a broken voice, clearly lost in his own thoughts , closing his eyes as tears poured down your cheeks while you were unable to steady your hand.

“I curse your soul…to never fade away”

“Why would you do this to me ?” He asked, dropping to his knees, abandoning all pride as he laid his heart bare to you.

“You'll always be tied to me, forever”

“Why would you pretend we are not one ?” 

“Only I can grant you a true death”

“I just want you back…Please come back to me…” he pleaded, ready to give you his life if you asked him. 

Again

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