#Does Separation Save Marriage

[lexa-griffins]

Delilah is a precious bean who must be protected at all costs 🥺 Her hug with her mom was so sweet and touching. How surprised was Lexa by that? Is Delilah not a fan of physical contact?

Delilah is a complicated kid, and her and Lexa sometimes have a rocky relationship. It's not that she isn't affectionate or not a fan of physical contact. It's that aside from sometimes cuddling with Lexa on the couch or the bed, Lilah usually doesn't initiate hugs with Lexa. Usually, Lexa is the one to pull her for a hug, and Delilah just kind of accepts it without fully hugging back. Not only is she at an age where she thinks mom hugs are lame, but she also has a bit of a hard time returning affection just because of how her personality is.

So, of course, when she hugs Lexa as a thank you for the Halloween night, that to a little baby goth eleven year old is so cool, Lexa does feel this wave of happiness because oh, her baby is hugging her, its been a good few years since Delilah just hugged Lexa out of no where. Lexa might feel a little burning in her eyes as a few tears form but manages to not let it show. But Clarke can see them and she pulls Lexa towards her when Delilah's room door closes and gives her a kiss on the forehead while Lexa thanks her for helping her out with movie night.

Lexa knows her kids are growing up and going through their own lives, but sometimes it feels like Delilah is pulling away further and further from her - to the point of asking if she can go and live with Jenny during a summer break, which Lexa will relent to until Jenny, once more, breaks Lilah's heart because she has a job outside od the country and as always, Lexa is the one to pick up the pieces of their little girl's broken heart. But these moments mean everything to Lexa, just small gestures that make Lexa feel like maybe she didn't fuck it up fully as a mom despite trying her damn best everyday 🥺

[pearlywritings]

Intimacy records

synopsis: what kinds of horny stuff they have in their phones and which is the favorite?

pairing and characters: Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dr Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sampo, Sunday (separately) x fem!reader

tw: SMUT, established relationship (marriage/dating), consensual recording of lovemaking, nudes, oral, lingerie, fingering, masturbation, public sex, breast play, shibari/blindfold, sex machine, creampie

word count: 4.3k+ words

Aventurine

Undoubtedly this man has a whole separate folder for intimate stuff. Of course, he demands you send him something on a daily basis - doesn’t matter if it’s a quick snap of your choice of lingerie in the morning, or recordings of touching yourself - but never enough to cum, it’s his job. Naturally he loves having reminders of you being at his mercy - thus there are also videos of you both (with primarily established consent). All that to say - he has quite the collection, so it’s really hard to pick a favorite, the most desire-arising one.

Maybe it’s a category actually - self-made media created out of bet. Who’ll cum first? Can you keep going without tearing up from pleasure for longer than 10 minutes? Is he patient enough not to touch your sexy self, while you masturbate in front of him? Who is going to be louder this time? These kinds.

”I hope you are ready to lose,” your lover smirks, making himself comfortable between your legs. Camera floats a little, as you chuckle behind it. With a momentary adjustment, the focus is on his face again and he winks, before turning to trail a little path of kisses across your thigh. The image jumps, when he sucks on the skin, and slightly trembles as you let out a sigh. Then it’s firm, as Aventurine wraps his arms around your thighs, his nose teasingly rubbing against your clit. Suddenly there is a lick, then your breath hitches…. And then he buries his mouth into your pussy. It doesn’t take much time for the image to begin shaking wildly, almost matching your debauched noises. There is squelching, there are award-winning male moans, muffled by your heat, soon there is a hand, your hand, reaching down and grabbing his hair. Phone strangely angles, hardly supported by just one hand, until it falls camera down onto the sheets. After that, there are just delicious screams of yours, chanting the name of your lover and begging him to stop, while he doesn’t listen, taking his reward for yet another win.

Yeah, he proved you can’t keep the camera focused while he is eating you out in that one. It’s truly a pity, that more than a half of what was going on, didn’t get recorded in image. Maybe next time you'll do better - oh... That's actually not a bad idea at all… Looks like you are in for another bet.

Blade

His situation is… quite peculiar. First of all, he has so little care for his own phone outside using it to get info for the mission, to the point ANYONE from the Stellaron Hunters can just take it and do whatever with it (Silver Wolf and Kafka practice it a lot). Even your relationship doesn’t change it much, he messages you rarely and quite shortly, preferring to save the conversation for personal interaction. 

However recently, Kafka has been putting a plan into action - the first step of which was banning everyone from getting into his phone (herself excluded). Then she’d start sending her colleague an occasional picture of a set of lingerie she’s oh so sure would look wonderful on you. Blade never answers, but he doesn’t tell her off either, and by the snooping she knows that the pictures get bookmarked, the links for the shops she attaches are visited, and sums of money are being spent.

Oh, and by checking the chat… She knows you get them delivered. Does she text you to shower you with compliments? She does. At first it was a little embarrassing and you asked Blade if he could, maybe, pay better attention to his phone??? But soon, when your lover started showing the telltale signs of jealousy... It became pretty hot (plus praise from THE Kafka? Ego-boosting).

Blade doesn’t voice it, but more than seeing you all pretty for him, he loves seeing you ruined for him, and doesn’t complain when you ask him to take a picture with your phone of whatever part of you, focusing on the marks, or the torn crotch of your panties, or something alike… There are times when he would text you with a simple ‘send me pictures with torn stockings’ or ‘yesterday. open nipples bra. now’ , because he knows you have them, and you deliver, because you know he loves them. 

Has his favorites:

Depicts your thighs, bitten and opened wide, while the black panties are pushed aside to let two thick, scar-covered fingers dive into your pussy.

Your body after one of the sessions - bra roughly pushed down under the mark-covered breasts, panties missing, one stocking still on the leg, but with multiple holes in it, and the other tying your wrists above your head.

A small video you insisted on recording of the man tugging onto your garter belt whenever he wanted your hips to push towards his thrust, threatening for the thin elastic material to snap.

Even though he doesn’t save them, he knows how to get an easy access to them, so for Blade it works quite fine (and Kafka’s plan does too, making Blade look less intimacy-repulsed and spicing up your relationship).

Boothill

A cyborg, whose only human part of the body is the head, and sex life… How can this be possible? 

Oh, trust me, it can. Sure, his bodily reaction differs, but he still is excited to get nudes from you, finally able to express through the text what he really thinks with that foul mouth of his. A voice recording of you dirty talking to him? Awesome. A video? You can bet his engine is overheating and vents are whirring.

But in all honesty, the ones he truly loves and returns to are the recordings of him doing stuff to you. Call him self-conscious, it’s not like he can bite back with a swear, but the reminder that he can bring you pleasure even now is sometimes necessary.

The lights are intimately dimmed, not enough to bring the room into utter darkness. Two bodies are lying almost intertwined with your back turned to the camera. The metal arm of your lover has sneaked under your side and around your waist, fingers digging into the plush glob of your ass, tugging on it, to further the spread which is created by your leg thrown over his hip. Your pussy is perfectly presented to the camera, puffy and slick, with two gray plated fingers massaging it. Digits slide up and down your labia, occasionally staying on the clit, to rub tight circles on it and elicit some sweet moans out of you, only to return to their previous ministrations, dipping the tips juuust a little bit into the quivering hole. Your back arches and body deliciously shivers from the contrast of his cool and your heat, and you softly whine, when he releases your ass cheek to give it a spank and then grab it again, unwilling to let the sight of your cunt escape his phone’s camera. You whimper something, muffled by his chest, but he remembers by heart what you were begging for. ‘Please, put your mouth on me.’ He will, in a minute, but right now he pushes both fingers to the second knuckle in, making you jolt in his hold, but not letting you go anywhere.

It’s captivating, how his inhuman digits disappear and reappear with every thrust he makes; slick-covered they look shiny, as if you polished them, and the cyborg shudders, imagining your tongue running around them. That’s one dangerous video, he may just give in to his want to see you and abandon the mission he was assigned to…

Dr Veritas Ratio

Unsurprisingly, Veritas’ phone doesn’t contain that much stuff in general. Maybe some downloaded articles, notes to put down later, if he doesn’t have a piece of paper at the moment, and very few pictures, mainly of his writings on the chalkboard. Don’t be discouraged though, of course he has pictures of you. Some selfies you took after “borrowing” his phone and ones he doesn’t have a heart to delete (but he will scoff at you, should you decide to tease him), and some very well-thought images he took on his own accord - he needs reference for when he decides to let his mind rest from research and focus on sculpting.

And one might think that such a reserved and cold man will not entertain storing anything explicit on his phone. Well, he indeed does not have any pictures and videos saved - if he wants, he can either find what you sent him via your chat or just demand your assistance. However… There is something that strangely became his way of concentrating when doing his research…

”Oh! Mh- *thrust* Veri- ohmygod! *thrust*”

“Wait- Aaah! I can’t! I’m sore! MmmmMMM!” “No, you can and you will. Now hold still, I can’t eat you out if you keep thrashing around.” “Oh Aeons!”

*Slick sounds of you going down on him, gurgling and choking on his girth, occasionally gasping to catch your breath, only to have his cock buried in your throat again*

“Baaaby… I miss you so much… Can I come to your office? I promise to be good… Just need to cockwarm you - nothing else I swear. Let me keep you company pleeease. Imagine how nicely it'd be to have your cock buried in my pussy, while you are working… Need to help you with stress-relief, it's gonna feel so-so good.”

“Oh fuck, o-oh, love, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I’mcumMIN-” “Ngh, s-so…tight…” “Aaaaaaah~!”

“Veritas Ratio, if you come home in ten minutes, I will give you a nice massage and then ride you damn cock, till the only thing you can think about is not your work, but me. If you fail to do so though… I wonder if my threat to use some toys instead will work. Just know that your wife is very mad. And horny.”

It doesn't matter if the audio was taken while you were intimate or it was something you sent to him and he saved - he thoroughly enjoys everything your voice has to offer to him. And if instead of concentrated it accidentally makes him horny - he'll just play the next one, while undoing his pants.

Gallagher

Oh, this man is a menace. And a huge ass-lover. His gallery is full of pictures of your booty: clothed, just panty-clad or bare. There are shots with your body clearly being bent, ass up and back covered in his load. Videos of him fucking you from behind, with cock sliding in and out of your pussy? Obviously. Recordings of it jiggling as he spanks you? Would’ve been strange if they weren’t there.

However, in that vast collection of his, there is a video that’s most peculiar - one might say scandalous. It was one of those nights when he took over the bar for Siobhan and you came over at some point, all enticing and so sexy in that little dress of yours… He could not resist taking you right there once the establishment was closed. And it got on security camera...

Moans so loud, that they are reaching the recording device, are still of the delicious kind. Your back is arched over the bar counter, arms lifted and wrists tied by none other but Gallagher’s wine-red tie, and held by his own hand for good measure. The front of your dress is pushed down, revealing your pretty breasts, jiggling with every thrust of the man’s hips, and the hem of it has ridden up, baring your stomach and mark-covered thighs. Your lover is barely unclothed, pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free his cock and the tie, obviously, missing. The hand that is not holding your wrists, is grabbing onto your leg, under the knee, lifting it for a better angle, and showing off a lewd detail - your black lace panties hanging on your shin. You are looking positively debauched, and he is no better, groaning and cursing, with an occasional exceptionally rough trust that makes you scream and whine. There are teeth-gritted ‘slut’s and huskily chuckled ‘bad girl’s with your pleading ‘sir’s and ‘Gal’s, all of that deliciously seasoned with the clapping of the wet skin colliding. But nothing beats the moment of you cumming, depicted by no less than three cameras from all of the hottest angles…

Of course this footage was ���confiscated’ by him with some dumb excuse for Siobhan (he doubts she believed it, given the knowing look and shit-eating grin she gave him), with all traces destroyed except just one copy thoroughly hidden on his phone. He thinks you two should repeat that - this time, however, he’d love to bend you over the counter with your back facing him…

Gepard Landau

Gepard would die if someone took his phone and got into his gallery. Poor man has to change the password weekly to throw Serval off his case (she was only teasing, but that made her brother paranoid). There is a reason for such behavior - while he is way too sweet and gentlemanly to suggest making sexy pics or, Supreme Guardian forgive, videos, he can't help but to be too whipped for you. 

This man dutifully saves every single photo and video of yours - nudes included.

You don't send them very often - you don't want to kill your darling husband. But sometimes the yearning is unbearable, and there is a suffocating need to show Gepard what he is missing while away on duty (you always leave a warning message though, so he could check it while alone and undisturbed).

No matter how red and embarrassed he gets, the man timidly admits that he enjoys this kind of attention. He is not beyond the earthly pleasures - he too has a favorite theme, that recently became more present in what you send him…

At first you looked so absolutely cute and domestic with his huge sweater on, the one you personally knitted for him - the beginning of the video didn’t look all that different from the photos you sent him just minutes before. But soon it becomes clear why you asked if he was alone, because once you position the phone and climb onto the bed, your full attire gets revealed. White stockings are replacing your usual home pants, and as your fingers grab the hem of the sweater and tug it up, the white panties from a matching set start peaking. The view is both pure and alluring, with the way your legs are spreading wide, and the sweater being pushed further up, baring your braless breasts. The hem gets secured between your teeth and both hands teasingly run down your sides, index fingers drawing circles around the tits, before squeezing them; as one remains right there, the other slowly slides down your stomach, disappearing under the hem of those flimsy panties. Imagination paints wild images - every next is hotter than the previous, and only your muffled moans of his name and rapidly rising chest are indicators of how good you feel with fingers pushing in and out of your pussy. And that damn sweater… You are not taking it off.

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards has one guilty pleasure - you, wearing his clothes. Domesticity, longing, finding comfort in something of his touches his heart and heightens his love and desire for you, almost making him consider taking a regular day off.

Jing Yuan

This man literally worships the ground his wife is walking on, so OF COURSE he wants to have as many pictures and videos of you as possible. It gets so boring and lonely when he is at work, after all. But don’t be fooled by his sweet and innocent smile, there are not only cute shots of you both or just you, he has sexy stuff too.

Man is obsessed with your chest. It’s his favorite pillow (thus so many pictures of him snuggling his face right between your breasts), his best stress-relief (photos and short videos of his big veiny hands cupping and squeezing your girls, with an occasional swipe of the thumbs over the erect nipples), his favorite place to leave marks on (no one can see them under the clothes, but just one tug of his finger on your collar and he is met with a delicious sight. Plus the photos he asks to send occasionally).

Loves, loves, loves, purchasing lingerie for you and when you demonstrate your bra-clad tits. He immediately wants them in his face, but there is the phone screen keeping him away.

But oh does he love recordings of playing with them.

Your body is steadily bouncing on your husband’s lap, creating a beautiful melody of skin slapping against skin. There is an occasional peak of his thick cock, covered in your juices, that immediately disappears again, undoubtedly swallowed by your pussy. One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, supporting you, while the other hand is palming at your left breast. The right one has fallen victim to his eager mouth, lips wrapped around the nipple, sucking on it tenderly, tongue toying with the overstimulated nub. His eyes are half-lidded when he looks up at you, moaning around your breast, when you tug on his luscious locks, trying to push him away, to give you a small rest. He is drawing back indeed, planting a soft kiss to the valley between the jiggling globes, and you sigh in relief, deceived by his affectionate action. Only for you back to arch and mouth hang in a loud moan, when Jing Yuan brings your other breast to his awaiting tongue, dropping both hands to your hips to aid you in speeding up your riding, sensing your nearing orgasm.

Maybe next time you should try recording him making you cum by playing with your chest only… Ah, just the thought makes his cock swell.

Loucha

As much as Loucha enjoys your company and more often than not allows you to accompany him in his journeys, there are times when he can’t take you with him. Which means he leaves for weeks, or sometimes a couple of months, going through the days without a single touch from you. Before getting into a relationship with you, he could survive without intimacy just fine, but now, since he knows the taste of affection and being spoiled by you, it’s getting hard.

That’s when recordings on his phone come in handy, especially when there is no opportunity of a video call to indulge. And there is one he most frequently returns to…

Your chest is rising and falling, pretty breasts with perky nipples brought together by a wrap of a rope. Red and purple marks bloom on your skin akin flowers, some fresh, some from days before. Sweat shines on your hot skin, indicating just for how long the blonde has been torturing you with pleasure and denial. There is a small shake of the video, as your lover is establishing his phone, having just started the recording, and softly making you aware of how good you look - you wouldn’t know with that blindfold covering your eyes. Once the angle is perfect - capturing your arms, tied above the head, the arch of your back and thighs pushed together for stimulation, the man is joining you on the bed. It is cock-hardening, how you lift your head to find his lips, when you sense him leaning down, needily allowing him to indulge in a kiss before the game of orgasm denial continues. His hand meanwhile is creeping down your body, starting with caressing your cheek, fingers sliding down your neck, over the swell of your breast, thumb pushing against the nipple, eliciting a moan out of you right into his mouth, and then palm splaying on your stomach, traveling even lower, before it disappears between your thighs.

Loucha is a man of foreplay. There is nothing more satisfying to him, than indulging into your body before sinking his cock into your warmth. He loves making you squirm, completely at his mercy, drawing you right to the edge, and then denying you the sweet release, just to make you yearn, just to stretch the process out.

Sampo Koski

Sampo is nasty and that is not a secret. I am sure, if you were up for it, he’d suggest filming porn just for the giggles (and extra cash, come on, you both are fucking hot). There are teasing nudes and intimate videos, and it’s not a rare occasion of either of you texting the other with some found porn with a caption ‘let’s try it?’ and you do, frequently recording the process to compare later, and claiming that your performance is better.

However, sometimes it tends to not go according to the script (not like you usually have one). Sampo is chaotic and it’s not hard to lose focus with a lover like him, and these exact moments are Koski’s favorite. Despite being a Masked Fool, during these times he himself looks so sincere, it’s as unnerving, as it is exciting. Rewatching such videos and seeing how you mirror the look in his eyes, giggle with him, even crack a joke, all without ruining the mood - makes him believe he’s found his soulmate (and if you did film porn with him, he’d never share this level of intimacy with your viewers, it solely belongs to you two).

You are giggling, shaking your head with a wide smile, all the while lying on your stomach between his toned mark-covered thighs and leisurely fisting his hard, leaking cock with an angrily red tip. 

‘Sampo, please, be a little serious, we are trying to be sexy here.’

‘We are sexy! What’s not hot in shaping my and your pubic hairs into the lips?? They could kiss, when we fuck!’

‘You are unbelievable,’ you snort, trying to save the last bits of your composure, and leaning forward to mouth at his tight balls. This makes your lover pornographically (how ironic) moan, throwing his head back.

‘Mmm, yes, right there~ Oooh… If am soooo unbelievable, it must mean I am dreamy? How about I bring you to a Penacony, to a Dreamscape? I bet in your dream I’d be as good in bed as I am in reality.’

Your resolve snaps and you burst out laughing, letting go of his sack and pressing your face to his thigh, shaking, dropping the hand from around his cock. Sampo whines.

‘Come ooooon, I was so close!’

‘Shu-ah-ha-t-ah-uh-p,’ you manage through your laughter. The man pouts, but the gaze of mint green is summer-warm as he is looking down at your trembling form. Your voice is pretty, your cackles are pretty, and oh damn he is laughing too.

And these are just the first few minutes of the last video, the thing has a duration of half an hour, so, obviously, you didn’t stop there. That’s what Sampo Koski loves - no matter how cringe you become, it’s never a reason to stop the whole process. If anything it’s something to spark an even longer and intimacy-filled one.

Sunday

Keeping personal stuff on his phone is quite dangerous, given Sunday’s position. That’s why he owns two phones - his work one, and one to mainly contact you, his sister, and a small circle of the most trusted people. He is extremely good at handling the owning of two separate devices, never mistaking one for another, that people are often convinced he has only one.

But it’s his personal cellphone that interests us. Oh, does he have a whole collection of photos and videos of you, one folder in particular hidden just for good measure. Sunday is a collected and regal man, yet it doesn’t mean he has a hard time enjoying your teasing. Quite contrary, sometimes he welcomes it, loving the photos you send him from an outing, shopping for clothes, or better yet, lingerie, sending him multiple shots of different sets and asking him which he loves most, and which he’d like to see on you tonight. 

There are videos too, especially when he’s been extremely busy, and you are oh so needy, sending him short recordings of touching yourself, sighing out his name, begging him to come and help you. However, there is one he particularly likes…

Big silicone cock is being pushed in and out by the machine he purchased for you to quell your need when your husband can’t be there for you. You are on your stomach, with hips slightly raised and pushed backwards, chasing the toy, and he can see the perfect outline of your pussy, outer lips swollen and puffy, covered in a sticky substance, opening and constricting in attempts to accommodate the girth. Your moans are sweet, so-so sweet, hitting a high pitch, when the dildo falls out and a thick glob of cum substitute escapes your pussy. And then another, and another, messing your thighs even more, ruining the towel underneath you. Yet you don’t stop, reaching behind, and pushing the tip back into your tight warmth, making the toy pick its pace again. It’s squelching, it’s so dirty, but it’s so hard to look away. You give yourself creampie, after creampie, sometimes stopping to collect the substance and push it inside with your digits, fingering, moaning and whining for your husband, wishing it’s his cum sploshing between your walls, breeding you.

Yes, it’s his favorite, almost 4-minute video. Ever the neat freak, he can’t deny you look heavenly when ruined, on an equally ruined bed, begging for his attention and semen. You have to forget about the machine for some time, however, because since then Sunday has been truly devoted to breeding you.

[soolaleye]

How To Fix A Broken Marriage and Avoid Divorce | Marriage Counselling

Marriage is a great relationship that needs commitment and work from both partners. When a marriage is broken, it can be painful and difficult to navigate. However, there are steps that can be taken to fix a broken marriage and avoid divorce. First, it’s important to identify the issues that are causing problems in the marriage. Communication is key in this process, and both partners should be…

[b-00-biez]

Would you be able to write if {Michael, Brahms, and Thomas} found out their s/o had a breeding kink.

Breeding kink

With Michael, Brahms, Thomas

Michael

He honestly doesn't know what to do with this information but he will save it for later.

One night you were particularly stubborn and the easiest way for Michael to coax you into doing what he wants is to abuse your poor little entrance. You know he hasn't touched you for weeks and him just teasing you with just his tip probing at the entrance that awaits his full length, fluttering and welcoming him with open arms but he doesn't give in.

"M-michael please.. " you tried to beg for him to just fuck you, insert his full length into you despite him not wearing a condom right now. "Please Michael I'll do whatever the fuck you ask me just fuck me outta my misery.. " you said frustrated already, you know despite his mask, he's smirking underneath. Without a warning, he shoved his whole cock inside making you yelp and ease up around his length. He hooked your legs onto his shoulders and started fucking. His balls slapping your ass and you can hear it making lewd noises. On how rough he was being you can't help but feel your orgasm coming. You grasp whatever words you have left in your cock drunk brain and said "cum in me! Get me fucking pregnant!! " you screamed. Now, he's curious. You want his seed? You want your tummy full of his babies, your breasts swollen with milk? He's not too sure about this but hell you were such a good girl for him right now looking all needy and disheveled, maybe just this once he will fuck you full of his seed.

Brahms

The fact that he was spying on you watching porn and your fingers melting into your very Nectar. He has to know what you were watching so he can replace those damn fingers with his cock. So while you were asleep he swiped your phone and in the safety of his walls he played the video he saw.

He couldn't take off his eyes on that pussy being abused and edged by this guy's long shaft. The video was about to end until the guy pulled out a mix of their cum oozing out of her cunt onto the bed as she shivered from all the orgasm she had. You were watching this while your fingers were desperately trying to make you cum like the needy slut that you are? He didn't want you to suffer when all you needed was his cock and his buckets of cum in you.

After he persuaded you to do it with him he's already in you with no foreplay whatsoever rubbing your clit so roughly while snapping his hips with yours. "Ugh.. All mine Mine!! " he said going faster just burying you on the bed, ass up. He slapped your ass until it was red making you yelp while you felt his cock ramming itself in and out. You had no energy to tell him to slow down but gosh it felt so good when he's this rough! "Get pregnant Get pregnant Get pregnant!! " he chanted while rearranging your insides. Gosh how many orgasms have you had and how many loads does he need to fill you with until he's satisfied?

Thomas

He couldn't help but imagine how your legs wraps around his waist pulling him closer to you while he ruts your very hole. He couldn't help but notice how unresponsive you were after 2-3 rounds and he just couldn't get his mind off on how his meaty cock was a bit visible on your cute tummy while he fucked you up.

He didn't understand what a breeding kink was until you blurted out that he should cum inside you that day.

In the morning while you and his family were having breakfast, Luda Mae asked if you two were gonna have children soon since you couldn't even be separated from Thomas. You choked on your water then looked at Thomas who was already blushing but nodded that he indeed plans to have children with you sooner or later but until you get married to him.

One particular night after that you couldn't take it anymore. He kept cumming outside and on you! He was so careful not to get you pregnant until marriage. "T-thomas please.. Just cum in me! Please I can't wait till marriage I'm already yours!! " you blurted out. He stopped for a moment but then picked up the pace as he rutted into you fucking your g-spot over and over again as he groans in agreement. Mixing your juices and his pre-cum so deliciously and night after night he kept fucking you full of his loads and every time after that you felt satisfied even after you conclude that you were indeed pregnant now.

[guzhufuren]

do you have a post for wlw shows in specific? i dont mind just going through your main masterlist if not

as well, do you have any wlw shows w transfem leads? that one might be asking for too much, lol.

i don't have an asian wlw list yet, but i will make one here for you bun! i will only be including shows that pass my personal minimum standard for dramas. all shows are sorted in a recommended watching order

WLW

1. She Loves to Cook and She Loves to Eat neighbours; self-discovery; food; comfort watch

Nomoto loves to cook, but tends to make too much food and has no one to share it with. Luckily for her, turns out her neighbor Kasuga has a big enough appetite for the both of them.

No international streaming available, translated to english by Furritsubs, S1 & S2, watching instructions provided, consider supporting the translator on kofi.

2. The Loyal Pin period drama; princess/noble lady; childhood friends to lovers; forbidden romance

A love story set in 1950s Thailand, about naughty but charming Princess Anilaphat and prim but kind Lady Pin, who are close friends and have grown up together.

YouTube

3. Uranus2324 movie; sci-fi; astronaut/diver

Story of Lin, an astronaut who is about to embark in a remarkable space mission and Kath, a passionate free diver who is willing to defy the limits of time and space just to meet with her lover over and over again.

Netflix of South Asian countries (can be accessed with VPN)

4. Petrichor crime; investigation; cop/forensic doctor

Lieutenant Tul, a rookie officer and Dr Cherran, a physician from the Institute of Forensic Sciences, become reluctant partners.

iQIYI

5. 23.5 high school setting; secret admirer

Ongsa moves to a new school and meets Sun, a cute popular girl who she immediately falls for. However, she decides to approach Sun in instagram dms under the pseudonym Earth, leading Sun to believe she's talking to a guy. But Ongsa does not want to lose the opportunity to talk to Sun, so she decides to keep the fact that she is a girl a secret and continue talking as Earth.

YouTube

6. Ayaka Is In Love With Hiroko office setting; comedy; misunderstanding

Ayaka, a young office worker, is madly in love with her senior team leader, Hiroko. As Ayaka tries to make her attraction known, Hiroko consistently misreads the situation, thinking that Ayaka is a straight girl.

GagaOOLala

7. Soul Sisters period drama; wuxia; crossdressing; arranged marriage

Gu Jinyu has disguised herself as a man since childhood. While undercover, she is kidnapped by Bai Yunxi, the sweet but clumsy heiress, and forced into a marriage. The two form an unexpected partnership to save the failing stronghold, facing rival plots, enemies, and challenges.

iQIYI. *Because of chinese laws demanding censorship of queerness, the romance is censored and toned down to sapphic homoerotism for the show to be able to be broadcast. Nevertheless it's pretty obviously meant to be a romance.

8. Couple of Mirrors period drama; socialite/assassin

You Yi is a kind-hearted socialite and a successful author. Her perfect life is turned upside-down when she discovers a betrayal by the two most trusted people in her life. With no one left to turn to, she finds refuge in the friendship and support of Yan Wei, a lonely female killer disguised as the owner of a photo studio. YouTube. the show doesn’t have a happy ending, but it can be a happy ending for you if you stop watching at episode 12 timestamp 28:02. *Adapted from an explicitly queer novel, the show is undeniably and obviously queer, but nevertheless the queer romance part is censored.

9. Affair childhood friends to lovers; love triangle

A girl's life is upended by family bankruptcy. Her best friend becomes a source of comfort. They get separated, but years later they reunite, reigniting old memories and feelings amidst changed circumstances.

YouTube & iQIYI

10. Us love triangle

Dokrak crosses paths with an older dentistry student Pam during her coffee shop shift and gradually develops a crush. When her brother Kawi meets Pam, he falls for her at first sight. Kawi turns to Dokrak, asking her to play matchmaker and Dokrak agrees.

YouTube

11. The Secret of Us exes to lovers

Dr. Fahlada guards her heart due to a past love, rendering her unable to open up again. Her situation becomes complicated when she has to work with Earn, her ex girlfriend, who has come to work with her at the hospital.

Netflix & Ch3+

12. Pluto twins; blind character

Twins Ob-oom and Ai-oon are worlds apart until Ob-oom's wedding, when she tasks Ai-oon with breaking up her affair with May. A tragic turn leaves the newlywed comatose, and Ai-oon must carry out the request, only to find May is blind. And fall in love with her.

YouTube

13. Reverse 4 You superpowers

One sister foretells the future, and the other controls time. When a promised love seems doomed to tragedy, the pair sets out to change fate itself.

Netflix

14. She Makes My Heart Flutter bar setting; niece and aunt dynamic

The extroverted Gang Seol is hired by her aunt Jung at her only-women bar. Even though they are both lesbians, they seem to be worlds apart and have very different love stories.

YouTube

15. Sleep With Me radio; disabled character in a wheelchair

A science textbook writer with a sleep disorder meets a wheelchair-using radio host who runs the midnight shift. This chance encounter at the radio station quickly sparks their interest in each other.

GagaOOLala

16. GAP The Series office setting; boss/employee; class difference

Long after Sam first came to Mon's rescue when they were kids, Sam is unambiguously Mon's idol. In order to be near Sam, Mon gets a job working under her. When they finally meet again at the office, Mon is surprised by Sam’s icy exterior, so different from the image she'd had of her. Mon and Sam aren't just different in demeanour; they stand apart in class and age.

YouTube

17. Lucky My Love office setting

In the pursuit of love, Nabdao has been doing everything. She has got her fortune read. She's gone on a string of blind dates. Unfortunately, no one seems to be on the same page as her. She starts to think that perhaps her gorgeous and caring boss Pheem could be the one for her. Then Vela, her new team leader, comes into the picture and shakes things up with her observant and affectionate care.

YouTube

18. Show Me Love beauty pageants

Meena moves to Bangkok to achieve her singing dreams. She chances across Cherine who asks Meena to join her in a beauty pageant. The girls' journey for the crown begins and a romance between them sparks.

YouTube

19. My Marvellous Dream Is You magical dreams; actress/personal stylist

Dawan's father abandons their family to elope with a neighbor girl's father. Turns out this is Kimhan, who Dawan has been seeing in her strange yet lovely dreams for years. While they become friends in reality, Dawan hides her deeper feelings, as in her dreams their bond goes far beyond friendship. She never realizes that Kimhan shares the same dreams.

YouTube

20. Unlock Your Love

Rain locked up her heart after getting disappointed in her past relationship. However, things turn around when Love enters her life. They embark on a journey to “unlock their love.”

YouTube

21. Love Bully barwoman/heiress; obstacles

Irene and Night meet at the bar Night works in the night Irene returns from overseas, and hit it off instantly. However, their passionate relationship is threatened by meddling people who want to ruin it.

YouTube

Various chinese WLW mini web-dramas.

Various chinese WLW short films.

WLW as side couples:

1. Wedding Plan mlm wedding planner/groom; lavender marriage

Nuea is a professional wedding planner. Sailom happens to be the perfect man for Nuea based on his visual considerations for a man. But the universe has an unimaginable sense of humor as Sailom and his fiance Yiwa turn out to be Nuea's new clients.

Uncut 18+ on iQIYI or cut on Youtube & iQIYI (special episode), girls don't have high heat scenes here so you can just watch Youtube version for them

2. Love Sea mlm rich big city writer/countryside diver; class difference; wlw personal assistant/celebrity

Tongrak is a writer of popular romance novels. After travelling to countryside in search of inspiration, he chances to meet an irritating southern man Mahasamut. When they end up in bed together, however, Tongrak finds himself hooked. Tongrak has a secretary Mook and a popular actress best friend Vi. Vi enjoys ordering Mook around as if she was her own assistant.

Uncut 18+ on iQIYI or cut on Youtube

With smaller screentime there are wlw side couples in shows: Bad Buddy, I Feel You Linger In The Air (this one has period typical homophobia and assault though, so careful).

Bigger list of asian GL shows: link [tumblr post].

Transfeminine representation in asian QLs:

1. 23.5

Secondary couple are a pair of teachers, both of them trans women played by trans women. For now this is the only show that has a sapphic trans plotline, even though small.

YouTube

2. 3 Will Be Free polyamorous trio; on the run; mafia

After an unexpected event that involves sex work and mafia gangs, three individuals find themselves on-the-run together as they attempt to escape death. Important secondary character is a trans woman played by a trans female actress. Has a trans storyline in the show (the girl gets male romantic partners). Trigger warning for transphobia. YouTube

3. Secret Crush On You “nerd”/popular guy; queer friend group; university setting

A nerdy young man Toh fell in love with a popular third-year senior. Because his dream is so far from reach, observing is the only thing he could do. Toh has a queer friend group, one of them is a transfeminine/3rd gender/kathoey character Daisy. Can be a bit jarring for a western person at first, but her story is very lovely if you give this girl a chance (also gets male romantic partner).

YouTube

Noticeable small appearances of trans female characters: The Sign (the actress Yoshi was the 2019 winner of Thailand's biggest trans beauty pageant, YouTube), Not Me (YouTube), You're My Sky (Viki), KinnPorsche (iQIYI).

Sadly we aren't at a point where Thailand makes shows with trans people as leads yet, even though I so badly wish it was already a thing. But trans women and kathoey generally have supporting roles in BL and GL shows very often, so you can see them a lot in stuff! It's the transmascs who never ever appear here!

Queer shows directed by trans women and transfem people:

Anucha Boonyawatana is a trans woman and the director of Not Me, mlm show about anarchist freedom fighters (YouTube).

Golf Tanwarin is a nonbinary director and the first openly transgender person to have been elected as a member of parliament in Thailand. They were the one who submitted the thai marriage equality bill to parliament, which since then has been approved in 2024 and came in legal force 2 weeks ago. Their directing works: Love Bully (wlw, listed above), The Eclipse (mlm show about repressed boys in a corrupted school system, YouTube), Wandee Goodday (mlm boxer/doctor romcom, Viki).

Just in case, adding shows where I personally enjoyed headcanoning characters as transgirls or enby transfems sometimes:

1. Meet You At The Blossom

Romantic interest is wearing female clothes and makeup for disguise in the first episodes, and despite not passing well no one questions that this is a woman. The character is happily called "wife" by the lead character until the end of the show.

YouTube & GagaOOLala & Viki & iQIYI

2. The Sign

Main character used to be a female snake princess in his past reincarnation. Sometimes played by a female actress, sometimes by a male actor, but always referred to as a princess and wearing period thai female clothes. It's also possible to headcanon the character as a transmasc here though, it's really neat.

YouTube

Many of all these shows are free on YouTube, in other cases I recommend paying for subscriptions to show appreciation and support of content in order to get more of it in the future, but if you can't or don't want to, you can watch online on KissKH or get files from MkvDrama!

Blogs you can follow to get updates and posts specifically about asian GLs: @girlsloveupdates @glgifs

[moonsaver]

I’m just imagining the arranged marriage thing but this time it’s Sunday who is head over heels for reader (maybe he was the one who set this up in the first place! This could also tie into reader being higher status but Sunday does something to make them fall and then saves them by entering a relationship with the head of the oak family) but reader doesn’t like him or is into someone else, the angst….i feel like Sunday would do everything to make them love him but it just won’t work so in the end he just begs them to at least pretend they love him and that’ll be enough. A happier prompt on this could be he does actually succeed in getting some of their genuine love in the end. Anyway just thought of this after seeing a clip of Aqua and Akane from oshi no ko. Don’t judge me.

Okay, tons of possibilities here so lets go turn by turn because i really like this idea and unfortunately let it marinate for way too long

And it might have become unintentionally yandere, so i might redo it lol + there's not much fluff.

1 . Sunday arranging the marriage himself because he really likes reader – normal au

Sunday would definitely do this if he was pushed to his wits’ end. If his feelings for you not only disintegrate, but instead worsen and delve deeper, and on top of that, if he senses you yourself are drifting away from him. The added pressure of not reaching you in time after a conclusion to his own feelings is scary to him. In his desperation, he might as well pull some or the other reason out of his ass to marry you, even going as far as to even bribe your parents/guardians or anyone who has the power to object on your behalf.

Negotiations, contract handling, etc.. are all planned by him, so if you have a problem or you want to object, you can only do it by directly confronting Sunday himself. The added intimidation of his knowing, mysterious smile when he stands before you, almost irking you to continue in silence when you hesitate at wanting to object is something he almost relishes. Any problem you might have, has to be directly communicated to Sunday.

In the actual marriage? He's much easier on you. The hard part of coercing you into the marriage was over. He allows you more freedom in the marriage than he does outside of it.

He allows you separate rooms, reigns in any affections for you until you're comfortable, and even openly lets you know you two won't have to immediately consummate your marriage. He'll generally make sure you're comfortable in your marriage.

Of course, deviations and exceptions occur if you happen to still have lingering feelings for.. some nobody. He's bitter about it, so so bitter you can feel the tension in the air when his smile slightly falters at even the mention of their name. Sunday might try to hasten the process of you getting “comfortable” and perhaps even start forcing a few affections on you, such as kissing or holding your hand, brushing your hair in the morning and before bed, lingering his eyes on your lips. He might even not so subtly try to pressurise you, by telling you things like “at this rate, many might not even think we are married, my dear”. 

He plays slightly dirty, but there's so many moments of clarity that he hesitates still. He doesn't want to force you to love him - he wants it to happen on it's own. He's often so loving to you from afar in hopes you'll notice and maybe even return them, but when you look away in anxiousness or discomfort, Sunday's smile falters into a resigned, solemn expression. It hurts, deeply.

2. Sunday arranges the marriage with a reader of higher rank

Its similar, but you'll find the process is hastier. Perhaps it even causes a few slip ups in the middle.

Sunday would be practically tearing at his own hair before he finds the key to catalyze the negotiations of your marriage with him. If it's something that happens to knock you down or push you into unfavourable circumstances, he hesitates. But if you happen to like someone else? All that hesitation vaporises in an instant. He's practically over the moon when you have no one to turn to, his hand is almost shaking from excitement when he reaches it out to you. 

He's much more.. smothering if it makes sense, but he's not outright/direct about it. He always wants to be wherever you are, sometimes stands too close for comfort beside you, and even puts you in circumstances where you won't necessarily be able to push back in the case you damage your already fragile image or so. He's so elated, it's almost creepy. If you don't seem to be driving the relationship, or remain stagnant, his suspicions will grow immensely regarding your feelings for anyone else. Whenever you aren't present, he probably rifles through your belongings, scours for any possibility of traces of that nobody in your life.

He insists on spending the night with you – a familiar knock at the exact same time almost every night on your room's door. He stays with you, talking until it's late at night and you're too tired to shoo him away. But he'd never think himself superior than you, rather he almost takes advantage of it. He's constantly telling you how much incharge of the relationship you are. He disguises choices he wants to make on your behalf as something you can decide on. “Would you like a separate room for us both, or would you like us to have connected doorways?” , “shall I spend the morning with you, or the night?” , or so on. Not doing anything with him makes him sour, but he hides it with a smile. Sooner or later your plans are sabotaged, and in the end he joins you in “fixing” them anyway, and well.. since he's already been here for so long, it won't hurt to have him stick by until the end of it, right?

In some extreme cases, maybe one where the reader is desperately trying to leave the marriage or push back against anything that solidifies it, Sunday might even insist that you two consummate as fast as possible, regarding it as something necessary or even vital. He's so persistent about what he wants from you, like a dog begging and whimpering, that you're practically coerced into giving it to him.

He often poses himself on his knees to you, and stares so tenderly at you, you might crack. It hurts to not give him what he wants. There's times where begging words almost slip out of his mouth when he has to pull you closer. He wants your love so desperately it hurts.

[gracexthoughts]

the strong

jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!oc

warnings; slight canon divergence, cussing, canon typical incest, fighting, implied smut at the end (i cannot actually write smut to save my life sorry), s1ep8 spoilers ig summary; after vaemond's petition, aegon’s jesting, and aemond’s taunts, jacaerys is furious and seeks solace and advice from his step-sister and betrothed. inspired by tyrion telling jon to wear his bastardy “like armor so it can never be used to hurt'' him in the first ep of GOT (I’ve been rewatching to feed the brainrot) a/n; daenera is daemon’s eldest daughter from his first marriage, in my head daemon didn’t kill rhea and she died in childbirth just before rhaenyra’s wedding so daeny is about half a year older than jace but you can use your imagination as it doesn’t really matter.

“I dare you to say that again!” Jacaerys growls from the dancefloor. Daenera turns in her seat to see Jacaerys with his fists clenched, his eyes dark and glaring daggers at his uncle. The feast had been amicable considering the events of the day, but while the adults’ words of peace ring honest between them, animosity between the young princes, princess and ladies nears its boiling point. Prince Aegon has spent most of the evening cooing foul and crude jests to Jacaerys and Daenera about their soon approaching wedding. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Prince Aemond has added his own taunt to the pile: a thinly veiled comment on the Velaryon brothers' true parentage. 

“Why? Twas only a compliment,” Aemond defends, lowering his goblet to face Jacaerys, stepping towards him as he does. “Do you not think yourself Strong?” Jacaerys answers by bringing his fist up to Aemond’s jaw, the sound resonating through the hall. Lucerys leaps up from his seat, Vaemond’s slanders still heavy in his ears, but Aegon intercepts him, slamming him down on the table and sending food and silverware clattering from the impact. Daenera, ever protective of her siblings, leaps from her seat and wraps her arms around the eldest prince’s neck, putting all her weight against him to remove his hands from Lucerys. He grapples with her for a moment before she is ripped off by a Kingsguard. Knights separate Aegon from Luceryrs, Jacaerys from Aemond, and Rhaena pushes Baela back from leaping into the fray as well.

The Queen pulls her second son back, muttering angrily to him but he pulls away from her as Rhaenyra moves towards her sons and Daemon to his daughters. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family. Though it seems my nephews aren’t so proud of theirs!” Aemond continues to taunt, leveling a snide one-eyed glare at Jace. Jacaerys wriggles out of the guard’s grip and steps menacingly towards Aemond. 

“Wait, wait,” Daemon says, holding a finger up and stopping Jacaerys in his tracks, forcing him back to stand next to Daenera. 

“Go to your quarters, all of you. Go now!” Rhaenyra commands sternly, her eyes holding a warning as she stares down her eldest son and motions for the rest of her children, by blood and by marriage, to leave. 

“Come on,” Rhaena says softly, pulling her sisters along with her and out of the hall by their hands. Daenera relents with a sigh but not before squeezing Jacaerys’ and flashing him a sympathetic smile. 

“Are you alright, Daeny?” Baela asks as they make their way to their rooms.

“Fine, worried about the boys,” she mutters in reply.

“I’m sure Jace and Luke are alright, sister,” Rhaena says softly, wrapping her hand around Daeny and Baela’s arms. Daenera nods agreeing but still can’t shake the worry in her chest.

Near an hour later, a knock sounds on the door to Daenera’s chambers, pulling her from the depths of the book in her hands. “Come in!” she calls expecting one of her maids and, not bothering to stand from her comfortable position on the settee in front of the fire, turns to see who enters. “Jace,” the lady says softly as her betrothed steps into her chambers, his eyes still dark with rage. 

The pair have been betrothed for nearly ten years, the announcement made soon after their parents married, and as they grew up together they have grown a deep love for each other: a bond of unconditional trust and adoration between the future King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Jacaerys comes to crouch in front of her, placing his hands on her knees and caressing the joint over the silk of her night gown. His tunic is gone, leaving him in just his white undershirt and trousers, Daenera’s eyes trail to the bit of collarbone she can from her vantage point. 

“Are you alright? Did Aegon hurt you?” the prince asks, searching her deep purple eyes that snap back to his face at his words. 

“I’m fine, Jace. If I can match you in a spar, I can handle myself against that drunken lecher,” she chuckles slightly, setting her book aside and reaching up to brush a stray curl away from his brow. “Are you alright?” She asks, reaching for his hand with its already darkening skin. She’d let her hair down to hang around her shoulders and even clouded by anger as his mind is, Jacaerys notices her etherealness. She has always been a sharp and unsettling kind of beauty, her eyes seeming to have the ability to gaze upon your soul, but Jacaerys relishes her softer side. The side she so rarely shows others.

“Wish I’d gotten more blows in,” he grumbles, standing and pacing in front of the hearth, his shoulders tight and face scrunched in anger. 

“Maybe you’ll have a chance before we return to Dragonstone,” she offers with a smirk. “The cunts deserve it, the pair of them.” 

“Will I never be free of this? Of these slanders that are whispered in my wake? Will they sneer at me when I sit on the throne? Ignore my rulings and snicker-” 

“Jace, breathe,” Daenera pleads, concerned with the rising panic she sees in his eyes. 

“I cannot, Daeny!” the prince exclaims, “How am I meant to be a King, a leader, when I am not respected?” 

“Darling, we are barely eight and ten, you are second in line at present. Respect will come with time. Once your mother is Queen the people will become familiar with you, with your grace, your kindness, your justness,” she says, placatingly, reaching out for his hand, forcing him to stop his pacing and look at her. “They will forget the slanders the Hightowers murmur because you will be a good and just King. Besides, it's your mother’s blood that makes you royal, not your father’s.” 

“And yet there will always be those who call me a Strong. The King cannot take every single one of their tongues,” he says with a heavy sigh, running a ringed hand through his hair in distress. Daenera considers this for a moment, knowing it is true enough, and Jacaerys sighs, turning to face the hearth, planting his hands on the stone and gazing down into the flames. 

“So make it a compliment,” the lady says after a long moment, leaning back on her arm on the settee, her deep amethyst eyes watching the prince. 

“Make the doubt of my paternity a compliment?” Jacaerys scoffs, turning to her. “How in the Seven Hells-” 

“If they shall call you ‘Strong’ no matter what, the more you rage against it the more power the slight has. The only way to take away its power is to show it cannot be used to hurt or diminish you. Take it as your moniker and wear it like armor so all know tis not a weapon they can wield against you.” 

“Jacaerys the Strong?” he asks slowly, the wheels turning behind his eyes, unable to deny the intelligence of her council. He sits down slowly next to Daenera, his eyes fixed on a point on the rug.

“King Jacaerys the Strong, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” she purrs, leaning towards the prince, a smirk on her lips. She watches as a firelight dances in his eyes, his pupils dilating at her proximity. 

“Hm, not bad,” he smiles, and leans down, connecting his brow with Daeny’s, running a finger calloused from years of practice with a blade across her jaw. 

“What is it?” Daenera asks softly after a moment, pulling away to look into Jace’s eyes, sensing he is still feeling troubled. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, not meeting her eyes. 

“Jacaerys,” she chides, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. 

“Just… fucking Aegon… I fear he is right in his jests. I have no idea how to please you as you deserve,” Jacaerys confesses shyly, pulling his face from Daeny’s hands as heat creeps into his face. 

Daeny cannot help the laugh that escapes her lips, of all the troublesome worries that the day has brought, her sweet betrothed worries of her pleasure. Sex is not something the pair have discussed in length yet, even though their wedding is a little more than a moon away. The pair tend to flit around such topics, even when they steal secret kisses in dark corners of Dragonstone and come away with scarlet cheeks and racing hearts. 

“And now even you laugh at me!” He exclaims exasperatedly and stands to move away but Daenera quickly stands as well, stepping in front of him and stopping him from leaving. She pushes him back to his seat and kneels before him, her hands on his shoulders. 

“No, my love, I’m not laughing at you, I’m sorry. Tis just that you should not concern yourself with such worries,” she says gently, running her hand from his broad shoulder to the toned expanse of his chest, feeling his heart beating under his skin. 

“But I-” 

“I have no more knowledge on how to please a man than you do a woman, Jace,” she continues, her voice placating and soft. “We shall learn together and be stronger and better for it.” Jacaerys meets her amethyst eyes, finding comfort in the truth and lack of judgment he finds in them. “Besides, I cannot believe that Aegon knows any more than you do. He has never had any care for anything besides his own pleasures and you heard poor Helaena’s toast. He targets you because he knows you are more generous and loving than he could ever hope to be.”  Jacaerys chuckles at this, knowing she speaks true of his uncle and melts into her touch at last. 

“You truly do not care?” He asks, toying with the ends of her silver hair that brushes against his knee. 

“Shall I prove it to you, my prince?” she purrs, a teasing mischief in her eyes as she runs a hand up his chest to the nape of his neck, pulling him down to meet her lips in a kiss. He sighs into her embrace, his hands finding purchase on her waist as he deepens the kiss, his tongue darting between her lips. Realizing she is still kneeling on the floor in front of the settee, he grips her hips tightly and pulls her to straddle him, pulling a gasp from her lips which eggs the prince on. Jacaerys’ hands brush through Daeny’s hair, pushing it away from her face, and trail down her back to explore her figure; Daenera weaves one hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the roots and eliciting a groan she feels through her other hand which rests on his chest. 

Without warning, Jace stands and without breaking their kiss carries Daeny with him as he makes his way to the bed, resting her gently on the linen sheets and covering her smaller body with his. All his insecurities and rage momentarily forgotten as he loses himself in her, the only girl he has ever had eyes for, and proves to her, and to himself, just how strong a lover he can be.

[wttcsms]

what do we think about arranged marriage au with conglomerate heiress/daughter!reader x ceo!character. as the youngest daughter, you may not have the inheritance rights to the most assets, but you offer something many ambitious (greedy) conglomerate sons want: ownership to said assets very soon. the thing is, you’re born with a rare heart disease and you don’t have long to live. it’s your beloved grandmother’s wish to see you happily married, and because you love her so much, you’re willing to spend your last few years on this earth fulfilling her dream. besides, life could be worse. you could be stuck with your husband for a long life, like many other daughters who have come before you.

what you don’t expect is character to be the one who negotiates the hardest. you don’t know the conditions of the deal he makes with your family, so you have no clue that the price he pays to have you be his bride is worth far more than whatever assets you could offer him during death. you don’t know what to expect with this marriage; he doesn’t even seem interested in you at all. he sleeps in a separate room, and then even asks you if you want to find an apartment of your own. he doesn’t ask you about your personal life or what you did that day. he doesn’t even ask you to be his plus one at events. you have no idea why he wanted to marry you in the first place.

what you don’t realize is that stoic, expression-less character is endearingly awkward. he isn’t good with affection and doesn’t know how to string together warm sentiments. he doesn’t know how to tell you that he likes you, that he’s always liked you, and that he thought he was doing you a favor. everyone who “wants” to marry you was just going to use you. with all the money in the world, he knows he can’t save your life, but he does know that he can give you the freedom to live your life how you want.

(he doesn’t realize that he’s pushing you away, and you don’t realize how pure and kind his intentions are!!!)

[satoruhour]

need reader to have a confession with priest!geto about how they feel guilty for touching themselves late alone at night and priest!geto helps them by just fucking their brains out as a “penance” for their sins.

yes, i’m okay in the head btw! (lie)

AU REVOIR, O HEAVEN !

wc: 12.2k

warnings: DARK CONTENT, SLOW BUILDUP, CORRUPTION, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), long descriptive fic that goes in depth of christian lore, lots and lots of christian references / metaphors / analogies, comparison to Satan’s banishment and fall from heaven, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, multiple scenes of f! and m! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, virginity loss, both f! and m! receiving oral, cumshot, praise, degradation, spitting, sex in a religious place, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

for a small town like yours, it was a no-brainer that everyone knew everyone; and everyone’s drama as well. from the baker’s daughter being a whore to the mayor of the town being sacked for purposes that have since been twisted by word of mouth. that was another thing: word got around fast, and it was particularly suffocating in a conservative town such as yours. people were not outright about the obvious choices they favoured, but there was the older generation who were not shy to turn down progressive ideas.

because of that, the previous priest was kicked out because of the misuse of funds from mass collection and offertory. it was one thing to see a bunch of notes missing from the sack and the money counter but it was another thing to see that money going into funding a new strip club that was opening in the next town over.

it was simply unheard of, and the parishioners basically gave him a free ride to that very strip club by excommunicating him from his own church. it was unbecoming of a priest, especially in such a small congregation that everyone made sure the new priest to transfer here was a God-honouring one.

you hope he was. you’ve always felt the obligated need to serve your god and your parents. always the good girl, following the Ten Commandments, saving yourself for marriage. it was the natural order of a christian, and you could only hope that you’d get even a fraction of the eternal life they preach about in mass. but lately you’ve been having some . . thoughts, and you pray that this new priest could help you immensely, even if you had to do a hundred Hail Mary’s at the pews.

it was peculiar, the first time it occurred to you. the area where your body separates into two and forms two legs — the centre of it all, the middle where Eve had it covered in statues and paintings with a leaf, the middle where you had only learned of it in anatomical drawings. you knew what the vagina, cervix and the ovaries were, but seeing the convergence of pink and maroon between your legs confused you, even scared you.

and the next was when you’d had a guy come up to you whilst doing up your university application, saying something along the lines of how cute you were, would you like to grab a drink some time? and you were left dumbfounded and unable to answer. you let your eyes travel over his features, of the exposed arms of his button up shirt and the thickness of his forearms, you let your eyes skim over his plump thighs before you’re asked “are you okay?”

“n . . no sorry, i already have a boyfriend.” you lie through your teeth and all the guy does is sigh before walking away — but now you’re left with a bigger problem . . why was the thing between your legs throbbing? you swear you can feel your panties getting wet as well, but you aren’t quite sure why.

that night you’re lying in bed with a lewd website shining right in your face, as you’ve laid here for about two hours already, going through in your head whether you really wanted to do this. your hands had been clean, untainted from the moment you were born, but you imagine going to university and knowing not a thing about sex and that makes your whole body burn in embarrassment.

you chicken out and fall asleep.

“honey! come down here, i want you to meet someone.” your mother calls out to you, running about like she usually does. she’s always overworking — caring for the newborn, cooking the meals, cleaning the place. why don’t you ask dad to help sometimes? / nonsense! he works so hard and deserves a break! i don’t mind. / but he just lazes around at home after work . .

you’re pleasantly surprised to find a long-haired man at your front door, clad in a thick and loose turtleneck sweater with a gentle smile on his face. that uncomfortable feeling returns to your core and you land a hand to your stomach to calm the churning that’s happening.

“hello, and you are?”

you’d never think you would see one of God’s angels on earth in actual flesh in front of you. you’re convinced God is looking over you and you think you might see heaven when that silky voice repeats himself again.

“hi, kind miss, are you alright?”

“h . . huh? oh! yeah, uhm— who are you?”

your mother smacks you on your shoulder and sidles up to your side, holding onto your arm a little tightly that it hurts just a bit.

“don’t be rude!” she whisper-shouts to you, “this is geto suguru, and—”

“and i’m the new priest for the church.”

that catches you off-guard. he’s the new priest that was just transferred over? he looks anything but a holy man of God, what with his long hair and gauges in his ears; if you didn’t know any better you would think he was the one paying for the strip club instead. he seems to read your mind.

“i know i look . . a bit of a delinquent, miss, but i promise you the word of God is what i strictly live by. i honour and praise him with all that i can.”

“ah, i’m sorry if you thought i thought that way, father.” you mumble, giving him an awkward smile that he misses because he’s too busy focusing on the way you say father. you’re prepared to close the door on him already; the pulsing sensation between your legs isn’t fading and your whole body feels like it burns in hell. you rub your thighs together for some sort of relief, nothing.

“that’s usually the response i get, so i thought i would preface it first.” a little laugh leaves geto’s lips and if it wasn’t for you holding on for dear life on the door, you definitely would’ve buckled under your knees. “no hard feelings.”

“he’s a charmer, ain’t he?” there’s another sheepish laugh from the pastor at that. “told me he’s been going around giving cakes to all the people as a way to thank them for letting him take over the church.” your heart melts at that — he looked so hot and had a heart of gold, too?

“what cake did you get us, father?” you blurt out and you have no time to take it back, but the preacher doesn’t seem to mind. you also don’t seem to mind that barrier of authority that was established ever since he‘s introduced himself as the new priest of the church. it felt . . friendlier, less intimidating than the previous. it was probably mostly due to him not wearing his cassock or collar, though.

“chocolate.” that one word possibly ignited every nerve in you. the smooth lilt in his voice paired with the slight smirk. it was detrimental. you were going to hell, you were condemned to eternal damnation.

“how’d you know i liked chocolate?”

he shrugs, “lucky guess.” wrong.

he had come around the day before already, but you were too distracted with work and pressured with a deadline that music drained out everything else — one look at your side profile and the hard-working first year university student was all it took for geto to return again today with another cake of your liking. oh! you’re such a sweet one for asking what flavour we like; frankly, my dear boy, my husband and i don’t really eat cake but her . . loves it for some reason. i wonder where she gets the sweet tooth from, honestly.

geto could only thank his saviour that your mother had promised not to tell you he already came around yesterday. and it looks like she didn’t.

“i should get going, miss . .”

“(y/n).”

geto simply nods his head, resisting the urge to call your name pretty and only manages a decent call to your mother. “mrs (l/n), i’m heading off, thank you for having me. (y/n).”

you return his smile, hesitantly, inching the door close with immense difficulty — you wanted to see him walk away with that imposing height of his, of the proper gait he carried himself with and the politeness in which he greets people of the town.

that night you locked yourself in your room, muttering out some dumb excuse of having to study for a test when in reality you were more interested in the feeling between your legs. it both excited and scared you when you first find a comfortable position on your bed, stalling for a good half ’n hour before the clinking cutlery of dinner happening downstairs had brought you to your senses. there were countless articles open in your safari tab, none of which helped your growing dilemma — a tear in the Red Sea between the sin of pleasure and the liberation of acting on it. you felt like Moses, treading in the centre, on the fence.

one last text made you yelp out loud.

[8:03 pm, read]: R u coming down 4 dinner?

it was your mother, as if she knew what was happening behind doors.

[8:03 pm, delivered]: nope, sorry mummy. need to study for this test, its important !

[8:05 pm, read]: Alright, alright. I left out a serving of what we cooked tonite. Heat up if u need to with the microwave O.K.? Don’t sleep so late!

you simply favourited her message, losing all motivation from before; until your mind crosses over dinner and goes straight to that chocolate cake, and then to the person who had brought it.

“Farewell happy fields / Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

“geto . . geto suguru.” the name feels foreign. it does sound like a countryside name but it felt like he had come from the city instead. “geto . .” you sigh, letting your hands tremble and move along your body. they brush over your chest, over your nipples and you recoil a little from the strange feeling. they harden under your touch as you continue to repeat his name.

each murmur of his name is a step farther from God, dipping your toes into the waters of hell as your fingers travel lower, lower, lower. you press a finger against your clit unknowingly, and you let out a loud moan; you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

but the pleasure’s too much, and so you try again. one hand goes back to your nipples, squeezing your tits and playing with them while your fingers rub pathetic circles along your core.

“su . .” you gulp. “geto—”

you pant softly to yourself as you continue to rub your clit, messy, inexperienced circles in whatever shape or form. as long as it felt good to you, you were doing it. you made sure to keep your moans in as your hips bucked into your hands, back arching off the bed in needy movements. your hands were getting tired, clutching at the bedsheets.

long hair, built physique, crucifix on his neck. funny, you never noticed that before, but now you imagine it clearly, dangling over your face. you’re imagining geto fucking you, thrusting his cock into you as he groans out your name.

you’re at the end of your tether, feeling the deep plunge of your body in Satan’s lair the same time you cum for the first time in your life and your body shakes so violently. you flail around on your bed, bite into your shirt, anything to keep you quiet from the immense orgasm you had just felt. your pussy clenches around nothing and your hand aches so much it might fall off, but it just feel so damn good that you only have a minute’s rest before you’re rubbing at your clit again.

scooping up a little of your cum, you marvel at the clear liquid, sucking on your finger to try the thing that’s always drenched your panties. and soon you’re conjuring the image of the long-haired priest yet again, never really studying for that test you made up or even eating dinner — all you do is rest and come again, each time more wrecked than the last time.

you dreaded going to church the next morning.

it had slipped your mind that service was to continue once geto has gotten settled down in the rectory, a small outhouse at the back of the church that had been revamped. you’re not sure on how father geto was able to get it done up so fast but, you’re not one to question.

with the short walk to church, you regret not eating the night before, groaning softly at the discomfort of your growling stomach. what you were more worried of though, was what would happen to you once you stepped foot in the church. was your body going to go up in flames? were you going to get ridiculed by the townspeople? were you going to get called out by father geto in front of everyone?

“what’s gotten you so worked up?” your father was walking behind and smoking, as always, not giving a shit about your mother and the newborn.

“nothing . . just, wondering if i got everything in my head for my test.” your mother coos, and your baby brother in the carrier thinks it’s because of him. he babbles into your mom’s shirt, giggling.

“you’ll do fine, honey,” the reassurance worried you only more. you were lying outright — you had no test, you weren’t even studying, you were busy—!

“i raised a smart girl, didn’t i?” you can only manage a smile, reaching the church within minutes. taking the chance to mutter a short prayer and a plea, you take a deep breath and that light from above Lucifer’s kingdom seem to call out to you again.

stepping into the simple but cozy church, you dip your hands in holy water. Father, Son, Holy Spirit along your forehead, chest and shoulders before you trail behind your mother, suggesting places for you to sit at the back. she only waved your hand away, pointing towards the front. we always sit at the front! why the sudden change? / nothing . . maybe thought we could switch it up a little.

the mass starts after a few minutes of waiting, and you have the luxury of wallowing in your self-pity and guilt for those few minutes, trying to get the very filthy imagery of father geto above you, father geto between your legs, father geto himself out of your head. you fail, it’s only amplified when the bell rings and the congregation stands up.

everyone waits in anticipation for the new priest in this small town, hoping he won’t disappoint them like the last one. but they already seem to be in good spirits as he makes the entrance down the very short church. two altar boys follow behind him in the procession, accompanied by an organist and a duo of choir singers, straining to have their voice heard over the loud instrument. he’s already made some friends, nodding to the excited kid who whispers and the shy girl who waves her hands at him. but while everyone feels anticipation in hopes of a good sermon, dread is only making your legs feel like lead, you feel lightheaded, dizzy even.

because whatever you had imagined last night was him in his sweater get-up, and it just now sinks in what a disgusting thing you were doing as you watch the rich purple of his chasuble sway alongside his stole — the very image of him in his priest robes (in Lent season too, not to mention) — meant to deter you from more thoughts, only fed your desires.

geto suguru made being a pastor look so natural, and attractive, that it was almost criminal.

“good morning, brothers and sisters, how are we all doing this morning?” there’s a few murmurs around, but geto doesn’t falter, instead pressing on with his very convincing, beautiful speech; as does he with the rest of the mass. he conducts himself with as much professionalism as he can, handling the Eucharist with proper hands, giving a sermon whilst giving you too many eyes, distributing Holy Communion with a gentle, accepting smile; your skin burnt when he handed you the body of Christ, a soft inaudible “amen” hanging off your lips.

father geto was all the talk after, some hanging around to catch a minute of geto’s time if they could and you were no different, purposely looping your arm through your mother’s and slowly down your pace.

“goin’ out for a smoke.” your father gruffly tells the three of you, two of which understands better. your newborn simply cuddles deeper into your mother’s breast, humming softly into the nap.

“’kay.” it was opportunistic, now, as your eyes flit around the place to find geto talking to two older ladies. he’s politely bent down to reach their heights better, chasuble now removed and simply in his alb, one patting his shoulder and the other giggling. you think you imagine it but his eyes dart over to you for a moment and then off to the other parishioners.

“how are you two lovely ladies doing?” you hear him before you see him and the voice startles you a little, jumping back from brushing your baby brother’s almost non-existent hair.

“fine.” it comes out kurt and abrupt and you burn when your mother nudges you like yesterday.

“think what she means is that we’re perfectly fine. how was your first mass?”

father geto looks around the church, recalls the altar boys, ingrains each church-goer into his head, “i hope the congregation likes me.”

“oh, nonsense! i’m sure they do,” your mother reassures. she was always good like that, putting others before her and making sure they see the best in themselves, “that was a very riveting sermon you delivered.”

“yeah—! yeah, i . . really enjoyed it, father geto.”

a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “did you now?”

you nod, and he continues, “you enjoyed me telling you that sin was revolting?”

when he phrases it like that . . you swallow, “isn’t that what God’s whole schtick is?”

and that makes father geto laugh, because for such an innocent flower like you, you make it sound like you were forced to go to church and made to learn the basis of why God exists and now you just don’t know what to do with it. it’s common for people at their university age where they’re exposed to more views and mindsets, to question the religion you were born in and think about what it meant to be tied to a god you didn’t even really know existed, and when that happens, Christianity turns stagnant and boring.

“yes, pretty much, miss (y/n), but His schtick also involves forgiving anyone who has sinned against Him. after all, that’s what He died on the cross for.”

“y . . yeah, i know, father geto.”

you only realise now his purple chasuble matches his eyes, eyes that swirl with the colours of amethyst. they’re much brighter in the parish lighting, and they hold your stare much longer than yesterday. there’s the tugging feeling at your stomach again that goes right down to your centre and it throbs; your eyes flutter and blink to get you out of your head.

“good that you know . . of course, it’s not an invitation to sin. self-restraint and chastity still exists,” you hate how he puts an emphasis on the latter word, because he could be referring to anything, “but we need not be worried for our lives. we only need to pray and repent in prayer, and God will have mercy on us.”

but well, if God didn’t want you to sin, how then can he explain creating such an attractive person? if God valued his followers’ self control, why did he have to plant such lewd, inappropriate thoughts of his preacher in your head?

father geto could probably see your dilemma with how hard he was staring at you, and he only makes it worse by putting his larger hand on your left shoulder. it descends deeper to your upper arm and the skin there ignites—

“i hope you liked the chocolate cake.”

you manage a small smile, “haven’t had the chance to try it, sorry, father.”

“don’t apologise.” you forget your mother and baby brother is even beside you with how he talks to you. you’d love to be on his chest, hearing the deep rumbling of his voice or even have his hands be somewhere else but your arm. you don’t know how simply talking to you has got him doing everything in his power to restrain himself; not even a prayer from God could help.

“The mind is its own place, and in it self / Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.”

what you don’t know, either, that the hand on your shoulder was between his legs just last afternoon, trying so hard not to sneak under his cassock. he could barely keep his moans in, palming his bulge from above his robes at the mere thought of you. no touching means less sin, right? he comes to that pathetic conclusion easily, so all he does is bury himself in the outhouse after distributing his cakes, hips positioned over his pillow and he grinds.

the feeling for father geto was so archaic, been so long since he’s given up his life to God right after graduating university. all the carefree times that he’s experienced — drinking in dorms, going to parties, getting some nice quick fucks in between exams — were going to stop for good. but that doesn’t mean he stopped lusting.

lust. one of the seven deadly sins, a weak point for father geto’s journey as a pastor. it’s obvious now too that he hasn’t really left his older ways, bucking his hips into the fabric of his pillow. he thinks of you, your sweet little eyes and your cute outfit at home, he thinks of your face twisted into pleasure as he’s positioned between your legs.

father geto twitches, friction against the underside of his cock feeling so good after years and years of holding back — with a pretty face to think of, too. his hips ruts in short thrusts, desperate for that high and he chokes on a moan imagining your sweet voice begging to cum. and so does he, shooting such a large, hot load into his underwear that even his cassock is stained with his cum. but unlike you, he’s already thinking of his next round — if he’s doomed to die by lust, then might as well go all the way.

father geto spares a glance towards the door just to be safe before flipping over on his back, and pulls his robes above his lower half. the sight is dirty, underwear painted a darker colour and cum sticking to every part of the fabric. once he wraps a hand around his cock, geto is gone, pumping it so fast he might have gotten a burn along his length but it’s all rewarded by the second quick orgasm he reaches — spurting ribbons of cum all over his holy garments.

it’s why he didn’t have time to write a proper sermon for the morning mass. he was up all night, stroking himself — just, from the thought of you.

it was father geto’s turn to have uneven breaths as you asked if he was okay, hand on your shoulder shaking. but the visions of last night is overtaken quickly by his need to impress the other parishioners, and so he gives you a tense smile.

“enjoy the cake.” it sounded like an innuendo if you’ve ever heard one, but you mutter a soft thank you, before heading off back home with your family. that contact with your shoulder is all you can think of, giddy at the warmth of his hand and eyes.

“baby, could you open the door for me?” your mother calls out to you, hastily wiping her hands on her apron and abandoning the kitchen to tend to your crying baby brother.

“ok, mummy!” the doorbell’s been rung twice now, jogging a little to the door to prevent the person from waiting. you didn’t think to look through the peephole, a tight-knit (conservative) community made you trust anyone, opening the door to find father geto standing in front of you.

“o-oh. hi, father . .?”

he was dressed in his roman collar, a black shirt with a white strip around the neck and some black jeans. it wasn’t as casual as the first day, and it still held an ode to God even on a weekday.

“hi, (y/n).”

“ohhh! it’s father geto, come, come!” your mother bellows throughout the house, baby brother on her hip as she bounces him to get him to stop wailing. “are you hungry already?”

geto displays a meek smile, “a little, mrs (l/n), since you mentioned how big of a feast you were cooking.”

your mouth drops in recognition; was that why she was so preoccupied for the whole day? doing the maximum in the kitchen not just because it was for your father’s recent promotion at his job, but also for dinner with father geto.

“you’re having . . dinner with us.” it’s more of a statement to yourself than a question to the priest, but he still catches on and assists you by closing the door himself, and taking off his shoes. already, he looks part of the family, looking like a hard-working husband coming back from his job to you. instead, he’s answered the vocation of priesthood, and not matrimony.

“it looks like i am.” it’s such a sly comment, like he already knew the effect he had on everyone. this sucking up was just to get every church-goer to like him more, and it’s working.

geto is charming at the dinner table as he is at the parish, cracking jokes that make both your parents and you laugh, talking about his university life and telling a myriad of stories that he’s gone through.

“what did you major in in university, father?” it felt such a weird question, especially with an honorific attached to something that you were doing at the moment — it felt out of place that someone so close to your age was already pursuing a lifetime commitment of serving God.

“my studies focused mostly on philosophy and theology. i minored in linguistics.” there’s a chorus of ooh’s that echo throughout the table, cleaning up the last bit of food on his plate before he continued. “i’m currently going more in depth for latin, which is a stunning language, beyond those who say it’s dead and should stay dead.”

that only makes him hotter, and you cross your legs beside him, looking at him from the corner of your eye at you play with the last meatball on your plate. the sauce leaves a trail of red from the tomato, somehow mirroring the murder of your old self — or what you thought it was. it was more of a knife wound, a cowardly stab in the arm.

that dinner with father geto only deepened your sense of guilt.

it was the way the priest was quick to stand just as your mother does, offering to help with cleaning up the dinner table. even when she brushes him off, he insisted, answering for her when he only silently takes the plates to the back. all your mom does is shake her head with a smile, letting you help as well. your father just watches curiously, entertaining the baby with his canned alcohol.

“i’m embarrassed i can’t fight back against you well enough to stop ya from cleaning up at my own house,” your mother confesses, already having used her last breath to tell him to not help with the dishes as well. you scrub at a stain on geto’s plate over and over, a stubborn one at that until you finally are able to get it out. it still leaves a faint red glow, though.

“it’s nothing, really, mrs (l/n), i’m happy to help whenever.” father geto’s eyes rake over your figure as you clean alongside your mother, heel bouncing up and down; to non-existent music or in impatience he wasn’t sure.

she just takes the soapy plate from your hands with a laugh, “c’mon, it’s okay, my dear. go entertain father geto.”

it was the way his courtesy shined through when he doesn’t enter your room until he has gotten verbal confirmation from you, guiding him in with a uneasy hand as he looked around your quaint little space. it was filled with photos, some plants, tons of research papers and a messy table to match, but all he did was reassure you. you take note of his flowing hair and the laid back hairstyle he liked to don when it wasn’t for mass.

“how is university treating you?” you’re stuck on being completely honest and lying with every answer, but father geto has a face that makes it difficult to lie to.

“it’s . . alright, i guess,” you settle on your bed, crossing your legs and hoping he wouldn’t pick up any of your essays. thinking is manifesting, though, and his hands naturally go for the paper with the many red markings on the front page.

“Paradise Lost? by Milton?” ah. that paper. you shoot up from the sheets before he can read it, because frankly your thesis in that paper was weak and wasn’t well supported, but you still believed it deeply. you were just having a little bit of trouble straying from your reverence for God. you only manage to clutch the top of your paper, but geto is adamant on reading it, piqued by genuine curiosity.

“the retelling of Milton’s Paradise Lost humanises the experience of Satan’s (or Lucifer’s) fall from glory . .” he trails off, reading over your evidences and analysis. you feel like you’re being read like an open book, laid out bare for vultures to pick at and for God to enumerate your sins until you felt no shame.

with his head still tilted down, father geto has to look up through his lashes and bangs, seemingly making you cower more and more in your spot as the unsolicited advice for your essay dies down on his tongue. the size of his hands has you hypnotised, and he decides it’s against his own values to give feedback about a text he so childishly brushed off when he was in university, even if he had to read it to complete four years in the seminary. geto places a hand upon yours and the heat is dizzying; you can’t help but think if he was just normal person, instead, holding your hand like this.

it was the way he let you explain yourself a little better through your own words. it was a premature essay, anyway, made to test out your close reading and citation skills. but he found your interpretation of Milton’s poem to be much more insightful than he expected it to be — you think maybe, your understanding of the text grows the more you learn about your body, how you like to be pleasured; you feel like Lucifer.

“i . . don’t necessarily think you are born into evil. it’s multi-faceted and loaded, this question. God our Father would do anything but create evil willingly, it’s just unfortunate that the people that bring up their offspring contribute to the shaping of their identity and outcome.”

“then, how . .” your lips twist as you think of a way to word the question, “how would that justify evil existing? wouldn’t the fact that evil is developed somehow meant that God created evil in some shape or form, in the first place?”

father geto rushes to answer but—

“why did he have to create the serpent that tempted Eve in the first place? couldn’t he have just left them alone in Eden?”

“...there to dwell / In adamantine chains and penal fire / Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms.”

you frown, not expecting the other to answer but instead just wallowing in your thoughts. you never thought the talk with father geto would turn into some philosophy lesson, but the more you chatted with him on the bed, the more the conversation seemed to steer that way.

your own faith wavers in the night, a quietness settling over the two of you like a cloak of stars. the mass of each star weighs heavily with your questions up in the air until you faintly hear his answer.

“i don’t . . know, miss (y/n).”

“ah! no no— sorry to dump everything on you, father geto,” you scratch the back of your head, “it was just passing thoughts. i’ve never thought to think of this before.”

it was morbid, it was macabre. it was like looking over and seeing a skeleton in your place instead of flesh and skin and yet each question after question ignites something in him that no one has excited before. he can already feel lust influencing the other six, pumping through his veins at a life void of God, void of religion, a free place to think of the omnipotence of a higher being that no one was sure really existed.

“it’s okay . . it’s natural to ask. it’s natural to inquire. God,” he nods like he was in a trance; the word feels weird on his tongue, “God would want this.”

that night you did anything but sin, clutching the essay between your hands and digging your knees into the floor with elbows on your bed until they ached and you prayed. you wished blessings on your family, you wished blessings on the parishioners, you wished blessings on father geto and you wished eternal damnation on yourself.

there’s a heavy pull on your heart when you go to sleep a few minutes after and the dream you have of your body turning to soot and burning with each feet into flames makes you crave salvation all the more — like all a bad dream, it will be fine as long as you pray, and pray, and pray.

but the flesh desires what the heart denies: the more you ‘hang’ with father geto (by God, he was perfectly okay with that word when you let it slip to your mother. he merely throws up a peace sign in a ‘cool’ way and then immediately cringes, but it makes you laugh), the more you find yourself attracted to his morals, to his ideals, to the natural way in which he exists. he could speak for hours on end, voice sounding like birdsong and a chilling breeze all at the same time.

his voice did wonders in your head, as well, coaxing you into betraying your own code; and you betray it easily. that phantasmic voice leaving you to remove your top and pinching your nipples as soft little moans leave your mouth. the imaginary sway of his crucifix above your face while you harshly abuse your clit and dip a finger into you for the first time. the feeling is so foreign and weird that you shamelessly think of the slight lilt of his voice helping you: “it’ll feel better soon, (y/n). c’mon, finger your pussy for father geto.”

father geto had a natural talent for talking and preaching. that downturn of tone like hitting a dead-end when he holds a point above your head (“but”) and then resolves it into perfect cadence like chords ending a phrase when he proposes a solution (“God will take care of everything”). he does it so much you think he’s rather convincing himself more than he’s convincing you, though.

“perhaps this parable that Jesus uses tells us rather to look within ourselves, to look within the vineyard that is us. the owner have done everything: kept the roots tied so it would not be trampled, making sure they get all the sunlight and water it needs, yet . .” he pauses a little, looking at the almost full parish now that he’s won over the hearts of your town. his eyes flit down to you at the second pew, shooting you a quick smile.

“and yet he yields sour grapes. we pray, we act civil and diplomatic, we are giving, but are you truly doing it for the glory of God? is that maybe why we only get the sour grapes — not satisfied with the ‘thank you’ after doing a favour or silence from God after praying daily?”

geto looks over the last bits of the scribbled sermon, a little more coherent than last week, but still done with thoughts of you. there’s multiple smudges of his words that he has to squint and stutter a bit, caused by the frantic cleaning of his cum upon the paper.

“we all . . naturally expect things back, but to be Christian, to be a follower of Christ, we would have to abandon all thoughts of that.” father geto’s mind wanders to last night as his eyes look for you again. “we would need to be generous, to be kind without needing anything in return.”

father geto integrates into the church easily, shown in how his sermons capture the hearts of many. albeit, they never really take in the true meanings of the preachings he gives, but it’s enough for geto if they nod and mutter amen like fools in mass; whatever they do out of it is out of his hands.

but along the many preachings he does, there is one subject he fears approaching: lust, the one thing that threatens the downfall of his vocation and yet he cannot get enough of it. each walk and meeting with you only heightens his desire, makes his cock throb beneath his robes. each sunday he wishes he could split his soul in half — one as the confessor and one as the confessing — and repent in the confessional box.

“today’s gospel from Mark, chapter 6 talks about lust, briefly.” there’s a shake in his voice, eyes now scrambling over the congregation to find you in a much more revealing top contrasting with the out-of-place cardigan you have on. he’s sure it was mrs (l/n) that had made you put that on before you left the house; the house where he’s memorised the placement of your shoe rack and how your door creaks when it’s opened too quickly. geto is so fucked.

geto clears his throat before continuing, seeing you adjust your body for a moment, “King Herod is tempted by his flesh when he sees one of Herodias’ daughters dancing, so much so that she tempts him to commit murder. a clear beheading, just from giving into her body, and when she asks of him, he delivers like a dog. this calls us to truly think of the desires that we possess. they need not be sexual,” soft whispers emerge, a taboo subject, “they can also be related to money, to power.”

“lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust,” geto is sweating by now. he pulls lightly on his collar when you press your arms together in retaliation and he has to look away from the way your tits perk up so perfectly.

you had to know what you were doing, surely. partially — you were feeling cold, but you stifle a smile when you realise how geto’s eyes linger a little longer on you, or rather your chest, before he coughs and continues,

“when we are driven so terribly by the feeling that we abandon all morals just to please this person, thing on earth is when we tread into dangerous territory. no earthly possession must make you feel this way,”

the irony settles in his bones after he says it and his dick twitches at the thought of having you under the podium right now, sticking his fat cock down your throat while you struggle to keep the gagging noises to a minimum.

“no matter . .” a gulp, “how rewarding the aftermath must be.”

father geto knows you both are braving the edge of God’s merry kingdom. it is just a matter of who falls first.

“your place is in the kingdom of God, meant to fulfil eternal life with Jesus and the Lord which is what we all should be keeping in mind and working towards, ignoring all the distractions that will soon fade and die off.”

geto coughs again in the mic and breaths shakily, finally tearing his eyes away from you before he concludes the sermon and eases into the Offertory and Eucharist. he buries himself so deep in the procession in order to get you out of his mind, and it’s shown in the haste in which he carries the mass. it feels like he rushes so much that even the day outside follows too, because evening seems to arrive earlier than usual.

the sun sets outside, illuminating the altar. it taunts you like reminding you of the beauty of your faith; it deepens the need developing in your core.

“body of Christ.” you can faintly hear it being repeated over and over at the front, just a few steps away from your turn and you wish you weren’t standing behind your dad’s hulking figure so you could actually prepare yourself for father geto. you’re greeted with his cascading hair tied up into a bun and the cup containing Jesus’ body, gold and shining. you see your stretched reflection before your eyes snap back to the pastor in front and you will your hands not to hail routine.

instead, you stick out your tongue for the father to put the communion on and you take in the little panic of his hands and the choked sentence of body of Christ. his eyes drift down to your pink tongue, to the small twitch it does when he places the host on it and he cannot wait for you to get out of his sight, lest he be overtaken by the sin he particularly preached about just minutes ago.

“any test to study for tonight, darling?” your mother asks after dinner, meaning to ask after seeing you be so fidgety like you needed to be somewhere.

“uh . . no, not exactly, but i do have something i need to do.”

“oh! what is it, sweetie?” she doesn’t read your expressions, you mannerisms, so you were safe from that, but you willed your voice to not break. your body is on fire, you needed to quell your needs, now.

“just— i promised father geto i would meet him later for a confession, since he’s so busy, he could only propose a late timing,” no, you didn’t. either way, you give a reason, explain yourself before she can speculate, works every time.

“oh, okay . .” she trails off, seemingly unaffected, “just don’t get home too late, alright, darling?”

you nod even though she’s too focused on the dishes, pressing a hand to her back in thanks and she carries on, carefree, while you sprint to your room. lock the door, get your phone out.

“ . . ings turns into greed when we act on that initial lust . .” the words recorded just hours ago leave the phone speakers on a low volume, already lighting a flame in your pussy when your hand brushes over the microphone and he stops at the same time, “when we are terribly dri . .”

you sigh loudly when your hand starts to make its way down to your centre, rubbing slightly to the sound of his voice. your clit is just begging to be touched, begging for your inexperienced hands flicking your nub in every which way. impatient, your hands dip into your cunt and your jaw drops open at the intrusion of your fingers, just as your eyes widen and your imagination has never worked as well as it does now.

you can see geto’s amethyst eyes boring into yours, you can see his hips fucking into yours and yet it doesn’t give you the same kick as you think it would — you’re fucking yourself with your fingers even faster, circles on your clit increasing in speed and messiness and you smear your juices all around.

“father— father geto—” it was pathetic, the way you moaned for a man of God, but the feeling of your cunt clenching around what you wished was his dick was too good, the coil in your stomach still feeling rather uncomfortable but welcoming and you’re unravelling with a silent scream soon, back arching off the sheets.

“s . . suguru, f-fuck,” the swear word feels weird on your lips, as with his first name, but the trembling of your virgin body is so delicious that you just keep rubbing and rubbing, taking so long to come down from your high as your pants get heavier and heavier. and then his face starts to fade off, eyes turning into lilac air and you’re glancing towards the crumpled essay on your bed with guilt festering in your chest.

“ . . mptations of the flesh are childish, are temporary. they lead you to do foolish things that have no place in the kingdom of God. we may repent and put it past us but the memories that our tainted bodies possess, they remember the sinful things that you did.” the recording of father geto dies out as with his powerful conclusion, speaking so loudly into the mic that it screeches with feedback, you remember. you don’t even know where the guilt builds up from, in your torso and your heart, despite questioning the faith you were in for all your life.

if God did not want us to sin, why did he create temptations and ask us to pray for forgiveness?

you roll over and remove your fingers with a small whine, taking up your phone and opening up the contact with father geto hesitantly. it was meant to be a strictly professional exchange like the conversations he’d had with many other parishioners: updates on the church, changes in mass timings, but your chat was filled with questions from you and answers from him. you didn’t dare ask him anything out of the faith.

[9:37 pm, delivered]: uhm. father geto? are you there?

oh god, it’s you. the you who on the second walk around the town exchanged numbers with him because he found your thoughts so intriguing.

[9:39 pm, read]: Yes, Miss (Y/N). What is it?

you take a deep breath. better to ask for that confession, you couldn’t risk your mother asking about it tomorrow.

[9:40 pm, delivered]: is it alright to have

[9:41 pm, delivered]: can i come over to the church, for a bit

father geto straights up in the rectory, getting closer to the socket where his phone was charging and hovers over the screen. his hands are clammy when typing a response and he manages it in about three minutes.

[9:44 pm, read]: Of course, my dear. The doors of the church are open for the congregation at any time.

bidding goodbye to your mother, you stay on the lit path to the church and you’re bathing in anticipation, too excited to see father geto that you bump into a dark shadow. almost resembling a hard wall, hands emerge from its sides to clutch at your biceps.

“miss (y/n), what is it? what has gotten you up so late at night?” if he was still in university, he would’ve laughed at how he asked that question. hundreds of texts of u up? that mimic the nature of the question right now. 

“i was hoping . .” you ignore the tingly feeling of the way in which his hands leave goosebumps along your biceps and then to your forearms. finally, they clutch your hands between his, meant to be like a warm hug but instead is like fire, licking at your fingers and wrist like you’re at the stake. “i was hoping that i could, request you for a confession?”

the priest across you swallows with a nod, swiftly putting a hand across your back to lead you to the booth. you both could’ve done it perfectly fine in the pews, sitting across each other. “the confessional is where we will feel the strongest compulsion of Christ. come,” he answers your question before you can ask it, “take your place on the kneeler behind the curtains.”

father geto showers in the same sea of anticipation when he makes sure you’re okay before heading over to his side of the confessional. he’s imagined this scene over and over — you on the pew kneeler, breath warming the velvet curtains — he cannot help the bulge that forms.

the first words he speak behind the curtain shock you, voice sounding so close yet so muffled and distant.

“come, now, (y/n), make the Sign of the Cross with me.”

Father, Son and Holy Spirit

upon your head, chest and shoulders you do it, taking a deep breath before you start. “bless me, father, for i have sinned. it has been . . about five years since my last confession.”

geto nods, the soft carry of your voice in the late night having an effect on the priest. the hold he has on the crucifix of the rosary is so tight it makes an indent on his skin, the only thing on mortal flesh to keep him from falling.

“What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.”

your thighs rub together, hot breath sending chills down your clutched hands and down your arm as you ponder over the things you’ve done — “i’ve . . lied to my mother at times, to my friends when they ask me where i’m from. i have stolen money for my own needs, n-not— that high of an amount but um . . still a fair amount.”

“what did you need to buy, sweetheart?”

the name surprises you, but you simply ignore it. “i wanted new clothes — was all the rave at uni when the girls wore miniskirts and little tops. unfortunately it didn’t suit me.”

geto swears under his breath when the image of you in such skimpy clothing infiltrate his thoughts. his curiosity overtakes him; overwhelmed with emotion, he never had the chance to see what you were wearing before he pulls back the curtains and hopes your eyes are closed and they are: pulled tight with quivering eyebrows. there, like a sinning Christian is you in a thin camisole, cleavage showing beneath your arms. he peers lower, gasps softly to himself when you’re wearing a skirt.

“father? father, what’s wrong?” you think you hear the swift swoosh and the rings of the miniature curtain clatter.

“n—nothing is wrong, miss (y/n). are there any other sins you want to confess?”

you swallow, “i . . i’ve wished misfortune on my father.”

not the sin he was hoping for but he wasn’t surprised; his head moves in understanding. he had seen your father — merely a ghost in the house and hardly contributing to fostering the family. it goes against what Mary and Joseph stands for as the Holy Family, but father geto has seen a lot of absent fathers and incompetency to truly be taken aback anymore.

“i’ve also . . i’m not sure whether to tell you this, father geto.”

your breaths were all you could hear in the silence of the church, an eerie quietness settling as if the critters and animals of the earth strived to listen to your ultimate sin, too. Beelzebub, Asmodeus, possibly even Lucifer himself clawed themselves up from hell to eavesdrop.

“of course you can, my dear.” the wind through the wooden confessional box sounds like the hisses of the three demons, like they have had holy water sprayed on them from the mere sounding of his voice; but they look hopefully for a server of Christ to fall exactly like they did.

“it’s, related to my body, father. i,” gulping, you continue with a prompt from the other, “i’ve had this growing need, like, one has when they’re hungry. they have the need to fill their stomachs. or— or a sudden pain you have to massage yourself through, like a cramp in the arm of sorts.”

“well . . is it your torso or your arm?”

“it’s . .” you spare a glance towards your centre under your very, very short skirt, the familiar pulsing of your clit turning more and more prominent. “it’s related to my pussy, father.”

you hear a choke from the other side, and then you realise your choice of words.

“ah— m-my bad! i meant my . . vagina, father geto.”

“no— no u-uhm, the previous term was fine. could you describe what you did? how far did you go so i c-can . . give you the appropriate penance?”

behind the curtains, geto have already started palming his bulge, massaging the ache in his length that still continues to grow and harden. the way you describe is so terribly innocent and unknowing, a deepening urge to corrupt you running through his veins.

“i played with um— my breasts, first. i pulled up my top and felt around my nipples, but i got impatient and . .” geto hangs on to every word of yours, shifting to get his robes out of the way. it was just like the first night: his underwear stained with so much pre-cum it’s probably changed the colour of the garment. he peels it away and the lack of restraint leaves him sighing softly while you ramble on—

“i tried playing with that . . thing between my legs.” you recall the quick google search from that first night, “i played with my clit, father.”

geto stifles a groan into his hand just as he starts to stroke himself softly. “y . . yeah, and?”

“i tried to um . . fit my finger in. it was uncomfortable, at first,” you cannot ignore the pull of your core; your hand shimmies past the clasped hands and down to your skirt. you have no panties to swipe to the side: you came here without any. your finger rubs gently at the throbbing bundle of nerves, a soft whine leaving your lips before you remember you’re in the midst of a confession.

“but i . . i got it into my pussy soon enough. and then i put in another finger.” there was a more audible grunt from the other side, the confessional weirdly heating up immensely as you follow your confession: two fingers easily glide in from just how wet you were.

“when?” there’s a strain in father geto’s voice when he asks it, maybe because he was trying so hard to keep quiet. his jaw is locked as he pumps his cock slowly because his tip is leaking so much that even a simple movement would give him away.

“w-wha—?”

“w-when did you first start . . touching your pussy, (y/n)?” hearing a priest say such a lewd word makes you clench around your fingers.

“after you came to deliver t-that chocolate cake . . father geto.”

“f-fuck—” geto squeezes his eyes shut and it’s like he’s a university student again losing his virginity for the first time by the hands of some random chick pumping him. the implied confession has him stroking faster; it was after that trip he made to your house, it was after seeing you stand at the door like a good little girl, it was because of him, right? right?

you snap back the curtains and your mouth waters at the scene: father geto hunching over the little window that separates the two of you and his head hung low; his cassock gathers around his hips and his cock— good Lord, his cock was so big, clutched tightly between his left hand. his tip was weeping, an angry red as it continued to push out globs of pre.

“f-father!” geto doesn’t seem to care, giving you a drunk and nonchalant glance as he continues to stroke his shaft. he knows it’s wrong, doing this in the house of the Lord but it feels so fucking good. “y-you—”

you’re at a loss for words, pointing to his exposed bottom, but even though you’re speaking out against him, you can’t help but follow his hand as it moves up and down like a spell. his eyes are simply pleading, hips bucking up and you would think he was a parishioner instead. shaking in the presence of God, in the presence of you—

you stick your hand past the squeezy window, drawing his interest and before you know it you’re blindly bumping into his erection. there, he silently grabs your hand, guiding it to his shaft. he uncomfortably leans down to look at your face, eyebrows still furrowed but your tongue stuck out and his dick twitches in your hand.

“s-shit, baby . .” geto swears under his breath, and again when you pull on his dick to the window. uncomfortably his body lightly slams against the partition, a soft thud coming from the booth as his head collides with the wood, “(y/n) . .”

he can’t see you, but he can hear you. “may i, father geto?”

you don’t wait for his answer, gauging mainly from the heavy breaths coming from above you. they really do need to change the confessional, too, because you can clearly hear every word he mumbles out from the holes in the partition.

“shiiit—” when you kitten lick his tip, collection the pre-cum that continues to leave his tip, and it feels better than his Rite of Ordination and when he finally got to host his first mass. it’s better than that prophetic dream he has of God calling him to serve Him and the churches in the city with church-goers of boring faces and predictable stories.

here was a rural place, a place where he never expected such a pretty girl to practice the Christian faith, only to falter in the presence of a pastor. he’s gotten such a cute little slut to corrupt. you start to bob your head slowly, unsure of what to do apart from putting his cock on your mouth. your teeth grazes his skin a little and he hisses.

“no teeth. suck in your cheeks,” he cannot see you but he wishes he can, and he knows you listen to his advice when he feels only the smooth glide of your mouth and he wishes it was your pussy that you fingered.

“going deeper, darling,” geto grunts when he pushes his cock past your mouth and into your throat, the sweet gag you do making him dig his forehead deeper into the uneven wooden partition. he can hear your struggling sounds, the muffled moans with his cock down your cavern. but he cannot go any longer without seeing you and reluctantly he pushes you off, still holding your hand and you seem to catch his drift soon enough.

you’re as eager as him, bouncing off the kneeler and leaving your side of the booth, and you’re opening the door to his. the reality of the situation fully sinks in, geto standing there with his cock dripping with your saliva and your camisole pulled down under your tits.

“oh . . baby,” geto coaxes you into him, under a little spell of his when you trail in a light as a feather. you don’t resist his hands pushing you down to your knees, and just like earlier, you’re sticking your tongue out and the priest looks at you from under hooded lids.

“did you touch yourself to me, little girl?” it comes out stronger than intended but you seem to like it, even when your answers are cut off by him slapping his tip on your tongue. it’s so heavy, his cock, and thick too that you can help but suckle on it when you get the opportunity.

“ever since that day, father geto.” you look drunk, swirling your tongue around the tip and continuing to talk, “i . . i imagine you above me and sometimes i dangle my crucifix thinkin’ it’s yours.”

a small laugh escapes the priest. “did you now?” it’s reminiscent of the time where you praise his sermon. his laugh is cut off as you continue to suck him off, hands still confused. he helps you by bringing your hands to the places you can’t reach and you follow like second nature. “dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?”

“i promise i didn’t know anything before this . . father.” you look up at him through your lashes, big doe eyes proving every last bit of your innocence. aht, partially. you did watch a video of this chick blowing her boyfriend, cumming with your own fingers in your throat, wishing it was geto’s cock in your mouth instead.

but having a real cock in your mouth? it was divine, better than the body of Christ in melting on your tongue. your ministrations speed up, the obscene noises of you gurgling reverberating in the wooden box late at night. it would be even worse at the altar where it would echo everywhere.

“y—yeah, baby, that’s it, that’s it . .” his eyes are shut tight, intoxicated on the way your warm mouth feels. you whine into his shaft, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was in you.

“mmf— mmph!” your moans sends vibrations up his body, interrupted when geto thrusts his hips into your mouth suddenly and your nose meets with his pubes, eyes rolling back from the muskiness of his body. it smells like incense and sweat, filling your senses as he keeps you right up to his hilt.

“ohh . . fuckfuck fuucck—!” the father pulls you off to let you breathe, pleasantly surprised when you start pumping him violently, tongue stuck out again. there’s a hint of light from the outside that highlights the pinkness of your tongue and he’s never wanted to cum this badly before.

“i’m cumming— baby, baby, i’m g’nna c-cum—” there’s a long, drawn out whine from father geto upon feeling the warmth of your hands stroking his cock so obediently, resting his tip on your tongue where you’d willingly drink his cum like wine. geto shoots his load into your mouth and is the loudest he’s ever been; he doesn’t care who hears him, he doesn’t care if he gets transferred out tomorrow, all he wants to think about is you on your knees and your nipples hardened from confessing to him. he’d like to bet that your pussy was drooling too, hips bucking into the soft skin of your hands.

some of his cum gets onto your face and on your lips, and geto almost cums again when you use his tip to smear his seed around your face, sucking lightly on his tip.

“dirty girl . .” he pulls on your biceps to bring you up, and your lips meet instantaneously like you were meant to be separated for eternity, doomed only to meet for one day a year. it’s messy and sloppy, drool drips from your sides of your mouths as your lips merge together.

“was that your first kiss, baby?” father geto can tell by how you don‘t know how to follow his lead, teeth clashing and breathing uneven.

“am i that obvious?” you frown, feeling self-conscious, but geto is quick to reassure you.

“father geto’s going to teach you everything you need to know, alright?” he brings you in with a finger to your chin, hovers over your lips like a tease.

he teaches you everything you want to know and more, like how the front of the church looks like and how cold the marble of the altar feels against your back as he eats you out and the sensations are all too much for you. he teaches you that using God’s name in vain is alright when it comes to moaning out how good he makes you feel and how your penance is whatever he makes it out to be he teaches you how you can take not one, not two, but three fingers up your pussy.

they’re so much thicker than your own, one hand pushing on your shaking thighs to keep them open while his three fingers move in and out of you. you’re leaking so much, your virgin cunt dripping like holy water down the white marble and onto the matching marble floor.

he teaches you his first name and he makes sure you say it.

“su—suguru . . god, r-right there—” he latches his mouth onto your clit, suckling and flicking his tongue impatiently because he just wants to see you cum. your legs stretch out to knock over a candelabra and the clatter of the metal against the ground is enough to wake up a whole village but you. don’t. care.

your hips grind onto his tongue, feeling the borderline painful stretch of his thick fingers in you but they reach all the right spots that you can’t find it in you to care.

“you taste so good—” geto spits onto your cunt and goes back to sucking on your clit, “pussy’s so fuckin’ sweet, holy fuck.” your noises come out of you non-stop as you bury your hands in his hair, finally knowing what you sound like in an unrestrictive space under the apse.

father geto teaches you how to take a cock up your cute, tight pussy, not bothering for a condom when basically all of your clothes have been discarded throughout the night. it’s almost midnight and your mother have fallen asleep on the couch, unaware her sweet, sweet daughter is losing her virginity in the place she was baptised, where she got her first communion.

the first push into your drenched cunt is painful, mushroom tip stretching you out slightly as you clutch tightly onto his forearm, brows knitted together at the girth of his cock.

“been wanting . . to fuck this pussy so bad, baby,” geto grunts it out, obsessed with how his length slowly disappears into you. he can feel each ridge of your gummy walls, hugging him so snugly that there’s several moans that leave his lips, “have you been— thinking ’bout this as much as i h-have?”

your jaw stretches beyond your limit when he eases himself inch by inch into you, thanking the hells below that your vision was finally coming true. above you there’s that same crucifix, sterling silver with amethyst stones embedded into the design, you remember, catching the light of the lone spotlight above the both of you. there’s a similar glint in father geto’s purple eyes.

“all the time, father—” you moan out, pulling him by his necklace to your lips that are more experienced now, each minute that passes is one more atom of your body turning black from the fire that licks at you from below the altar. you kiss the lips of your parish priest, whimpering slightly when his hips buck and you feel the stretch more clearly now.

“is this what Isaac felt when Abraham tried to bind him for a sacrifice on Moriah? helpless, confused, betrayed?”

geto lets out a hum, sucking hickeys into your neck and you think it’s a million times better than questioning a God that never showed himself, who never really had the intentions of the people in mind, who created sin to watch the downfall of men while he enjoys his time in his kingdom.

if this was what was meant by losing yourself to your devils, you would gladly shake hands with Lucifer and hope the warmth of the fire in hell would be a hug warmer than any hug you’ve received by people of the Christian faith.

“well, baby, do you feel helpless?” thrust “confused,” thrust “and betrayed?” thrust

he punctures each word with a snap of his hips and the pain gives way to pleasure and soon he’s already lost in the comfort of your pussy, hips starting a pace easily that emphasises just how wet you are. the echoes of your weeping cunt and the lewd slapping of his balls into your ass is like the bell ringing during mass, loud, resonating, it shakes your whole body.

“mmfuck . . helpless, m-maybe,” you whine out, legs wrapping around his back, “confused, n-not— suguruuu, yesyesyes!”

you try again, “n-not really. betrayed . .”

you feel like a sacrifice, but it was willing, of a confession that has led to this lewd showing of just how much the temptations of the flesh were insanely undeniable. there’s a murmur of i don’t think i can last much longer into your ear, cock driving into your tight pussy so harshly you’re hoping the small altar doesn’t move.

“b-betrayed, i think—” you squeal when father geto angles his hips up and it kisses your cervix just nicely, sending multiple chills down your body. your moans penetrate the holy air, hair splayed out like a painting and geto knows this is better than any Eucharist he’s ever tasted.

you clench around his fat cock, and he twitches, switching to short, pathetic thrusts into your pussy and he cries out your name as he cums deep in you, giving you all of his seed deep in your womb. your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of your first load, the warmth already hooking you in and you pull so hard on his hair he has no choice but to follow your hand.

you let him handle you deep into the night, taking you off the altar and pushing you up against it, entering you again and you brace yourself against the marble.

“s-sorry, sweetheart, you were saying?” he also wants to apologise that he hadn’t made you cum just yet, but your pussy’s so fucking heavenly he just has to be in you again.

“i-i feel a little betrayed,“ you sag over the altar, back arching into his hold. father geto is fixated on the movement of your ass fucking back onto him, “that a priest would break his m-marriage to God for me.”

“i thought they were supposed to be men of God,” you barely manage to form sentences. geto’s laugh at that startles you, as with the hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling. payback. you love it, however, a sweet Christian girl turned into a slut, and the last bits of the thread unravels when father geto reaches around to rub your clit.

“’m gonna— cum, suguru—” you whine out, body turning to mush with how hard he rams into your pussy. by now there’s a ring of white around the base of his cock, your juices slowly starting to coat it, too and Lucifer succeeds at sin yet again.

you cannot blame Eve when the serpent is as beautiful and cunning as geto suguru, nor can you blame her when his thick cock just reaches so deep into you, tip kissing your sweet spots and his hand impatiently drawing messy circles on your bundle of nerves.

“that just makes it the best though, right?” geto breathlessly says, “a holy man fucking a virgin raw in a holy place where prayers are said.” your legs are spreading further and further, his sweaty body engulfs yours, you’re dizzy, “you’re too tempting, sweet girl. tempting enough for me to want to abandon priesthood just so i can be buried in this pussy for fucking eternity.”

and you cum, head and heart going a hundred miles per hour as your body trembles in his hold. “there we go, little slut, thereee we go . .” you can feel the chill of the sterling silver into your back and his smile before he orgasms a second time into your waiting pussy, a second, heavy load let go into your pussy. it’s so warm and filling, and you already want more, more, more.

lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust.

“aw,” father geto coos at your fucked out face, flipping you around to give you a sloppy kiss and forcing himself to his knees just to watch his cum drip out of you, “does she want more?”

“always, father.” you answer with a drunken smile, putting a leg on his shoulder. again, your finger hooks around his crucifix, and you drag the priest down deeper into hell, somewhere father geto would‘ve always ended up.

somewhere where he would renounce his priesthood and worship something, and someone: you.

“Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.”

a/n: LOOOONG MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. also i put the author’s note at the bottom this time bc i wanted to format of the fic to look the best without my goofy words ruining it! hope you guys liked it :) / tagging @crysugu @omgeto @kazushawty @suguruplsr @hydrovillette @slttygeto @hyomagiri @jabamin

part two ✶

[bunnyluvx]

spending rainy nights with you.

featuring: vlad dracula tepes x gn!reader.

summary: you're reading late at night, and your husband grows impatient waiting for you.

warnings: minors and ageless blogs dni regardless of content.

tags: fluff | one-shot | vampire! reader | established marriage | clingy! vlad | you fight like an old married couple (you are an old married couple)

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! finally a new fanfic after 4 months. i'm really proud of this one so i hope you all like it! thank you to everyone who gave me advice, i really needed it. i appreciate you all so much! p.s i made the dividers featured, so please do not use them.

date started: 5:02PM, december 31st, 2024. date finished: 5:56PM, january 8th, 2025.

ib: @creativepromptsforwriting ♡ | wc: 2.9k | ao3

Darkness cradles the Earth in a loving embrace while the clouds cry. The moon cannot give its glow for beings below, and the stars are unable to watch the wonders of the night unfold for long without the clouds covering their view. It has been this way all evening, rain pouring down anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour, stopping for around the same amount of time before starting again. The plants and animals of the forest are grateful for the sky's nourishment, and the clouds feel so encouraged by nature's gratitude that there are no signs of this pattern letting up anytime soon.

You appreciate the weather, too, for it is perfect for reading. At the moment, you find yourself sat in one of many libraries in the castle. The rocking chair that you find yourself in is rather comfortable, and the book in your hands pulls you further into its story with every word you follow. In your most comfortable nightwear with a blanket on your lap and a cardigan around your shoulders, not many other things come to mind when you try to think of a better way to spend your evening.

"I'll be to bed soon, dear. I'm almost finished with this chapter." Your voice breaks the comfortable silence and echoes across the wooden shelves enveloping you in your little corner to reach the ears of the rather large man that is making a very poor attempt to hide.

Standing not far from you, partially behind a bookcase, is your husband, Vlad Țepeș. You've felt his presence for the past few minutes, deciding that you would wait for him to speak first, but as quiet lingered in the air, you quickly realized that he wasn't going to announce himself. Your history with Vlad goes far beyond your marriage, for the two of you were some of the first vampires to ever walk the Earth. You were good friends for a very long time, and to save the novel-worthy story, you found each other after many years of being separated and romance fiercely set ablaze. No divine being could send you someone that's close in comparison to him, and he could say the same about you.

There are a few more moments of silence before you feel wind hastily rushing against the back of your neck, followed by large, strong arms tightly wrapping around your shoulders and cold skin resting right where the air had just wafted past you. Many would find it hard to believe that Count Dracula is a clingy lover, but this behavior is of no surprise to you. For as long as the two of you have been together, Vlad has always craved closeness. When he is without you for a certain period of time, he searches the castle to take his rightful place by your side once more. He didn't have to look for long tonight, for he knew exactly where you were.

You have been obsessed with this book that you found in the library, and while he is glad that you are enjoying it, it is taking your attention away from him. This is not something that pleases Vlad very deeply, so he is planning on making some changes tonight. "You've been in here for hours. Come to bed, now." His deep voice comes with a rumble from his chest, tone composed of a gentleness reserved for you alone.

His plea does not go unheard, for you know that all he wants is for you to snuggle up with him and doze into night's comfortable slumber together. Fondness takes hold of your heart as a small, tender smile curls onto your lips. It's difficult to refuse him such an innocent ask, but it is just as difficult to pull yourself away from the narrative in your hands, so you assure your beloved, "There isn't much left. You'll be alright a few minutes more."

This earns a disappointed groan from Vlad, burying his face further into your neck. "How much more is there?"

You tilt your head and take each remaining page between your fingers until you find the next chapter, and when you find your answer, you tell him, "Three pages."

Another groan grates from Vlad's throat, prolonged from the previous one as he nestles impossibly further into your skin with his large frame leaning against the back of the wooden chair. "Remind me why we sleep at night." Your darling requests, peaking up at your face.

"Hey, you don't have to sleep at night if you don't want to. It was your idea to change your sleep schedule so that we could match," You grant Vlad his request and recall the commitment that he made to sleeping throughout the night so that the two of you would be able to be together when the sun comes up.

You have preferred day to night for as long as you could remember. You have no reason for favoring daytime other than feeling that the Earth is so much more lively and bright. The plants are so vibrant beneath the sunlight, and there are so many things that you want to experience that you wouldn't be able to otherwise. Vlad always knew that you enjoyed day more than night, therefore adjusting your sleeping schedule accordingly; As a result, Vlad told you that he was going to start sleeping through the night too. At first, you were a bit worried about such a major change to his routine, but he insisted that he wanted to see the world through your eyes. This has been the arrangement ever since, and you cannot help but feel so smitten by the idea that he is willing to introduce such adjustments to his agenda in order to be with you.

With this transition in his life, Vlad knew that he was going to be groggy. While he has a substantial amount of energy compared to most vampires, this does not exempt him from needing the same amount of sleep. Have no doubt when he swears that there is nothing that he would change about dedicating himself to your lifestyle. You were right when you said that it was his choice, but unfortunately, it does not cure the fatigue that he often finds himself with when he stirs from his night's rest.

In attempt to adjust to the pattern he promised you, he likes going to bed early. Vlad tries to be tucked in anywhere from seven to nine P.M, and typically, you are by his side. You go to bed around the same time that he does, if not a little later, so when he was preparing himself for bed without you, he got worried. He figured that you would come to bed soon, so he laid down in attempt to fall asleep. As the hours ticked by with still no sign of you, he became restless, eventually making the decision to go look for you.

A defeated huff leaves Vlad's lips as he rests his forehead against the back of your neck again. One of many reasons why he fell in love with you was because of your smart mouth, and you pick the most bedeviling times to use it. "I know that," He mumbles lowly, peaking back up at you before resting his chin on your shoulder and closing his eyes.

"You know that I can't sleep without you. Please, come to bed." The count pleads again, sweeter this time.

You almost give in to his honeyed words, their innocent warmth daring to bewitch you. Nevertheless, you keep your composure while your eyes remain on the page before you, as they have throughout the entire conversation, "You will be just fine, dear. Only a few minutes longer."

Vlad has learned much about patience in his life, especially when he found you again. All good things come to those who wait is something that the dark-haired vampire has commonly watched play out, so normally, this wouldn't be the end of the world for him. He would do naught more than pout and refuse to detach himself from you until you came to bed. Tonight, however, Vlad will not be indulging in your distractions. Quick to stand, sending a blast of wind against your back once more, the count steps to your side before lifting you up into his arms. You yelp at the unexpected change of location and almost drop your book in the process, barely being able to catch it by its spine before holding it closed to your chest and leaning against your husband. "Vlad!!" You exclaim, laughter tickling its way from your lungs moments after.

"No. I have had enough. You are coming to bed with me." The vampire declares as he begins to make his way towards the library's exit.

"Vlad, put me down!!" You demand, only moderately annoyed with him as you flail in his grasp in attempt to escape, "Right now!!"

"Nope. So sorry, my dear, but your book is going to have to wait." Vlad proclaims, lips tilting upwards in a cheeky grin as his head turns to the side so that radiant red eyes can meet yours, "Your husband requires your attendance to the nightly snuggle session. You're late."

Any attempts you're making to escape the security of this man's arms are greatly failing you, so you decide to admit defeat now rather than later. His strength serves well, and while you are grateful for it most days, this is a good example of the cons of being married to one of Earth's most powerful vampires. He can, and will, wrangle you around whenever he pleases. Your bottom lip pokes out from its place as you lean against the man's chest, determined to uphold your front of unwavering stubbornness.

Amused by your dramatics, Vlad rolls his eyes playfully and allows them to close while a chuckle vibrates up his chest and past his lips. He opens them again to admire your sullen expression, musing, "Oh, come now. I can't be that bad of a cuddler since you're pitching a fit."

Your pout is quick to dispel from your face, a long sigh expelling from your lungs just afterwards. You avoid eye contact as you agree with him, "No, you're not."

Another chuckle escapes the mouth of your lover, a sound that you are secretly glad to hear that reassures you that he isn't taking you seriously. He draws you closer to his chest as he softly murmurs against your forehead before placing a kiss to it, "Don't worry, you can read more tomorrow."

You sulk and avoid eye contact for a bit before dropping the act. It wasn't much longer before you arrived into your shared bedroom, the door coming open to reveal a sight that has grown comforting to you over the years. The room is decorated primarily in red and black, as you both adore the colors, but there are a few distinct shades around too which sets apart your individual styles. Assorted trinkets rest across dressers and shelves from the many travels that you two have taken over the years, gifts and ornaments that you've made for each other through a plethora of shared anniversaries that always bring a smile to your face every time you pay mind to them.

Variously styled mirrors, decor, and paintings hang on the walls. There is no real purpose for the mirrors other than to enhance the elegance of the room, as they are too high for both you and Vlad to see anything from. The paintings, however, hold much importance to both of you. Each illustration that lays across your walls tells a story from one of your memorable moments together. Vlad personally hired the best artist he could find to perfectly capture your most treasured experiences, and whenever you are having a bad day, all you have to do is look up to brighten your spirits.

Your husband walks over to his side of the bed and holds you above the center before dropping you onto the soft surface, causing you to puff out an exhale before your laughter sings into the air. You lay yourself across the bed and remain still while Vlad adjusts the canopy draped over the wooden post by his pillow before he launches at you. With no time to move away, he plops over your stomach, the impact of his weight causing you to wheeze. You look down at him with an astonished grin on your lips as he lays in momentary silence before lifting himself off of you to settle onto you comfortably. You sit up and adjust all of the pillows behind you before leaning back against them, prying your book open again before it is promptly snatched out of your hands and slammed onto Vlad's nightstand. You laugh and try to reach for it, imploring for its return, but that is quickly shut-down by the vampire hovering above you, "No. Sincerest apologies You'll get it back tomorrow."

Slowly, he stations himself on top of you with his head against your abdomen just under your chest. He is mindful of your body language to ensure your comfort, and when he descends his full weight with no awkward shifting or complaints from you after a few minutes, he concludes your contentment with the position and nestles his head against you with closed eyes. Your arms lift as he gets himself cozy, and once he relaxes, you wrap your arms around his shoulders while your fingers begin to comb through his hair. A smile graces the vampire's lips as your touch serves to soothe all worries away from his mind.

You cannot stop the smile that grows onto your own face as you watch his lips curl up. No soul, alive or dead, can say that they have experienced Vlad Țepeș' joy the way that you do, and for this, you are grateful. Vlad has spent so much of his life keeping up a cold, merciless profile for all vampires that dare to step to him, but charades with you are unnecessary. All of the walls that he spent centuries building are torn to shreds in your presence, and no matter his methods, they could never withstand your blinding iridescence. There is comfort in your arms that he has never found in another, and this tranquility that he has the luxury of being the only person to experience is something that he holds close to his heart. This is not something that you do knowingly, for it is who you are. You are a constant source of peace that quells the ever-roaring fire in his soul to a quiet crackle. You are what inspires him to be curious about the world, you keep his thirst for knowledge abundant with your differing perspectives, and he firmly believes that your ideas could change the world.

It's truly a shame that your eyes cannot convey the amount of love that you hold for this man, but they are doing their best. Your gaze displays your overwhelming adoration for him, and he surely feels how loved he is. When you look at him, Vlad knows that he is admired in every way he never dreamed of. Your eyes do not have to meet for him to know that you look at him like he is the greatest thing in the world, and that is all you could ever wish for. You finally decide to break the silence after watching him rest for a bit, teasing him, "Is this going to be your spot for the night?"

Any thoughts that Vlad was having before you embraced him have completely vanished. Now, it's just you, him, and your warm bed. All he can muster out is a low, "Mhm."

You giggle as you recognize his sleepiness and lift your legs slightly, asking, "Then can we at least get under the covers so that we don't freeze to death?"

A lazy, amused smirk curls onto Vlad's face at your suggestion, his nostrils flaring in a huff. "I'm not even sure that we can freeze," He admits.

You chuckle and move your hands from his hair onto his back to pat it. "Well, I don't want to risk finding out. So come on."

An agitated groans leaves your comfy husband before he begrudgingly eases himself off of you so that you could get under the covers. The two of you adjust the pillows to their normal spaces and you shake off your cardigan to toss it aside before you slip your legs beneath the sheets. A corner of the sheets lay open, and you lift them up to welcome him inside. Vlad's lips form a gentle smile, and his eyes soften affectionately at the sight before he climbs into the covers and rests himself back on top of you. Your fingers return to threading through his hair, a blissful sigh respiring from his lungs as he resumes a comfortable position. You look down at the top of his head with the same benevolent expression that you wear every time that you look at him, and your voice comes out soft when you say, "Goodnight, my dearest. I love you."

The words that you tell him every night are words that he could never tire of hearing. When you say it, he knows that you mean it, and it fills him with ease to know that when you wake up in the morning, he will get to hear you say it again. "Goodnight, my darling. I love you too." Vlad returns the sentiment, falling into an inescapable slumber with you not far behind him.

@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3

[pawsmos]

100th post special!!!

this is art for my “Prince and the Knight” AU ive been working on for some time now.. here’s a meal whace nation!!

lore under cut!

KEHRHHEEB J LOVE THEM SO MUCH DUDE

vvvv

(im not that good with writing nor am i well versed in medieval honorifics and terminology or anything like that so there may be anachronisms)

(this is a separate au from any other medieval aus!! I’ve seen those and love those though)

(the rest of the drdt cast also exists in this au too btw. im considering making charles a butler or a lord or something. none of the cast are the king or queen by the way! that’s aces parents / Eden’s parents. ace also still has all his siblings)

tw for mild homophobia

- Prince Ace, a soon-to-be king, is arranged to marry Princess Eden from a nearby kingdom.

- Both Ace and Eden are upset about the marriage, as Ace is gay (he’s subconsciously aware that he isn’t attracted to women) and Eden is lesbian.

- They both feel resigned to their fate despite their discontent.

- While coping on the back balcony, Ace meets Sir Whit, the newly promoted head of the royal guard. (somehow. who knows how whit got promoted tbh)

- They talk, during which Whit makes joking advances towards Ace.

- Ace, though flustered by Whit’s passes, thinks about the consequences of both liking a man and betraying the kingdom.

(he doesn’t personally care about the latter but he does fear that his father would… idk execute him or something. he is also in denial.)

- Much to Ace’s dismay, they become close friends. However, Whit is aware of the upcoming marriage, so he tries to shut off his own feelings to save himself from feeling bad.

- A few months pass, in which Whit helps Ace overcome his own fears and come to terms with his feelings and sexuality. They start slow (like doing horseback riding together haha), but end up routinely sneaking out together.

- On one particular night, on the same balcony they met, just a day before the wedding, something happens. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Ace kisses Whit and REALLY likes it.

- He realizes that he wants this man. But, realizing that he might get caught, Ace runs away.

- Before the wedding, Ace and Eden finally meet. While preparing for the ceremony, they bond over their shared reluctance of their marriage.

- Eden confesses that she’s actually a lesbian, and there’s a lady back at her kingdom that she’s deeply in love with. (it’s arei LMFAO)

- Ace bluntly replies that he’s gay too.

- insert uhh lightbulb ding effect

- They conjure a plan to get married for convenience, and to appease their parents, but mostly so that they can pursue their own partners. They worry about the kiss though and the people who might be watching. Especially Whit and Arei.

- Skip to the wedding day, Whit suppresses his feelings (like usual) and claps while he watches someone he loves dearly get married off to another. Whit excuses himself from the wedding.

- For post-ceremonial reasons, Ace can’t apologize or even talk to Whit for another week.

i haven’t really thought about the rest but i assume that, once Ace is allowed to go out, he will be the one confessing his love to whit. whit gets “caught”, miscommunication,,,, idek they just… ARE IN LOVE. HAHA.. if you want to write any fics about this or make any art feel free! use the tag “#whace prince and knight au”

thank you!!

THANK YOU FOR READING MY CLICHE YAOI FANFIC ILY IF YOU GET THIS FAR.

THANK YOU FOR 75 FOLLOWERS TOO!!!!

id also like to say that i might start opening commissions because i need a form of making money. but umm i don’t know how to start a paypal or venmo or anything like that. LOL. digital gift cards could work i guess, uhhhh idk. dm me for info!

[egophiliac]

As someone who hasn’t played the twst game very long I just got into it. I wanted to know about events? Like do some not come back? For example do the Masquerade, Port, Beanfest, Ghost bride, starsending events. Do those come back? I hear people say how they missed their chance to get this great card like as if it won’t ever come back and then someone on Reddit will say something like “Oh beanfest happened twice on the JP server” so which events have gotten reruns so far? I would ask about more recent ones like the Easter one but idk if it’s too recent to know if get rerun or if they clarify that it won’t come back? I was really sad to find out about the Silk outfits I missed out on when they visit the scalding sands. I also was really sad to find out i missed out on the anniversary cards because I didn’t play the game yet. I wish they would add the anniversary cards to the store at least…I want to be apart of the celebration :’)

I was looking in the shop and saw all the different groovy items you need to groovify event cards and this question just came to me so I had the urge to ask someone…

welcome to Twst! 🎉 it is a bit confusing to jump right into, especially because. they're not always consistent. :') it sounds like you're probably playing on Eng, which I'm less familiar with, but I'll try based on what I know! (I also don't always remember everything, so somebody please correct me if I get something wrong!)

first, I do recommend the Twst wiki.gg, which seems to stay pretty up-to-date on events for both the Eng and JP versions! it's a great resource for when you want to see if/when an event ran or rerun. in general, I believe that the Eng version only does reruns that have already happened in JP, so if JP has a rerun that hasn't happened yet in Eng, they should get it too eventually! on the other hand, I don't think either version has ever rerun an event more than once. :( BUT this doesn't mean you're entirely out of luck, because:

anniversary events (March for JP, January for Eng) will usually offer a chance to get both an older event SSR and an older birthday SSR in the shop, via buying a special item with exchange currency (which you get by doing pulls on the anniversary gacha, I think you need to do 100-150 pulls for enough currency to buy the item to exchange for an SSR). only SSRs though, and you're limited to one each (one birthday, one event). so if there's an SSR you REALLY want and it's already had its rerun, it's probably worth planning to save up some keys for!

as for actual reruns, they seem to come in a few different flavors:

straight-up rerun, no changes or extra cards

unchanged event story, with a new SSR of a character who wasn't in the story (e.g. Applepom Jamil)

slightly rewritten event story that includes a new SSR (e.g. Ghost Marriage, they don't seem to do this anymore though)

completely new event story that acts as either a sequel or alternate-universe version of the original (e.g. Beans Day part 2, Fairy Gala IF) (though this is pretty rare and might actually count as a separate event, rather than a rerun?)

Master Chef/Culinary Crucible events have never gotten reruns (though they might start now that we've finally gotten through all the characters in JP, time will tell). birthday and Halloween events will also rerun the previous version in addition to the new one -- for instance, Eng should be getting a Glorious Masquerade rerun this year, followed by the new (Playful Land) Halloween event. and a birthday campaign will, in addition to the new card, have a separate pickup for the previous year's birthday card.

for the specific ones you mentioned -- I think Beanfest, Ghost Bride, Fireworks, and Starsending have already rerun in Eng, so those most likely will not be rerun again (at least not anytime soon). Masquerade should be coming back for you guys this Halloween, and Portfest JUST got its rerun in JP, so that should be coming too sometime in the future! (no new SSR though, alas, I was really hoping for a little marching band sailor boy Leona. 😔) the Easter event is the White Rabbit Fest, right? that one hasn't gotten a rerun in JP yet either, so it's still on the table!

all that said, it's entirely possible they'll change the rules at some point and start doing more reruns/chances to get older event cards, especially since the game's been going on for a few years now and some cards haven't been available for a pretty long time! there's only one card that they said was for-realsies limited-time-only and wouldn't ever be available again -- Platinum Grim, since he was to celebrate the 100th anniversary -- so. there's always a little bit of hope for everything else. :D (fairy gala Ortho PLEASE COME BACK SOB)

[machveil]

Today’s thought:

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas (except for our marriage that part is very much coming home with us) scenario:

Idk, just thinking about the various guys going out to party in Vegas (maybe after a lengthy job being successful, maybe a birthday or something) only to wake up married (like actually legally binding married, not just a joke wedding officiated by Elvis) to the person they’ve been eyeing for a while now, not having the slightest idea what happened the previous night.

-🐸

Also I saw that art, I need yall to know I almost shrieked in the middle of the very quiet lab I work in.

[post writing note: so many words… very sleepy now] oh, you know I have to include Horangi in a Vegas fic🎲ヽ(´▽`)/🃏✨

Vegas Wedding Bells

what’s the worse that can happen after celebrating in Vegas? going back to spend your honeymoon at base? Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, König, Kim “Horangi” Hong-jin CW: fem!reader, getting married while intoxicated, suggestive

Simon “Ghost” Riley:

the dull ache in his head was the first thing he noticed as he woke up, bright beams of light aggravating a headache as he groans. the body tucked against him was the second thing he noticed, bare skin warmed by bare skin. that caught his attention

when Johnny decided Simon - the birthday boy - needed to loosen up for his special day he scoffed, “‘M turnin’ thirty-two, Soap. I don’t do birthday parties.”. he thought that all the way to America, grumbling when the team boarded the plane. his two saving graces were getting an aisle seat and sitting next to you

“Ghost, it’s not that bad.”, you chuckle, watching as he crosses his arms - for a man that large and intimidating, he was acting like a pouting child. “Could be havin’ a beer at the pub.”, he remarks, eyebrows knit as someone’s carry-on bumps his shoulder, “Soap’s lucky I ‘aven’t wrung his neck.”

the flight itself wasn’t so bad, no crying children or loud snoring. by the time the flight landed at Harry Reid it was dark out, Johnny dragging everyone towards the hotel. you barely had time to shower and change before you were wrangled out to a casino. “Soap, m’not gamblin’.”, Simon huffed, looming next to the Scot as they passed row after row of slot machines

Simon held true to his word - he didn’t gamble. he got shitfaced

the night went by in slow motion, bleary eyes and drunken laughter ringing throughout the group. Simon didn’t know when it happened - when he got separated from the group, when he took your hand in his and left the building. he didn’t remember whisking you away to the nearest church - a real church, he didn’t remember gruffly asking for someone to officiate the sudden ceremony. he definitely didn’t remember shaking down some poor stranger on the street to be your witness, “Gotta— we gotta ‘ave someone watch… yeah? I’ll uh— I’ll grab someone, lovie.”

but, as you moved in his arms, the glint of a pretty little gem on your finger had his eyes widening. moving slowly, trying not to wake you, he lifts he own hand - a gold band snug against his ring finger. it’s not like you weren’t close to Simon, quite the opposite

he’d been meaning to ask you out for a few months, never quite working up the nerve to. now? he’s cussing himself out in his head - married before the first date, drunken vows. your back is to his chest, arms cradling a pillow as you sleep. it’s only when you yawn and shift in his arms does he completely freeze, your tired eyes looking up at him

it doesn’t help when you snuggle up to him, eyes closing as you tuck yourself against his chest. heart hammering, he wouldn’t be surprised if you heard it. at a loss for words, his gaze travels back to his ring adorned finger - fuck, would you be pissed when you realize? he’s liked you for so long and he blows it by marrying you in Vegas?

“Simon?”, you murmur, turning in his arms, chest to chest - still skin to skin, “What time is it?”, a groan leaving your throat as the sun peaks out from behind his hotel room’s curtains. he can’t bring himself to look down, your bare chest to his. when he tries to shift back a little, aiming to sit up, does he realize a third thing - when had he taken off his mask?

dirty blonde, close-cropped hair messy against his pillow. scarred skin bare for your view. nervous brown eyes looking down at your sleepy form

he doesn’t know what to say, too much information being realized all at once. it doesn’t help when you hum softly, rubbing the corner of your eye, soft-spoken words leaving your lips - his cheeks heating up and hands a little sweaty at your words

“S’not nice to ignore the missus, Simon.”, you say, voice raspy with exhaustion

John “Soap” MacTavish:

it was a short deployment, but it had TF141 scrambling to stay alive - practically a week in hell. a hail of gunfire on Tuesday, a close call Wednesday, the group getting separated for two days. it was a miracle that everyone made it back in one piece with just scrapes and bruises

it was a mumbled joke - you didn’t think it would be taken seriously, “We’re lucky as hell, should take a trip to Vegas, huh?”. despite the aching muscles the group sustained, bumps and bruises, you were swept away to an airport. it was too early for this, but it was too late to back out - Price and his need to get to the airport at four in the morning

“S’not that bad, bonnie.”, Johnny shrugged, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he tucked you against his side. between Johnny and Kyle’s chipper mood, Simon’s grumbling, and Price double checking passports and tickets, you were content to just go along, “Soap, I love you, but it’s too early for this.”

he laughed, a little too loud for the early morning crowd - you didn’t catch the way his cheeks heated up though. “Lighten up, mo ghaol.”, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips when he heard you confusingly mutter, “Mo ghaol?”, under your breath. he’d tell you what that meant in the future

the flight itself was fine, Johnny sat behind you. he made it a little game - passing notes up to you from between the chairs, giving the back of your seat a nudge every once in a while. when he passed out halfway through the flight you caught a couple hours of peace… if you could ignore his snoring

by the time the plane landed and everyone was settling down in the hotel, Johnny was raring to go. quick knocks on your door followed by him calling your name - a little too loud for this time of night

Kyle was busy unpacking while Simon and Price had retired to bed - poor John, all alone and left to his own devices. he already had a plan, taking your hand in his and dragging you out of the hotel. a fun night of bar hopping and getting tipsy, his treat

Johnny was confused when he woke up in a hotel room - definitely not the one either of you checked into with the group— wait, what’re you doing wedged against his side? he tried to sit up, the sharp pain in his temple making him stop. how much did he drink? he was at a bar with you, then he blinked and woke up here

bringing his hand up to rub his face, Johnny pauses when he feels cool metal touch his cheek. pulling his hand back a little, his eyebrows shoot up when he sees the ring on his finger - freezing when he remembers— oh no

he’s sitting up quickly, the pain in his head be damned. looking down at you, oh, you looked so peaceful, his breath hitches. there on your cute little ring finger, a matching gold band with a pretty little gemstone. “Ah— shit.”, he mumbles, mind a little fuzzy as snippets of the night come to the forefront of his mind

married - legally wed at the church around the corner. some dingy little say-the-vows wedding house wouldn’t do for you. Johnny, sweeping you both off in a drunken stupor, insisted that you deserved a real, good old fashioned church wedding… not before swinging into a jewelry shop

sloppy vows and dopey smiles exchanged, he was carrying you out the door. never made it back to the hotel Price booked - he couldn’t remember which way it was. instead, Johnny booked an overpriced honeymoon suite somewhere else - champagne bottle cracked open as he kissed your cheek

and now he’s looking down at you as you stir, tired eyes blinking open. it’s not like he regrets marrying you - he would love to marry you, he just wish he had gotten to the dating bit first. there was an awkward silence as you slowly took in the scene - Johnny, his shirt tossed somewhere in a forgotten corner, seated next to you in bed. an unfamiliar, albeit light, weight to your ring finger

when you finally meet his gaze, his grins - a slight, nervous glint in his eyes as you sit up too. “Ah— we— I mean, didnae think that—“, he coughs, stumbling over his words, trying to find something to say. married to one of his closest friends in Vegas of all places, he’s wracking his brain for a coherent sentence - eyes wide when you look down at your newly gilded finger

“Jumping the gun on getting married, huh?”, you smile, voice sleepy as you glance up at him. pausing, your eyebrows knit slightly as you glance around, “Where exactly are we, John?”

König:

König, for all his cockiness and bravado on duty as a Colonel, was less than thrilled to be flying to Vegas. was he proud of his teammates on their latest deployment? of course, did he want to be crammed in a small airplane seat with no leg room? absolutely not

being flown in and out of deployments is one thing, fitting himself in a seat meant for someone half his size was another. sniper hood replaced with a black medical mask and baseball cap, he was putting up with the flight for his friends - and you. was he going to spend money in Vegas? not if he could help it, “Nein, gambling is a waste of money. You can lose your own savings, Horangi.”, he scoffed, turning down the offer to bet when they landed

instead, König spent a majority of the night in a booth with you - drinking and watching your fellow teammates lose money. it wasn’t long before the multiple fruity cocktails got to König, a large hand on the small of your back as he ushered you outside the casino

the pounding in his head woke him up, throat dry and eyes bleary. the last thing he remembered was laughing with you on the streets of Vegas. as he moved to shift, to tug the covers up and hide against his pillow, he paused - registering the small hand on his chest, the warmth tucked against his side

swallowing, he glances down. he nearly chokes on his spit when he sees you sleeping against him, wedged between his body and the covers. headache suddenly forgotten, his mind swirls with different thoughts - had he slept with you? had you clung to him all night? are you going to be disgusted with him when you wake up? did you always have that ring on your finger—

wait. oh no

gaze glued to the ring on your finger - beautiful gem snug on the band - König’s mind suddenly goes blank. when he raises his own hand only to see a matching ring all those questions flood back as his chest tightens

surely you both hadn’t drank that much. he can barely remember leaving the casino though, he doesn’t remember whisking you away to a church - saying slurred vows and promises to each other. what’s worse? you weren’t together to begin with

sure, König has been pining for you, yearning to call you his and vice versa. to be married now? there’s butterflies in his stomach, but his chest is tight with anxiety. you were close colleagues, closer friends, and he carried you back to the hotel as his bride? you were going to kill him when you woke up, he was sure

when you mumbled something he froze, muscles tense as you hugged him closer. “Mm, König?”, sleepy voice coated with raspiness, it feels like the wind got knocked out of him, “König?”. his eyes darted down to meet yours, hands shaky as they clutch the sheets

“Ah— ja, Maus?”, voice strained, he awkwardly glances away. when he feels you cuddle up to his side, a small peck placed to his chest, he’s sure he’s died - or maybe he’s still asleep, blacked out from the booze. “You’re so warm.”, your voice, small and sweet, has him dizzy before he realizes what you’ve said

dead silent, he can’t help the flustered feeling in his heart, cheeks heating up. maybe everything can be normal? sure, you’re married, but— but what if you just ignored that? yeah, maybe König won’t lose you when you fully realize what’s happened… probably not, but the thought is nice

it’s a few minutes before you speak again, he’s sure the silence is comfortable for you - he’s overthinking what’s happened, what happens next, what happens on the flight back, what happens—

“Can’t wait to wake up every day like this.”, you sleepily murmur. it has König’s mind going silent - every day? you wanted to wake up with him every day—

Kim “Horangi” Hong-jin:

he really shouldn’t gamble. he’s shit at it, he doesn’t want to risk owing more than he can pay, but damnit! it’s Las Vegas - how can he not gamble? the city was practically made for him. lights, dice, cards, cash? like a moth to the flame, can you blame Horangi when he drags you there for his birthday?

sure, he’s been to the States before, but Sin City? he’s never had a reason to go to Nevada, but a weekend get away to celebrate? now that’s an excuse to call and bluff. it was a little hard to get everyone onboard with the idea - as much as the team enjoyed a poker night, flying to Vegas to lose money was definitely… eyebrow raising. but, when it’s for a birthday, they can suck it up and play along

the night went by quick, a mixture of card games and drinking as the group paraded behind Horangi, letting him lead them from table to table. at some point they stopped at a bar, liquor flowing and shots passed out - Horangi could hardly move when he woke up. the hangover that hit him was devastating, an uncomfortable ache behind his temple

grumbling curses as light peaked out from behind the curtains, Horangi found himself unable to move - someone wrapped snugly around him, an arm and leg draped over his body. he didn’t remember hooking up with anyone last night, then again, he didn’t remember a lot after the bar. so, when he looked down and saw you? his heart nearly stopped

“Mavsosa—“, voice strained as he freezes, his eyes flutter shut. you’re warm against him, pleasantly so, but he can’t help the guilt gnawing at his heart. did something happen? how did you two end up in his room?

but, light still streaming in from a crack in the curtains, when he opens his eyes he catches a glimmer on your ring finger. time slows down for him as he swallows - a pretty gold band with a cute little gem. when he eyes his own hand time starts flowing again, heart drumming in his chest. talk about a birthday present, he woke up with a wife

he would have been delighted to wake up as your boyfriend - maybe a tipsy confession after a shot of liquid courage, but waking up as your husband? it has his stomach twisting with nerves, but he can’t help the boyish smile that settles on his face. it seems like a silly joke, waking up wed to you

mind fuzzy as he recalls the chapel he ushered you into, hand in hand with goofy smiles, it didn’t seem too bad in the moment. while he might not be great at gambling, his charisma let him sweet talk the pastor into officiating - not his proudest moment in hindsight

and when you cling to him as you wake up, hand smoothing down his chest, he glances at you. you’ve been solid friends since he started serving, everyone knows that if you’re somewhere the other isn’t far behind. and he loves you, he really does, he just didn’t expect to see that ring on you, shiny band twinkling with the morning light

”Morning, dangsin.”, he quietly says, hoping you’ll be just as happy - maybe a little caught off guard - as him. it’s a gamble, his deep voice dripping with affection as he runs his hand through your hair, “Sleep well?”

charismatic man - while he tends to have terrible luck gambling, winning you over was easier than breathing, “Mhm, s’this our honeymoon, Kim?”, you mumble, eyeing the ring on his hand

[arminsumi]

SAKURA.

𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 — 五条悟 ⋅ fem reader

NOTE: i really liked this idea and merged it with my little daydream of Gojo being in his clan and meeting you in a small village (like before he moved to the city or something) and tweaked it just a lil bit if that's ok!! i hope i delivered, and mwa ty for your request lovely anon i hope i got it all right, enjoyyy 💐

REQUEST: Can you pls write gojo who gets the Hanahaki disease cause of reader and gojos condition worsens so to keep the strongest alive the higher ups set up an arranged marriage with reader (her mission is to love gojo so he doesn’t die but she is defensive and uncooperative at first) but then she warms up to gojo (he does everything to make her happy) and they both live happily ever after 😭💕

SUMMARY — you meet a boy on a Taiko-bashi as a child. Little did you know, he was the prodigal son of the Gojo clan, and you would be married into that family to save his life.

WARNINGS — heavy angst to fluffy fluff, he steals ur first kiss, domestic life with ur kid Megumi at the end <3 😭, unrequited -> requited love, arranged marriage, quite a lot of blood/bloody flower mentions, disease/afflicted with coughing spells (see about the fictional Hanahaki disease here. Basically u cough up flowers and/or throw up full flowers if it gets life-threatening), poor boy almost dies, there’s a scene where it’s insinuated that he throws up a full flower, some teasing/playfulness yk the usual you'd expect from gojo, lmk if i have missed a warning thank u

WORDCOUNT ≈ 4.3k

PLAY ME ♪ bouquet — Ichiko Aoba

🍒 𝐉𝐚𝐲 — サクランボ ⋅ 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 !

When you were seven, a boy a few years older than you – perhaps two or three – passed you by on a Taiko-bashi in a small village. You remember him as the boy with peculiar eyes and white hair who looked back at you on the bridge. In your eyes, it was a very ordinary encounter with a very extraordinary looking stranger.

But in his infinitely blue eyes, there was ingrained a more meaningful and vivid memory of that encounter. He held it very close to his heart. When you and he made that brief eye contact as he looked behind his shoulder, slowing at his mother’s side, he felt a windswept, lovestruck feeling come over him. He batted his pretty lashes at you and stopped walking for a fleeting moment, as if captivated, and then went his separate way with the image of your face burned into the forefront of his mind. His kimono fluttered as he tended to walk in a gliding manner.

When you were fourteen, the same encounter happened again. A familiarly pale face with barely grown-in features looked back at you – his whole body felt a twinge of excitement. He only took one small moment to look at you and yet knew you were the same girl he saw as a child on this very same bridge.

Years went by, and the two of you kept encountering each other at peculiar times in your lives at that same bridge. Neither of you spoke to each other once, well, you didn’t say a word – but he uttered a few boyishly desperate greetings and even bowed as he glided past you to try and get your attention. If only you would have stopped for a chat, the poor boy would have given anything for that.

In some way, it felt like the two of you knew each other, though it was only your eyes that ever talked.

Come your eighteenth birthday, you were burdened with awful news. You were to be married to a man you had never met – someone from the Gojo clan. That person was apparently fatally sick with a disease you had scarce knowledge on. You asked your friend at the time, her name you’ve long forgotten by now, about Hanahaki and all she said was;

“Your lover is going to spit flowers in your face.”

You scrunched your nose up in disgust and confusion at this. A very silly image formed in your mind about the disease ever since your old friend had said that – all you could imagine was your future husband spitting saliva-wettened, half-destroyed flowers at your face.

The Gojo family and your family had always distantly known each other, hence all the visits to the village that they resided in. Your marriage to Gojo was long-debated throughout the years – yet neither you nor him knew anything about it. Neither of you prospected marriage, you were just the two strangers that passed each other on the Taiko-bashi every time the Sakura was in bloom.

The first time you and the son of the Gojo clan were introduced, it had already begun with a rocky start. You walked in when he had been overwhelmed with a coughing fit, and you were hushed back outside. The shoji door smacked shut behind you, and you heard sickly coughs piercing through the translucent sheets. When your future husband stopped coughing, and the blood and petals were cleaned up, you were brought back into the room. There were both your families and some important-looking officials in the large room, all formally sat on the tatami mats with mixed expressions. His mother seemed delighted at the sight of your face – but not more than her son.

Gojo Satoru, an eighteen-year-old at the time, with usually such a loud mouth and good joke up his sleeve, was rendered speechless when you had walked into the room. He analysed and absorbed every feature that made up the image of what he thought was the most charming and alluring creature ever to exist. Definitely a creature, he thought as you formally bowed with him, because no human could possess such an ethereal beauty.

Satoru was intrigued by you from your encounter on the Taiko-bashi, but when he was finally introduced to you he was utterly captivated.

The reasons and conditions for your marriage with the Gojo clan’s prodigal son conflicted with your strong beliefs in love and romance. You had rather aggressively told the poor boy your opinions in the days leading up to your wedding.

“I always thought,” you emphasized with a snotty tone, yet he listened to you like one would listen to the tranquil flow of the river under the Taiko-bashi, “that I would marry someone I loved, and not be forced to love…” you seemed so disappointed with how your life was turning out, that he couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for you.

“I’m a positive person, I have faith that you’ll fall in love with me in no time.” He said cheekily and winked at you. You felt very taken aback by such straight-forward flirting – you must understand, no boys in your village ever did that. They were very proper, even reserved.

He was almost charming in that instant, but then he added; “Who wouldn’t fall in love with me?”

At the time he was so full of himself that you could hardly believe there was space for any petals in his body. But there certainly was – when you left him alone in that room and stormed off, appalled by his conceit, he clutched the side of the door frame and coughed up little pink petals – enough to comprise three whole flowers.

It started worrying him, a few days before the wedding, when he started coughing more often. And not just that, but he started coughing up more petals than he had ever in his life. The peculiar disease had started during a time in his childhood that was coincidentally very close to the time he first passed you by on the bridge.

The night before the wedding, he laid in bed and brooded. And he was never the type to brood – he let life happen and moved on relatively easily. But he brooded, and brooded until it felt like he sunk so deep into his futon that he became one with it. The ceiling blurred.

What was going to happen if you didn’t fall in love?

That thought scared him so much that he violently drove it out of his mind and replaced it with an ideal daydream; he envisioned you and him cuddled up, bracing each other’s bodies, and melting into each other like real lovers do. He imagined you would be warmer than him, with that cool touch he had, and you would also stroke his hair. It was very fluffy, he made sure to point that out to you several times – but you never took a hint.

On the day of your wedding, he snuck to meet you just before the ceremony. He was crouched in the garden outside the room that you were preparing in. It’s then when he heard you voice your feelings to whoever it was helping you get ready.

“How can I love a stranger? And anyways, he is so full of himself, I can hardly believe there’s space for any flowers in there. There’s nothing I like about him.”

“Oh, Y/n, you have yet to learn about him. I’m sure you will find he’s rather charming. He is the pride of the Gojo clan, after all – he has the Six Eyes and Limitless. He’s the strongest, he’ll always be able to protect you – ”

It sounded like the woman talking about him was your mother, with how she praised him so much. She was right, Gojo thought; he could protect you from anything.

His expression was grave after hearing your thoughts. But he put on a lightened smile and masked his slight heartbrokenness when the rituals and main ceremony commenced.

It was a very formal, rigid ceremony. Gojo looked up at you sadly a few times, wishing you would spare a glance. He brooded on the idea that you’ll never love him like he loves you, and then a sickening, ticklish feeling spread in his throat and just as the closing ritual ended, he burst into a coughing fit – one of his worst yet. A bit of blood dribbled out his flushed lips, contrasting against his pale skin. Of course you were concerned – and of course you felt the urge to help and comfort him. But those feelings were purely out of the goodness of your heart.

Friends share love. But even when you and Gojo developed something resembling a friendship, it didn’t alleviate his disease. It was embarrassing sometimes, to realize that you were failing at the one thing you had to do; and that was keep him alive.

He was quite genuinely dying for you to love him.

Yet you refused to be in the same room as him for too long. Your mother had to encourage you. Eventually, both his family and your family worked together to make sure you and Gojo spent adequate time with each other. They organized meetups ranging from fancy nights-out to long voyages to weekend sleepovers. It was comical, how your families got along more smoothly than you and Gojo.

It’s the spring of his nineteenth birthday when the thought of kissing you becomes a reality. Well, it doesn’t go as he planned it. See, Gojo envisioned that kissing you would solve all his problems – he thought he could infect you with his love, somehow worm into your heart through a passionate kiss.

So when you and him sat for tea in a spacious room, kneeled side by side on the tatami mats, he went in for a kiss. You were distractedly straightening out your kimono when suddenly a pair of inexperienced, boyish lips crashed onto yours.

“Mmf!” you reacted with sheer shock – why on earth was he kissing you? The audacity, he had just insulted and made a mockery of you with a cheeky, playful attitude.

“Satoru!” you whined into his mouth.

He cupped the back of your neck and partly entangled his hands in your hair. White lashes sat pretty as he closed his eyes and glided his wettened lips over yours. For the briefest moment, you let yourself enjoy his kiss. But suddenly, as if your principles of love kicked back in and stomped on the moment, you shoved him away.

And a hard shove that was, he fell out of balance and landed on the mats with his elbows, a look of shock and surprise twisting into comedy.

“Playing hard to get?” he joked. His heart sunk ever so slightly at your rejection.

“You can’t just kiss a girl!”

“Come on, I’m your husband – if I can’t kiss you, then who is allowed to?” he asked.

You looked furious, like you were about to bite him, so he slowly started backtracking.

“I just wanted to see if kissing you would – ”

“How dare you, that was my first kiss! I thought I would have a cute first kiss, not a hasty one shared over… over a cup of tea!” you complained.

His expression changed and he started sputtering apologies. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know – I – ahuh!” he started lightly coughing.

And now it was your turn to feel apologetic, because all the bad tension between you and him brought on another violent coughing fit for him.

“I’m okay.” He choked out, eyes water and face reddened – some blood pooled at the corners of his lips, he instinctually brought his hand up to his mouth to catch any that dripped.

You rushed and kneeled over him, placing a much-needed soothing hand on his shoulder. “Satoru, I’m sorry.”

He tried to muster up a joke to lighten your worry, “H-hey, since when d’you call me S-Satoru? I thought it was strictly Go-jo.” he was interrupted by more coughing.

You comforted him, until his parents came into the room. They seemed disappointed with you, but masked it.

The night fell heavy all around the Gojo home. The barren Sakura trees’ branches subtly shook in the wind. A storm was approaching.

“Hey, sweetlips.” Gojo slipped into your room as you were in the middle of preparing for bed. “There’s a big storm comin’, if you get scared you can sleep with me.”

“Are you out of your mi-” you shut up when a sudden, extraordinary crack of lightning sounded and shocked you right out of your skin.

Gojo had a little laughing fit at your overreaction. He was completely calm at such a loud noise. Of course he was.

“I’m not sleeping with you!” you muttered angrily, but then you saw the dejection on his face – no, rather, you saw the way he tried to conceal it, and you felt bad.

Maybe tonight is the night you’ll try harder, you thought.

“Okay, well, don’t cry like a wimp if the thunder scares you ‘cause I won’t come running to soothe you.” He said and left you alone.

When he walked down the hall, his fingers grazed over his lips. All he could think about was how blissful it felt to kiss you, even if you did reject him. And he was your first kiss – maybe it was wrong to smile over that, but he couldn’t help himself as he climbed into the comforts of his bed.

A violent rainstorm engulfed the village.

As the lightning got more frequent and more terrifying, Gojo scrunched up his shoulders and half-hid his face under his blanket. He felt like a boy again, as scared of the thunderstorms as he was when he was seven years old. His pretty upturned nose peaked over the blanket, eyes glistening with tears as he recalled the fateful day you and him encountered each other at the Taiko-bashi.

He held onto that memory with a death grip. No one else ever had the honor of being so close to his heart, not even his best friend who he had made at Jujutsu high when he was seventeen. No, that heart of his he kept reserved for you. He thought to himself that night, while curling up on his side in pain, that even if he dies, at least he would die having been able to love you – albeit without reciprocation.

And then it happened. He shot up and let out a violent cough, and began spluttering over his white blanket. The thunderstorm was so violent that it muffled even the violent coughing in his room. His head felt like a dense ball of tension.

Unrequited love for many boys his age was heartbreaking, but not deadly. He morbidly laughed at that fact, observing the flower that he had thrown up onto his blanket, soaked in his blood.

He was dying.

He defeatedly closed his eyes, breathing through his blood-glistening mouth. His chest lightly heaved. “Y/n, you’re really gonna be the death of me… ah, oh well. That’s okay.” He muttered madly to himself and fell back onto his bed, too weak to stay awake any longer.

It was probably the work of the universe, but you floated down the unlit hall and tapped at Gojo’s doorframe. “Are you awake? Satoru?” you called his name in a gentle murmur.

There was an eerie silence. You slid open the door and caught a glimpse of bloodied sheets and a mangled-looking flower.

“Satoru!” you rushed over to him, stirring him awake with a harsh shake on his arm. “Satoru? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

He groaned weakly – you felt a small relief. He wasn’t dead, though he really looked pale enough to be. His cheeks were flushed, his lips cracked and dry with residual blood.

Not a word you spoke sounded coherent to him though it was, all he heard was the soothing qualities in your voice. Though his vision was blurred, he knew it was you, because he felt the familiar air and scent of you.

He felt a strange sort of alleviation when you cupped his cheeks, murmuring something. Oh, when did he end up in a doctor’s room, laid on a patient’s cot? Weren’t you and him just in his bedroom at night, during a loud thunderstorm?

All he recalled was that you held his hand and squeezed it for a long time, while you were travelling somewhere. He remembered feeling your comforting presence each time his consciousness stirred.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” he chuckled jokingly, feeling your lips press to his forehead.

“Huh?”

“Probably dreaming…” he muttered to himself.

“Satoru, you’re not in heaven you’re at Doctor Tanaka’s home.” You told him.

He pinched his eyes shut, overwhelmed by his afflicting sickness and Six Eyes.

“I’m so sorry…” he heard you speaking in a more tender voice to him than you ever had before. He felt the pressure in his chest lessen as you spoke, “… I was going to come to you because the thunderstorm scared me… no, actually, because I wanted to be with you. I felt this overwhelming urge to be at your side, and I don’t know why. Satoru, I’ve been such a fool. I’ve been such a scared fool, fearful of loving a stranger. Or, no, I guess I’ve feared loving someone I’m not supposed to be loving. You’re so special I feel driven away by it. But I promise I won’t flee from your love anymore, Satoru – I love you, and I’ll express it as much as I can in this feeble human form. The rest of our love will happen in the stars, after we die, I guess.”

He opened his eyes. It felt like the burdening fog that had been plaguing him since he was a little boy on the Taiko-bashi finally cleared. Everything felt fresh and sharp, and good and properly comforting. It felt like he had woken up from a long dream or arrived home from a harrowing journey through the landscapes of his mind.

“So you can be good with your words.” Was the first thing he said, and that was such a Gojo response that you knew he was okay.

“How do you feel?” you asked him, peering down at him.

He groaned and stretched and shifted around, fussing dramatically.

“I feel…” he began, and looked over at your lips. “Like I deserve to be kissed.”

“Oh, shut up you…”

He pouted. “Okay, ‘guess the kissing can wai- mmf!”

You kissed him very quickly and recoiled from shyness. His lips were divine.

He shot up out of the bed like he couldn’t just believe what happened.

“Wow.” He blinked at you. “So gutsy, you know you’re not allowed to kiss your husband!” he joked.

“You are such a – ”

“ – good kisser?”

“An idiot!” you giggled, genuinely enjoying his company.

The two of you bantered, basking in the newfound feeling of shared love. When the doctor came back in, he was preparing to witness the worst – but he was utterly surprised and at a loss for words when he walked in on you two smiling and laughing.

And it was the talk of the village. Neighbors gossiped, “Did you hear that Gojo Satoru is cured?” they spoke amongst themselves, “I heard! Apparently it’s a very romantic love story, did you read the newspaper article?”

You and Gojo drifted down the Taiko-bashi, together. He squeezed your hand when you set foot on the bridge, the cool skin of his wrist tickling your inner wrist as they pressed together.

“What are we doing here?” you asked him confusedly.

“Don’t you know this place? It’s the place we met.”

“Ooh, you’re romantic, huh?” you smirked.

A small blush crowned his cheeks.

“I’ve been romantic since the start.” He defended.

“What d’you mean! You were so cheeky!” you kicked his leg.

“I was quite a menace, I’m sorry – not sorry – kidding, kidding, I am sorry.”

He looked at you with a cheeky smirk, knowing damn well what you were talking about.

“You know…” he began, looking over the bridge at the river flowing beneath and admiring how the stream carried the Sakura blossoms. “Whenever I used to get coughing fits – bad ones – I would soothe myself with the memory of when we first met here. I can still recall the kimono you wore, and the Sakura that got tangled in your hair – and I thought about…” he came closer to you, speaking with a charming allure, “How badly I wanted to pluck that flower from your hair.”

You blinked up at him. How could such romantic words come out of him? You didn’t know how to respond.

“Ooh, did I make you shy?” he teased.

“No…”

“I totally made you shy. That’s so sweet. Are you blushing?” he giggled, putting his cool palm up to your cheek to feel the heat, “Oh, you’re blushing blushing. You could burn my hand right off.”

“Satoru!” you giggled.

“Ah!” he clutched his chest dramatically when you said his name, “Don’t say my name like that! I have a wife.” He joked.

“You are ridiculous!”

He gave you a big, toothy smile. “But you love me for it.”

“I do.” You tell him, and though he’s heard it many times after that day, each time feels like the first time you’re saying you love him.

“Gimme a kiss.” He asks.

“Come get it.” You tease, slowly backing away off the bridge.

“Seriously? You’re gonna make me chase you for a kiss? I’ve coughed up petals because of you, ‘n you’re gonna do me like this – heyyy! Get back here!”

Running into the petal-littered streets like carefree kids felt so freeing and exhilarating. He felt like he was catching up on all the fun he missed, if only you would have lived in his village as a child or visited more often.

“Got you!”

“Ah! Jesus, you scared – mmmf!”

He didn’t hesitate to take a much-needed kiss from your quivering lips. He kissed you so hard that you felt dizzied, lost for breath, rendered speechless. And he relished the love pouring out from you.

You stood there being kissed by your husband in a quaint alley, standing tiptoed on the Sakura blossom-littered ground to meet him halfway. Gojo’s heart thumped at the smallest things, like the fact you were standing on your tiptoes – that was the cutest thing in the world to him.

The two of you took a break for breath, and silently admired the Sakura blossoms as they drifted, being swept away by the wind.

Gojo looked at them, and looked at you, and thought of everything that had happened up until now. He was about to say something lovey-dovey but blurted out a dumb joke instead just to hear your laugh.

“Damn, I used to cough up those things.”

You laughed, “Your jokes aren’t good, Satoru.”

“But you laughed.” He said cockily.

“Shut up or I will never kiss you again.” You playfully threatened.

“You don’t mean it.” He tilted his head at you. You cracked a smile.

On the walk home, he kept calling you various nicknames – all flowers.

That day became a cherished memory of the past as the two of you weaved your way into proper adulthood. And the nicknames followed; he went through the whole flower alphabet, even the bizarrely named ones, even the Latin root names. When he wanted to annoy you, he’d call you prunus subgenus cerasus.

Now Gojo fusses around the living room of his tiny Tokyo apartment, preparing food for a little boy of the name Megumi. The day is full and busy, but any second he can get with you, he relishes.

“My tulip, 'gimme a kiss.” He asks.

“Come get it.” You tease.

“Ew.” Megumi grimaces, hearing this exchange right as he walks into the kitchen. He walks right back out.

“Gumi, get back here, food is almost ready.” Gojo calls after him, then leans down to try and kiss you but you playfully dodge him.

It always happens like that – he asks for a kiss, you refuse jokingly, he chases after you for a kiss and you scamper away. Like a running joke that’s a callback to your past.

“C’mere, you – ” he finally snatches you up, too needy for a kiss to play around anymore. “Stay right there and let me kiss you.”

He enjoys every second of kissing you, embracing you tight like he’s never letting go. Just like when he first kissed you, Gojo cups the back of your neck and tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It has you breathless, gasping – he’s so alluring that you shudder.

“Satoru!” you scold, “The food will get cold…” you excuse.

“Okay, okay. But you owe me extra kisses tonight.” He winks.

“You’ll have to get them out of me yourself.” You tease.

“Oh, I will, don’t you worry. I’ll take every little kiss I can.” He says determinedly.

He pecks at your lips, savoring the sound and feeling of the act.

“Ew!” Megumi grimaces, and walks out the kitchen just as he walks in like earlier.

“Gumi! Food! Sit-your-silly-butt-and-eat! You rascal you.” Gojo lifts him by the armpits, and tickles him like a real dad.

Megumi is poker-faced at the tickling.

“Y/n, tell Gojo he’s being annoying.”

“Husband, you’re being annoying.” You murmur up at Gojo.

“Am I?” he smiles down at you, giving you another cheeky peck.

Megumi sighs.

“Stop spyin’ and start eating, little lotus.” Gojo threatens playfully.

“Dad. Save the flower nicknames for Y/n.” Megumi scrunches his nose up.

Gojo's face lit up. “Okay, okay. Enjoy eating, I'm gonna go see where she went off to.”

He hurried into the bedroom where you had wandered into and excitedly whisper-shouted “He called me dad!” he gushed like he was the happiest man alive.

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄.

[princesssarisa]

My post about whether or not Lydia should be saved from Wickham in modern Pride and Prejudice retellings has gotten more likes and reblogs than I expected. It's made me think of another possibility of why Austen didn't save her from him.

Presumably, Lydia and Wickham's marriage could have been avoided in only three ways that would have left Lydia's reputation intact. The first is if they had only been planning to elope, but it was prevented, as with Georgiana. The second is if they had been found earlier and separated before Lydia lost her virginity. Or else Lydia could have listened to Darcy and left Wickham, and then Darcy could have used his influence to protect her honor: e.g. by claiming that she was kidnapped, or by arranging a decent marriage for her.

If Austen had wanted to make any of those choices to free Lydia, she could have done it without drastically changing the plot. But if she had, it might have felt a bit too "literary" and unrealistic.

I've just been re-watching some of Dr. Octavia Cox's literary analysis videos on YouTube. They reminded me that Austen always loved to skewer the tropes and clichés of other literature, especially Gothic melodrama, whether in outright parody or in subtler deconstruction.

Dr. Cox's video on the elder Eliza's fate in Sense and Sensibility particularly highlights this trend in Austen. She argues that Eliza's story is a classic, clichéd Gothic melodrama (a beautiful orphan, an abusive uncle, thwarted romance, forced marriage to a cruel man, a "fall" into a life of "sin," and ultimate illness and death, all narrated by Colonel Brandon in heightened, poetic language), and that Austen's point in including it was arguably to highlight that this wouldn't be the fate of her heroines. Marianne comes close to it with Willoughby and with her near-fatal illness, but in the end she's saved. Austen's point was arguably to say "Yes, I know all about this type of melodrama, I know all the clichés, but I'm relegating it to the backstory, because that's not what I want to write."

(I don't know if everyone would interpret the elder Eliza's storyline this way, but it's how Dr. Cox reads it.)

Maybe with Lydia's fate, and with the backstory of how Georgiana was freed from Wickham, Austen was doing something similar.

I'm not enough of an expert on Georgian literature to know if the rescuing of girls from predatory men with their virginity and honor intact was a cliché or not. But it does appear in late 18th century comic opera. For example, Mozart's Don Giovanni: the title character is the ultimate womanizer, but he has no success with any of the women he tries to prey on over the course of the opera. His seductions are stopped by the timely, chance arrivals of his enemies, his victims get away unscathed, and he pays for his crimes with his life in the end. Or The Marriage of Figaro: the Count's designs on Susanna are thwarted, and he's humiliated and forced to beg his wife's forgiveness.

If stories of womanizers being thwarted and punished, and their female victims saved with virtue intact, were as common in the literature of the day as they are in opera from that era, then maybe Austen used Wickham and Lydia to deconstruct them.

We definitely see some skewering of poetic cliche in the fact that despite Mrs. Bennet's fears/hopes, Lydia's honor is saved with a bribe instead of a duel.

Maybe like the Eliza backstory in Sense and Sensibility, the backstory of Georgiana's near-elopement can be read as a more perfect "literary" example of a girl escaping a cad's clutches. The elopement was thwarted partly by pure chance, as Darcy paid a surprise visit just before Wickham and Georgiana meant to run off, and partly because Georgiana was a “good victim,” whose conscience got the better of her and who chose her family and honor over her whirlwind romance.

But similar luck isn't on Lydia's side, nor does she make the right, “virtuous" choices. Darcy doesn't find the lovers until Lydia has already been living with Wickham, and like a typical reckless teenager, she cares nothing for either her reputation or her family compared to her infatuation with him. So Darcy is forced to bribe Wickham to marry her, Wickham goes unpunished except that he loses his hope of marrying rich, and all the characters have to live with the results of the scandal for the rest of their lives.

By having Georgiana's successful escape from Wickham be mere backstory while foregrounding Lydia's lack of escape, maybe once again Austen was saying "I could have freed Lydia this way – I know the tropes other authors might have used to free her – but I'm a more cynically realistic writer than that, so I won't."

I have no idea if this is valid or not, but it's a theory.

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (VI)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — Your marriage is slowly getting better and more intimate as you become the Dark Lady of Mordor and you have the Orcs' respect. While dealing with the aftermath of your conquest alongside your husband, you meet a very special prisoner – your lover who has finally returned.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The longest chapter so far but I didn't want to divide it in two separate ones because this fic is already getting longer than I wanted it to be (I suspected this moment of the show would happen in like chapter 3 lmao 🤡). As I have promised, there is finally a reunion between Sauron and the Reader. 💕

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship, every trigger from S02E01 (death of the people imprisoned by the Orcs etc.), it is mentioned that the Reader is lowkey scared (?) of Sauron's anger sometimes, which might imply some sort of domestic violence in their past + mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut)

WORD COUNT — 8,260

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (VI)

You were sitting by the long table full of wine and food that had been found in the cellars of the human villages nearby as the Orcs and the men who had chosen to follow you were partying and celebrating their new home. At least the Orcs looked truly excited about it because the humans were smiling much less and you just knew that most of them were only there to save their own lives. But that was not something you wanted to worry about now. You earned your rest, so you were just sitting next to your husband and picking on the grapes on the plate in front of you with your new sword resting on the chair. You kept glancing at it, proudly.

You focused on the song in Black Speech that the Orcs were singing and you furrowed your brows, understanding only a few words. The speech was not difficult to learn so you already could recognise a few phrases but still, it felt not enough.

“Will you teach me the Black Speech, too?” You asked your husband and Adar didn’t react at first but then he turned his head around to meet your gaze as if he was surprised to hear your question.

You cracked a smile at him. It was not only him who was perceiving you differently now but you were seeing him in a new light as well. He was making you feel powerful and in charge but his very presence was also ensuring your safety and taking some responsibility off of your shoulders. And the more he could teach you, the more useful you would be to Sauron later.

“If that is your wish, my Lady,” Adar nodded at you and reached his hand out for one of the grapes as well but you grasped it delicately, making him look surprised again.

“I have something for you,” you batted your eyelashes at him and smiled shyly as he furrowed his brows. You moved one of your hands lower and showed him the leaves from the holy trees that you had been hiding inside your sleeve. “I picked them earlier today in Ostirith,” you explained.

“What for?” Adar asked and perhaps his question was a little hurtful but the voice remained soft.

“We were wed under these trees. I thought it would mean something to you. Forgive me, my Lord…” You took your hands away and hid them underneath the table, squeezing the leaves and looking down.

Adar lifted your chin up with his thumb and made you look into his eyes. They were filled with adoration once again just like earlier on that day after realising you had truly finished his task and brought doom to your homeland.

“It does. I had no idea it meant anything to you,” he confessed and let go of your chin to open the palm of his hand in front of you. With a smile, you placed some of the leaves there and he clenched his fist to take them. “Thank you,” he whispered in Quenya. 

You nodded at him and dared to reach your free hand out to caress his cheek gently, brushing a strand of his black hair behind his ear. He was pretty startled but did not flinch.

“How long have you endured without anyone’s kind and gentle touch before me?” You asked, wondering out loud.

“A touch like this comes from a blurry memory of a long time ago, in a different life,” Adar whispered. “I had a different name then, too.”

“What was it?” You asked, curiously.

“It does not matter. Adar is my name and your husband. That man I once was is a stranger to you, my Lady. He should not concern you,” he explained and you smiled sadly.

“He had to be quite special to be chosen by Morgoth,” you whispered but Adar chuckled as he shook his head. “No?”

“No,” he answered. “Not special. Just a fool.”

You removed your hand from his cheek slowly and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I am exhausted,” you announced. The nap you had in the forest had not been enough after such a long and eventful day. “I shall retire now, my Lord,” you stood up and Adar nodded at you. “Can you tell me what happened to my dear friend Arondir? I forgot to ask you before.”

“I do not know but I do believe he is still alive,” Adar explained and you sighed with relief. Even though Arondir had angered you, now when you were calmer and back to your senses, you worried a little again.

“I hope he is away from here and builds a new life for himself,” you said out loud, squeezing Adar’s arm before taking your sword and walking out towards the village that you had overtaken earlier.

Adar’s house was the biggest one – right in the centre, near the market square. You had been offered your own next to his but you wanted to share a place with him. There was no need to get a separate house and you had to work on earning more and more of his trust. Especially now it seemed it would become an easier task.

But when you sat on the edge of the bed and began undressing yourself slowly, you sighed after realising that the more you were trying to make him like you, the more you were beginning to like him, too. And it could possibly lead to you feeling guilty later.

In nothing but your underdress, you felt extremely sleepy. You did not even consider waiting for your husband or trying to seduce him. Not on that night, surely.

So, you just laid down under the covers and despite the sounds of the party from afar, you fell asleep as soon as your head touched the pillow.

You woke up and turned around, surprised to see Adar still in the bed with you. He was laying on his back and asleep. You watched his chest rising up and down for a quiet moment before leaning in to touch him gently. In moments like these, he was the most vulnerable.

But so were you.

Oh, how you missed Sauron. You loved the mornings in his arms; all the sweet kisses and murmured promises, compliments and sweet nothings – all of that while tangling your bodies together to finish whatever had been started on the night before. How you longed to wake up next to him again and brush his hair gently, imagining a crown upon his head.

But on that unusually quiet morning you did not mind being in Adar’s bed either. You woke him up very softly with your touch and he cracked a smile at you when he realised it was his wife bringing him back to reality.

“Forgive me,” you whispered softly. “I am just so surprised to see you in my bed in the morning. Usually, you are always gone before I wake up.”

“Usually,” Adar nodded and cleared his throat. He hesitated before putting his arm around you but you allowed him to do so and you moved closer to him, resting your head on his chest. “It is still very early in the morning and my children were celebrating for a long time last night. The whole village is asleep and we have no more battles to fight for now,” he explained.

“And I like that very much,” you mumbled and laughed softly.

You felt Adar’s fingers caressing your back and you looked up to meet the gaze of his cold eyes. At that moment, they felt nearly kind.

Kind in a very genuine way. Something you had never felt around Sauron when his face had been trying to look kind. Sauron’s rage and hatred had been genuine. His devotion, his love – yes. But never his kindness.

“I saw you with those villagers. You were so cruel,” you breathed out. “And yet, with me, you are so soft. I am far less innocent than any of them.”

“You are my wife,” Adar explained. “My lady,” he added. “Why would I treat you like an enemy?”

If he only knew…

“I want you,” you confessed in the Quenya language and you truly did – you wanted him. It had been centuries since you were so close with a man, yet alone a man in power who treated you so special.

“I can feel it,” he whispered with a nod.

“What have you been waiting for then?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“For you to say it,” he smirked and rolled you over onto your back in one swift movement that made you yelp and chuckle right after.

What a different lover he was from Sauron, too. How surprisingly soft, slow and gentle. Taking his time, observing your reactions to make sure you were feeling alright. In fact, he was focusing more on you than on himself.

Sauron’s worship had been greedy and hungry to the point of pain very often. Not that you had ever minded that pain but you had absolutely no idea that you could be worshipped in a different way as well – attentive and delicate as if you were made of the most precious Elven glass.

In Adar’s eyes you had to be. Despite the seed of evil he could feel in you, he had to see you as something pure and innocent compared to his corrupted and rotten self. You could feel that when he was making love to you like he was trying not to hurt you too much or show you too much of his darkness.

Laying on his chest and catching your breath as his hand caressed the strands of your hair, you were listening to his heartbeat and slowly drifting off back to sleep. The hour was still early and there were no sounds coming from the village.

“Can I ask you something?” He started and you froze for a brief moment, already suspecting the question. He had every right to want to know the truth.

“I know what you are about to ask,” you sighed, looking up at him. 

“I am not angry,” he assured you. “You were forced to marry me, I could not have any expectations. And I am not exactly an image of perfection myself but–”

“There was only one before you,” you interrupted him and he closed his mouth, staring down at your face. “One too many for an unwed Elf everyone thought of as smart and innocent.”

“You do not have to tell me,” Adar only whispered.

“It is quite alright,” you shrugged your arms. “I was a very young Elven maiden sent by my parents to study in Mithlond. He was a young Elven boy and we fell in love. At least I thought we had…” You faked a sad smile and looked away with melancholy. “We spent many nights together and I know we should not have done that before the wedding but I was so sure that he would be the one I would be wed to… And, one day, after my classes, I ran into the courtyard where he was standing amongst his friends. And I overheard his announcement of being betrothed to another. I learnt my lesson then,” you shook your head and met your husband’s gaze again. He seemed to be sad for you.

“In the eyes of the Valars, you are wed to him,” he pointed out with a smirk and you knew he was teasing because you had wanted to solidify your union for so long before, meanwhile you had already belonged to another in a way.

“I have never worn his ring or sworn any oath,” you explained. “Like I have for you, my Lord.”

Adar nodded and caressed your cheeks gently before cupping them and leaning down to peck your lips.

“We shall drop the formalities when we are alone,” he suggested.

“I agree,” you nodded and smiled softly.

“Good,” he laid your head down onto his chest again and wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back and took a deep breath in.

“Let us go back to sleep for a short while. We still have time,” you yawned a little and he did not protest as both of you closed your eyes and drifted off once more.

Weeks passed and even though Mordor was your land now, there were many things to do. The land was nothing without its citizens and your realm needed a brand new structure. At first, the Orcs were searching through the forests and villages while looking for the humans who were still wandering around. Some of them would choose to serve Adar and you out of fear.

Your relationship with your husband was developing just like Mordor under your rule. You had some misunderstandings and you still were a bit distant because you had not known each other for very long but you also did not mind to spend time in the company of one another. And you certainly did not mind sharing the same bed although sometimes you simply had no time to get intimate.

Sometimes you had some free time, though. Like right now, your husband was teaching you how to wield your new sword and you groaned while trying to lift it up one more time.

“It is much heavier than any blade I have ever been taught to fight with,” you confessed and Adar chuckled.

“It was crafted by Morgoth,” he reminded you. “It is no ordinary blade,” he moved his own sword close to you but he did that very slowly, so you could defend yourself.

And so you did lock your blade with his but your sword was too heavy to keep it still without your hands slightly trembling.

“It is not only its weight you are carrying but also its history,” Adar pushed his sword further and made you take a step back. “Its darkness.”

“I am aware,” you drawled out through gritted teeth. You wanted to prove to him and yourself that you were worthy of carrying it. Therefore, you refused to give up.

“Let me,” Adar retreated all of a sudden and put his sword aside only to approach you and stand behind you as he tried to show you the right position. “While carrying a sword of this sort, you must change your approach a little. It is heavier and it was not crafted with a woman in mind,” he reminded you.

“Oh, so you think I cannot handle it for I am a delicate maiden?” You teased and Adar rolled his eyes slightly.

“I can see that you barely do,” he remarked.

“Lord Father!” One of the Orcs ran up to you and interrupted your little sparring session. “The new prisoners have arrived! Glûg says he has captured someone special!” The Orc added, excitedly. 

Adar nodded at him and squeezed your arms before walking away to gather his sword. You waited for him and you both walked to the centre of the village where the prisoners were usually being brought. Adar had some sort of a throne there, made of iron and burnt branches of the trees. It was big enough for you both to sit on it but you preferred to stand by his side either way – that was how your mother had taught you since she had always been standing behind your father.

Adar’s throne was too large for you to simply stand behind him but you just remained by his side with your back straightened and the most serious expression upon your face as that filthy human Waldreg was standing on your left and addressing the prisoners while trying to impress your husband and you with his loyalty.

“Welcome to Mordor,” he announced now and you gave Adar a meaningful look, cracking a smile. He smiled back at you before you two went back to your usual, serious expressions. “Work its land well and you’ll be fed well,” Waldreg continued. “Work it badly and you’ll feed the soil,” he finished his little introduction as he addressed one of the new prisoners – a poor looking villager. “You, lad, do you swear allegiance to Adar, Lord Father of the Uruks and Dark Lady of Mordor?” He asked.

Dark Lady of Mordor – that was how they were calling you now. It was not a name you had given yourself or chosen but it was the name you had earned by being the one who had opened the dam. You had been the one to create Mordor and as much as this title was making you feel proud and strong, you also wondered what Sauron’s reaction to it would be.

Would he accept the fact that you ruled over something yourself, too? Or would he be angry that you dared to?

The poor villager hesitated for a moment, not knowing what to say. Therefore, you had to watch the Orcs attack and murder him by sticking the blade into his stomach as he groaned in pain.

At first, such images had been dreadful. But now you were growing used to it and it was a good thing – a good sign. By Sauron’s side you would have to endure much more.

“It is the Southlands no more! In Mordor, ya bow or ya bleed,” Waldreg reminded all the prisoners and then he looked at another one coming your way. “Right, you there. Do you swear allegiance to Adar and his lady?”

The man fell down to his knees and bowed his head. And when he did that, the Orcs took him by his elbows to mark him with a branding iron. An image nearly as dreadful as the other villager getting murdered but this one at least could live.

Although what a life it would be?

You did not care. You were standing on the other side – by Adar’s throne, wearing a blood red gown and a small headpiece made of iron that some of the Orcs had crafted for you from the swords they had found amongst the dead bodies. It had been their gift for giving them home.

You spotted Glûg leading another prisoner your way and this one had to be that special one that he had mentioned to his friends. He was also being kept still in chains and with an iron collar around his neck. Looking like an ordinary man – but quite handsome, you had to admit – yet, he seemed to keep his dignity amongst all this chaos.

You felt it. The twist in your gut, the change of the air around you. The disturbance of energy, the same pulling force that you had felt before while hiding inside a hut in the forest. Sauron was back. 

Sauron was here.

Trying to keep yourself composed, you looked up with your jaw clenched and back straightened and then your eyes locked with the man’s blue ones. And the gasp you tried to stop from escaping your lips had nearly made your rib cage explode.

It nearly felt wrong and surely it did feel surreal to meet with your lover again. To be in his presence and be looked at through his eyes. All those centuries of yearning and missing him, you had always imagined your next meeting differently.

First of all, you had never imagined him in a different form but the man in front of you was not the Sauron you had remembered. His hair was no longer ginger but it was brown now and he looked like a human. His face belonged to a different person but that did not change anything for it had never been his body or his flesh that you loved the most. It had been his mind and his power.

Second of all, you had always imagined him coming to you in all his glory, taking you away and sweeping you off of your feet. You had never suspected he would come to you in chains, dirty from the mud, looking like a beaten dog. And yet, here he stood.

And you had to fight every fibre of your being from running up to him. From releasing him and kissing every inch of his body, from devouring him and praising him, holding him as close as you could…

You adjusted yourself slightly and spotted that his eyes squinted. He was observing you and he looked quite intrigued with your new position.

“The King of the Southlands turned himself in, Lord Father,” Glûg announced and led Sauron by the chain attached to the collar around his neck to make him stand in front of you and your husband.

The King of the Southlands… You pursed your lips. Your husband had mentioned him to you before when he had been describing to you what happened during the attack of the Númenóreans. He had mentioned a human named Halbrand who had arrived from Númenor alongside Lady Galadriel and the cavalry. That he had claimed to be from the forgotten bloodlines of the kings.

You had been intrigued by that man from your husband’s stories already but now there was no mystery around it anymore. It was obvious to you that this persona was nothing but your lover’s scheme.

And that when you had felt his presence back then, inside the hut, he truly had been around. But you had been reaching out to him, you had been trying your best to contact him and yet… There had been no answer.

Or maybe there was. Perhaps Sauron coming back here as Halbrand was the answer to your calling.

“Says he wants to negotiate,” Glûg added and you did your best to appear as contemptuous and angry as you snorted at that.

“Human king,” you mocked his title, trying to avoid his eyes at first because even though you were putting on an act, you were still scared of your lover’s rage. “There is no such a thing,” you finally met his intense gaze and at first it startled you but you continued your little show. “The reign of a human king is always short and weak for his body rots quickly and his mind gets corrupted fast,” you explained with contempt.

Halbrand did not say anything to that. He kept staring intensely at you and Adar. In fact, he gave you a hateful stare that caused a shiver down your spine. You hoped it was nothing but a play-pretend.

“Let my people go,” he finally said in a very determined tone.

But those were not his people because he was no king. However, you had to pretend that you believed him. Waldreg and Glûg laughed at his words and you looked up at Adar.

Your heart skipped a beat when you realised that your husband was very suspicious. The way he was staring at Halbrand was making it clear that he simply knew that this man was more than he was claiming to be. And now you knew that no slip-ups from you were allowed in your little game.

“Or yours will die,” Halbrand added calmly and perhaps his threat meant nothing to the Orcs surrounded there but you knew that he was capable of hurting everyone here without using much, therefore you did not laugh.

Adar finally reacted, however, as he looked away with a slight eye-roll.

“My people defeated the men of these lands,” he reminded Halbrand. “We defeated the Elves who came to their aid,” he stood up from his throne. “We even defeated their allies, the men from beyond the sea,” he walked down and approached Halbrand as you held your breath as seeing your husband and your lover so close and face-to-face was making you feel physically sick. “There is no one left for us to fear,” Adar added.

“There is one,” Halbrand teased and you tilted your head, wondering what his game was. “Since Galadriel’s defeat, she sought out a new ally. An ancient sorcerer, to instruct the Elves in forging a new weapon,” he started and you grew more and more curious of his scheme, so you approached your husband.

You stood right behind him as you wrapped your hands around one of his arms like a dutiful and loyal wife that you were.

“One you first told her about. A power over flesh,” Halbrand continued and you just knew that all this talking so freely about… well, himself, just had to be a part of a scheme much greater and bigger than what you could have even imagined or suspected.

You felt Adar’s body tensing and you squeezed his arm tighter, trying to show him support and comfort.

“Do you remember those words?” Halbrand kept toying with him. “A power that will allow him to use your children as slaves in his army once more.”

“Ignore him,” you quickly spoke before Halbrand could continue. “He is playing with you, my Lord, can’t you see? He is using your fear against you but he is not worthy of our time. A human king?” You snorted. “Most likely a liar.”

“Set my people free and I will tell you where he can be found,” Halbrand cut you out immediately after, giving you no time to speak anymore. “So you can destroy him and rid us both of his evil,” his voice quivered, pretending to be scared.

“No, Your Majesty,” Adar shook his head after giving you a quick glance and moving away from you, forcing you to let go of his arm. He took a step further to be even closer to Halbrand but you made sure to overhear everything. “You will tell me everything you think you know of this sorcerer now… Or I will spill the words from your throat,” he threatened.

“If I die, all that I know dies with me,” Halbrand answered calmly. “You can’t kill me.”

“In time, you will beg me to,” Adar whispered to him and you reached out for his arm once more, sensing his nervousness.

You pulled him closer to you and that was when Waldreg punched Halbrand, which made you look away. Seeing your lover being treated this way was making you feel physical pain as well. You couldn’t bear to watch how that filthy human dared to treat him and how he dragged him away to one of the houses that would now serve as Halbrand’s prison.

“He has upset you,” you caressed Adar’s arm, trying to focus on him now.

“You know why,” your husband answered.

“What he said, Lord Father,” worried Glûg interrupted you two. “Sauron… could never return, could he?

“No. Sauron is dead,” Adar lied to him, shaking his head. “Your Lady was right. That man was trying to use our weakness against us,” he added and walked away but you furrowed your brows and followed him.

Grabbing Adar by his sleeve, you pulled him behind you and led him around the corner of the house nearby.

“You know it is not true,” you whispered into his face, your noses brushing each other as he kept staring at you with a puzzled expression. “When we were in Ostirith, you had received messages that were making you think Sauron was back. I thought those messages were from your children. What are you hiding from me?” You asked, perhaps a bit too aggressively.

“I hide nothing,” Adar answered, way softer than you. “The news my scouts had been sending to me… They had no idea about their meaning and I was not sharing my suspicions with anyone but you. I did not want to worry my children and I do not want to do that now either,” he explained. “That man, Halbrand… I have a feeling he might know something. If my suspicions are true and Sauron is back, I will have to tell the news to the Uruk. And we will have to march again for I shall not rest until he is defeated.”

You took a step back, giving him his personal space as you fixed your gown nonchalantly and cleared his throat.

“I am sorry. I do not like being kept in the darkness,” you tried to make up excuses for yourself. Of course your rapid reaction was the result of the fact that the matter was about your lover. But Adar could not know that.

“I am glad you asked me in private instead of calling me out in front of Glûg,” Adar nodded at you and held your wrists gently. “That was very thoughtful.”

You looked up, a little surprised. You had just accused and attacked him and he was thanking you?

“We are a husband and a wife. I might scold you or question you but this is our private matter for nobody else to see,” you cracked a nervous smile and he squeezed your fingers tighter.

“Let us go back, the rest of the prisoners are waiting.”

You nodded at him and took a deep breath in, trying to compose yourself. For some reason, out of the loud noise of all the people around, your ears picked only on the sounds leaving Halbrand’s throat as Waldreg was beating him up. And for the rest of the day you could not stand still, trying to fight the tears pricking your eyes.

Sauron’s pain was your pain.

It was the middle of the night as you gathered your skirts and walked through the mud to get to the house where Halbrand was kept in. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the Orcs guiding the door turned around to look at you.

“Leave us,” you ordered, a little harshly. They looked at each other but they would never dare to question you, so they just walked away.

And only when you could see them disappearing behind one of the buildings, knowing that you were completely alone with Halbrand, you took a deep breath in and pushed the door to walk inside.

You spotted him sitting on the ground, looking miserable and exhausted. For a short moment, you kept staring at each other in complete silence.

“My love…” You whispered in the Quenya language eventually as you dropped to your knees and crawled on the floor towards him. He kept looking at you without any expression on his face. “My love, you’re back… You’re back, I knew you would be… My love, my master, my Sauron,” you whispered the last word nearly inaudibly, cupping his cheeks with the most devoted and hurt expression since it was painful to see him humbled like this. 

“Shush, my gentle darling,” he finally spoke to you and you sobbed at his soft voice; filled with so much love and affection still. “You cannot let them hear you,” he added and you nodded, pressing your forehead to his as your tears washed some of the dirt off of his face.

“I have been waiting for you for the centuries. Yearning for you, craving you… With every inch of this body, this soul, this heart…” You were assuring him between deep gasps of air even though this very morning you had shared your body with your husband.

But it was all for the grand scheme of your lover. It did not matter, did it?

“I called for you… On that day when I made the mountain erupt. I called for you,” you moved away slightly to be able to look at his face better.

“I know,” Halbrand cracked a smile. “My love, you have to trust my plan. Although I can see you have taken the matters into your own hands.”

“I have been forced to but I saw an opportunity,” you nodded through the tears, brushing his hair with your fingertips. “An opportunity for you.”

“That is good. You are the most devoted and cunning lover just like I taught you,” he said.

“Tell me, my love, tell me what to do now. Give me orders and I shall follow them until we are united again as–” your voice quivered again as you hesitated.

Perhaps it was because of his current state, perhaps it was because of the centuries of separation and perhaps it was because he was in a new form that you had not grown used to yet but… He seemed to be more distant than you remembered. A bit colder despite his gentle words.

“Say it,” you pleaded. “Say it again and I shall do whatever you ask me of,” you promised.

Sauron looked you up and down and his lips curled up in a smile. He tried to reach out for you as if he had forgotten his hands were in shackles. You shushed him and caressed his wounded wrists wherever you could reach.

“I shall make you my Queen,” he whispered. “All Middle-earth will be brought to its knees to worship you by my side, my love,” he added and you sobbed some more. “The very thought of you has been the only thing that kept me alive for so many centuries. To know that I have to return to you gave me strength. I craved your touch for eternity but we shall wait a little longer to be together on our own terms,” he breathed out. “You have to make Adar believe that Sauron is in Eregion and lead his army to me there. I have my work to do in the meantime, but you will be on my mind constantly like you have been for the past few centuries,” he finished as you shut him up with a hungry and desperate kiss, tangling your hands messily into his hair while straddling his lap.

“I shall be your Queen,” you whimpered between the greedy kisses. Those, he seemed to give you back eagerly. “I shall reflect your greatness and your power, I shall bring you an army and whatever else you ask of me. I am yours, yours completely…”

Your dignity seemed to disappear whenever Sauron was near. You had nearly forgotten how overwhelming and soul crushing devotion it was whenever you actually found yourself around him.

“I know that you are, my darling,” he whispered after one of the kisses. “To be able to lay my eyes upon you again is the most satisfying reward.”

“No, it is not,” you shook your head. “The crown upon your head will be,” you pointed out as he raised an eyebrow. “Yes, my love, I know you very well,” you chuckled through the tears. “And I shall bring you the crown, too. I shall be the one to place it upon your head.”

“Are you not a little bit too greedy, little dove?” Halbrand chuckled.

“Greedy? For you? Always,” you teased and pulled his head back by his hair to place yet another hungry kiss upon his lips. He kissed you back, pushing his tongue inside your mouth as you moaned. But then he broke the kiss as you raised an eyebrow at him and he laughed.

“You taste like an Orc,” he said.

“Have you kissed many?” You tried to joke back even though his words had hurt you. All this sacrifice was for him… Could he not see that?

“I am only jesting,” he shook his head. “You look, taste and smell like heaven and I cannot wait to claim you as mine once again.”

At those words you could feel the heat in your cheeks as you looked down for a short moment.

“You should go now before it gets suspicious,” Halbrand leaned in to join your foreheads. “Go, you know what to do.”

“I do,” you agreed and cupped his cheeks before pecking his lips once more. “Everything for you.”

Glûg couldn’t stop thinking of Halbrand’s words. He had been approaching you for many days now and trying to make you assure him once more that the words the man had said were not true. At some point, you began to feel a little bit guilty for lying to him since you could spot so much fear in those eyes.

“You have to trust your Lord Father, Glûg,” you smiled at him that morning. “When he says there is no reason to worry, then there is not.”

“He says one thing but I see he is worrying, my Lady,” Glûg shook his head. “Can you not see it, too?” He was genuinely surprised.

You had realised a little while ago that most of the Orcs had no idea about the deal between your father and your husband. Perhaps the whole concept of political marriages and alliances was something unfamiliar to them but most of them truly believed that you shared a deeper connection with your husband. Love – however the Orcs understood this feeling.

But those past few days, ever since Halbrand’s arrest, the relationship between you and Adar was more distant again. He was worried indeed – way more than he had been before when there had only been signs of your lover’s return. You, on the other hand, did not complain about it because your own mind was focused on Sauron as well. Only for reasons much different than his.

“Glûg, no husband ever tells his wife everything,” you tried to cheer him up as he nodded.

You were walking around the village, trying to see if everything was working out smoothly. The closer you were getting to the house where Halbrand was being kept, though, the more sick you were feeling. You hadn’t visited him again after the first night but he was constantly on your mind either way. And the sounds of his screams of pain were giving you nightmares.

Adar joined you all of the sudden, making Glûg walk away from you a little bit. Your husband took his place by your side and you looked up at his face, noticing that he was worried again.

But before you could ask, a familiar scream reached your ears.

“Oh,” you winced and looked away. “I do realise he is a prisoner but what Waldreg is doing to that human king is starting to make me sick,” you complained. Perhaps it was risky to try to stand up for Halbrand but you thought you had done it in quite an innocent manner.

You knew Sauron would not want you to do that because it could possibly reveal your true self to Adar in case he knew who his prisoner truly was, but you loved Sauron too much to let go of this opportunity to make his suffering stop.

Adar did not say anything to your words but he squeezed your arm before walking away again to join the other Orcs that he had originally been on his way to before spotting you with Glûg.

You sighed, defeated.

However, it was no defeat. Or rather, you liked to think it had been your words that made Adar finally find some mercy for Halbrand. On the very next morning he announced it was the right time to finally settle down the matter with the human king and he even ordered to set his people free.

And so you found yourself inside the house where Halbrand was being kept. He was asleep when you walked inside, laying on the cold stone floor covered with a bit of dirty hay. You wondered if he was truly asleep since he did not truly need it.

The state of his face nearly made you weep – the bruises, the bloody lip, the dirt and sweat mixed. He should be treated like a God and yet he had to endure such a treatment. They were fools not to see that he was the one who would heal Middle-earth.

You kept standing next to Waldreg and Glûg but your husband stood above him and kept staring at Halbrand’s sleeping face. You had a feeling he knew – knew something, knew more than you’d like him to. But he surely did not know that the man in front of you was Sauron. Otherwise, he would bring the Iron Crown with him and push it deep into your lover’s heart once more.

“I was in your place once,” Adar scoffed and walked away after Halbrand finally woke up and your husband’s face was the first thing he saw. “In the eldest of the Elder Days,” he continued his story and crouched down to be closer to Halbrand, who kept staring at the ceiling without any expression on his face. “Thirteen of us were chosen to be blessed of Morgoth’s hand, with the promise of power. A new birth,” Adar explained and you moved uncomfortably.

He had never told you the full story. Would he do it now? Would he tell it to that human king as you listened? Maybe it was easier for him to let you know about his past like that? 

“I was led up to a dark and nameless peak. Chained and left,” Adar continued his story and at that moment, your heart mourned for him.

Despite his cruelty, he had always shown you lots of compassion. He was treating you like a delicate thing that had to be protected as much as empowered, so she could fight for herself, too. He had no idea it was a viper that he had in his bed. And this very viper moved closer to him to put her hand on his shoulder as she faked contempt while staring down at Halbrand. He found your eyes and then he looked at your hand on Adar’s shoulder, only to look back at you. He didn’t like how well you were playing your role – of that you were sure. Sauron had always been the most jealous lover.

But now his anger could not reach you so you toyed with him a little bit more, although teasing him was not your intention. You truly wanted to bring Adar some comfort.

“And after what seemed endless thirst and hunger…” Your husband lifted his hand to squeeze yours. “I saw it. His servant’s face. Sauron’s face,” he whispered and you squeezed his fingers tighter but in that very moment you felt that you were interrupting something intimate between them two. Something you were no part of.

There were tears in Halbrand’s eyes and in yours as well. Perhaps you were a part of it, after all. You were another thing that connected these two, another thread, another betrayal, another affection that they shared.

“And it was… beautiful,” Adar admitted. “He offered me wine, red as a blood moon. He offered me wine, and on that dark and nameless peak, I drank it. I drank it all,” he confessed and Halbrand moved his head slightly to take a better look at your husband. “Your people have been set free and my wife here cannot stand your screams of pain anymore,” he informed him and Halbrand moved his head up to rest it on the wall behind him, shooting you a glance. “Now, tell me what you know of Sauron.”

Halbrand kept staring at you two with a smirk on his face. He was looking you up and down with contempt and a hint of curiosity just like during your first meeting when you had been by Adar’s side, standing next to his throne.

“Sauron has returned in a new form,” Halbrand announced and you looked behind you, knowing very well that Glûg would not take the news well. And indeed, he was affected. “I am not yet certain what shape he has taken.”

“Then of what use are you to me?” Adar asked, angrily. He stood up slowly and you allowed your hand to drop down from his shoulder as you looked down at Halbrand again.

“I have something you don’t,” Halbrand answered. “The trust of the Elves. Release me and I’ll go to them and seek him out, so you can marshal your legions to destroy him.”

You looked at Adar again and he seemed to be overthinking Halbrand’s proposal as the pace of his breath quickened. You quickly put your hand on his chest as you stood by him.

“If he speaks the truth…” You started, changing your tactic. “What I’m saying is… Even if he lies, what can you possibly lose? He is no use for us anyway,” you pointed out.

“Weren’t you the one telling me he was a liar?” Adar whispered and even though Glûg and Waldreg could not hear it, you knew that Halbrand could.

“You had your signs of Sauron’s return and this man proves them. I called him a liar then to calm you down and to not worry your children; to avoid making any decisions in haste,” you explained and then you lowered your voice even further. “I can see how the possibility of Sauron’s return torments you,” you looked into his eyes intensely.

Adar kept staring back at you like that for a while and then he looked up to nod at Waldreg. The man approached Halbrand but not without his usual monologue.

“Do you vow allegiance to Adar, Lord Father of the Uruks and Dark Lady of Mordor?” He asked Halbrand and you swallowed thickly. Despite standing proud, you glanced down at your lover, a little scared of how he would react to your new name but his face remained unchanged.

“Yes,” he whispered after a while of hesitation, during which he did not look up to meet your gaze even once. He was a much better actor than you were and perhaps you should stop concerning yourself so much with what he would think or react since it was all a game anyway.

“Then kneel,” Waldreg ordered and you watched Halbrand struggling to get into this position since he was still half-lying down and his hands were in shackles.

You kept standing by Adar’s side with your hand on his chest and once again you felt the tension in his body rising as his stare was the most intense. His intuition was not failing him and you only hoped it would not turn out to be even better than you suspected.

“Now, swear it,” Waldreg barked at Halbrand who had just finally made it into the kneeling position. Nothing but the sound of his chains filled the room and you felt really bad for your humiliated lover. You wished you could make it all stop for him.

“I vow–” Halbrand started.

“With your head at her feet,” Adar spoke suddenly in a very harsh tone and you looked at him briefly. Heavy silence occurred between you, him and Halbrand.

You did not understand why Adar wanted this to happen and it felt utterly wrong to be in this position. It was Sauron – your lover, your master, your King. You would never dare to even imagine him bowing down to you because you were the one serving him with your body, mind and soul.

Adar was not fully aware of the complexity of the situation he had just created. You nearly wanted to cry out that no, he did not have to. You wanted to spare your lover the further embarrassment.

But then, after a very long while of hesitation and swallowing his pride – a task incredibly difficult for Sauron, of which you were aware – he did what he had been told and he placed his head at your feet. And in that moment, a shiver went down your spine as you realised that it could be the only opportunity for your lover to be out of his dignity in front of you as much as you usually were in front of him. It was only fair, after all.

And it felt so oddly… good. Satisfying,

“I vow to serve the Lord and Lady of Mordor,” Halbrand whispered. “To the end of my days… and theirs,” he added as a malicious feeling creeped through your body.

Halbrand was given a horse and you watched him ride away slowly while standing next to Adar. Your husband was sitting on his throne with Waldreg by his right side and you by his left. You kept staring at Halbrand’s shoulders but he did not look back even once.

“See that he’s followed. Every step,” Adar told Glûg who had just approached you two. The Orc nodded, still visibly affected by the news of Sauron’s comeback.

Waldreg walked away to clean the house a bit and feed the warg, leaving you alone with your husband. He looked worried and sad as your heart clenched in your chest when you remembered the story he had told Halbrand earlier.

Softly and carefully, you sat on the throne next to him and held his hand gently with the both of yours.

“What are you thinking of?” You asked him.

“I had my suspicions but now… Now I am certain that Sauron is back and…” Adar laid his eyes on you. You were taken aback by the amount of pain you found there. “I cannot let him enslave my children.”

“We… We will not,” your voice broke a little as the guilt creeped in. “The story you have told him… Is that what happened to you, really?” You changed the subject and Adar nodded. “I am sorry,” you admitted, truthfully, while brushing his rough hand with your fingertips.

“Do not mourn me,” Adar asked of you and you cracked a smile.

“Why did you tell him to vow at my feet?” You asked one more question as your eyes met his and he forced a smirk despite his sadness.

“Have I not told you that I would make the whole Middle-earth see the Dark Lady that you are?” 

MASTERLIST