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gyuuberryy · 2 months ago

Text

prince charming's mismatch

pairing: prince!heeseung x princess!reader

synopsis: you and prince heeseung have been rivals for as long as you can remember. what began as childhood clashes has grown into a deep-seated animosity over the years. but when your sister runs away on her wedding day, you're forced to take her place and marry heeseung—the last person you ever wanted to call your husband.

now bound in an unwanted marriage, you’re faced with navigating the tension between your unresolved hatred and an unexpected attraction. as palace intrigue and looming threats surround you both, you must confront the truth of your feelings. will the bitterness between you tear you apart, or will it ignite something far more powerful?

genre: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, arranged marriage au

warnings: highly suggestive content!!! kissing, hee and reader are mean at first, insecurities, jealous!hee

note: i've been meaning to write this plot for an year now, im happy with how it turned out! e2l with hee is always soo fun to write. enjoyy

word count: 11.5k

royally yours masterlist | next: jay

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

the first time you met prince heeseung, it was at a grand summer garden party hosted by your parents in the palace’s sprawling grounds. you were barely six years old, and he wasn’t much older, yet even then, the air between you crackled with something akin to competition. your governess had dressed you in your finest lace frock, with your hair tied in perfect ribbons, but none of that mattered. you were too busy building a grand sandcastle near the fountain, your little fingers carefully patting the turrets into shape.

that was when heeseung appeared, his shadow falling over your castle like a storm cloud. he crouched beside you without so much as a polite greeting, his royal title apparently excusing his lack of manners. his eyes, sharp for a child, surveyed your handiwork critically.

“that’s not right,” he declared, reaching out to touch one of your towers. “the walls need to be thicker, or it’ll fall.”

you frowned, already bristling at the unsolicited advice. “it’s my castle. i know what i’m doing.”

he smirked, a small, superior thing that made your blood simmer even at that tender age. without asking, he began "fixing" it, his hands too rough as he demolished what you had so carefully crafted.

“stop!” you cried, shoving him back with all the strength your little body could muster. heeseung stumbled, landing awkwardly on the grass, but instead of being chastened, he merely laughed.

“see?” he said, gesturing at the collapsed sandcastle. “i told you it would fall.”

tears of frustration welled in your eyes as you glared at him. “you ruined it! i didn’t ask for your help!”

heeseung stood, dusting off his fine clothes, a boyish smirk still plastered on his face. “you should thank me. i was doing you a favour.”

from that day forward, any time your families met, it was as if an unspoken rule had been established—whenever you were in the same room, you and heeseung would find something to argue about. it didn’t matter if it was who deserved the biggest slice of cake or who could recite their latin conjugations faster; the two of you were constantly at odds.

as the years passed, your mutual disdain only deepened. by the time you were ten, heeseung had already earned a reputation as the golden boy of his kingdom, a future king who excelled in everything he touched. your own accomplishments were always impressive—your parents had ensured you were well-versed in languages, history, and the fine arts—but whenever heeseung was around, it felt as though all your achievements paled in comparison.

“did you hear?” one of your tutors asked one morning as you sat in the drawing room, diligently practising your embroidery. “prince heeseung has been awarded top marks in his studies again. he’s to receive a commendation from the royal academy.”

you didn’t look up, but your needle paused for the briefest of moments. “how wonderful for him,” you muttered, the words heavy with sarcasm.

that evening, at another royal banquet, you couldn’t help but bring up your own accomplishments, eager for even a crumb of recognition.

“i’ve been practising my archery,” you said proudly to the gathered guests, though your eyes couldn’t help but flick toward heeseung, who lounged nearby, looking as regal and aloof as ever. “i managed to hit the bullseye several times this week.”

heeseung glanced up lazily, catching your eye with that familiar, insufferable smirk. “impressive,” he said in a bored tone, “though archery isn’t quite the same as, say, fencing. that requires real skill.”

your fists clenched under the table, your pride wounded by his casual dismissal. but this was the way it always went. no matter what you did, heeseung always found a way to make it seem insignificant, as though he were the sun and you were merely a star dimmed by his brilliance.

by the time you were both teenagers, the animosity between you had grown more complicated, though no less intense. you found yourselves at the same royal gatherings, balls, and court functions, and each time, it was as if the entire room held its breath, waiting to see what you and heeseung would clash over next.

at one particularly grand ball, you had been feeling proud of your debut. you wore a gown of the finest silk, and you’d received more than a few admiring glances from the eligible noblemen in attendance. you were certain this was your night to shine—until heeseung approached.

“you look well enough,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge that set your teeth on edge. “though i hope you don’t trip during the quadrille like last time.”

your cheeks flushed, remembering all too well the minor misstep you’d taken at a previous ball. “i won’t,” you snapped, glaring at him. “and even if i did, it’s better than fencing yourself into a corner like you did at the tournament last month.”

his smile faltered for just a second, but that was enough to make you feel victorious.

yet, despite the constant barbs, there was something else simmering beneath the surface now—a tension you refused to name. you hated the way your heart raced whenever heeseung was near, the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of a room. and, though you’d never admit it, you hated even more that part of you missed the old days when your squabbles were simple, childish things.

it all changed the day your sister’s engagement to heeseung was announced. the prince who had been your lifelong nemesis was now to become your sister’s husband, the future king of your kingdom. it was a match made for political alliance, but it felt like a betrayal. you had expected more from him—well, not more kindness, but certainly more rebellion. yet, heeseung accepted the engagement with the same cool composure he did everything else.

for the first time in years, he stopped seeking you out, stopped picking those fights you had come to expect. he no longer bothered with sharp remarks or smug smiles. instead, he kept his distance, as though you were beneath his notice.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. after all, what did you care if heeseung ignored you now? he was going to be your brother-in-law, and that was enough reason to keep things civil. and yet, a strange, hollow feeling settled in your chest whenever you saw him and your sister together. he was colder now, more mature, but somehow more distant than ever.

little did you know, your rivalry with prince heeseung was far from over. if anything, it was only just beginning.

the night your world fell apart, it started with a simple knock on your chamber door. the palace had been abuzz with preparations—florists arranging garlands, tailors hemming gowns, and courtiers whispering about the grand union that would strengthen two kingdoms. you had spent the evening rehearsing your duties as maid of honour, biting back any remnants of bitterness that still clung to your feelings about the match. it didn’t matter that you had spent your entire life despising heeseung; your sister loved him, or at least, she was supposed to.

you were preparing to retire, brushing your hair by the dim glow of candlelight, when your sister slipped into the room, her face pale and eyes wide with fear. you’d never seen her look so frantic. your heart sank before she even said a word.

“i’m not going to marry him,” she whispered, wringing her hands in the folds of her silk nightgown. her voice trembled, but it was steady enough for you to know she wasn’t joking.

your heart lurched. “what are you talking about? the wedding is tomorrow!”

her wide eyes darted to the door as if she feared someone might overhear. she leaned in closer, gripping your wrist with trembling fingers. “i can’t marry heeseung,” she said urgently. “i don’t love him. i’m leaving tonight.”

the words hit you like a physical blow. “you’re what?”

“i’m eloping,” she said, her voice firmer now, as if saying it out loud gave her courage. “with lucien.”

lucien. you barely knew the man, a minor noble from another court, but he had charmed your sister quickly. he was handsome and witty, but far beneath her station. you stared at her, disbelief mixing with fury.

“lucien? are you mad? you can’t just abandon your duty for—”

“for love?” she interrupted, her voice rising in defiance. “yes, i can. i won’t be trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who cares nothing for me.”

you swallowed hard, your mind racing. heeseung, distant and cold as he had been with you, had shown no signs of affection for your sister either, but this was bigger than personal feelings. the marriage was political, a union meant to secure alliances, peace, and power. your sister fleeing would bring nothing but chaos.

“you’ll ruin everything,” you whispered, your voice thick with the weight of the consequences. “our families, the kingdoms—this is bigger than you.”

her eyes softened with a mix of guilt and determination. “i know. but i can’t live my life for duty, not like this.” she stood, gathering a small satchel you hadn’t noticed before, already packed and ready for her escape.

“you won’t stop me, will you?” she asked, her gaze pleading.

you wanted to scream, to shake her out of this madness, but your throat tightened. she was your sister. you loved her. and you knew, deep down, that nothing you said would change her mind.

“i should,” you said, your voice quiet, brittle. “but no. i won’t.”

your sister smiled, a fragile, relieved thing, before pulling you into a tight embrace. the hug felt final, like the end of something neither of you could come back from. when she finally let go, you stood frozen in the middle of her room as she slipped out the window and into the night, her footsteps fading into the shadows.

the palace remained blissfully unaware of the catastrophe until morning, when your mother’s scream shattered the early dawn peace.

the palace was in chaos the next morning. servants rushed through the halls, panic etched on their faces as whispers spread like wildfire—the bride had run away. you stayed in your chambers as long as possible, trying to gather your thoughts, your emotions, trying to prepare for the inevitable fallout.

when the summons came from your father, it felt like a death knell. the walk to the throne room felt endless, each step heavier than the last. the moment you stepped through the grand doors, you saw heeseung standing beside your parents. his face was a mask of icy calm, but his eyes…his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, cold and unforgiving.

he didn’t even glance at you as your father spoke.

“your sister has disgraced this family,” your father’s voice boomed, his tone laced with anger and disappointment. “but the marriage cannot be abandoned. the alliance with heeseung’s kingdom is too important.”

you stood still, your stomach churning as you braced for what was coming.

“therefore,” your father continued, his gaze hard as stone, “you will take her place.”

for a moment, the words didn’t register. you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. you? marry heeseung? no, it wasn’t possible. you had spent your entire life in a silent war with him. the idea of marrying the man who had been your nemesis since childhood was unthinkable.

your mother’s voice, soft but firm, broke the silence. “the arrangements have already been made. the wedding will proceed as planned. you will become heeseung’s bride.”

“no.” the word slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your heart racing. “i can’t.”

your father’s eyes narrowed, and your mother’s expression hardened with disappointment. “you will do your duty,” your father said coldly. “this is not up for discussion.”

duty. it always came down to that. your entire life, you had been prepared for moments like this, but not this moment. not like this.

finally, you turned to heeseung, desperate for any sign of protest, for him to say something—anything—that would stop this madness. but he was silent. his face remained expressionless, as though none of this affected him. he looked at you as if you were just a piece of the puzzle, another part of the kingdom’s grand design.

“is that all i am to you?” you asked, your voice shaking. “just a replacement? a stand-in for the bride who ran away?”

for the first time, heeseung’s gaze met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, buried deep beneath the coldness. but his words cut through you like ice.

“you’re a princess,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp. “your role is to serve your kingdom. that’s all that matters.”

a bitter laugh escaped your throat. “you’ve hated me for years, heeseung. and now you expect me to just—what? pretend none of that matters?”

his jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. instead, he turned away, his indifference stinging more than any of the insults you had traded over the years.

your father spoke again, his tone final. “the marriage will happen. prepare yourself.”

the grand hall was suffused with the glow of flickering candles and soft sunlight filtering through stained glass windows. the scent of fresh roses—your sister’s favourite, not yours—hung heavily in the air, mocking the gravity of the moment. you stood at the entrance of the hall, your hands clenched so tightly around the bouquet that your knuckles were white. the murmurs of the courtiers echoed around you, a constant hum of speculation and judgement. no matter how well you carried yourself today, the whispers wouldn’t stop.

the switch of the bride was the scandal of the century, and you were at the centre of it.

ahead of you, heeseung stood tall, his face as unreadable as stone. the same detachment was in his eyes, his expression cool and composed as if this marriage was merely another political manoeuvre for him, another step toward the throne. he didn’t look at you with warmth, or even a hint of care. to him, you weren’t his wife—you were the replacement for the woman who had run away.

you walked down the aisle, every step heavier than the last, the reality of your situation crushing you. heeseung’s gaze was steady as you approached, but it wasn’t the gaze of a man looking at his bride. it was a look of cold calculation, a man who had resigned himself to duty.

when you finally reached him, your heart thudding loudly in your chest, you barely registered the priest's words. the vows—sacred, binding—felt hollow, like a cruel twist of fate. how could you stand here, repeating the words meant for your sister? they weren't meant for you. you were never supposed to be the bride.

heeseung took your hand, and the warmth of his skin was a sharp contrast to the chill that ran down your spine. his grip was firm, not gentle, but not cruel either—just dutiful. he spoke his vows with a steady voice, each word sounding rehearsed, as though they meant nothing to him beyond their formality.

and then it was your turn. you hesitated, the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders, your pulse quickening. your voice trembled slightly as you repeated the vows, feeling the eyes of everyone in the hall on you—expecting you to fulfil your role, to be the perfect princess. you could barely choke out the words, but somehow, you managed. and with every word, you felt the invisible chains of your new life tightening around you.

when the priest finally pronounced you husband and wife, heeseung’s lips brushed yours in the briefest of kisses—so cold and devoid of feeling that it felt more like a business transaction than the union of two people. the cheers of the court erupted around you, but in that moment, the applause sounded like the closing of a cage. you were trapped, bound to him, to this life.

as you turned to leave the altar, heeseung offered his arm, the tension between you palpable. his eyes flickered to yours for a brief moment, but there was no warmth there. just that cold, resigned look you had grown accustomed to. you were both playing your roles, just as you had been trained to do your whole lives.

but this wasn’t a game. this was your future, and it felt like a noose tightening around your neck.

the wedding feast had been a blur—a cacophony of forced smiles, hollow congratulations, and polite toasts that masked the underlying tension. you had barely spoken a word to heeseung throughout the entire affair. he hadn’t made any attempt to speak to you either, remaining as distant and composed as ever.

now, as you stood alone in the chambers that were to be yours and heeseung’s, the reality of your new life settled heavily on your chest. the palace chambers were far too quiet, the air thick with the tension that had been building between you and heeseung for years. as you stood in the centre of the room, staring at the enormous bed draped in rich fabrics, it felt like the walls were closing in. the room was elegantly decorated—ornate tapestries hung on the walls, and the grand four-poster bed was fit for a queen. but none of it mattered. the splendour felt like a mockery of the situation you found yourself in. tonight, this room was not a sanctuary but a gilded cage.

your breath caught in your throat as the door creaked open. heeseung entered, his presence commanding even in the subdued candlelight. the tension between you was palpable, stretching like a thin, fragile thread that could snap at any moment. his gaze flicked toward you briefly, but he didn’t speak, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

heeseung moved with practised grace, his movements calm and deliberate. he began undoing the buttons on his ceremonial jacket, the fine fabric sliding off his shoulders and landing in a careless heap on the chair by the vanity. you stood frozen, unsure of what to say, what to do. this wasn’t how you had imagined a wedding night would feel—though you had never dreamed this night would be with heeseung, of all people.

his back was to you now, his broad shoulders tense, though he did nothing to betray any emotion. you could feel the distance between you both, even though he was just across the room. heeseung had always been composed, guarded, but tonight, his coldness cut even deeper than usual.

he finally broke the silence, his voice low but steady. “it’s late. you should rest.” there was no affection in his tone, just the same sense of duty that had hung over the entire day. you weren’t his bride by choice, and he wasn’t your husband by desire.

you bit back a bitter laugh. rest? as if you could simply close your eyes and pretend this was normal. pretend that this marriage was something other than a trap. “is that it, then?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “we go to bed and pretend everything is fine?”

heeseung turned to face you, his expression as unreadable as ever. he didn’t answer right away, as if weighing his response carefully. “what do you want me to say?” his tone was measured, but there was an edge to it, a hint of frustration that matched your own.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “this wasn’t supposed to happen. i wasn’t supposed to marry you.”

something flickered in heeseung’s eyes, though it disappeared as quickly as it came. he regarded you for a moment, his gaze unreadable, before he spoke again. “do you think i wanted this?” his words were quiet but laced with a bitterness that surprised you. “i didn’t ask for this any more than you did.”

you swallowed, feeling a lump rise in your throat. you hadn’t expected this admission from him, hadn’t expected him to show any vulnerability. “then what are we supposed to do?” your voice was softer now, the anger ebbing away, replaced by uncertainty. “how are we supposed to live like this?”

heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair, a rare moment of frustration breaking through his calm facade. “we do what’s expected of us,” he said, though there was a heaviness to his words, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “we fulfill our duties. that’s all we can do.”

“duties.” the word tasted bitter on your tongue. it had always come down to that, hadn’t it? duty to the crown, to the kingdom, to your family. and now, duty to heeseung.

the silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable. heeseung turned away, moving toward the window where the heavy drapes framed the view of the darkened palace gardens. his silhouette was stark against the faint glow of moonlight, his posture stiff, almost defensive.

after a long moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “i’ll sleep over there.” he gestured to the chaise near the window, a fine piece of furniture that now seemed woefully out of place in this awkward, tension-filled room. “you can have the bed.”

you blinked, surprised by his offer. it was the last thing you expected from him, but it was a relief nonetheless. “you don’t have to—”

“i’m not doing this for you,” he interrupted, his voice firm, but not unkind. “i just don’t want to make this any more difficult than it already is.”

with that, he moved toward the chaise, gathering a pillow and blanket from the wardrobe. his actions were efficient, almost mechanical, as if he had already resigned himself to this fate. he didn’t look at you as he arranged the blanket over the chaise.

you stood there, feeling a strange mix of emotions—relief, awkwardness, and something else, something heavier that you couldn’t quite place. this was your wedding night, but it was nothing like you had ever imagined. there was no closeness, no warmth—just two people bound together by obligation and circumstance.

finally, you moved toward the bed, the thick carpets muffling your steps. the soft fabric of your gown felt heavy as you climbed beneath the covers, though they provided no comfort. you lay there, staring up at the intricate canopy above, your mind racing. this bed, this room—none of it felt like yours.

heeseung settled on the chaise, his back to you, the distance between you both feeling vast despite the small room. the silence was oppressive, each second dragging on longer than the last. you wondered if he was as uneasy as you were, or if he had already steeled himself to this new reality.

for a long while, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room the faint rustling of fabric as you shifted beneath the covers. the weight of the day, of the vows, of your new title, pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe.

finally, you couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “heeseung,” you whispered, unsure if you even wanted him to respond.

he didn’t turn, but his voice was low and steady when he answered. “what?”

you hesitated, searching for the right words. “do you think... do you think this will ever get easier?”

there was a long pause before he responded, his voice quiet, almost resigned. “i don’t know.”

and with that, the conversation ended. heeseung remained silent, his back still turned to you, and you knew there was nothing more to say. you turned onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you, though they offered little warmth. the room felt too big, too empty, despite his presence.

eventually, exhaustion crept in, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts. but even as sleep began to claim you, a cold, sinking feeling settled in your chest. this was your life now—bound to a man you barely knew, a man who had been your enemy for years, and yet, somehow, your husband.

and as you drifted off into uneasy sleep, the last thought that crossed your mind was how strange it felt to be lying just feet away from heeseung, yet feeling as though he was a world away.

the morning after the wedding dawned cold and gray, mirroring the lingering tension between you and heeseung. you woke up in the large, empty bed, the space next to you untouched, a stark reminder of the distance that had been established on your wedding night. the air in the room felt thick, suffocating, as if the very walls were pressing in on you, reminding you of your new reality.

as you sat up, the unfamiliarity of your surroundings only worsened the tightness in your chest. this was your new life. not just this bed, but this room, this palace—heeseung’s palace—and you would share it with a man who barely spoke to you, who looked at you with that same cold distance he had always shown.

you dressed quickly, your movements mechanical, trying not to think too much. the maids moved around you silently, well-trained and efficient, but you could feel their eyes on you. it was impossible to escape the fact that everyone knew. the entire kingdom knew the story—the princess who had run away, and her sister forced to take her place. the whispers would never stop.

when you finally made your way downstairs to the grand dining room, heeseung was already seated at the long table, a plate of food in front of him. he didn’t look up when you entered, simply continued cutting into his meal with precise, practised movements. you hesitated for a moment, then took your seat across from him.

the silence was unbearable.

you picked at your food, barely tasting it, glancing at heeseung from time to time. his expression was as unreadable as ever, his attention focused on the papers beside his plate—likely matters of the kingdom that required his attention. he was already immersed in his duties, the weight of his impending kingship pressing down on him just as heavily as your new role as his wife weighed on you.

finally, you couldn’t stand it any longer. “do you plan to ignore me for the rest of our lives?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

heeseung didn’t look up immediately, taking his time to finish his bite and set down his utensils with deliberate care. when he finally met your gaze, his expression was cool, detached. “i’m not ignoring you.”

you scoffed, unable to hide your frustration. “you’ve barely spoken to me since the wedding.”

he raised an eyebrow, his tone as calm as ever. “what would you like me to say?”

the question took you off guard. you hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. you opened your mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. what did you want him to say? that he regretted everything as much as you did? that he hated this arrangement, too? or perhaps you wanted him to acknowledge the years of bitterness between you, to admit that this marriage was a farce.

instead, you said, “we’re married now, heeseung. we have to live together. we can’t keep pretending the other doesn’t exist.”

his jaw tightened ever so slightly, but his voice remained calm. “i’m aware of that.”

you waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. the silence stretched on once again, thicker than before, suffocating in its awkwardness. you pushed your plate away, no longer interested in eating. “fine,” you muttered under your breath, standing abruptly. “i suppose i’ll just get used to it, then.”

you turned to leave, but his voice stopped you. “you don’t have to like this any more than i do, but we have responsibilities now.”

you paused, your back to him, your hands clenched at your sides. “responsibilities,” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. it seemed like that was all your life had ever been reduced to—duty, obligation, and responsibilities.

without another word, you left the dining room, the heavy doors closing behind you with a soft thud. you could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on you even more as you walked through the halls of the palace, each step echoing in the vast emptiness. you weren’t just trapped in this marriage—you were trapped in this life.

days passed, and though you and heeseung were forced to share the same space, your interactions remained minimal, stilted. in the mornings, you would find him already at the breakfast table, poring over documents and barely acknowledging your presence. he would spend his days attending council meetings and handling matters of state, leaving you to navigate the palace on your own, feeling more like a guest in your own home than its mistress.

at night, he would retire to the chambers late, often when you were already lying in bed, pretending to sleep. he would quietly take his place on the chaise near the window, far enough away to avoid any awkwardness, but close enough that his presence was a constant reminder of the divide between you.

it was during these nights that the loneliness settled in most heavily. the silence of the room, broken only by the occasional rustling of fabric or the soft crackle of the fireplace, was suffocating. you had grown accustomed to sleeping alone, but now, knowing heeseung was just a few feet away, the distance between you felt almost unbearable. there was an unspoken understanding that neither of you wanted to bridge the gap.

one evening, after yet another day of awkward meals and tense silences, you found yourself in the library, one of the few places in the palace where you felt at peace. the vast room was filled with shelves upon shelves of books, their spines worn and familiar. you had always loved to read, finding solace in the stories and histories of others when your own life felt too overwhelming.

you were seated by the window, the late afternoon sun casting a soft glow over the pages of your book, when the door creaked open. you looked up, surprised to see heeseung standing in the doorway. he paused for a moment, as if uncertain whether to enter or leave, his eyes scanning the room before they settled on you.

“may i join you?” he asked, his voice unusually soft.

you blinked, caught off guard by his request. this was the first time he had sought you out since the wedding, and the suddenness of it left you momentarily speechless. you nodded, unsure of what else to do. “of course.”

heeseung crossed the room, moving with his usual grace, and took a seat in the armchair opposite you. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet of the library enveloping you both. he seemed content to sit in silence, his gaze wandering to the bookshelves that lined the walls.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “this is... one of the quieter rooms.”

you raised an eyebrow, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “it’s a library, heeseung. of course it’s quiet.”

to your surprise, he chuckled softly, though it was a dry, humourless sound. “fair enough.”

silence fell again, but this time it wasn’t as suffocating. there was something almost... peaceful about it, the weight of your shared presence not as unbearable as it had been before. you watched him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how tired he looked. the weight of his responsibilities was evident in the slight furrow of his brow, the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly.

after a while, you set your book down on your lap, deciding to break the silence. “it must be difficult,” you said quietly. “taking on so much.”

heeseung didn’t answer right away, his gaze still focused on the shelves, but eventually, he nodded. “it is.”

you hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, softer this time. “you don’t have to carry it all alone, you know.”

he turned to look at you then, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something softer than the cold indifference you had grown accustomed to.

“and what would you suggest?” he asked, his voice quiet but not unkind.

“i don’t know,” you admitted. “but we’re in this together, whether we like it or not.”

heeseung’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. it wasn’t much, but it was the first step—however small—toward something more than just forced cohabitation.

the shift in your relationship came faster than you expected. it started with a challenge—a reckless, unspoken dare that neither of you could resist.

it had been a clear, crisp day, the first after several weeks of rain. you were restless, tired of the palace walls and the constant burden of your new role. you had gone to the stables, hoping to take one of the horses out for a ride, needing to feel the wind in your hair and the ground beneath you. but when you arrived, heeseung was already there, adjusting the reins of his own horse.

you paused in the doorway, surprised to see him. “you ride?”

he glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “you sound surprised.”

“i am,” you admitted. “i’ve never seen you ride before.”

he chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

the challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and you couldn’t resist rising to it. “care to prove it?” you asked, moving toward your own horse.

heeseung’s smirk widened. “what do you have in mind?”

you mounted your horse swiftly, the thrill of the challenge already coursing through your veins. “a race.”

heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “you think you can beat me?”

“i know i can,” you shot back, turning your horse toward the open field beyond the stables.

without another word, you spurred your horse into motion, not waiting for his response. behind you, you heard heeseung’s laughter, low and rich, before the sound of hooves thundering against the ground told you he had accepted the challenge.

you raced through the fields, the wind whipping through your hair, the thrill of the chase making your heart race. heeseung was right behind you, and you could feel the tension building, the competitive edge between you sparking like fire. it was like being children again, challenging each other at every turn, pushing each other to the limit.

but this time, it was different. the stakes were higher, the tension thicker, and the way heeseung looked at you when he finally caught up to you sent a shiver down your spine.

when he finally pulled his horse beside yours, you were both breathless, your faces flushed with adrenaline. you glanced over at him, and the look in his eyes—intense, dark, heated—made your pulse quicken.

“not bad,” he said, his voice low, rough around the edges.

you smirked, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding. “you almost kept up.”

heeseung leaned in just slightly, his gaze locking with yours. “almost?” he murmured, his voice sending a jolt through you.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. the space between you was too close, the air charged with something you weren’t quite ready to name. his eyes lingered on your lips for just a moment too long, and you could feel the heat of his presence, the tension that had always existed between you now manifesting in a way that was far more dangerous.

before either of you could say anything, heeseung pulled back, his smirk returning as if nothing had happened. “we’ll call it a draw,” he said, though there was a teasing edge to his voice.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, shaking your head with a laugh. “you wish.”

but as you rode back to the palace, the tension between you remained, simmering beneath the surface. it was no longer the resentment of old enemies, but something far more complex, far more dangerous. and for the first time, you found yourself wondering what would happen if that tension ever boiled over.

later that night, the air was thick with the remnants of the day’s energy. you couldn’t sleep, your mind still racing from the ride and the way heeseung had looked at you—how close he had come, how your heart had nearly betrayed you in that moment of suspended anticipation.

you wandered the halls of the palace aimlessly, your footsteps soft against the marble floors. the palace at night was a different place, quiet and still, the shadows long and heavy. it felt like a place where secrets lingered in every corner, where the walls whispered of things that could never be said aloud.

as you passed by the study, you noticed the faint glow of light beneath the door. curiosity piqued, you pushed the door open just enough to peek inside. heeseung was there, seated at the desk, bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. he was reading, his brow furrowed in concentration, his lips slightly parted as he focused on the page in front of him.

you hesitated, but before you could turn away, he looked up, catching sight of you. for a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. then, without breaking eye contact, heeseung set the book aside.

“couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low, intimate in the quiet of the room.

you shook your head, stepping into the room. “no. you?”

heeseung’s gaze flicked over you, his eyes lingering on you in a way that made your skin heat under his scrutiny. “i’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone soft but laced with that same dangerous tension that had been building all day.

“about what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved closer, drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

heeseung’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. “about you,” he said quietly. “about us.”

the weight of his words settled in the space between you, thick and intoxicating. about you. about us. it echoed in your mind, stirring something deep within you that you had tried to ignore for far too long. you weren’t sure if it was the late hour, the dim candlelight, or the fact that you had been dancing around each other for weeks now, but something inside you snapped.

your breath hitched as you looked at him, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite name. but it was there—undeniable, pulsing in the space between you. and now that it had been spoken into existence, you couldn’t unsee it.

“what about us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. it wasn’t just curiosity anymore. it was a challenge.

heeseung’s gaze flicked to your lips, and the tension in the room intensified, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like the air itself might shatter from the pressure. he stood slowly, his movements deliberate, and took a step toward you, closing the already-small distance between you.

“there’s always been something between us,” he said, his voice low, rough. his eyes never left yours, burning with intensity. “even when we hated each other.”

your heart was pounding now, so loud you were sure he could hear it. you wanted to deny it, to tell him that he was wrong, that it had always been pure hatred. but that would’ve been a lie. you knew it as well as he did—whatever had always been there between you, it had never been simple.

“and what is it now?” you asked, forcing yourself to meet his gaze even though every instinct told you to look away. to run.

heeseung took another step closer, his hand reaching up slowly, as though giving you the chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you couldn’t. his fingers brushed against your cheek, the touch so light it sent a shiver down your spine. his hand lingered there, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

“maybe we’ve been fighting the wrong battle,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost tender. the warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin, and you felt your pulse quicken.

your throat tightened. every word he said felt like a dangerous line, one that you were teetering on the edge of crossing. the tension between you had always been a fire—burning too hot, too fast. and now, it felt like it was about to consume you both.

heeseung’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, and your breath caught in your throat. his touch was tentative, as though he wasn’t quite sure if this was real or if you would pull away at any moment.

but you didn’t.

instead, you took a step closer, closing the gap completely. the air between you was charged, thick with unspoken desire and the weight of all the years you had spent fighting against each other. your body was betraying you, leaning into him, drawn by a force you had denied for too long.

heeseung’s eyes darkened as he leaned in, his lips barely an inch from yours, the heat between you almost unbearable now. you could feel the tension in every muscle, the way his hand trembled slightly as it cupped your cheek, the way your own body was responding without your permission.

then, in a breathless moment that felt like it stretched on forever, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours—soft at first, testing, as though he wasn’t sure you would let him. but the moment your lips met his, something ignited between you. the kiss deepened, filled with all the pent-up frustration and longing that had been building for so long. it was a clash of emotions—anger, desire, need—all colliding in that single moment.

you responded instantly, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. the kiss was rough, almost desperate, as though you were both trying to make up for years of missed chances in that single moment.

his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped against his lips at the feeling of his body pressed so close to yours. the intensity of it was overwhelming, but you didn’t want it to stop. you didn’t want to think. you just wanted to feel.

but then, as quickly as it started, heeseung pulled back, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against yours. his hands still gripped your waist, holding you in place as though he couldn’t quite let go yet.

“this isn’t... what i expected,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. his breath was warm against your skin, and his eyes searched yours, as though he was looking for an answer in your gaze.

you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. “what did you expect?” you asked softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

heeseung’s grip on your waist tightened for a moment, his eyes darkening once again. “i didn’t expect you to feel this way.” his voice was low, almost a growl, filled with the same intensity that had been building between you all night.

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. you had no idea what to say, no idea how to explain the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you. all you knew was that everything had changed in that kiss.

“i don’t know what i feel,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely audible in the heavy silence of the room.

heeseung’s lips twitched into a small, almost sad smile. “neither do i.” he stepped back, finally breaking the physical contact between you, and you immediately missed the warmth of his body against yours.

“but whatever this is... it’s dangerous,” he continued, his eyes locked on yours, as though warning you. “we’ve always been enemies. we don’t know how to be anything else.”

you felt a lump form in your throat at his words, because deep down, you knew he was right. but that didn’t stop the ache in your chest, the desire for something more—for the possibility of what could be.

“i don’t want to be your enemy anymore,” you said softly, the confession surprising even you.

heeseung’s eyes widened slightly at your words, his expression unreadable. for a moment, you thought he might say something—might admit that he didn’t want to be your enemy either. but then, he shook his head, the walls between you coming back up, brick by brick.

“this doesn’t change anything,” he said quietly, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

and with that, he turned and left the room, leaving you standing there in the soft glow of candlelight, your heart pounding and your mind reeling from the kiss that had shifted the entire balance between you.

as the door closed softly behind him, you exhaled a shaky breath, your fingers brushing your lips where his had been moments before.

everything had changed.

the royal court was buzzing with tension, and for once, the tension wasn’t between you and heeseung. the kingdom was on edge, not from war or rebellion, but from something far more insidious—political manoeuvring. rival noble houses were plotting against heeseung’s rule, questioning his right to ascend to the throne, especially after the sudden marriage to you. the whispers had grown louder over the past few weeks, the courtiers’ gazes sharper, waiting for the first misstep.

you had known court life would be full of power plays and alliances, but this was different. it was personal. every snide comment, every hushed conversation behind closed doors, felt like an attack on your marriage, on your family’s legacy. and worst of all, it felt like an attack on you.

one afternoon, as you made your way through the palace corridors, you overheard a group of nobles—close to your family—voicing their displeasure over your sudden marriage to heeseung. it was the same old song—how your sister should have been the bride, how you were never meant for this role, how heeseung marrying you was a strategic disaster.

you felt your blood run cold, but you kept walking, your head held high. you had grown used to these remarks, but today, they stung deeper. not because they questioned your worth, but because they reflected the deep-seated insecurity you had always carried.

that night, you found yourself alone in the study, staring out the window at the darkening sky. the weight of the court’s judgement, the impossible standards, the constant comparisons to your sister—they were suffocating. and then there was heeseung, whose coldness had thawed just enough to show you glimpses of something deeper, something real. but he was still heeseung—your husband, your childhood rival, and now the man who held your future in his hands.

the door creaked open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn to know it was him. you had grown attuned to his presence, the way the air shifted whenever he entered a room.

“what’s wrong?” his voice was quieter than usual, but still carrying that edge of command. he always knew when something was off, as if he could sense the turmoil swirling inside you.

you didn’t answer immediately, your gaze fixed on the stars outside. “they’re saying we’re not suited for each other,” you murmured, finally turning to face him. “that i’m not fit to be queen. that you made a mistake.”

heeseung’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. he stepped closer, his eyes narrowing in that familiar way, but this time, it wasn’t directed at you.

“let them talk,” he said flatly. “they’re just waiting for us to fail.”

“and what if they’re right?” the words slipped out before you could stop them, the fear and doubt bubbling to the surface. “i was never meant to marry you. this isn’t the life i was prepared for.”

heeseung stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your shoulders firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“i didn’t choose you because you were an easy choice,” he said, his voice low but intense. “i chose you because you’re stronger than you realise.”

you blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his words. heeseung wasn’t one to offer praise lightly, and hearing it now, in this moment, felt more intimate than anything he had ever said to you before.

“there are plenty of people who want to see us fail,” he continued, his grip tightening slightly. “but they don’t matter. what matters is that we don’t give them the satisfaction. we fight together.”

the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you saw beyond the cold exterior he had always shown you. there was something deeper there, something raw and unspoken. a partnership.

but the closeness also brought something else—a heat that had always been there between you, simmering beneath the surface. his hands lingered on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the bare skin just above your collarbone, and suddenly the room felt smaller, the air thicker.

“you think i’m strong?” you asked, your voice quieter now, tinged with something more vulnerable. something real.

heeseung’s gaze flicked down to your lips, just for a moment, before returning to your eyes. his voice was rough when he spoke, low and filled with an unspoken promise. “i’ve always known.”

the charged air between you was impossible to ignore now. his fingers slid from your shoulders to your arms, the touch sending a jolt of warmth through you. it wasn’t just the weight of responsibility pressing down on you—it was him, his closeness, the undeniable pull you had both been dancing around for weeks.

you could feel the tension in every inch of your body, your heart racing as heeseung’s hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer, but still leaving just enough space for doubt. he hesitated, as if waiting for you to push him away, to remind him of the enmity that had defined your relationship for so long.

but you didn’t. instead, you leaned into him, your hands tentatively reaching up to rest on his chest. the fabric of his shirt was soft under your fingers, but beneath it, you could feel the steady beat of his heart, as rapid as your own.

“maybe i’ve been wrong about you,” you whispered, your breath hitching as the tension between you reached a breaking point.

heeseung’s eyes darkened at your words, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “maybe you have,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. but there was something softer there too, something almost tender.

before you could talk yourself out of it, you closed the distance between you and kissed him.

the kiss was like nothing you had ever experienced—fierce, desperate, and full of the years of unresolved tension between you. it was as if all the walls you had built around yourselves were crumbling in an instant, leaving nothing but the raw, undeniable attraction that had always simmered beneath the surface.

heeseung responded instantly, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressing against yours as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

it was overwhelming, the intensity of the moment, the way your bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, the way every touch sent a shockwave of desire coursing through you. you had spent so long fighting him, fighting this, and now, as his hands slid up your back, holding you close, you wondered why you had ever resisted.

when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. heeseung’s grip on your waist didn’t loosen, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat as wild as your own.

“we can’t keep pretending,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your lips still tingling from the kiss.

heeseung’s eyes met yours, the vulnerability and uncertainty in his gaze mirroring your own. “no, we can’t,” he agreed, his voice rough with emotion.

for a moment, the world hung in the balance. you had crossed a line, and there was no going back. everything between you had shifted, and the question now wasn’t whether you would move forward—it was how.

heeseung’s thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch so tender it nearly broke you. “we’re in this together,” he said softly, the weight of his words heavy with meaning.

this time, there was no need to say anything more. you both understood what had changed between you, even if neither of you was ready to fully admit it. and though the path ahead was uncertain, you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t facing it alone anymore.

weeks passed, and with each passing day, things between you and heeseung slowly shifted. the cold, sharp walls that had once kept you apart were crumbling, revealing a warmth and understanding that neither of you had anticipated. where there had once been biting words and icy glares, there was now laughter, quiet conversations, and small gestures of affection.

the palace felt different. it was lighter now, with the growing sense of partnership between you and heeseung. your bickering had been replaced with genuine care, and though the wounds of the past hadn't fully healed, you were both learning to forgive. but it wasn’t just the emotional connection that was shifting—there was something deeper brewing beneath the surface. unspoken feelings, simmering tension.

it wasn’t until a grand banquet in honour of a visiting prince from a neighbouring kingdom that these feelings came to a head. you stood at the centre of the ballroom, dressed in a gown that glimmered under the candlelight. it hugged your figure perfectly, catching the attention of more than just heeseung. the prince—prince seojun—had been particularly charming throughout the evening, his eyes lingering on you a little too long, his compliments a little too bold.

“you are by far the most captivating presence in this room, your highness,” seojun murmured, his voice low as he leaned in slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “if i had known such beauty awaited me here, i would have visited sooner.”

you laughed politely, glancing over your shoulder, searching for heeseung in the crowd. he was across the room, deep in conversation with some nobles, but even from the distance, you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and intense.

seojun continued, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he leaned closer. “perhaps we could steal a moment away from the crowd? i would love to know more about the woman behind such an enchanting smile.”

before you could respond, a sudden shift in the air caught your attention. heeseung appeared at your side, his posture tense, his expression a mix of barely contained irritation and something else—something more possessive.

“princess,” heeseung’s voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous edge to it. his hand slid around your waist, pulling you firmly against his side. the claim was unmistakable. “i believe your dance card is full for the evening.”

seojun’s smirk faltered slightly as he glanced between the two of you, sensing the tension. heeseung’s eyes never left the prince, cold and unyielding.

“of course,” seojun replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. “i wouldn’t dream of overstepping. after all,” his gaze flickered to you, then back to heeseung, “she’s your wife.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, charged with unspoken meaning. seojun bowed slightly, a smirk still playing on his lips, before taking his leave. but even as he walked away, you could feel the lingering weight of his gaze.

you turned to heeseung, about to make a light-hearted remark about the interaction, but the look on his face stopped you. his eyes were dark, his jaw clenched, and his grip on your waist was firm—almost possessive.

“did he touch you?” heeseung asked, his voice low and tight.

you raised an eyebrow, surprised by his tone. “barely,” you replied, trying to play it off with a soft laugh. “why? are you jealous?”

his eyes flickered with something dangerous as he leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “you’re my wife. i don’t like other men thinking they can take what’s mine.”

your heart skipped a beat at his words. the possessiveness in his tone, the way his body pressed protectively against yours—it was unlike anything you had ever experienced with heeseung. you had always seen him as cold, distant, but this... this was different. there was fire in his eyes, and you could feel it burning between you, a tension that neither of you had acknowledged until now.

“and what if i enjoy a little attention now and then?” you teased, testing the boundaries, wanting to see how far he would go.

heeseung’s eyes darkened even more, and in one swift motion, he pulled you even closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he leaned in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear. “i don’t care how many men look at you, but remember this—” his voice dropped, sending shivers down your spine, “you belong to me and i belong to you.”

a thrill ran through you at his words, and for a moment, you were speechless, your mind spinning from the intensity of his claim. the ballroom, the crowd, even prince seojun—all of it faded away as heeseung’s gaze held you captive. you could feel the heat of his body against yours, the possessiveness in his touch, and for the first time, you realised that this wasn’t just some marriage of convenience anymore.

heeseung cared—more than he was willing to admit.

your breath hitched as you looked up at him, your eyes searching his, trying to read the emotions flickering behind them. “and what about you, heeseung?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “do you want me to be yours?”

his eyes softened for just a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against your temple. “you already are,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “and i’m not letting you forget it.”

the banquet had left the air between you and heeseung charged with an intensity that neither of you could ignore. his possessiveness, the fierce look in his eyes when he claimed you as his wife in front of prince seojun, had stirred something inside you—something that had been simmering for far too long.

as the last of the guests departed and the palace quieted down for the night, the tension remained, lingering like an unspoken promise. heeseung walked beside you in silence as you both made your way through the dimly lit corridors toward your chambers. though no words passed between you, the air was thick with anticipation, the unspoken pull between you stronger than ever.

when you reached your shared chambers, heeseung opened the door for you, his gaze never leaving you as you stepped inside. you could feel his eyes on you, burning with a need that matched your own. the soft glow of the candlelight cast long shadows across the room, but all you could focus on was the man standing behind you, his presence overwhelming.

you moved toward the vanity, fingers trembling slightly as you began to remove your jewellery. you were acutely aware of heeseung standing behind you, the weight of his gaze almost tangible as he watched your every movement. his silence spoke volumes, filled with desire and unspoken emotions that neither of you had fully confronted until now.

the tension was unbearable. finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, you glanced at him through the reflection in the mirror, your voice soft but steady. “you’ve been quiet,” you murmured, meeting his intense gaze. “what’s on your mind?”

he didn’t answer immediately. instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the bare skin of your shoulder. the touch was light, tentative, but it sent a shiver down your spine. his fingers lingered, tracing the delicate curve of your shoulder before he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.

“i didn’t like how he looked at you,” heeseung finally admitted, his voice low and rough with suppressed emotion. his eyes met yours in the mirror, dark with jealousy and something more—something deeper. “or the way he made you laugh.”

your heart raced at the possessiveness in his tone. you turned to face him, taking in the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes blazed with something primal. his emotions were raw, laid bare before you in a way that heeseung had never allowed himself to show before.

“it was harmless,” you replied, stepping closer to him, your voice softening. “but i can’t say i minded the way you stepped in.”

his gaze darkened, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you flush against him. you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours, the hard lines of his frame pressing against your softness. his eyes locked onto yours, filled with unspoken desire, but also with something more—something tender.

“i’m not the kind of man who likes to share,” he said, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. “especially not when it comes to you.”

your breath hitched at his words, your pulse quickening as the fire between you flared even hotter. you couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you at his possessive tone, the way his hands gripped you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“and what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, your voice daring, testing the boundaries as your lips brushed his, teasingly close but not quite touching.

heeseung’s response was immediate. his lips crashed against yours, fierce and hungry, as if he had been holding back for far too long. the kiss was searing, filled with all the emotions you had both kept hidden. his hands roamed over your body, possessive yet tender, as though he was staking his claim but also worshipping every inch of you.

you responded just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, needing to feel every part of him against you. the tension between you, the unspoken desire, it all poured out in that kiss, in the way his body pressed against yours with a need that matched your own.

heeseung’s hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you toward the bed. the air between you was electric, charged with desire and the intensity of emotions that neither of you had allowed to surface until now. he laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze dark and filled with a hunger that made your heart race.

for a moment, he paused, his fingers brushing over your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of what had just passed between you. his eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability behind them—the raw emotion that he had been hiding behind his cold exterior for so long.

“are you sure?” he asked, his voice husky but laced with care, as if he was giving you one last chance to pull away, to stop this before it went too far.

you gazed up at him, your heart swelling with the overwhelming emotions coursing through you. heeseung, the man you had once considered your rival, your enemy, was now looking at you with a tenderness that took your breath away. you reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumb brushing softly over his cheek.

“i’m sure,” you whispered, pulling him down into another kiss, softer this time, but no less filled with the emotions swirling between you.

what followed was slow, deliberate, and filled with a tenderness that you had never expected from heeseung. his hands moved over your body with care, as though he was savouring every touch, every breath. the fierceness from earlier softened into something more intimate, more meaningful, as he explored you with reverence, his lips following the path of his hands.

your name fell from his lips like a prayer, whispered against your skin in the quiet moments between kisses. heeseung’s touch was both possessive and gentle, as though he was claiming you but also offering himself to you in return. the intensity of the moment was overwhelming, but it was the tenderness in his gaze, the softness of his touch, that made your heart ache with something deeper than mere desire.

and as the night stretched on, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, you realised that this wasn’t just about passion—it was about the connection you had been fighting against for so long. the rivalry, the bickering, the walls you had both built between you—it all crumbled away, leaving only the raw truth of what you felt for one another.

when it was over, you lay beside each other, your breathing heavy, your bodies tangled in the sheets. the room was quiet now, the only sound was the soft rustle of the fabric and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.

heeseung turned to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. his eyes, once so cold and guarded, were warm now, filled with an emotion that made your heart skip a beat. he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and holding you against his chest as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. it was comforting, grounding you in the quiet aftermath of everything that had just passed between you. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, soothing and gentle, as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

neither of you spoke, but words weren’t necessary. the silence was filled with a sense of peace, of contentment that neither of you had known before. heeseung’s touch was soft now, filled with care as he held you close, his body warm and protective against yours.

and in that quiet, intimate moment, you realised something: this was more than just passion, more than just desire. it was something real, something lasting.

heeseung’s hand continued to trace gentle patterns on your back, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered softly, “are you alright?”

you smiled against his chest, your heart swelling with warmth at the tenderness in his voice. “more than alright,” you murmured, snuggling closer to him.

heeseung let out a soft sigh, his arms tightening around you as if he never wanted to let go. and as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, the weight of the past finally lifted, leaving only the warmth of the present and the promise of a future you were both ready to embrace.

the next morning, you woke to find heeseung already up, standing by the window of your shared chambers, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the early morning light. he looked deep in thought, his expression pensive as he gazed out over the kingdom.

quietly, you approached him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. he stiffened for a moment at the contact but quickly relaxed, his hands covering yours as he let out a soft sigh.

“you’re up early,” you murmured, resting your cheek against his back.

“i couldn’t sleep,” he replied, his voice thoughtful. “i was thinking about everything that’s changed.”

you smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “a lot has changed, hasn’t it?”

heeseung turned in your arms, his expression soft as he looked down at you. “i never thought this would work,” he admitted, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “but i’m glad i was wrong.”

you gazed up at him, your heart swelling with warmth. the man standing before you was the same heeseung you had known all your life, but now, you saw him for who he truly was—not your enemy, not your rival, but your partner. your husband.

“i’m glad too,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips.

and in that moment, you knew that this was your new beginning. the past, with all its bitterness and tension, was behind you. what lay ahead was a future you hadn’t expected but one you were ready to embrace—together.

as heeseung pulled you into a gentle kiss, the warmth of the morning sun streaming through the window, you knew that this was the start of something beautiful. your marriage, once forged out of obligation and resentment, had grown into something real, something lasting.

and as you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you realised that sometimes, the best love stories were the ones you never saw coming.

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slater-baby · 6 months ago

Note

Snippet of Simon with his pregnant wife………..pls n thank you

Of course!! I hope you like the piece :D

Tags: pure fluff, established relationship, pregnancy cravings and mood swings, whipped!Simon

Word count: 5k

“C’mon, you fuckin’ muppets—pick up the goddamn pace or I’ll have you hit the deck for another twenty.”

“Yessir!!” The recruits scream, valiantly trying to pick up their feet—even if a good few of them looked like they were just about ready to vomit.

“Sergeant,” Simon shouts, arms crossed as he surveys the pack of jogging recruits.

“Sir,” Soap jogs to his side, back ramrod straight in acknowledgement of his rank.

“Who’s that wanker at the back there? The prick whose mustache is out of fuckin’ code,” he snarls, yelling the words loud enough to make sure the private gets an earful. When the lad perks up at the mention of his (truly horrid) mustache, Simon can’t help the pinpricks of amusement that run up his spine at the horrified look that he wears.

“Johnson, lieutenant,” Soap provides, actually addressing Simon by his proper rank, just to put on a show for the new recruits.

The Taskforce had preferred selection of candidates fresh entering into the SAS—a perk of their stellar reputation—and with every few months that passed, there was always another new grove of fresh-faced, twenty-somethings for them to pick through. While Simon dreaded having to deal with fresh meat in the field, he had to admit that watching them stumble and trip over their own two feet just to impress him was quite amusing, hence why he’d made a habit out of stopping by the training field to lighten his spirits when the paperwork got too dense.

Soap and Gaz were in charge of integrating the new recruits into their own companies, and after a few weeks of watching Simon look on with longing eyes, they’d eventually let him take the reigns for a few minutes each day—if only so that they could sit back and watch the fallout when the recruits saw the infamous Ghost stalking onto the field.

Today was another such occasion. The recruits were dressed out in full gear as punishment for a mishap in the barracks the night before. Packs, rifles, gas masks and all. Though, after a good few minutes of watching them struggle to breathe through the stifling air filters, Soap had taken enough pity on them to allow them to lift the masks for a short breather…one that was certainly long enough for Simon’s taste, especially when he’d seen the downright hilarious mustache one of the recruits had been sporting.

“Johnson!” He bellows, voice booming across the field, “Get your arse over here now!”

Johnson came awkwardly ambling over, barely standing under the weight of his full pack and kit. The minute he halts in front of Simon’s towering form, he looks about ready to keel over and beg for mercy. However, he manages to stand straight under Simon’s scrutiny, hands shaking imperceptibly by his side.

“Sir!” He greets.

“Tell me, Private, ‘cause I’d love to know,” he gets into the Private’s face, grimacing under the mask at the style of his facial hair, “Why did you pass selection?”

“Because I met the requirements, sir!” He shouts back.

“Did you?” Simon asks, “Because I don’t remember there being a bloody ten minute mile on the fucking enlistment papers! Pick up those fucking boots and get your pace back on a four minutes, or I swear to god I’ll keep the whole bloody company runnin’ ’til sun down!”

“Yes, lieutenant, sir!” Johnson yells, clumsily backing into his stride. Just for the fun of it, Simon jogs along, struggling not to laugh when he sees the way Johnson’s eyes widen at the sight of him.

“Let’s fuckin’ go, Private, pick it up,” he points towards the other recruits, who are several lengths ahead, “What the hell is this? My wife could run a faster klick than you can and she’s six months pregnant!”

“Congratulations, sir?!” Johnson yells back.

“Shut the fuck up and run faster—bloody fucking hell.”

Simon slows his jog, watching as Johnson plods forward. Before he can even turn to look back at the sergeant, he hears Johnny’s laughter emanating from behind him. A hand claps down on his shoulder.

“You haven’t lost your touch, LT,” Soap chuckles, watching the pack of recruits with a careful eye, “Should see the poor basterds huddle ‘round the table in the mess hall, swapping wives’ tales ‘bout ya like you’ve given ‘em PTSD or some shite.”

“If they leave here only having nightmares, I must be doin’ my job wrong,” Simon quips, hand itching to reach for the megaphone and address the entire company, “Fun to watch ‘em piss their pants every time they talk to me.”

“You’re stone cold, Simon.”

“Like you don’t do the same.”

Jokingly, Soap raises his hands in surrender, backing over towards the four-wheeler they’d driven out with medical supplies.

“You stickin’ around for few minutes?” Soap asks, swiping his half-eaten protein bar from the trunk, “M’good to hang back ’n let you take over. Wanted to check my email anyway.”

“Maybe just for a few,” he smirks, still watching the recruits, “Think they’re in for a couple round o’ suicides?”

At that, Soap’s smile widens.

“I mean…with all the shite that went down during room inspection last night,” he shrugs, “I wouldnae blame you. Give ‘em hell, LT.”

“Good man, Soap,” he chuckles, pointing towards the hitch of the four-wheeler, “Hand me that loudspeaker.”

Johnny does as he asks, tossing the loudspeaker into his arms with a mirthful smirk around his protein bar. With expert precision, Simon wraps the strap around his forearm, fingers poised on the speaker button. However, just when the perfect string of curses had popped into his head, his phone begins buzzing in his pocket. With a disappointed huff, he drops the loudspeaker, reaching into his pocket. He ambles over to Soap, reading the contact name.

“Here,” he hands back the loudspeaker, “Need to take this.”

“Who is it?” Soap asks, voice muffled around a mouthful of granola.

“The missus,” Simon answers easily, “Probably just wants to see what time I’ll be home.”

He lifts the phone to his masked ear, dutifully watching the jogging recruits. The past few months, you’d taken to calling him more often when he was on the clock. Back when you had just begun dating, you wouldn’t dare to call him when he was at work (let alone when he was on deployment) unless the house had caught fire. But now—with a ring on your finger and with his last name in your signature—you’d loosened up a bit. Though, once he got you pregnant, the calls had increased by tenfold. He suspects the hormones are to blame.

After all, having a military husband that could be called away at a moment’s notice wasn’t a job for the weak—especially when you had a baby on the way. At the thought of you at home, hand rubbing over your swollen belly, stuffing your mouth with whatever new craving you had, while you listened to each ring of the phone with undue intensity, Simon can’t help but smirk.

Pregnancy was hard on you. These days, your feet were so swollen you could barely stand in the kitchen long enough to make your own meals without Simon intervening. Speaking of meals, your eating patterns had taken quite a hit, and your cravings had only gotten markedly weirder as the months went on.

First, it was strawberries.

“I want a strawberry shake,” you grab onto his jacket when he pulls up to the drive through window, “With extra strawberry syrup—oh, and extra sprinkles, too.”

“Got it,” he mumbles, leaning over the car door to begin speaking.

“Wait!” You grab a harsh handful of his jacket, stopping him before he can say a word, “And—and can you ask them to put a cherry on top? I don’t want them to forget…”

“Sure, baby,” he tells you, brushing over your growing bump. With a small smile, he turns back to the window.

…only to jolt in his seat like he’d just been electrocuted when you slap a hand against his chest hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

“Wait!” You exclaim, practically leaning into his seat just to grab his attention, “Can you ask them if they can put a strawberry on top instead? Doesn’t that sound way better?”

Needless to say, half of the fridge had been taken over by towering boxes of fresh strawberries. Simon’s sad protein drinks had trembled in fear beneath their shadows. However, by month two, you’d taken a single look at strawberries and wrinkled your nose, tossing them all in the trash practically the next day.

When Simon came home from work one day to see you guzzling down Alfredo like it was going out of style, he’d seen the writing on the wall.

“How was work, Simon?” You gleefully meet him at the door, enveloping him in a tight hug. He groans at the blissful feeling, grinning underneath his mask when he feels the curve of your belly pressing into his stomach. It was just beginning to show, and every time he watched you get dressed in the morning, he couldn’t help but watch from the bed with a dreamy smile on his face.

“Too long, love,” he complains, unbuttoning his jacket, “You made dinner?”

“Yep, already plated it up for you,” you chime, padding back into the kitchen, “I tried something different, so I think you’ll be surprised.”

“Yeah?” He trails after, trying to hide the smile in his voice.

For the past three weeks, you’d made pasta Alfredo nearly every single night for dinner. At first, Simon had scraped his plate clean, practically licking each dish before he stuck them in the washer with how delicious it was. Eating MREs and Mess Hall food your entire life should be considered psychological warfare in his book, and no matter how many times he came home after work, he considered each homemade meal a blessing (especially when it was made with your love and care).

However, by night sixteen of pasta Alfredo, Simon was struggling to swallow, looking down at the mass of pasta like it had personally offended him. At the news of something “different,” Simon would be lying if he wasn’t about ready to jump with joy.

But when he enters the dining room to see yet another steaming plate of Alfredo, he balks.

“Isn’t it great?” You ask him, rubbing over his bicep with a look that’s so loving he can’t bring himself to speak, “I used a whole different blend of cheeses. I think you’ll really like it. I mean, I already tasted the sauce, and I had to stop myself from eating the whole pot before you got home.”

With a dazed nod, Simon slides into his seat, staring down at the pasta with unblinking eyes.

“You excited to try it?” You ask again, placing a cup of water in front of him.

“Well,” he shakes his head disbelievingly, preparing himself to shovel down this entire plate if it was the last thing he did, “I…can’t wait, baby.”

Simon had to refrain from crying with relief when you finally moved on. He was but a simple man, and his tastebuds could only handle so many Alfredo dinners before his mind imploded from the banality of it all. However, he’d never considered that if his tongue would be spared that his sleep schedule would be next on the chopping block.

Needless to say, by month four, he was begging for the Alfredo to make a comeback.

“Simon?”

He jolts awake with a flinch, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes. He’d always been a light sleeper, especially after he’d joined the service, and when he woke up like this normally, it was usually to the sound of gunfire or an air raid siren. Now, however, it was to the whimpers of his tired bride, slinging an arm over his stomach to bury her face in between his shoulder blades.

“What, love?” He rasps, lazily intertwining your fingers with his own.

“I need…” you huff, eyes still half closed, “I need a three piece meal. With…with a large fry.”

Dazed, he rubs over his face.

“What?” He asks.

“You heard what I said,” you tell him—sounding no less tired and sweet than you did two seconds ago. Though, Simon knew better than to test you. One day, he’d had the poor thought of joking about it and expecting you to react just as sweet as you were acting…After you made him sleep on the couch three nights in the row, however, you woke up to a three piece meal and a handwritten apology at your bedside for breakfast.

You’d called him into the bedroom, munching on your fries with your legs still beneath the blankets, looking at him from head to toe—like his old drill sergeants used to when he entered Basic.

“So,” he’d begun tactfully, “Can I sleep in here tonight?”

You’d pursed your lips, thinking about it.

“Are you really sorry?” You’d asked him, completely serious.

“I…” he’d bitten his cheek, fingers twitching. It’d been days since you last let him touch you, and each and every advance had only been met with fiery rejection and angry tears. And that night, however, he’d been about ready to get down on his hands and knees and beg for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, love,” he’d told you softly, speaking with all the confidence of a terrified zookeeper walking towards a growling lion.

“Fine,” you’d huffed, reaching for your hot and sour sauce, “I’ll let you back in bed.”

Simon had smiled from ear to ear, wholly relieved.

“Can I give you a kiss before I leave for base?” He’d asked, taking a cautious step closer.

Your thoughtful pout had had his nerves blazing.

“On my cheek,” you’d edged, brows furrowed with anger. And as he’d stepped closer, he could feel the irritation radiating off of you in waves. He’d carefully planted a kiss against your cheek, but when he’d ducked his head to kiss your pregnant belly, however, you’d shoved him back with a mewl.

“Don’t touch the baby,” you’d growled, hugging your fries to your chest like they’d disappear before you could get your fill, “They’re mad at you right now…”

Simon’s brows had raised in disbelief.

“The baby…” he’d pointed towards your stomach, “The baby’s mad at me?”

“Yep,” you’d snapped, shoving another few fries in your mouth.

“Well—is there anything I can do to make ‘em feel better?”

“Nope,” you’d said without remorse, pointing towards the door, “Now go to work.”

In the scheme of his military career, Simon had learned a plethora of useful tactical knowledge. Flash before entry, watch your shots, switch to your sidearm instead of reloading—everything. Though, undoubtedly, the most useful thing he’d learned in all his years was this: know which fights you’d lose. And that one? Against his exhausted, pregnant wife and unborn child? Yeah, he’d sooner take on an entire squad of Konni than walk back into that bedroom.

He’d turned towards the door, ready to haul his ass his base—only to pause in his steps when your voice had called after him.

“But,” you’d begun, still happily munching away, “If you bring home pizza after work, I think the baby might forgive you…”

After that fiasco, he’d finally gotten to lay by your side again. And after a long movie night, his head in your lap while he pressed lazy kisses against your stomach, he’d learned something else: there was nothing on this planet earth that was worth missing out on moments like these. Your soft body in his grasp, and his child’s heartbeat just underneath his fingertips.

So when you clutch at his shirt, heavy belly pressed into his spine, he doesn’t think twice before he sits up in bed, pushing the covers down.

“You want hot and sour sauce?” He asks, pulling on his shoes in a daze.

“No, but can you get extra wings?”

He cocks his brow, sending you a scrutinizing look.

“You want extra wings?” He asks, brows raised.

You don’t even open your eyes. No, you just curl back against the pillow, a satisfied smile on your face.

“Simon Riley,” you begin, voice flowery and saccharine with sugar, “If try to starve this baby again, I’ll have you sleep in the barracks until your back is crying for help.”

“…I’ll get extra ranch, too.”

“You better.”

Now, six months in, Simon still had yet to recover. However, he was far from unhappy. No, if anything, he was more satisfied than he can ever remember being. When he was younger, he could scarcely imagine himself leading a life like this, with a beautiful woman at his side and a son that would be coming in the first month of autumn.

It was just as cloying as it was terrifying. But, at the very least, he knew that no matter what—no matter how hard the going got, or how many mistakes he made—you’d always be right there at his side, ready to walk with him no matter how long or arduous the path became.

He opens the line with a smile, looking down at the recruits.

“That you, love?” He greets, “What’s up?”

The line is quiet for a few seconds, an ambient shuffle on the other side. He hears you take in a low breath, but the next sound of out of your mouth, has his blood running cold.

A cry.

A loud, wheezing cry, one that’s so distraught he can hear it resounding around the room even over the phone. Instantly, his spine shocks straight, and any thoughts of army shenanigans fly to the back of his mind.

“Si—Simon,” you sob, static hitching around your voice.

He frantically pulls his hand out of his pocket, pushing the phone closer to his face.

“Love?” He asks, panic bleeding into his tone, “Are you okay? What’s happened?”

“Simon, I—I’m—” you try to speak, but your sobs are so violent you can barely manage to speak, waterlogged moans reverberating through the speakers like a siren. Instantly, his heart begins pounding in his chest, body rushing with adrenaline—one that was all too similar to how he felt in the field, bullets whizzing by, standing at death’s door.

“Love, just breathe,” he tells you, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Soap straighten up in the four-wheeler, “Tell me. Are you okay?”

“No, Simon,” you sob, barely breathing, “How—how could you say that?”

Instantly, his stomach drops, and with every noise that escapes your mouth, something cold and dark climbs up his spine, a dread that was so unfamiliar he’d almost forgotten he could feel it in the first place. Something sharp pierces straight through his body when you speak again, reality washing over him like a bucket of ice water.

“How—how could you do this to me?” You ask him, voice wobbling, “After everything that we’ve gone through, and—and when I’m carrying your son—”

“Woah, woah, love, what’s—what’s happened? What’s wrong?” He begs you to tell him, breathe picking up into a pace that’s so rapid its nearly suffocating, “Just calm down. Take a deep breath. You just have to talk to me, okay?”

Without even thinking he begins walking faster, sending Soap a harrowed look. Before he can even speak, Soap jumps off of the trailer, eyes wide with worry of his own.

“What’s wrong with the missus? She okay?” He whispers, pulling the keys out of his pocket without an ounce of hesitation.

“Start the car,” he commands, nearly hyperventilating, “Start the car. Now.”

Soap doesn’t think twice before he jumps into action, clambering into the driver’s seat and turning the engine over before Simon can even hop into the passenger’s seat. In the background, he can hear the recruits’ boots plodding through the mud, their shouts fading into distant whispers underneath the flood of thoughts that race through his mind. His ears are ringing, eyes blind, and nothing aside from the horrid sound of your sobs registers inside of his wretched mind.

“Love, just—take a deep breath and talk to me,” he tells you, practically begging for you to tell him what’s wrong.

And yet, when nothing aside from more empty cries fills your side of the conversation, his mind and heart immediately jump to the worst possible scenario.

Maybe you fell down the stairs and couldn’t stand up.

Maybe you’d slipped in the kitchen and broken a bone.

Maybe you were in the back of the ambulance, clinging onto life.

Or maybe someone had broken into the house. Maybe they’d snatched you out of your bed, walked you down the stairs with a gun to your head. Maybe they told you they’d shoot you unless you got him on the phone, that they’d kill you if they couldn’t get to your husband. Maybe—just like Tommy, Beth, and Joseph—his past had caught up with you, too, and you were helpless but to pay the price of his mistakes.

At the thought of it, bile climbs up his throat, panic running through his veins like a rushing river. But just when it threatens to consume himself, he closes his eyes, trying desperately to remember what his therapist had told him when he’d reenlisted.

“Not all of those things are probable, Simon,” she’d said one day, “They’re only things that happened to you. They’re not eventualities. The hard part is reminding yourself that they’re unreasonable in the first place.”

You’re okay, he tells himself, You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

But when the four-wheeler crests the hill with a mighty roar, Soap’s arms clenching around the steering wheel, not even the sound of the tires wrenching could erase the pain of your manic cries, voice cracking around his name.

And within a single second, the mantra ceases. Because even if Simon’s past couldn’t catch up with you, that didn’t mean something else hadn’t.

Instantly, his mind flashes with quite possibly the most distressing image of them all. You, hunched over the bathroom sink, red rivulets running down your precious legs, collecting in a dark pool at your feet. You, all alone, body shaking with pain and desperation, as the life inside of you died, all but helpless to watch your dreams disappear into a puddle of tears and blood.

Your baby—the most precious gift you ever could have given him—gone, just like that, in the blink of an eye.

At the thought, the nausea inside of his stomach is so viscious he nearly keels over. He clenches the dashboard of the four-wheeler in a white knuckled grip, instead.

“Love—” he begins, tears collecting in his eyes, “Just—stay right there, I’m coming home. I’ll be right there, okay? Just—just gotta hang on a little longer.”

“No,” you suddenly wail, “No—don’t come home. Don’t even think of it.”

“Love—” he scoffs, brows furrowing, “What?!”

He yells it over the sound of the four-wheeler, and Soap sends him a desperate look. One wrung with sympathy and fear just alike. Simon’s afraid he’s wearing the same exact look himself.

“Simon, this—” you take in a shaking breath, “This is—this is all your fault. I’m—I’m your wife, and you did this to me.”

At that, he can’t even think of something to say. He only blindly slaps his hand down on Johnny’s shoulder, fisting his shirt in a death grip.

“I’m your family,” you cry, “We—we’ve been together all these years. I waited for you after—after every deployment, and—and we have the same last name ’n everything. I—I loved you all these years, then you go and do this to me. Fuck, Simon, how could you—”

His panicked expression slowly drops, stomach settling. Slowly, his vision blurs, and the mess in his mind fizzles out into ashes within a single instance. Realization dawns over him slowly, and when it does, he taps Soap on the back with solemn resignation.

“Stop,” he tells the sergeant calmly, “Stop the car.”

“LT?” Soap asks, peeling the four-wheeler into an uneasy stop outside the front doors of the base.

“Fuck,” Simon keels over, resting his elbows on his knees. He buries his head in his hand, wiping over his eyes.

He knows what this is about.

“Love,” he begins, bracing for impact, “I swear that I—”

“You know what you did, you—you monster,” you sob, voice hitching around the insult.

At that, he can only breathe a deep, deep sigh of relief. He plants his hand against the dashboard, closing his eyes as he sends a quiet thank you to whatever powers may be.

You’re okay.

“Love,” he swallows, staring through the plastic windshield of the four-wheeler, “If I tell you I’m sorry, will you—”

“You’re not sorry,” you wail, no doubt burying your face in the couch cushions, “If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have done it. But—but you knew how much it meant to me, and you did it anyway!”

He takes a long breath, not daring to meet the eye of the sergeant next to him, who’s looking at him like he just grew a second head. Simon, however, is much too preoccupied with relief to do anything more than submit to your will, practically melting in his seat.

“I—I didn’t remember, baby, I’m sorry,” he coos, wincing when he hears you take a deep breath, no doubt about to yell through the receiver.

“Simon, you knew that I was saving the last Kit-Kat for lunch. I—I put a note on it and everything and I was thinking about it all—all day. You read it, shrugged, and ate it anyway—because you don’t love me.”

“No, no, it’s not that, baby,” he leans back in his chair, stifling a chuckle—that would only make you angrier, “The note must have fallen off. I swear I didn’t know it was the last one. Hand to heart, love. You know that I love you, baby. I married you, didn’t I?”

“You’re—you’re a liar and a degenerate, Simon Riley,” you sniffle, voice waterlogged and so serious he can’t even bring himself to smile at the hilarity of the situation, “I’m—I’m carrying your son, and you won’t even read the post-it notes I leave you…”

“I read them, love. There was that one on the strawberries, remember? I didn’t eat those, did I?” He argues.

Next to him, he can see Soap’s brows furrowing, a look of utter confusion coming over his face. Simon watches it with a huff, covering the receiver to send Soap a stifled look of relief.

“I ate the last candy bar at home,” he explains, shaking his head, “Thought I wanted to leave her.”

He doesn’t even wait for Soap to respond before he brings the phone back to his ear, continuing the conversation without a second passing. Meanwhile, Soap slowly turns back to the wheel, looking on in amusement.

“Is this what pregnancy’s like?” He mutters under his breath while Simon continues to whisper sweet platitudes into the phone.

“Look, love, how can I make it up to you ’n the kid? Want me to buy you some more candy bars on the way home?”

“No,” you huff, still crying, “We’re—we’re mad at you.”

“Love,” he sighs, eyes closing, “Look, what if I brought home Shake Shack? Avocado burger, large fry, and a strawberry shake—and I’ll even stop at Tesco’s on the way home to get you some more candy bars. That sound good?”

Through the phone, he hears the blankets shuffling. A small, dull sound filters through the speakers—another tissue pulled out of the tissue box—followed by a small, miserable whimper. Without missing a beat, anger and sadness still simmering in your waterlogged voice, you speak.

“Extra, extra avocado on the burger,” you mewl, sounding small and helpless, “And the shake has to have syrup on the whipped cream. With a st-strawberry instead of a cherry on top. And when you go to Tesco’s, you—you better bring back a Hershey’s bar or I’ll take back all the clothes I just bought you.”

“Got it, baby,” he sighs, smiling, “Extra, extra avocado burger, strawberry shake with a strawberry on top, Kit-Kats, and a Hershey’s bar. Anything else?”

“And…” you sniffle, wiping your nose, “And hot ’n sour sauce, too.”

“Okay,” he tells you, pinching his nose bridge, “I’ll be back before seven, okay?”

“Mm-hm.”

With that, the line goes dead—not even a single goodbye to be had—and he drops the phone into his lap with a deep breath inward. Mentally, he runs over a list of all the food you’d just listed off, memorizing their unique variations.

God, he shakes his head, All these strawberry shakes…his son’ll be ten pounds at least by the time he comes out.

Simon can’t even imagine what that day will be like. But, not a month ago, you’d spent an entire hour pouting on the couch, looking at him with all the viscousness of a newborn kitten. When he’d asked you what was wrong, you’d answered simply.

“Why do you have to be so damn big?” You’d asked him, struggling to maintain your scowl through your own tears, “I'm the one carrying your son! He’ll rip me in half!”

Simon takes a deep breath, unable to contain the small grin that overcomes his lips. When the two of you get to that argument, he’ll be more than happy to let you complain about it so long as his son is safe and sound inside of his mother’s arms, chubby from so many months of Kit-Kats and strawberry shakes.

“LT,” Soap shocks you out of his reverie, “Is she…she okay?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, sitting back up, “She’s fine.”

“What about the baby?”

“The baby, too,” he answers, not even hiding his relief, “Just…pull around over there,” he points to the parking lot, “You heading back into the office?”

“Yeah, got an incident report to file from last night,” Soap answers.

“Good,” Simon stands from the four-wheeler, digging around in his pockets for the car keys, “Tell Price the wife needs me home early. Family emergency.”

With that, he turns on his heel, making a beeline for the truck. However, before he can tug open the door, Soap bellows a low whistle from the four-wheeler.

“I’ll see you at training tomorrow?” He yells.

“Probably,” Simon grimaces, “Might see me back tonight…save me a cot in the barracks.”

“Will do.”

Simon grunts, ambling up the steps of the front porch. The Shake Shack bag is precariously full inside of his arms, strawberry shake threatening to spill across the front of his shirt. But, with a deep breath in, he manages to make it up the final step with a slow balancing act, and he reaches for the door with uneasy hands.

However, it’s tugged open before he can even turn it. And standing right there, hands rubbing over your swollen belly, is the love of his life—eyes red and nose stuffy from so many tears. Without saying a word, you pluck the fast food bag out of his hands, plodding back into the house before he can even kiss you on the cheek.

Figures, he chuckles.

He shuts the door behind him, toeing off his shoes. But just before he drops his car keys in the bowl on the hallway table, a flash of pink crosses over his vision. With a quirked brow, he picks the post-it note off of the bottom of the bowl, squinting down at the scrawl of your writing across it.

I want pancakes for breakfast tomorrow, it reads, stained with tears.

At that, he can’t help but duck his head with an elated, loving scoff, tracing over the small pen marks.

Pancakes, huh?

Yeah, he could do pancakes tomorrow morning.

2K notes · View notes

bitterrfruit · 9 months ago

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price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat

girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡

18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.

Here’s part 2!

Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.

Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.

But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;

“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.

“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”

It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.

Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.

One, two, three, four…

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.

“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.

“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”

A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”

“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”

With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”

Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.

But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”

Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.

“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”

That was a step over the line.

You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.

And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.

He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.

“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.

And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”

#bet his handprint is the size of a dinner plate #john price #call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain john price #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price smut

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lalunanymph · 4 months ago

Text

TOAST TO CLICHES IN A DARK PAST

not even another man's ring on your finger can stop sylus from taking what's rightfully his

warnings: fem!reader, ex-boyfriend sylus, toxic!sylus, mean!sylus, reader is engaged 🤭, cheating, oral s/ex, unprotected s/ex, collars, possessiveness, blank and ageless blogs dni

dawn says: i wrote this with one hand can you tell.... ALSO surprise at the end wbjwhjdkf ;)

“Hey, it’s me.” You can almost picture the scowl on his perfect features. “Let me in.” If patience was a virtue, waiting for another moment must be his vice.

Another sharp rap on the door shatters your peaceful evening.

“Y/N, I’m here for my things. Open the door.”

You decide it’s either now or never to get this over with him.

Standing from the couch, you muster the scariest scowl you can plaster on and answer the door. “I heard you for the first time.”

Right at your threshold, a 6 feet 2 menace stands clad in his sweatpants and compression black shirt, biker jacket hanging from his tall frame, those vermillion eyes raking up and down your figure, suddenly making you feel too self-conscious.

You’re in a pair of gray shorts and a tank top, nothing too fancy or scandalous, yet there’s a pressing heat behind his gaze which makes your skin flush like you’re presenting yourself before him in a risque piece of lingerie.

Your mouth curls around his name like it's a cud you can’t wait to spit out. “Sylus.”

He tips his head forward. “Y/N.”

The both of you don’t say a word, and you feel much too exposed. Anyone could pass by and see you speaking to him. The ring on your finger is heavy, and you subconsciously hide it behind your back, not wanting him to see it and comment.

“Nice rock.” Too late. Your scowl deepens and you huff a sigh.

“You said you forgot your insurance file? That’s not like you.” The sneer that carves your face is nothing in comparison to his smirk.

“I’m here for it and nothing else,” he clarifies, sweeping his gaze over you as he sweeps past you. “Don’t you hope for anything else.”

“Wh—hey,” you trail after him, spluttering indignantly. It’s just like your ex-boyfriend to walk in and claim the space as his own; large build and larger than life personality swallowing all the air in your lungs and in this room.

He plants his hands on his hips, surveying the newly decorated living room with cool distaste. “Looks like your plan to scrub me clean from your life worked, sweetie,” the nickname drips from his lips with condescension. “It’s so… clinical.”

He’s mocking you. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and your hands clench to fists by your side.

“We love the combination of gray and white,” you say past gritted teeth. “The red-black abomination you had going on was an absolute eyesore.”

“Oh,” he flickers his gaze back to you, completely disinterested. “I see. I guess you didn’t just get engaged to some random schmuck to get back at me.”

The ring around your finger is heavy enough, tempting you to smash it through his mouth. You scoff.

“You’ve never changed, Sylus. Always mean—always a loser.”

With a single word, you find yourself pushed against the wall, your ex towering over you. The smell of his rich leather and spiced cologne swims in your head, driving you dizzy. Heat engulfs you as his arms come up on either side of your head.

“You know how this works, sweetie,” his smooth, rich tone bathes you in that blessed timber, making a shiver crawl up your spine. “We fight, we break up. You text me, I come over and—”

He’s much too close. Too overwhelming.

Sylus waits for you to finish his sentence.

“Come on now, kitten,” he purrs. “What is it we do whenever you come crawling back to me?”

You refuse to answer him, despite the ache spreading right at your core. You huff and turn your face to the side, finding refuge from those searing darkened eyes.

“You can’t do this to me anymore, Sylus. I feel nothing for you.”

“Nothing, huh?” If there’s one thing your ex loves more than this toxic rollercoaster you want no part of anymore, it’s the challenge of getting you back on it.

“I’m engaged,” you emphasize, a sinking realization of this mistake washing over you. You should’ve never allowed him to come back.

“This flimsy thing?” He plucks your left hand from your side, a sneer curling on his mouth. “Two weeks. You thought you could replace me in just two weeks?”

“We were friends—”

“He can’t treat you like me.” With the bold declaration, Sylus grows more audacious. He bends his head forward, eyes close and chest rising—inhaling your sugary vanilla body wash straight from your neck. “Can’t put you in your place like I do, sweetie.”

Your eyes involuntarily flutter shut and Sylus takes this chance to pounce on your jugular. “Where’s my insurance file, sweetie? Do you know?”

Vaguely, you recall seeing it in your bedroom. “It’s in ou—my room.”

Sylus doesn’t comment on the slip up, corners of his lips twitching. “Well? What’re you waiting for? Go get it for me, sweetie.”

Your nostrils flare, anger coursing through you. Does this guy think you’re his maid or something?

“Go get it yourself.”

With Sylus, everything is a game. A struggle for power. He snorts and turns his gaze to the expensive Rolex on his wrist. “When does he get off?” Your ex’s sneer deepens.

Knowing who he’s talking about, you match his energy with an eye roll. “In a few hours—”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Throughout this little bantering session, Sylus never once lost his cool; calm and teasing like the asshole he usually is. This time a flash of anger sears through his tone and you falter, the repressed heat inside you lifting its head to scent the sticky sweet danger clinging in the air.

Warning, the nerves in your body scream. Stay alert.

You shut the voice down, crossing your arms. “Or, what?” You try to mimic him with one brow raised. “What’re you going to do to me?”

Sylus doesn’t immediately react. That’s why he’s a risk to deal with—one wrong move and you could go falling back into the wolf’s den. He bides his time, staring at the silver rings adorning his slender fingers, knuckles split and bruised from his love of violence in the ring.

“The sooner you get the file for me, the faster I will get out of your life,” he smoothly interjects. “Unless… you want me?”

He stands up lightning fast, cornering you again with his staggering presence, making you take one step back.

You touch your throat on instinct, and Sylus chuckles.

“What? Cat got your tongue, kitten?” The use of your favorite nickname sends a wave of heat rising inside of you, the flush warm and demanding on your cheeks. Sylus doesn’t reach out to touch you, but he doesn’t need to if he wants to turn you on.

One look. A careless brush against the back of your thigh and you’re aching all over.

“It’s been so long, hasn’t it?” A drop of sympathy colors the waters of his deception, and your shoulders loose their stiff edges, walls coming down a fraction. “No one can do those things to you… make you feel like that…”

He’s speaking in riddles and it’s successfully scrambling your mind.

“Sylus—”

“Turn around.”

You inadvertently raise the stakes by shaking your head.

“What did you do, kitten?” His voice is smooth, but underneath, there’s a zing of livid distaste. Sylus never likes it when you defy him.

His jaw clenches, but he’s focused on the long game. Sylus hums. “Come on. We shouldn’t waste anymore time. Take me to your bedroom.”

The shivers wrack you tenfold and it’s borderline criminal to bring your ex back into the room where you laid with and fucked your fiance. Electricity crackles in the empty spaces, and you try your best to ignore the current sparking on your tongue.

“Check under the bed,” Sylus suggests, doing nothing but stand by the wall, arms folded. Expecting you to pull the most weight.

You pause, sending him a look of indignation. “Why’re you ordering me around? You do it.”

Instead of adopting a look of contrition or remembering his manners like any normal person would, your psychopath of an ex shakes his head. He starts to shrug off his jacket; enjoys how wide your eyes become when he removes his shirt and tosses it to the ground.

“Sy—” you hiss, but he interrupts you with a raised brow.

You turn mute, bunching your fingers together in front of you, a curious part of you wondering what he’ll do next—the depths of depravity he will drag you back into.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He steps closer and closer, pushing you to the edge of the bed where you have nowhere to escape.

“I know you, sweetie. I can sense when you’re excited. I own you. You want this—you want me.” You drop your gaze, suddenly afraid of him looking into your eyes. Sylus tastes of your impending surrender right on the tip of his tongue. Call him a genius or a madman, but nobody can call him ignorant to his girl’s needs.

“I can give you what you want. What you’re craving for.” It’s too much—his presence, his voice, this smoldering heat. You feel like you’re going to combust.

Without thinking straight, you press your hands flat on his pecs, trying to push him away, but all it does is make him grab your wrists, locking you in place.

“Don’t,” he warns, velvety smooth with his threats. Your white-haired devil of an ex smirks at your wide eyes, and chuckles.

“Come on, sweetie,” he leans in closer, gathers both your hands in one of his own and tilts your head up to face him. “Look at me—look at me. Come on. Give me a kiss.”

He coaxes you with a gentle nudge, but it’s enough to send a battering ram through your defenses. The tension—so thick that you can cut it with a knife—comes to a jolting deadend and you have no choice but to give in.

You fold, parting your lips and Sylus goes in straight for the kill.

Hot kisses devour your soft moans, sending shudders all over your skin as goosebumps erupt everywhere; Sylus kisses you with bruising accuracy, hell bent on getting his revenge.

No one dares to leave him unless he declares it, and you’ve committed the biggest sin out there by throwing away his love.

He pries your lips apart, plundering his tongue to tap and caress the roof of your mouth, running the tip over your teeth and twining messily with your own tongue; reducing you to sporadic moans and twitches. Encased in his arms, you feel small and helpless, a prey who has fallen right into her beloved predator’s jaws.

“Come here, sweetie.” Sylus plops himself on the edge of the bed, and brings you right onto his lap. You’re woozy and lightheaded when he starts to paw at your shorts, dragging it down—exposing the sweet white cotton hiding his favorite pussy.

Sylus tugs your panties down unceremoniously, and you barely have time to steel yourself when he murmurs, “How dare you say no to me?”

A heavy hand lands right on your right cheek, jolting you forward. Your cry is part ecstasy, part pain.

It rebounds around the room, echoing your betrayal when he sends another hard spank on your left cheek, following it up with the right one; white heat engulfs you all over and your ass is on fire.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “See, sweetie? You’re wet. You’re leaking alllll over my thigh.” He drags the words and your humiliation out, plunging two thick fingers and dragging them through your folds. Sylus dangles his drenched fingers right in front of you and chuckles.

Something hard pokes your lower belly when he shifts you into a seating position, tilting your face up. The look of hunger he wears unhinges the last of your restraints and this time, you’re the one who tugs him by his hair, smashing your mouth hungrily to his.

The wet smacks and muffled groans of lips on lips. Moans. Bodies on fire. You’re rubbing yourself all over him.

Get on your knees, he orders feverishly, grabbing your hair and pushing you down in between his legs. Suck my cock. Go on, kitten. Suck my cock and make me feel good—you know you want to.

You obey him—of course you do.

You can never forget the taste of him when he hits your tongue, like musk and man, saturating flavor making your eyes roll back in your head. The dopamine kicks in and Sylus swears he sees little pink hearts right in your eyes when you take him down your entire throat.

Who is more insane—the psycho, or the one who dares to love him?

You’ve always been a little loose in the head, but this definitely takes the cake.

How you’re willing to risk everything—your stable life, your safe home, your fiance’s love—all for a man who plays with you like you’re his favorite toy.

For a man who will never tell you he loves you or wants to marry you.

Like he’s reading your thoughts, Sylus gives a strained chuckle.

“Stop thinking about him. Just focus on me.”

His abs undulate under your palms, and he eyes the twinkling ring on your finger with distaste.

One way or another, he’s going to get you to remove it for him someday.

Until then, he knows the perfect counterpart to that asshole's claim on you.

“Stop.” He pulls you from his throbbing cock, a smidge of pride staining his ego when he sees your swollen lips and the ravenous look in your eye. “Go and get your collar, sweetie.”

It’s a risk to bring up the one item you didn’t toss into his box of belongings. But, his gamble comes back as a win when your eyes sharpen with want.

“Yeah,” he feeds off your reactions, an incubus desperate for your light. “Yeah, you still have it, don’t you, kitten?”

The answer is painfully obvious on your face.

“Why don’t you go and grab it?”

You move with uncertainty, but this time, Sylus allows it. He lets you feel through your emotions, knows the erotic pulse of submission must be tearing you into shreds—warring with your desire to stay faithful to some poor cuck.

Sylus knows all this because he knows you; knows what you love, what you hate. How you taste at different times of the day. Your favorite flowers, fast food order, your preferred poison on the weekend. The cadences of your breath when you fall asleep in his arms. What your shampoo smells like when it lingers on his sheets.

He is, after all, the best owner you could ask for.

And you’re still obviously, undoubtedly, and painfully in love with him.

Your throat bobs with a hard swallow, but you don’t defy him. He swats your ass with a cheeky spank when you stand and shuffle out of the room.

“Atta girl,” he praises once you come back with your collar in hand. It’s a little dusty, but the leather is still supple.

Sylus runs his fingers over it, flickering his gaze to you.

You’re kneeling right between his thighs, head bent, hair gathered in one hand to expose the back of your neck. Waiting for him to reclaim you.

Sylus doesn’t take such submission lightly.

This collar—proof of his quiet yet powerful devotion and fondness for you—is more of a commitment than that stupid band around your finger could ever be.

It’s his promise to always look out for you. Care for you. Protect you.

Love you.

Though the words don’t dislodge from the grasps of his ego, Sylus has and always will love you.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, dragging one finger down the nape of your neck. Your shudder makes an unwilling smile curve on his lips, and he snaps the leather collar around your throat, giving it a few good tugs to see how tight it is.

You turn and stretch towards him, planting a soft kiss on his lips as gratitude—a muscle reflex for the many times he’s collared you.

Sylus deepens the kiss, running his hands through your hair and grabbing a fistful of it, directing you back towards his throbbing, leaky cock.

You lick at a clear bead of precum slipping down, flatten your tongue to run it over your favorite prominent vein. Sylus leans back against his forearms, watching his ex-lover pleasure him on another man’s bed.

The band around his self-control is slipping, and he can’t hold back a low, drawn out groan when you suckle on the flushed, mushroom tip.

“That’s it,” he grunts, low and commanding. Such a pretty girl you are—make me feel good, kitten. You’re doing so, so well.

His voice is an aphrodisiac in itself, making you flush hotly. Your core throbs with neglect as you pay full attention to sucking him off, putting his pleasure above yours.

Sylus isn’t stingy with his praises or affections: caressing your hair, patting your cheek, fingering your collar when you get more worked up over sucking him off.

You’re so messy it hurts.

Drool dripping from the corners of your swollen lips. Precum smeared all over your cheeks. Eyes low and lustful—his personal wet dream came to life.

You’re halfway bobbing your head up and down his slick shaft when he stops you, gestures for you to come back up for air.

In a swift movement, he has you under him, legs tightly wound around his narrow waist; forearms roped with muscles on either side of your head.

His red eyes bore into yours, watching your reactions with heated attention.

Your gasp as he rips your tank top off, kissing and suckling your plush tits and nibbling on your sensitive nipples until you feel positively ripe for the picking.

He’s tempted to leave a mark on your neck, but you know him well enough too, and shake your head with a cute little teary, “N-no. Don’t.”

Sylus will let it slide—just this once.

The warm expanse of your bare skin opens under his palms like the bright evening sky outside.

He savors your hitched gasp that melts into a sultry groan once he stretches you out with his girthy tip. Another inch, another cry.

Sylus falls right into your seduction and embrace, bottoming right to the hilt; his hips clip with yours, lips mere inches from your parted ones.

He devours you with hot, open mouth kisses. From your pouty lower lip to your curved cupid’s bow, he traces your mouth to memory with his own. You taste like home, he wants to tell you, but doesn’t. He’s never had a home to compare you to.

Sylus the orphan. The vagabond. The corrupt.

Molded deep in your body, he supposes this is the closest to a home he has.

Your fingers twine with his above your head, another hand tangled right in his frosty white hair.

Languid rolls of his hips. Your own try to keep up—meeting him in the middle.

Say you’re mine, he growls. Say it, kitten. Say it and I’ll make you feel so good.

“Yours,” you hiccup, unable to peel your eyes off of him.

I’m yours, Sylus.

His thrusts send shocks of pleasure through your body, hitting the sensitive spots inside of you and making you flinch like he’s touching an open wound.

Over and over again. His mouth grazes yours. You don’t hesitate to swallow his kisses.

You’re clinging to me like a vine, kitten. He nuzzles your hair, your neck. Smearing his lips all over your face.

His collar jingles around your neck, muffled metallic clicks mingling with the sloppy sounds of two bodies meeting again like the sea to the shore.

Your body runs hot, flushing and going taut under his own sturdy one.

Unfurling like a flower, your release is about to wash over you like a crashing wave. He talks you through it, going yes baby come for me come for your owner I love you I owe you you’re mine forever come back to me I can make you so happy, sweetie.

You’re shuddering like someone’s run a voltage through you, holding onto him as tears gather in the corner of your eyes.

No, stop this—you can still stop this! Your mind screams but your body doesn’t listen.

Heat sparks at your fingertips, your world going hot white.

His name tumbles from your lips, your body cramping and pulsing out his claim over you in shaking tremors; knowing exactly who it belongs to.

Fragments of your mind fall around this soft bed, and he gathers you into the tight seam of his embrace. His warmth comes next, filling you up, the walls shaking in your periphery.

That’s it, kitten. He’s quivering, too, you notice, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your sweaty forehead. You belong to me.

He switches to his back, and you’re sprawled across his chest, breathing heavily.

Sylus holds you like this for a long time until your rapid heartbeat steadies to the rhythm of his breath. He says nothing and you wonder what plagues his mind.

Though quiet and pondering, his fingers run up and down the curve of your spine, drawing random patterns.

The quiet and calm this lull brings could make you drift off, if it wasn’t for the fact that your fiance would be back anytime soon.

As if he reads your mind, Sylus helps you unsnap your collar, pushing the leather circlet into your hands. He doesn’t meet your gaze while he cleans you up, dressing you again to decency.

His silence follows from the bedroom to the front door before he exhales a laugh, breaking the melancholic spell of this mistake.

“I forgot to take my file.”

It’s a thinly veiled excuse; another loophole presenting itself as a casual observation.

Those red eyes are soft when you meet them, and if you look closely, you might see them wavering slightly with hope.

You curl your hand over the door handle, wondering if he can tell just how badly you’re trying not to tremble when you say:

“Come back tomorrow for it.”

Sylus’ broad shoulders relax and his smile is brittle with hope.

He doesn’t kiss you ‘goodbye’ though you can tell he’s thinking about it when he flickers those vermillion orbs to your mouth.

When he leaves—bike roaring down the driveway and out of your life again—you lean against the closed door, bucking into the sadness building inside of you like an explosion waiting to happen.

Tears chase down your face, the ring on your left hand burning against your skin as you press your hands to your mouth to muffle your wails.

You don’t know what strength possesses you but you stumble to the couch, curling yourself on the plush cushions as you try to erase how sweet his lips tasted on yours.

Your collar was quickly chucked under the bed, though you can feel its siren call demanding for more.

Demanding for him.

You don’t know how long you’ve been crying, coming back to your senses once you hear the door swinging open.

The familiar footsteps which once gave you pure joy fills you with dread when he walks into the foyer, removing his coat and scarf to hang it up. His movements are methodical—clinical, as Sylus once said.

That name sparks a wave of pain through your soul. You can't think of him—not right now.

You blink the tears away though it’s for naught when they wouldn’t stop welling in your puffy eyes.

Your fiance sighs deeply and you’re reminded of how stressed he’s been lately; saving lives and working late night shifts.

He hums under his breath as he rounds the corner, taken aback by your intense stare.

He breaks out into a smile which falls when he sees the watery look in your eyes; your runny nose and swollen lips.

“Darling?” Those emerald eyes waver when he notices your trembling lower lip. “Did something happen—?”

His name burns through your lips like it’s a forbidden curse because how dare you evoke him when you were just chanting some other man’s name a few hours ago?

“Zayne… I have to tell you something…”

— please don't ask for part 2 there won't be one lol reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated <333

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, translate, take elements of my story and claim it for your own across other sites.

#🦢 writes #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus smut #lnds smut #sylus qin #lnds sylus #sylus x you #sylus drabbles #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace mc #love and deepspace x reader

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vipetas · 8 months ago

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i. the radio's revival

The worst possible scenario just unfolded before Alastor's eyes—his beloved antique radio broke.

He stood in stunned silence, his usual jovial expression replaced by one of utter disbelief as the once-majestic device now lay in pieces, its intricate components scattered across the floor. With a heavy heart, he knelt beside the shattered remnants, his gloved fingers tracing the familiar contours with a sense of mourning.

It was a futile gesture, he knew, but he couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss for the part of himself that had been taken away with it. For Alastor, the radio was more than just a mere object; it was a piece of his identity. Each scratch, each dent held a story, a memory of a bygone era that now lay at ruins at his feet.

In that moment, he felt more vulnerable than ever before, stripped of the facade of invincibility he had carefully cultivated over decades. However, as he surveyed the damage, the vulnerability was quickly replaced by a flood of other emotions–anger, frustration, disappointment. How could something so precious, so irreplaceable, be lost in an instant?

The faint sound of shuffling feet then drew his attention. As he gazed up, one of the egg boys—those bumbling, loyal lackeys of Sir Pentious—timidly stepped forward with a sheepish expression.

“Uh, sorry about that, mister Radio Demon, sir. It was an accident,” the egg boy mumbled, his voice tinged with guilt.

Alastor's eye twitched in annoyance at the feeble excuse. Accidents were one thing, but this? This was inexcusable. His patience, already stretched thin, threatened to snap as he struggled to contain his frustration.

“Sorry?” Alastor repeated through gritted teeth. “Sorry won’t fix what’s been broken, now will it?”

The egg boys exchanged nervous glances, their carefree demeanor faltering under Alastor's withering gaze. “We didn't mean to, Mr. Alastor,” another one of them stammered.

Yet it was far too late for apologies. Alastor's frustration bubbled over like a pot ready to boil, and with a growl of irritation, his form began to shift. With each passing second, his horns extended, his body swelled in size, and his once elegant silhouette towered over the trembling egg boys like a vengeful deity.

The egg boys recoiled in terror, their eyes wide with horror as they watched Alastor's transformation unfold before them. In their panicked mind, they could only imagine the worst—that Alastor, in his fury, would devour them whole.

Just as their fear reached its peak, Sir Pentious burst onto the scene. Positioning himself between the egg boys and the Radio Demon, his voice rang out in a chorus of apologies.

“Mr. Alastor, sir, I must beg for your forgiveness on behalf of my hapless egg boys,” he pleaded desperately. “They meant no harm, I assure you. It was a mere accident, a foolish mistake!”

Alastor's gaze narrowed as he observed Sir Pentious. As the snake demon continued to shower him with apologies, Alastor suddenly remembered the reason they were all gathered here in the first place—a party, of all things. With a wry smile, he glanced around at the other residents of the hotel, noting the fear etched onto their faces. The sight of their unease might've amused him under different circumstances, but the loss of something so precious to him soured his mood.

With a shake of his head, he allowed his form to shrink back to its normal size. As his horns receded and his imposing presence diminished, he felt the tension ebb from his body, the anger gradually fading away.

But that didn’t mean that all was forgiven.

“What, pray tell, am I supposed to do with my broken radio now?” Alastor's voice dripped with barely contained frustration as he shot a piercing gaze at Sir Pentious.

Sir Pentious, visibly sweating under the weight of Alastor's glare, scrambled to offer a solution. “Ah, well, fear not,” he stuttered, his words coming out in a nervous rush. “I happen to know a mechanic—a fixer, if you will. Someone who can repair anything, no matter how... delicate.”

Alastor's eyebrow arched in skepticism, though a faint flicker of interest danced in his eyes. "Is that so?" he mused, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He had his doubts about Sir Pentious' ability to deliver on such a promise, but at this point, he was willing to entertain any possibility.

“And where can I find this mechanic of yours?”

Following the instructions scribbled hastily on the back of a crumpled receipt, Alastor eventually found himself in the slums of Pentagram City. The narrow alleyways led him to what appeared to be a workshop, its exterior bearing the signs of neglect and decay. The windows were grimy, patches of paint flaked off the weathered walls, and the sign above the entrance barely hung on by a single rusty nail.

It was a far cry from the elegance he was accustomed to, and he couldn't help but feel a familiar surge of anger rising within him. This was the place that was supposed to hold the solution to his problem? The Radio Demon scoffed inwardly, doubting that anyone within these walls possessed the skill or expertise to repair something as delicate as his beloved radio.

Still, he pressed on. Pushing open the creaking door, he was met with a gust of stale air, tinged with the scent of oil and metal. Inside, the workshop was a scene of disarray. Tools lay scattered across workbenches, and half-finished projects cluttered every available surface. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with spare parts, some of which appeared to be salvaged from long-forgotten machinery.

Alastor's lips curled into a disdainful sneer as he absorbed the surroundings. Then, his gaze fell upon the lone figure, hunched over a nearby table—you.

As he drew closer, you finally looked up, and to Alastor's surprise, you greeted him with a wide smile.

“Hi there! What can I do for you?”

Alastor's sneer deepened at the sight of the chipper mechanic, a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere of the workshop. He had half-expected to find someone as worn down and weathered as the building itself, yet here stood this bright-eyed individual, seemingly unfazed by the chaos around them.

Suppressing a sigh, Alastor straightened up, the edges of his grin faltering ever so slightly. “Good evening,” he began. “My name is Alastor, and I'm here because I was told you might be able to fix something for me.”

Your smile widened at his words, and you nodded eagerly. “Of course! What seems to be the problem?”

Alastor hesitated for a moment, eyeing you warily. He couldn't shake the feeling that entrusting his precious radio to you was a mistake. Yet, he had little choice in the matter.

“My antique radio is in need of repair,” Alastor explained, his tone guarded. “It's a delicate piece of machinery, and I require someone with the utmost skill to handle it.”

You listened intently as Alastor detailed the intricacies of his radio, nodding along with each word. Despite his cautious demeanor, you could sense the underlying concern in his voice. It was clear that this radio held great significance to him.

As he finished speaking, you gave him another nod. “I understand, Mr. Alastor,” you reassured him. “You won't be disappointed, I promise. Now, let's take a look at what you've got there.”

With that, you gestured for Alastor to follow you to your workbench, where he finally presented the fragmented piece of machinery. As you laid eyes on the broken radio, it became immediately apparent to you just how extensively damaged it was. Fractured casings, tangled wires, missing components–it was a daunting sight, yet you refrained from revealing the true severity of the damage to Alastor, not wanting to add to his distress. Instead, you maintained a composed demeanor as you turned to look at him with a confident grin.

“We'll get this sorted out, Mr. Alastor,” you assured him once more. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor felt a flicker of hope stir in his blackened heart at the prospect of having his radio fixed. Though a hint of doubt still lingered at the back of his mind, he nodded begrudgingly.

“Very well," he muttered. "Just... be careful with it.”

As Alastor stepped back, allowing you the space to work your magic, his eyes remained fixed on you with keen interest. He observed the fluidity of your movements, the subtle shifts in your expression. Whenever you encountered a challenge, your brows furrowed in concentration, and with each successful repair, a hint of satisfaction graced your lips. Alastor found himself unconsciously mirroring your expressions as he watched your steady hands diligently work to bring his beloved radio back to life.

And as time passed, so too did his initial skepticism begin to wane, replaced by a growing sense of admiration for your skill and expertise. There was something captivating about the way you worked, a sense of determination and passion that shone through with every meticulous movement.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, you made the final adjustment. With bated breath, you flicked the switch and awaited the outcome. The room fell into a tense silence, thick with anticipation. Then, suddenly, a burst of static erupted, followed by the unmistakable sound of music emanating from the speakers.

Alastor's eyes widened in disbelief as the once-silent device surged back to life. Your face lit up with a triumphant smile as you savored his reaction, a sense of pride swelling within you.

“There you go, Mr. Alastor,” you declared, extending the repaired radio toward him. “Good as new!”

As Alastor reached out to accept the radio from you, his fingers inadvertently brushed against yours in a fleeting moment of contact. In that instant, a jolt of electricity seemed to course through him, sending a distinct shiver down his spine.

It was a curious sensation, one that he couldn't quite place, yet it stirred something deep within him.

Even after withdrawing his hand, the feeling lingered, leaving Alastor perplexed. His gaze shifted from the repaired radio to your face, searching for any indication that you too had felt the same inexplicable energy pulse between you. However, your smile remained unchanged, oblivious to the tumult of emotions swirling within him.

“Thank you,” he finally murmured, his voice softer than usual, betraying a hint of sincerity that caught even him off guard. “You did a remarkable job.”

You beamed in response, your eyes alight with satisfaction at Alastor's words. “You're welcome,” you replied gently. “I'm glad I could be of help. And remember, if you ever need anything else, you know where to find me.”

Alastor offered a subtle nod of gratitude, though inwardly, he found himself oddly reluctant to leave. Nevertheless, he tucked the repaired radio under his arm and turned on his heel, heading towards the door. Stepping out into the dimly-lit street, he walked with deliberate steps. His thoughts drifted back to the moment his fingers brushed against yours, and despite his attempts to push the memory aside, his free hand instinctively flexed, fingers curling into a tight fist before relaxing once more.

This was going to be a problem.

part i / part ii

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed<3

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor/reader #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel fluff #part 2?

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starmocha · 2 months ago

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Elysium Sylus/Reader | 16K words | Masterlist | AO3 Beneath the azure sky and across the luscious green grassland, a love story unfolds. A/N: AO3 user InsomniacForevermore planted an itsy bitsy seed in my head, and…it grew...out of control, actually… 👁👄👁 My Grassland!Sylus Childhood friends/Arranged Marriage/Soulmates AU is finally here and I only had to sacrifice four nights of sleep for it. 🥹 MDNI. (btw, not necessary, but…listen to DJ Sammy’s Heaven – Candlelight Mix while reading...or post-reading, whichever)

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

elysium — n. a place or state of ideal happiness

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The warriors are home!

You first heard the excited cries while tending to your flock of sheep on the grassland. All around you and from far away, people were already abandoning their tasks and chores to rush to the village entrance to greet and welcome the returning warriors.

“Sylus is also back!” one of the young maidens cried with delight.

Your heart paused at hearing his name, your breathing coming out uneven. Instinctively, you also rose to your feet. You left behind your flock to idly graze as your feet took off running at a breakneck speed back to the village. When you had arrived, a large, dense crowd had already formed at the square. The elders and the chief—your father—were praising the warriors’ heroic victories against opposing tribes, but among those who was lavished with the most praises was Sylus. His build larger than the other men and his intimidating height towering above others. Even from the back of the crowd, you could see him clearly.

Your heart quickened, seeing his sharp eyes surveyed the large crowd, going from face to face. The moment his eyes locked in on your petite form, his cold expression broke, the intimidating glare softened completely as he pushed through the crowd and rushed to you. In just seconds, he had gathered you into his arms, lifting you high above the crowd.

Laughter and cheers broke out at the sight of Sylus holding you up high, his strong arms wrapped around your thighs. You steadied your balance, hands resting on his shoulders, gasping and laughing, “Welcome home!”

He smiled back lovingly and murmured for your ears only, “I’m home.”

“Today, let us feast and praise our young men for the glory they have brought upon our tribe!” the chief declared, his words met by loud cheers and thunderous applauses all around.

You were helping bringing the food to the banquet when you felt a strong grip on your arm, tugging you gently back. You steadied the basket of flatbreads you carried and looked up, meeting Sylus’ gaze. He smiled at you mischievously.

“Let the other girls handle this,” he said, tossing a look to the other young women behind you giggling and smiling with envy. “Come with me.”

You couldn’t get a word out as one of the girls came over and took your basket from you, all of them laughing and prodding you to leave with Sylus, much to your embarrassment.

“Go on, we know how much you have been missing him,” one of the girls said, batting her eyelashes teasingly at you.

“It’s a wonder our sheep didn’t get stolen away by wild beasts while its shepherd was so lovesick,” another teased as she exaggeratedly patted her heart rhythmically.

“Was she now?” Sylus asked, amused. He gave you a knowing glance and you glared right back at him.

“Oh, hush, all of you.” You rolled your eyes at your so-called friends before grabbing Sylus’ hand and dragging him away, your ears burning as you could still hear the laughter and cheering.

You paused in your steps once you both were out of sight. You looked up at Sylus, feeling sheepish now. “Um…Actually, I don’t know where we are going…”

He laughed and shook his head. “I was wondering where you were dragging me off to.” He leaned down and pinched your cheek, his grin widening. “The chief’s daughter still gets so easily flustered when others talk about her betrothed, hmm?”

“Sylus, quit it!” You rubbed at your sore cheek with a pout.

“I can’t help myself,” he said, pulling you closer into his embrace. “I have missed seeing you and hearing your voice these last few months.”

Your arms slowly encircled around his waist. You looked up with a bashful smile. “So…you felt the same?”

“Do you doubt me, my beloved?”

He leaned down and kissed your lips. It felt just as sweet and tender as you remembered when he last kissed you goodbye months ago. He parted, but his gaze remained on you, searching—beseeching.

“I would never,” you responded, standing on your toes and stealing another kiss from him, much to both his surprise and delight.

“Come,” he said, breaking away and smirking at your disappointed pout. “I have the horses ready.”

“The horses?”

“We have much to catch up on, my beloved,” he said, taking your hand in his, “And I do not wish for prying ears to listen in on our conversations.”

You rode upon your chestnut-colored mare while Sylus rode his stallion, its black coat sheening in the sunlight on the grassland. The horses walked leisurely across the plane side-by-side as their owners idly conversed. You excitedly rambled on and on about the most mundane events that had happened in his absence, only becoming acutely aware of his silence when you caught sight of his smirk.

“…I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

He shook his head in disagreement. “I have missed your voice,” he answered, “Won’t you tell me more?”

You felt embarrassed by how much you were talking, and even more so when you realized he was listening and watching you with such rapt attention. You shook your head fervently. “No, it’s your turn to talk.”

“It won’t be nearly as entertaining as your story of the goat herder getting drunk and falling asleep in the goat pen while his goats took over his home.”

You rolled your eyes. “I will not be swayed by such weak flattery.”

“Then shall I serenade to you instead, my beloved?”

You covered your ears. “These mortal ears are not worthy of such…unearthly…singing.”

He huffed. “My men have enjoyed my singing these past few months,” he responded proudly, “Surely, my future bride would as well.”

“They’ve truly earned their feast tonight then,” you murmured more to yourself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing—” You paused, your playfulness disappearing instantly the moment you caught sight of several small colorful pouches in the saddlebag on Sylus’ horse, items meant to proclaim affections for the receiver of them. You didn’t even think before blurting out, “Who gave you those pouches?”

You silently cursed the moment you realized what you had asked. You tried to look away nonchalant, missing the smirk rising on Sylus’ face.

“Jealous?”

“No…” You nudged your horse, urging her to walk faster.

Sylus did the same with his horse, matching your pace. “These were welcome home presents.”

“Were they?” Even though you tried to maintain a façade of indifference, you felt your skin crawling at the thought. Against your better judgment, your mind was already racing through the names and faces of all the village girls that could have gifted him those pouches. You played out possible scenarios of how the events could have transpired. You pictured those girls giggling and blushing as they handed him their homemade pouches that they had spent so much time on for him.

You pictured him—smiling. At those girls. Smiling, as he received their gifts. Smiling, as his hand might accidentally brushed against theirs. Smiling…

At others.

Sylus called your name, and you found yourself breaking out of your self-imposed stupor. You turned away to hide your red cheeks, embarrassed by your sudden behavior change. You tried to speak calmly, suddenly becoming very aware of how stiff your voice sounded, but it was better than to let your actual emotions come through. “It will get dark soon. We should head back.”

“Are you jea—”

You kicked your mare’s sides, urging her to take off at a gallop. You didn’t want to hear him finish that sentence, didn’t want to think further about what had transpired. You knew you were behaving irrationally and immature, but you felt like you couldn’t face him, couldn’t stand for him to see you in such a vulnerable, ugly state.

Sylus chuckled as he watched you atop your mare, racing away across the land in the direction of the village. He tugged at his stallion’s rein, yelling, and his own horse took off after yours. Even though he had allowed you a head start, it didn’t take long for Sylus’ horse to close the distance.

You could hear the heavy hooves of the stallion behind you, and you urged your mare to run faster. It was a futile attempt to evade the approaching party. In a matter of seconds, Sylus’ stallion was running side by side with your mare again.

Your eyes widened when Sylus leaned over, his strong legs still keeping him steady on his horse. He grabbed you by the waist from your horse and easily carried you over to his, ignoring your panicked cries. The stallion had slowed to a halt, giving Sylus a chance to settle you and him more comfortably atop the horse. You watched with dismay as your mare continued galloping back to the village, leaving you trapped with Sylus. You looked up, shooting Sylus a heated glare.

“Why did you do that?!”

“Why are you glaring at me?”

“Why did you grab me like that?!”

“Why did you run away?”

“Why—why—”

He waited, his arrogant smile making you even more flustered and angry and emotional. Your glare wavered; you could feel the hot tears brimming in your eyes. You hurriedly blinked them away, but now you could also feel your chest tightening with pain, your breathing coming out ragged. The longer Sylus looked at you and the more you struggled to keep your emotions in check, the worse you felt, knowing a dam was about break and you could do nothing to stop it.

“So why—" Sylus stopped. His smile faltered when you finally broke down crying:

“Why…did you accept them?”

“What?”

You buried your face in your hands, crying, unable to calm yourself or keep the hot tears at bay. You shook and sobbed, your words tumbling uncontrollably out of your mouth, “Why did you accept those girls’ pouches?”

Sylus looked down at you, shocked, not expecting to see you crying, your voice holding so much hurt and pain, he felt guilty for putting you in such a state. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back to rest against his chest. He shushed you softly as he whispered apologies while you cried. You felt him burying his face in your hair, his chest pressing closer to your back, and you couldn’t understand why, but the act itself just made you cry harder as you wrapped your arms around his, hurt and scared and angry.

As dusk settled in, painting the sky in purple and orange, the air felt heavy. In the wide expanse of the grassland, the plane stretched for miles and miles, seemingly endless. You were but a speck in the field, and in that moment in his arms, you truly felt so small and insignificant.

As you returned to the village, nightfall had already descended. You and Sylus had ridden back in silence, the awkward atmosphere only worsening with each passing minute. Sylus had kept an arm protectively around your waist the entire time while his other hand held the rein. You looked down, eyes following the horse’s hooves as he trotted back to the village.

“We’re almost back,” Sylus’ soft voice broke through the tensed atmosphere.

You looked up, seeing the huts that lined the outskirt of the village and your mare quietly grazing in the distance. You wriggled a little, but that only made Sylus tightened his hold. You looked down at his arm around you and you said softly, “Let me down. I can walk back.”

“No,” he answered.

“Sylus—"

He suddenly yanked the rein, forcing the horse to turn around in a different direction.

“Sylus?!” you looked up, panicked, not expecting this sudden change in pacing. Sylus’ sight remained ahead, and your heart sped up at the view of seeing his handsome face from this angle, bathed only in moonlight.

Sylus commanded his horse skillfully and you both rode atop the stallion at a brisk pace across the grassland. The cool night breeze brushed against your cheeks, drying your earlier tears. You even found yourself starting to smile and laugh, the adrenaline taking over and stealing away your earlier anguish.

Eventually, Sylus took you back to the village once he had seen that you had calmed down. The horses were returned to their stable. After giving your mare a comforting stroke down her mane, you turned just as Sylus handed you the saddlebag. You looked up surprised.

“They mean nothing to me,” he said resolutely, “Burn them.”

“I’m not going to…”

He stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, making you swallowed your words. “I had never meant to make you upset or have you cried like that, nor did I mean to make you jealous…”

“I was not jea—”

He leaned down and kissed your lips, silencing you. You dropped the saddlebag, the pouches spilling out on the ground. “Sy—”

He lifted you into his arms and you looked up in surprise. “What are you—"

He carried you out of the stable before letting you down again. You looked at him exasperatedly. “You always do what you want—this is not fair…”

“What’s not fair?”

“It’s not fair…how…I’m the only one…feeling insecure…”

In the village square, you could hear the celebration dying down as people started making their way home. The bonfire in the center still blazed brightly.

“You are right,” Sylus responded, “I don’t feel insecure.”

Your shoulders slumped and you kept your eyes lowered. You suddenly felt Sylus’ finger under your chin, tilting it up so your eyes met his.

“You were promised to me,” he said, hushed, “And I to you.”

He kissed you. “We are meant to be, and were we not, I would rewrite the stars, to change the course of destiny and weave a new tapestry of fate to make you mine.”

His forehead pressed to yours. “My beloved,” he held his gaze with yours, “I will always choose you, in this life and the next. Whether we are meant to be or not—”

He kissed you again, and the last remnants of your jealousy and hurt faded away.

I will always choose you.

The following morning you were lazing in the field as the flock of sheep grazed peacefully all around you. The warm sunlight had you yawning, already feeling yourself being lured by the tempting sun into drifting back to sleep.

As the time passed, your eyes felt heavier, and you nodded off a little. Another yawn escaped before you decided a few minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt. Slowly, you closed your eyes, letting them rest for a few minutes.

“Is this what you do when I’m not here?”

You immediately opened your eyes when you heard Sylus’ approaching voice. You let out a soft surprised squeak when he knelt down next to you, his face looming just mere inches from yours. He was smirking. “Lazing around and sleeping? What if your sheep gets stolen by wild beasts, my beloved?”

You glared at him. “I was not sleeping. I…was blinking.”

“Your eyes were closed for far longer than a blink should be.”

“I had some dust in my eyes.”

“I’m quite sure I heard you snoring.”

You blushed and shoved his face aside, glowering when he started laughing at you. “Did you come all the way out here just to tease me?”

“Mmhmm,” he answered with a pleased nod as he sat back with his legs propped up. His elbow rested on top of his leg while he cradled his chin in his hand. You noticed in his other hand was a wreath crafted from leaves and berries.

Your heart quickened and you gasped softly. You looked at him expectantly, wondering if this meant what you thought it meant. It was at that moment, though, that you noticed the dark bags under his eyes. You crawled over to him and he sat back, allowing you to settle in between his long legs. You reached up and touched his face.

“Did you not sleep last night?” you asked him worriedly.

He simply smiled and shook his head. Without a word, Sylus placed the wreath on top of your head. You reached up and touched it tentatively as you looked at him confused.

“I wanted to finish this for you,” he explained, smiling, “Just as I had thought. This suits you.”

“R-really?”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed again, nodding. He leaned in to steal your lips. “You look beautiful.”

“Sylus…” You could feel your cheeks warming up as he spoke.

“Now everyone will know you are mine and I am yours.”

You felt touched by his gesture. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, surprising him into losing his balance. Sylus laid on the grass with you on top of him. You grinned and kissed him happily. He looked up, gasping softly when he saw the sunlight had formed a radiant halo behind your head.

How…ethereal...

He smiled, his hand gently grasped your chin, his thumb brushing over your soft, trembling lips. “We are already promised to one another,” he said, “but if I may be presumptuous, I would still like to ask.”

You looked down at him confused.

“My beloved,” he said, voice soft and sincere, “will you be my bride?”

You stroked his cheek, and as you leaned down closer to his face, your wreath tilted on your head. “What do you think?”

He smiled. “Your wreath is going to fall off.”

“You’ll put it back on for me, right?”

He huffed in amusement at your audacious question, but he nodded. “Yeah,” he said lightly, reaching up to fix the wreath for you, “I will…my bride.”

For that brief moment, you felt like your heart had stopped, your mind replaying what he had just said over and over again. Slowly, you smiled again as you leaned in and kissed him, feeling his strong arms wrapped around you and holding you close to his body.

“This is my vow to you, my bride” he said, your faces just barely apart, “There is only you in my eyes. In this life and all of the lifetimes afterwards, I will always choose you.”

“Same for me,” you answered, gazing back at him fondly. You stroked his cheek, letting yourself willingly and helplessly drown in those passionate crimson eyes.

“I will always find you,” you promised, “In all of our lives together, I will always find you and choose you, my love.”

Your ardent words beckoned his lips to yours, and for the rest of the day, you lay together under the warm morning sun on the grassland, lost in your own world of bliss.

Hands intertwined, you returned to the village with Sylus, his handmade wreath worn proudly on your head. There were envious looks directed at you and sighs of resignation heard here and there. You felt a squeeze from Sylus’ hand and you answered back with your own.

His love for you had always been true and steadfast.

When you looked back on your years together, it seemed he was always there, always yours.

The boy who was promised to you and you to him. An oath had been formed between two powerful families long before either of you came into the world, but perhaps it was always meant to be, because never once did either of you seemed to rebel against your destiny.

You grew up alongside him on the grassland, running barefoot and riding horses across the endless green pasture under the sun. It was a rich childhood filled with laughter and smiles, skinned knees and clumsy first kisses, with the boy who had carried you on his small back home. With the boy who had promised to grow up and become the strongest warrior on the grassland. With the boy who had sworn he would always keep you safe and protected.

The same boy, one day, had become a man, who had unwittingly stolen many young maidens’ hearts, but his own he had safeguarded and kept for you alone.

The man who would always find his way back to you no matter how far his duties may take him.

The man who would soon become your husband, the promise made so long ago between two families would now be honored.

You tightened your hold on his hand, and he smiled down on you.

That smile alone seemed to have banished any lingering insecurities you had. As you stared into his eyes, falling deeper and deeper, you knew nothing could ever sway him, could ever tear him from you. Likewise, there was no one else in your eyes and heart.

It was always going to be him.

There was much to celebrate in the coming weeks. Weddings after weddings took place across the village as one after another, couples were married off.

In the middle of spring, on a warm and sunny day, you were the last to be wedded, but your wedding ceremony was the most extravagant. As the only daughter of the village’s chief, you were the pride and joy of your father. From birth, you and Sylus had already been matched, your future destined together, and now as young adults, the day for your wedding was finally here.

Dressed in red and gold, the colors symbolizing love and prosperity, the elder women prepared you for your groom. You pressed your lips between a lipstick paper, staining them crimson as your cheeks were painted in a similar shade with the rouge made from the scarlet flowers gathered in the grassland. Your hair had been cleansed, fragranced, and styled with gold and red flowers decorating your tresses. You were the very image of a new bride, and now the time had come for you to go meet your groom.

As you made your way through the village, passing cheers from well-wishers, your eyes honed in on Sylus waiting for you at the end. Your breath hitched, your heart speeding up. Dressed in a matching red/gold ceremonial robe and trousers, he waited for you with a smile. You couldn’t help but noted appreciatively how the robe he wore brought out the beauty in his eyes.

His crimson eyes were always so sharp and piercing, able to strike fear into his enemies’ hearts, but when he gazed upon you, there was only soft, gentle joy, love, and gratitude.

The happiness he felt in this moment, knowing soon, by the day’s end, you would be his wife from now until the end of your time on this earthly plane.

The love he felt for you was deeper than the ocean’s depth, unmatched by any force in this world. He would lay down his life for you, rebel against the gods for you, he would submit to you time and time again.

The gratitude he felt for being born into the same lifetime as yours, to be able to have you as his, to build a life with you. He couldn’t begin to express the depths of his gratitude, but he would gladly spend the rest of his life trying.

As you approached him, his gaze seemed to soften even more. You stood facing him, your heart beating faster than normal. One large hand cupped your face and you smiled, leaning into his touch, feeling your heart steadying again.

Soon, he and you would be tethered together in matrimony, your bond witnessed by your village and the heavens above.

You exhaled slowly as the priest began the ceremony.

“May the gods and goddesses bless this pair, allow their union to be fruitful and their happiness endless.”

You stole a glance at Sylus, startling when you met his crimson gaze already settled on you. The fond smile he wore quickly transitioned to a smirk at your flustered expression. You started to look away out of sheer embarrassment, but you caught sight of him quietly mouthing to you: “Eyes on me.”

You found yourself obediently listening to him, your focus entirely on the man you were marrying. Likewise, Sylus kept his own eyes on you.

Time felt sluggish as the ceremony wore on, your body moving through the motions and unable to truly comprehend anything that was said. You didn’t even remember when the ceremony finally ended, only breaking out of your daze when the whole village erupted in cheers as even more scarlet flowers were tossed and thrown in the air to celebrate.

Now husband and wife, you linked arms with Sylus as you made your way back to the square, smiling and laughing as everyone cheered and blessed your marriage. You looked up just as Sylus leaned down and captured your lips, his sudden public display of affection causing a commotion.

While you were hyperaware of the many eyes on the two of you, Sylus appeared unconcerned. To him, there was no one else around. It was just the two of you.

“My bride…”

From morning to sundown to nightfall, it seemed like the celebration would never end. The feast was plentiful, the alcohol abundant, and all around you, people enjoyed the festivity to their hearts’ contents, feeling encouraged to engage in gluttony and merriment for this one special day. It was not every day that many would witness such a blessed union as this marriage between the most powerful warrior in the village and the chief’s daughter. There was much cause for celebration, much joyous anticipation for the bright future that was to come.

While everyone was taking part in the merriment, you and Sylus sat at your own private table, idly chatting and dining, unable to tear your eyes away from one another. You were feeding him some fruits when the village herbalist brought forth a tray with two wooden bowls filled to the brim with a specially prepared wine for newlyweds, the alcohol laced with a potent aphrodisiac. You took one of the wooden bowls hesitantly while Sylus grabbed the other. You took an uneasy glance at your new husband.

He smirked, meeting your gaze. Without any hesitation, Sylus raised his bowl to his lips, downing the wine in mere seconds. You felt a flutter in your belly before you drank from your own bowl, feeling the alcohol burning down your throat. The wine itself rushed to your head, already causing you to feel a little tipsy.

With your inhibitions suddenly lowered, Sylus pulled you to him, his lips seizing yours, and you tasted the rich wine still staining his lips while he tasted yours. You were told the wine would take some time to take effect, so you wondered why you felt so lightheaded in that moment from just a mere kiss.

“Come away with me,” Sylus murmured, his lips just a breath from yours. Taking your hand in his, Sylus dragged you to your feet, steadying you, before leading you away.

He spirited you away to the field on the outskirt of the village. You both left behind the raucous celebration, hearing the drunken laughter and singing fading with each step you took. As the other villagers continued in their festive merriments, no one noticed the absence of the newly wedded bride and groom.

On the outskirt of the village, there was no lamp or bonfire to light the way—only the distant stars overhead to guide you through the darkness. You passed the slumbering flock of sheep, all clustered together for warmth and protection.

“They need to be sheared soon,” you remarked, laughing as you pointed out the fluffiest of the bunch.

He smiled and grabbed your hand again, fingers intertwining together. He led you far away from the village, across the grassy plane.

How strange. You had run barefoot on these grass as children, and now you were walking side-by-side as husband and wife. You not-so-subtly leaned closer to him. He smiled.

“Where are we going?” you asked, looking up at your new husband.

Sylus shrugged. “Away,” he answered, “It’s too noisy back there.”

You laughed. “Celebrations are supposed to be noisy.”

He shrugged again. “I do not care for them.”

“How ironic, coming from a man who has been celebrated for his many feats all of his life.”

He chuckled, but decided not to deign a response to your quip. Instead, he paused in his steps, turning to face you, asking, “Shall I take you away from this place then?”

“And go where?”

“Wherever you would like,” he answered, making suggestions, “The sea, the mountains—”

“And if I say I enjoy our life on this grassy plane?”

He smiled. “Then I will build the biggest hut worthy of my bride.”

You giggled. “Such a powerful boast,” you said, humoring him. “What if I don’t like it?”

“Then I will build a new one.”

“What if I they all displease me?”

“I will still have a lifetime to please my fickle bride,” he responded, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to him. You both stumbled back, rolling down on the grass until you laid beneath him. Your cheeks suddenly felt warmer. Sylus peered down at you with a knowing smile. “My bride is suddenly silent…”

You looked up, wide-eyed and mouth slightly parted. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your senses suddenly heightened as you became all too aware of the close proximity of Sylus to you. He leaned down and nuzzled his cheek against yours.

Above him, the dark night sky loomed overhead, millions upon millions of stars scattered the heavens, bearing witness to the sacred union on the grassy plane. You felt a slight warmth in your body, but you brushed the feeling aside.

“The moon…” you murmured, gaze looking past him at the bright, full orb in the sky, “She is beautiful…”

“Indeed,” he answered, hushed, eyes fixated only on you. His long, slender finger trailed down your smooth cheek as he spoke softly, “Have I stolen a goddess to be my wife?”

“Such sacrilegious words,” you chided him, but Sylus responded with a roguish grin, stealing your lips and taking your reprimand with delight.

He hummed and murmured in between the sweet kisses, “Am I wrong? Would the gods not bow down to your beauty? Would goddesses not become green with envy and wish to covet the love I have for you?”

You gasped for breath, unsure if your racing heart was spurred by his relentless kisses or the feverish words he had so sweetly uttered. You panted softly, voice still scolding, “The hubris of this mortal man…”

He pressed his forehead to yours, laughing, “I speak of only the truth—my truth.”

“The gods will surely punish you for such loose lips.”

“To bear punishments simply because my only crime is that I wish to lavish my bride with praises and love?” He kissed you again, a haughty smile graced his face. “Then let them punish me.”

The warmth in your body spread. Surely, such words couldn’t have this much of an effect on you, right? You vaguely noticed Sylus’ own expression seemed more heated, his eyes darkening with a look of desire and longing.

He kissed you again, but you felt it was different from the previous light, affectionate pecks. He was practically ravaging your soft lips to the point you felt like you would bruise. You moaned against his mouth, this burning inside of you worsening as you kissed him back just as eagerly.

As the night wore on, you began to notice the effects of the aphrodisiacs settling in, feeling the warmth spread in your body and seeing the flushed look on your new husband’s face.

“Sy-Sylus…” you called for him, and his lips and teeth grazed along your neck. You panted and tugged at his ceremonial clothes urgently. “I…I feel so warm…”

“I know,” he husked back, hand cradling your face. He breathed in sharply. He himself was also beginning to feel the effects of the aphrodisiacs on his body, and coupled with the erotic sight of your flushed expression, he could feel himself hardening, needing you just as much as you needed him in this moment. He kissed your lips again, his voice coming out in soft pants, “I cannot wait to go back to our hut. I must have you now.”

You nodded, your body was aching, yearning for him in a way you had never felt before. You tossed your head to the side, your arms reaching up to wrap around your body, your own hands tugging at your clothes impatiently. “It’s so hot…Sylus…my body…it…it feels…it feels like…like it’s throbbing…I…I…”

He groaned at your words. He pulled away, and you looked upset at the sudden loss of contact, already missing his heavy weight on you, his warm heat against you, his soft touches on you. You whined softly, needing him on you again.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, breathless.

“With my life,” you answered immediately, and he smiled.

He knelt before you, like a devout follower, your body his temple to worship at. He offered you his kisses, words praising your beauty. You watched, eyes glazed over, your throat drying, as he removed his clothes tossing them to the side unceremoniously. You felt the ache inside you worsened as you took in the magnificent appearance of your husband, your eyes raking up and down his glorious body. Your breath hitched as you bore witness to his manhood, feeling both trepidation and excitement swirling inside you.

He reached out and disrobed you, his own eyes greedily taking in the sight of your exposed body. There was no other beauty or treasure in the world that could entice him the way he was feeling for you in this moment.

“Lay back,” he ordered, and though you were confused, you obeyed him. Suddenly, your eyes widened when he had your legs slung over his powerful shoulders while he settled between your parted thighs. You felt his warm breath trailing along your thigh, reaching your core.

“Sylus, what are you—ohh…” your head fell back as you let out a moan, feeling his mouth pressing against your most intimate area.

His mouth…he is… “Ahh…!” You covered your mouth, embarrassed by the unexpected noises you were making.

“Don’t.” Sylus looked up, chiding you gently, “I want to hear more. I want to hear how good I am making you feel.”

“Ohhh…” You could feel him parting your slick lips, his tongue diving in and stroking against you in all of the right places. Your hips moved on their own, wanting more of this stimulating sensation he was bringing to you.

You opened your eyes a crack, barely able to see him, but you did catch a glimpse of his hand, seeing it wrapped around his magnificent manhood, pumping it urgently as he continued to pleasure you. You could feel your body pulsing at the sight, your breathing coming out in quick gasps and moans.

“Sylus…ohhh…”

You whimpered, feeling an unfamiliar sensation happening to your body. “Sylus—I…I feel strange…ahh…ahh…”

“Do you feel good?” he pulled back just a moment to check in on you, a smirk on his face. You whined in frustration at the sudden loss of attention. He laughed and continued. You cried out when Sylus’ other hand pressed against you, brushing over an area that had you bucking against him. He continued stroking that same spot, feeling that sensitive little pearl, that was making you cry and moan so desperately, the erotic sounds you were making had him stroking himself harder and faster. Your helpless cries rose in pitch, coming out faster…and faster…and—

Your hips bucked up, your head tossed to the side as you let out a strangled moan, fingers finding only grass to hold onto as your body experienced the most euphoric sensation you had ever felt.

Sylus lapped at you greedily, forgetting his own pleasure as he wanted to only extend yours. You had never felt this high, this searing, hot pleasure coursing through your body. You focused on the feeling, wanting to hold onto it for as long as you could.

You were panting so hard, body trembling uncontrollably with pleasure. You didn’t know how long the heavenly feeling lasted, but when you felt the haze starting to subside, you realized Sylus was lavishing you with kisses. You hummed back tiredly, feeling his hands explored your body. You moaned as he squeezed your breast experimentally.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was soft. He pressed a kiss into the nape of your neck.

“So…so good…” You said, but then you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer to him again. You still felt so hot inside, still not fully satisfied. You whimpered to him, “Sylus…the wine…”

He panted, his hand cupping your sex, the friction from it only easing your ache a little. You needed more. Instinctively, your hips moved on their own, your body trying to seize whatever friction it could to satisfy this agonizing ache inside you.

“You are still so wet,” he murmured, laughing softly to himself, “This is good…”

You were confused by his words, but Sylus immediately kissed you again, reassuring you. “I’ll quell the fire inside you.”

Your eyes widened when he aligned himself to you, the head of his massive manhood pressing into your slick folds. You bit down on your lip, wincing from the unfamiliar sensation as you felt more and more of him entering. You gasped, tensing.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “Bear with the pain a little, my bride.”

You arched forward, voice scared. “Sylus—!”

He hushed you softly as he pressed more of himself into you slowly, groaning as he felt your walls stretching to accommodate him. He gauged your reaction closely, pleased as you became used to the feeling of him penetrating you.

He watched as your expression slowly changed, your arousal coming back stronger as he sheathed himself fully inside you. For a moment, he remained still, buried completely inside you and letting you adjust to the feeling. His lips found yours again, his hand slipping into yours.

“Ahh…m…more…”

Sylus’ ears perked up the moment he heard your soft plea. He began moving. Slow, careful movements at first, and then he slammed into you, making you cry out as stars filled your vision. Once he was sure you were enjoying yourself, he picked up his pacing, setting a hard, fast rhythm.

You writhed beneath him on the grass, moaning as he spread you more, taking you in deeper. His kisses trailed down your neck to your chest, his mouth finding your nipple to suckle. You squirmed when his tongue teased the sensitive nub, swirling around it until it hardened. “Sylus!”

He groaned when your fingers found his hair, tugging at him, urging him on. His voice was heavy with arousal when he spoke, “Taking me so well…my beloved beautiful bride…” He kissed your neck, his hands explored your body, learning and memorizing all of the curves that only he would ever know and trace. He memorized the way you sounded, the way your body was trembling with pleasure as it felt every burning touch and thrust from him.

“Sylus…more…more…please…”

He smiled and kissed your lips, swallowing your pleas hungrily.

Every powerful thrust had you calling his name, begging and pleading for him to go deeper and harder and faster. He answered your desperate pleas, giving you everything you were begging for. “Sylus—I am…ahh…it’s…close…”

He grunted. He could feel it too, knowing you were so close to coming undone again by him. That sweet, mounting pleasurable feeling you had felt earlier was almost here, just within reach, a little more, and—

You could feel your world tipping over, a white-hot searing pleasure coursing through your body, more powerful than the last. You didn’t know which god or goddess to praise for the intense pleasure this man was bringing to you, but you continued to cry out anyway. You gripped the grass, tugging until you pulled them free from the ground. The grass blades slipped from your fingers and scattered in the wind.

Sylus continued to rock into you, his own climax nearing. His hands gripped tightly your hips as he pounded into you with enough force that your breasts bounced. His hand skimmed over your flat belly, already imagining it growing heavy with a new life inside.

“Going to have you bear my children,” he murmured against your ear, his large hand gripping your much smaller one.

You moaned at his words. This was to be your role. You had always known it. The women were expected to bear their husbands’ children, the future of the village depending on these fruitful unions. For a powerful warrior like him, there was even more pressure for you to conceive, to bear him many strong sons who would inherit and carry on his legacy.

“Yes, yes,” you answered him breathlessly. You held onto him as he drove into you, his words reigniting the fire inside you. You whined softly into his shoulder. “Please, Sylus…”

“Oh, gods,” he grunted, “You are going to look so beautiful, my beloved.”

You mewled at his words. “More…ah…tell me more…”

His breath hitched, but he continued, his own words making him dizzy with pleasure. He was smirking as he panted, “Would you like that, my beloved? Would you like to grow big and round with my baby in your womb?”

You whimpered. It was your role. It was your duty. However, the way he asked, the way his deep voice sounded, rasping with desire, made you realized that you did want to have his babies—not out of obligation, but as an expression of your sincere love for him. You gasped and cried out, “Yes!”

That one word seemed to have driven Sylus wild. He spread you more and drove in deeper, his powerful thrusts unrelenting as he neared his own release. Your cries echoed in the dark night sky. You practically squealed, unprepared for this sudden aggressive switch.

“You’re going to carry my baby,” he murmured, nearly delirious with desire, “Grow big and round with my baby. Everyone will know. Everyone will know it is my baby in your womb, my baby that I fucked into you.”

You panted and moaned, your hands searching desperately for anything to hold onto, anything to keep you grounded as he took you for himself. Normally so sweet and affable with you, his sudden lewd words had you throbbing all over again. You didn’t realize you could get so aroused by such obscene words, but you found your body was craving more. You wanted to hear him say more of these perverted words, wanted to hear these indecent thoughts spoken aloud by his deliciously and sinfully deep voice. You wanted him to act on his lascivious desires, wanted those words to come true, wanted him to actually fuck a baby into you. You whimpered his name, gasping and pleading.

Sylus leaned in closer to you and you instantly encircled your arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly. He wrapped his own arms around you, lifting you off the ground, your legs locking around his waist as he penetrated you deeply, hitting that sweet spot that had you feeling that same euphoric feeling approaching again.

“You are going to look beautiful—so fucking gorgeous—heavy with my baby in you. Going to keep feeling you, going to fuck you over and over again while you are pregnant.”

His movements had become hurried and graceless, his own words mixed with your reactions had him close to the edge. “Gonna fill you up, gonna keep you full, gonna make sure my seed take.”

“Oh, Sylus—I am going to—ahh, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

You felt it, it was coming again, it was mounting, getting tighter, so close, so close, so fucking close—

You screamed your release into his shoulder, your nails scraping frantically along his back as you felt him emptied into you, filling and flooding your womb full of his seed. You bit down into his shoulder, and he hissed with pain and pleasure. There was just so much.

“Sylus—ahh, I…I feel so…full…”

He groaned and buried his face into your neck. His voice was low and commanding, “Take every last drop.”

“Ahh…Sylus…Sylus…”

He lifted your head from his shoulder, and he leaned forward, your lips his to take. You trembled against him, the aftershocks of your release still coursing through your spent body. You stayed in his arms, boneless and satisfied, the effects of the aphrodisiacs finally wearing off.

You looked at him with half-hooded eyes, meeting his own satiated gaze. His lips found yours again, his kisses more tender this time as you stayed in each other’s embrace longer as you both slowly came back down from your shared climaxes.

You lay with him beneath the stars, the cool spring breeze a welcoming presence after your heated lovemaking. You nestled into Sylus’ embrace, sighing softly when he tightened his hold. He covered you both loosely with his ceremonial robe as you basked in the afterglow.

You prayed for this moment to last, to always remember every single detail of this night. Among the million stars above, you hoped at least one would hear your silent prayer and make it come true. You closed your eyes, letting yourself be enveloped by Sylus’ warmth. As you slipped into a deep slumber, you could hear Sylus’ rich, deep voice murmuring softly:

“My beloved bride…I love you.”

As daybreak came, you found yourself waking up on top of fur, feeling a strong, protective arm wrapped around you. When you looked up, you didn’t see the sky. You looked around and realized you were inside a hut.

You heard soft snoring and looked up, seeing Sylus’ sleeping face close to yours. You smiled as memories of the previous day rushed back through your mind, your cheeks tinging pink as you remembered the passionate night beneath the stars with him on the grassland.

You snuggled into his embrace, his now familiar warmth enveloping you. Sylus stirred when he felt your movements. He looked down and smiled, kissing the top of your head.

“Good morning, my bride.”

You smiled, answering him, “Good morning…my husband.”

The one word seemed to have robbed Sylus of all thoughts as he seemed to sleepily replayed what you had just said again in his head. Slowly, happily, he smiled and pulled you into a kiss.

“Say it again,” he murmured against your lips.

“My husband.”

“I love you,” he whispered back, his words making you swelled with joy. He rolled over and had you trapped beneath him. His feverish kisses covered you and you struggled to keep up.

“Sy—Sylus, the sun is up—!”

“I do not care,” he murmured, nibbling your neck, “Do not worry. Just let this happen, my bride.”

You mewled softly, feeling his soft lips all over you, his hands roaming your body brazenly. Helplessly, you gave in to his wicked temptation and to your desires, surrendering yourself completely to him that morning.

By the next moon cycle, many of the new young brides had fallen pregnant—yourself included. The men had already departed for their hunting trip, already prepping for the cold winter months to come. They would not be receiving news about their expecting brides until they returned—hopefully with a bountiful hunt.

You had all conceived around the same time, so everyone’s growths were only slightly different. Even though, you were the last to lay with your husband, everyone noticed how fast you were growing, belly rounding out bigger and faster than the other new brides and mothers.

Oh, worry not, that is normal, one woman said.

The women in Sylus’ family all bear big, strong sons, another explained.

That’s right. You should be proud that you are already this big, you were told.

Child, do not fret, you were made for this, an elder assured you.

At night, you lay in bed, hand smoothing over your growing middle. Though the women in the village had offered you their wisdom and experience, you still felt unsure and worried about your fast growth. Your heart beat softly, your worries mounting. You turned in bed and stared at the empty space next to you, missing and yearning for your husband’s warmth and comfort.

You closed your eyes, hand cradling your belly, and you prayed for Sylus’ safe and quick return.

When the summer heat crept in unexpectantly, the village resounded with joyous cries as the men returned with wild games and fowls. Some were to be feasted on in the coming days while others would be cured for the winter months when food was scarce.

You raced through the village as fast as you could in your current delicate condition, arriving at the square just as you saw the imposing figure of your husband. A large wild boar was slung over Sylus’ strong, broad shoulders as he entered the square, but the moment he saw your approaching figure, seeing your rounded belly, he dropped the wild beast and rushed to you, gathering you into his arms, laughing joyously.

He carefully steadied you on your feet, dropping to his knees as he cautiously felt your belly, surprised when he was already feeling faint movements. He looked up at you adoringly, “You look breathtaking, my beloved.”

You covered your mouth with both of your hands, suppressing the laugh and cry threatening to rise. He looked at you concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve missed you,” you confessed, feeling tears brimming in your eyes.

He smiled. “I’m home.”

“Welcome home,” you said the familiar words you had said so many times in the past, but this was the first time you had uttered them as his wife. You sighed, relieved, repeating, “Welcome home.”

Nightfall arrived once more, and throughout the village, families settled in for the night one after another.

“I’ve missed you,” Sylus murmured as he climbed into bed with you, his lips already finding yours. You hummed softly, feeling your heart beating fast when his large hand rubbed against your belly, feeling the faint movements of the baby inside.

You could hear his soft, disbelieving chuckle as he parted from you. His forehead pressed to yours, his lips still near yours. “This is really happening,” he murmured, overjoyed “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you answered with a smile.

“No sickness? No discomfort?”

You shook your head. “The herbalist had given me some medication to help with the sickness.”

Sylus nodded in understanding. “That’s good then,” he murmured. He kissed your forehead, and he apologized softly. “This won’t be easy on you, so I want to ease your discomfort as much as I am able to.”

“Sylus…”

He leaned down and kissed your belly. “You are giving me the greatest gift I could ever ask for.” He rubbed your belly fondly, delighting in feeling his child responding to his touch, “Thank you, my beloved.”

The fears and unease you had felt about your changing body disappeared the moment you laid with Sylus. The flames in the lamps had long been extinguished, but you felt like in the dark hut, you could still see him clearly, see the love and desire in his eyes.

He worshiped your body the same way he did on your wedding night, reveling in the beauty and changes happening. The stretch marks that had started to appear around your stomach were caressed and kissed with revere, his voice full of praises and gratitude for the sacrifices you were making to carry his child.

When he gripped your soft, widened hips, you let out a low, deep moan, your body welcoming him in. The night air was cool on the grassland, but within this hut you both called home, there was a heat unlike any other as sweat-slicked bodies moved together with familiar ease. The air was thick and heavy with the sounds of your intense lovemaking, and where your moans ended, his began.

You kissed him, your ardent words coming out in between gasps and moans, “Welcome home…my love…”

He smiled against the sweet kisses, greedily taking them for himself. His forehead rested against yours, his movements reaching you where you needed most, and as you came, trembling so beautifully with pleasure beneath him, he breathed against your neck:

“I’m home.”

The once vibrantly green grass of the plane had begun to yellow, drying out as the weather started changing. The morning air had been chilly, and within Sylus’ warm embrace in the early hours, you both felt reluctant to leave the comfort of your shared bed.

You could hear stirring outside your hut as one by one, many of the villagers were getting up, ready to start the brand-new day. You burrowed into Sylus’ embrace, ignoring him when he laughed.

“Are you not going to get up, my bride?”

You shook your head. “It’s still early…”

You felt his hand brushing aside your hair, hearing a soft agreeable hum from him. You perked up when you heard him speaking again, “I will have to leave soon.”

“No,” you said, grabbing his arm and preventing him from getting up. “Stay with me a few minutes longer…please?”

He chuckled and shook his head in amusement. He leaned over and kissed your head, his hand smoothing your hair to the side. “So needy this morning,” he teased, though you didn’t care. You did feel needy, wanting him to stay and coddle you a little longer.

“So what if I am?” you challenged him. You attempted to sit up, but the heavy weight you carried made the once simple task much more difficult. Sylus immediately helped you as you cradled your large belly. You wondered just how big you could get for the remainder of your pregnancy. You already felt impossibly large, almost embarrassed by your size compared to many of the other expectant women in the village. You leaned back against the wall, sighing as you rubbed your belly restlessly.

He smiled sympathetically and kissed you again, his own hand resting over your stomach. “The baby is already so active this early in the morning,” he said, astonished.

“He must take after his father,” you said wearily as you shifted uncomfortably, “He doesn’t let me rest at all at night.”

Sylus smirked; his expression wickedly lewd. “Is that so?” He felt your belly again, feeling nonstop movements from the baby. He glanced at you, seeming intrigued by your earlier comment. “You said ‘he.’ What makes you so sure it’s a boy?”

You shrugged. “The women have told me that I am carrying low, which they said all points to me carrying a boy.”

Sylus looked puzzled by your explanation. “And you believe them?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “But I thought you would be pleased to hear the baby might be a boy?”

“I wouldn’t care if it’s a boy or a girl,” he said firmly. He leaned closer, his hands pressed against the wall on either side of your head, keeping you trapped. He smirked and kissed you. “Besides, I have no intention of just having one child with you.”

You blushed and tried to look away. You gasped when he went in and kissed your cheek, his lips traveling further south as he continued down your neck. “Sy—Sylus…”

“I knew it. You look so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his hand continued to caress your belly, delighting in feeling his child moving inside you. “Carrying my baby, having my baby…”

“Mmm, Sylus…”

He laughed again when he felt a particularly strong kick. “I see we have a fighter,” Sylus said, smiling, “Maybe he does take after me—or she.”

You looked at him curiously. “‘She’?”

He nodded and laid back down next to you. He kissed your belly, stroking it fondly. You felt a warmth in your chest when he did that, his look of adoration and delight making you smiled fondly.

“I want both sons and daughters,” he said firmly, looking up at you. He stroked your cheek, “I want daughters as pretty as their mother. As sweet as their mother. As loving as their mother.”

You smiled, your cheeks colored a pretty shade of pink. You decided to play along with him, teasingly asking, “Does that mean I want sons as strong as their father? As dependable as their father? As free-spirited as their father?”

“Is that how you see me?”

You nodded. You tilted your head and looked thoughtful. Sylus raised a brow at seeing your sudden quiet disposition.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stroking your cheek again.

“Do...do you…”

“Do I what?”

Your cheeks brightened further.

“Tell me,” He demanded. “What is it?”

“How many children are we going to have?”

Sylus wasn’t expecting that question, so it took him a few seconds to register what you had asked him. He then laughed, making you feel embarrassed. He quickly apologized, kissing you reassuringly. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “But I want to have a lot of children with you.”

He sat up, his hands cupped your face as he leaned in closer. “As many as my beloved will allow me to have.”

“Then,” you started hesitantly, feeling your heart pounding in your chest, “If I say…I want to give you as many as you want…”

Sylus looked surprised, and then he smiled again, his lips brushing against yours. “Then, I feel like the most blessed man in the world.”

He pulled you into his embrace, showering you with sweet words and kisses.

Outside the hut, life had already begun again as people went about their day and chores. You both could hear the laughter of children running outside, mothers scolding their little ones, and men already laboring away to provide for their family.

For this particular morning, you and Sylus both decided to idle, to lounge around and enjoy the comfort of each other. As you lay in his arms again, Sylus lulled you back to sleep with stories of the future. You drifted to sleep, his deep voice describing a memory yet to come: beneath the azure summer sky and across the luscious green grassland, your children raced barefooted, their sweet bell-like laughter carried away by the playful wind.

“I feel like I am being kicked in all directions at once,” you sighed one cold evening, your hands rubbing restlessly all over your stomach. “Surely, this is not normal.”

Sylus wrapped his arms around you from behind. He looked down at you, your pout nearly making him laugh out of complete adoration for you. He couldn’t help but found you endearing whenever you looked frustrated and upset.

“You must be close to giving birth now, right?”

You nodded as you grabbed Sylus’ hand, guiding him to where you felt the most movements in your womb. You smiled when you looked up, seeing his surprised expression when he felt the baby’s strong kick. You answered his inquiry, “The midwife said it wouldn’t be long before the baby drops.”

As soon as you finished saying that, your expression faltered. Sylus noticed the change and he questioned you gently. You tried to brush it aside, but Sylus persisted, demanding to know what was upsetting you so suddenly.

You reluctantly relented. “Sylus,” you started, your voice growing smaller as you prepared for your confession, “I’m…scared.”

His expression softened. He turned you around to face him, but you kept your sight downcast. You could feel Sylus rubbing your cheek in comfort.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, “Speak to me.”

“What if…something goes…wrong.”

Sylus was immediately silent. You slowly looked up. His lips were a tight line, his eyes hardening. You could see him inhaling sharply as he seemed to try to keep his emotions under check for your sake. You then felt him guiding you to your bed.

You both sat down and Sylus was holding your hand tightly in his. At first, he didn’t say anything, almost as if he was trying to gather his thoughts and choose his words carefully. After a few beats, he began to speak:

“I do not wish to lie to you,” he said, mindful of his words, “But…I also do not like thinking of the possibility. All I can do is believe that everything will be fine.”

You looked unassured; your expression still anxious.

He pulled you into his arms. “I refuse to think otherwise,” he continued, his hand rubbing the back of your head soothingly, “You are strong and capable. Our baby is healthy and active. I have no reason to think differently.”

“Sylus…”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. He looked apologetic as he spoke, “I wish I could take away your worries.”

You rested your cheek against his chest, eyes closed. You could feel the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. This was…calming, you realized. His presence alone was comforting you, easing your fears. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, hesitant.

“Will you…stay with me? When I give birth?”

He looked at you confused.

“Please…”

He gave you a small smile, his hands cupping your face as his thumbs massaged little circles on your cheeks. “You know men are not allowed in the room.”

“Since when do you follow rules?”

At this, he laughed, conceding immediately. “You’re right,” he said, nuzzling his face against yours, “I will gladly stay with you, my beloved. I don’t want you to ever feel like you are alone, especially during this time.”

You smiled against him, feeling as if the worries you had been shouldering silently was easing. You still felt scared, felt so unsure of yourself, but you knew with Sylus by your side, you could find the confidence to believe that everything would work out in the end.

“Oh!”

“What’s wrong?” Sylus looked down at you, his face hardening.

You laughed as you peered down and felt your belly. You gasped again, laughing louder, “He is really not making it easy on me!”

Sylus relaxed, smiling with you.

“Or she,” Sylus reminded you, his own hand covering your stomach. He stroked it lovingly as he continued to speak, “She could be upset that her mother is scared and anxious.”

Sylus nuzzled his face against yours again, kissing your cheek. “But I hope her mother will feel better knowing I am here.”

You smiled, touched by his attempts at comforting you. “I am,” you answered. You then poked his cheek playfully, your expression puzzled. “But why are you so insistent that the baby is a girl? I thought you said it didn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sylus reaffirmed, grinning, “But we don’t know for sure yet if it is a boy or a girl. I don’t see why we can’t entertain the idea that we could be having a daughter.”

You laughed softly. You wrapped your arms around your large belly. “You say it doesn’t matter, but why do I get the feeling that you are really hoping for a girl?”

He smirked. “Am I?”

He pulled you down into bed, helping you lay on your side, your back resting against his chest. Sylus rubbed your stomach soothingly, his warmth encompassing you. You closed your eyes peacefully as you listened to his calming voice:

“We could have a pretty little daughter,” he began, his smile infectious. “Perhaps she will be as feisty and sweet like her mother. She would be the brightest jewel in the grassland, our precious little treasure.”

“We would have to find a good husband for her,” you quipped teasingly. You opened your eyes and looked up just in time to catch Sylus’ look of utter disdain. You giggled and poked at his cheek again, making him frowned even more. “What is with that look?”

“The very idea displeases me.”

“What about it displeases you?”

“Just…everything.”

You tsked at him. “Be honest,” you said, amused, “what do you not like about this?”

Sylus groaned and looked down at you with a light glare. “You are really going to make me say it?”

You nodded with a grin.

“No boy will be good enough for her.”

You laughed.

“You’re laughing at me,” Sylus said, offended. He had genuinely thought you would be on his side on this matter. “You are actually laughing at me. How impudent.”

You rolled your eyes at him, saying, “I am sure we can find her a perfect match. After all, we were matched perfectly by our parents, right?”

Sylus looked at you defeated. “You are being very unfair.”

“I am being as fair as I can be when we are discussing about our baby, who we still don’t know for sure if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Sylus sighed. “Very well,” he conceded, still unhappy, “You really ruined my good mood.”

You looked at him with mock-pity. “And your baby keeps me up at night. And it’s your fault I can’t see my feet any more—and they are swollen because of you, too. And also—”

“Alright, alright,” he relented, amused, “I know when to call it quits.”

He pulled you back against him, his hand resting over your stomach. He murmured into your ear, “Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. The baby is already the greatest gift you can give me, so thank you, my beloved.”

You closed your eyes and smiled, letting his gentle ministrations eased you to sleep as you felt the baby you carried calming down, seemingly also lulled by their father’s presence and voice.

One by one, many of the young mothers went into labor with their child. Day after day, week after week, the painful wails and desperate cries of laboring mothers were heard throughout the village as a child was brought forth into the world.

You were the last, and everyone waited with bated breath for your child’s birth. You were already the biggest, and with each new day, you continued to grow uncomfortably bigger. The cold winter month was also settling in, stripping the grassland of its once vibrant colors and life.

On this particular evening, the first snowfall had arrived, already blanketing the grassland in a layer of snow. You had heard the laughter from children as they played, attempting to catch the falling snowflakes on their tongues. You looked down at your belly, rubbing it as you wondered what your child’s first reaction to snow would be like.

“Please come out,” you pleaded to your stubborn baby, “Don’t you want to see the snowfall, too?”

You felt a strong kick, almost as if the baby was responding negatively to your plea and question. You sighed, and huffed resignedly, “Already stubborn like your father…”

“What about me?” Sylus entered the hut just as you finished speaking.

“Nothing,” you lied, giving him a poorly-disguised smile. He knew you were fibbing, but decided it was perhaps in his best interest to not antagonize you during this time. He knew the last couple weeks had been rough on your body and with so many women having already given birth to their babies, he knew your anxiety was also increasing as your own child seemed adamant about prolonging your discomfort.

“Do you want to eat something?” Sylus offered, but you shook your head.

“I think I want to walk.”

“It’s snowing outside,” he answered.

“I know,” you responded, “Maybe I can just walk around the hut. It will help with the pressure around my hips.”

Sylus nodded.

You paced your hut restlessly, one hand on your lower back as the other cradled your large belly. You breathed in and out slowly, wincing in discomfort. Sylus walked up behind you, his hands settling on your hips as he rubbed soothing circles.

“Do you think it’s almost time?” he questioned, worried.

You were about to shake your head, but you winced again in discomfort. “I don’t know,” you admitted, as your hands rested over his appreciatively, silently urging him to press in harder. He complied.

“The last three days have been false pains,” you said, frustrated, “Does the baby not want to be born?”

He chuckled and leaned down to nuzzle his face against your cheek. “The baby probably feels safe inside you, so it doesn’t want to be born yet.”

“I would feel touched by such lies,” you started, turning to peck his cheek to his amusement and delight, “but, Sylus, I am too uncomfortable to put up with your thinly-veiled flatteries.”

“When have I ever flattered you?” he remarked with a teasing grin, walking around to face you. He rubbed your overdue belly with a sympathetic smile. He couldn’t help but found your frustration endearing, though he knew better than to voice such thoughts aloud during this time. Instead, he guided you to bed.

You sat down in between his legs, your back against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, his hands rubbing soothing circles around your gravid middle as he leaned down and nibbled on your neck, whispering huskily, “I know this has been tough on you, my beloved, but I have adored seeing the changes that you have been through to carry our child.”

His brazen touches felt so possessive, as if it made him proud to know that the many changes that had happened to your body was his complete doing. You whimpered and sighed as he continued, seemingly growing bolder with his intents. The featherlight kisses he peppered along your neck felt like such a stark contrast to the lustful words he whispered to your ears.

“So beautiful, so fertile,” he said, his voice so honeyed and sultry, you felt like you were pulsing inside. You could barely keep your breathing steady or your voice quiet. Sylus gazed at you intensely, his scarlet eyes seemed to shimmered with satisfaction. He appeared almost pleased by your flushed doe-eyed look. He continued in the same hushed, sensuous voice, his hands practically groping you all over, “And so voluptuous. You have filled out beautifully, my beloved.”

“Sylus…” Your voice sounded breathless as you reached down to grab at his mischievous hands. You felt a building warmth in your body, his devilish voice and tantalizing words igniting a fire inside. With his teasing ministrations on your sensitive body, you began to crave for more from him. You squeezed his hands.

“What is it?” His breathing stopped for a moment, seeing the aroused look in your eyes.

He smirked.

Sylus leaned in and kissed you, his touches shameless and greedy.

He helped you lay down and as he continued to trail kisses down your neck, his hands were already working on undressing you. You tugged at his own clothes, and he chuckled in amusement at your impatience. He began undressing himself as well, letting all of the clothes fall to the ground. He lay down behind you, his lips trailing along your shoulder as his hand rubbed your much overdue belly. You whined as you felt him rutting against you from behind, his hard member pressing against your slick entrance.

“P-please…please, Sylus…”

You felt your insides throbbing, desperate to be filled by him. You gasped into a pillow as he answered your plea, his massive manhood slowly easing in, drawing out your heavy moans. You felt his hand pressing into your hip, gripping you tightly as he buried himself in you.

You were practically crying with relief, just feeling him sheathed inside you was easing the discomfort you had been feeling these past few weeks. You rocked back against him, a silent invitation. Sylus smirked.

He began moving, but compared to your previous lovemaking with your husband, this time Sylus was careful, his movements slow but precise, still able to draw out your pleased moans. He gauged your reactions, his own pleasure secondary as he was more concerned about your comfort.

“Sy—Sylus…m-more…”

“Are you sure?” His words came out in soft pants. Seeing you so heavy, so close to going into labor with his baby, was arousing him in a way he never knew it could. He wanted nothing more right now than to fuck you like a wild beast, to make you writhe and scream with pleasure. He was only holding himself back for your sake.

When you nodded, unaware of his inner desires, that was enough to break his restraint. You gasped as you felt his thrusts getting harder, feeling it reaching you deeper and deeper. Your fingers curled around a blanket, gripping it tightly as your face was buried against a pillow as you felt him driving into you with more force than before.

You groaned and moaned into the bed, your grip around the blanket vicelike as you felt his length piercing you with precision over and over and over again. You called out his name, your pitch higher than normal. Sylus groaned deeply at the heavenly sound, his arousal clouding his mind with only thoughts of claiming you again and again until you went into labor.

Sylus’ pants grew heavier, his eyes darkening with lust as he took in the sight of you. In his eyes, you looked absolutely perfect like this. On your side, heavily pregnant with his baby, your leg held up by him as he fucked shamelessly into you. Your cries and moans were the sweetest noises he had ever heard.

Sylus reached around you with his other hand, groping your heavy, tender breast, kneading and teasing until your milk leaked and dribbled openly down your chest. At this point, you were too far gone, completely lost in this thick haze of pleasure to even feel any embarrassment or worried about your modesty. Whatever he was doing, you wanted even more from him.

“Don’t stop…don’t stop…ahh…please, Sylus, more, more, more…!” you whined over and over, his name spilling shamelessly from your lips. You could feel your pleasure was cresting, reaching new heights. “…Sylus…Sylus!”

“Fuck!” he hissed as he felt you cumming around his cock. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, one hand squeezing your breast as his other gripped your hip so hard, you would surely bruise by morning. Without a word, he spilled into you, hot and heavy.

Your eyes squeezed shut, lost in this state of euphoria. You moaned, feeling so full. He was cumming into you so much, you felt his release dripping out of you.

You gasped, feeling a twinge in your belly.

“Oh, gods, ah…ah…ah” you panted as you reached for his hand over your breast. You whimpered as you felt an unfamiliar tightening around your stomach, the pain intermingling with the residual pleasure you were feeling. “Sy—Sylus…”

You called for his name weakly, and Sylus was immediately alerted. He looked down at you in concern, feeling your nails scraping against his hand. “What is it? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the whimpers from escaping your lips. The cramps were worsening and you just wanted to curl up. “Ah…Sylus…my belly hurts…”

At those words, Sylus pulled out of you slowly and more of his release spilled out obscenely. His breath hitched the moment he realized his seed wasn’t the only thing dripping out of you and down your thighs. There was a growing wetness on the bed beneath where you lay.

Your water had broken.

You gasped and clutched your belly, feeling the first pangs of labor as well as the baby descending lower in your womb. There was so much pressure in your hips, you began to panic. Seeing your distress, Sylus immediately dressed and rose to his feet, rushing outside the hut, his deep voice bellowed across the quiet village, “Call for the midwives! It’s time!”

Night descended over this small village once more, and the first snow of winter continued to gently fall, the ground already accumulating several inches from the past hours. The village was quiet, giving the illusion of tranquility, but within one lone hut, the atmosphere was tensed as you labored while several midwives tended to you.

“It won’t be long, child,” a midwife commented, checking the progress of your dilation. Another wiped at your sweat-soaked face with a cooling cloth, giving you a look of sympathy.

You whimpered and gritted your teeth as you breathed through the next pains.

“Easy, easy now,” you heard Sylus’ voice behind you. Cradled in between his long legs, you leaned back against his chiseled chest, panting heavily. You were grateful that he had insisted on staying with you in spite of the midwives’ initial opposition. With only one sharp glare from Sylus, he had everyone yielding to him, none daring to oppose the fearful warrior.

You felt Sylus caressing your small fingers in his hand, this simple act already keeping you grounded and calm. You whimpered quietly, “It hurts so much…”

He looked down at you helplessly. “I know, my beloved, but you’re doing so well. Stay strong.”

You moaned softly as you felt Sylus large hand massaging your hips, easing some of the pain, if only a little. As the minutes ticked by, you felt the pains getting closer and closer until you finally heard the words you were desperately waiting for:

“She is ready to deliver.”

You leaned further back against Sylus as he helped you get into position to start pushing. With your legs spread and propped up, you began pushing at the midwife’s urging. Your eyes widened as you felt the baby shifting inside, dropping lower.

“It…it feels so…big,” you gasped.

Before one of the younger midwives could make a quick remark regarding the genetics in Sylus’ family, he silenced her with a cold glare, making her cowered back. He looked down at you warmly, your hand in his. “That’s it, keep going…”

You pushed for several seconds longer, but honestly to you, it felt like an eternity. You could have sworn the pressure was intensifying, feeling the weight so heavy in your pelvis. Quick, short grunts left your lips as you bore down again. Once the pains ebbed, you collapsed back against Sylus, crying in frustration, “Nothing is happening!”

Sylus shushed you gently as the midwife reassured you that you were progressing well. You found it hard to believe. You panted softly, already feeling your energy drained. Sweat glistened down the sides of your face as you shut your eyes again, body tensing as the next pains arrived. You instinctively started pushing once more, feeling more progress being made this time. All around you, you heard hushed gasps and whispers, but you couldn’t comprehend anything said as you concentrated on birthing your baby.

Without a word, Sylus guided your hand lower and you felt between your legs. You opened your eyes in shock. “So much hair!” you exclaimed, laughing in spite of the agonizing pain you were feeling. Your fingers felt the little tufts of hair again. You couldn’t believe it. This was your baby’s. Your baby was right there.

For this brief instance, you felt your energy renewed as you gave your everything and bore down again, your laboring grunts heard throughout the room. As you pushed, your hand found Sylus’ again and you squeezed it tightly, his presence giving you the strength to persevere through this arduous ordeal.

“Just a little more,” he said, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck. “You are doing so well.”

Your efforts yielded slow result, feeling the baby emerging little by little. When the contractions subsided, you leaned back against Sylus for a brief reprieve, but instead of resting, you whined in frustration when you felt the baby receding a little and negating all of your progress just now.

Sylus whispered praises and encouragement soothingly to you as the midwives also assured you everything would be fine. You barely registered any of the voices, your body demanding your full attention again as you felt the next urge to push.

“Oh, gods…”

You panted softly, your eyes clenched shut as you put all of your focus into pushing out your baby again. You unconsciously squeezed Sylus’ hand, and then you let out a tired cry when you felt the baby’s head emerging fully. You trembled and sobbed, feeling a strange mixture of pain and relief in that moment. You could hear voices all around you encouraging you on, but the words meant nothing to you as you could only focus on the excruciating pain you were enduring.

“Here comes the shoulders, push, child, push!” the midwife’s voice rang loud in the room. You reflexively shook your head, begging silently to any merciful goddess who would take pity on you and end this suffering now.

“Please…I can’t…!” Your grip on Sylus’ hand tightened, your nails digging into his flesh. If he had felt any pain, he did not voice or show it. Instead, you felt his warm breath close to your ear, his soothing voice low and only audible to you.

“I know it hurts, my beloved, but you can’t stop now.” Sylus’ voice pulled you back, and you leaned against him crying softly. He rubbed you up and down, whispering more words of comfort and encouragement. “You’re so close, so close, a little more, my beloved, just a little more…our child is almost here…”

Your breathing was ragged, but you tried to gather what little strength you had left. In spite of your exhaustion, your body was already acting on instinct, already pushing again and you groaned lowly, feeling like you were being spread more and more, feeling each shoulder painfully coming out one at a time.

“Hah…hah…Sylus…ahh…”

“I’m here, I’m here, I won’t leave you,” he whispered, his eyes darting rapidly from your face to his baby slowly emerging from you. He seemed to have stopped breathing as he watched, awestruck, as the baby was born.

You collapsed back against him, sobbing in relief.

Not too long afterwards, the room resounded with the loud cry of a newborn.

“It’s a boy,” the midwife declared after cutting the cord that connected you and your son. The baby was immediately cleaned and prepared to be swaddled.

Sylus stilled at the announcement, the reality of the situation slowly settling in. His face broke out into a wide smile as he looked down at you. “A son, we have a son—”

The joy in the room was short-lived. Sylus was the first to notice you straining again, hearing your soft grunts and whines and seeing the pained look still on your face.

He was immediately tensed. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

You gritted your teeth and then let out another strangled cry. “It still hurts!” You turned, burying your face against his chest again, sobbing. You couldn’t even rest for a moment as you felt the now all too familiar urge to push. You gasped and panted against Sylus’ chest. It couldn’t be…this couldn’t be happening…you had just given birth already…this couldn’t be happening—

“Another child!” One of the younger midwives cried out, alerting everyone else in the hut. There were shocked gasps and mutters as many crowded around while others continued to focus on your first baby who continued to cry.

“Twins,” another muttered, shocked, “She was carrying twins.”

The eldest and most experienced of the group quickly accessed the situation, already barking out orders, “Don’t just stand there! Hurry! Prepare for the second child!”

You did not know whether it was because of the first baby or not, but your second child was coming much quicker. You had no time to rest as your body was already straining again, already feeling that painful ring of fire as your next child started to emerge. Using the last of your strength, you leaned forward, chin to your chest and you bore down, your voice strained as you struggled. You rested for a few seconds and you continued again, and within just another three hard pushes, you delivered your second child, its cry almost immediately joining its older twin.

You fell back against Sylus once more, completely spent both physically but also emotionally. Sylus leaned down, his cheek nuzzling against yours, his praises plentiful.

“Twins?” he questioned, amazed. He kissed your cheek. “Rest, my beloved, rest, I love you.”

Not too long afterwards, the afterbirths were expelled from your body. You were immediately tended to, cleaned and cared for and showered in endless praises for your remarkable feat. You smiled wearily, barely conscious and barely registering any of the competing voices in the room. You had never felt an exhaustion such as this one.

Perhaps it was because of the long, strenuous hours of labor, but it felt like you were drifting in and out of consciousness, unable to decipher what was a dream and what was reality. You were drained entirely, but you knew you could not sleep just yet. You didn’t want to go to sleep right now. You wanted to see your babies. Babies.

You opened your eyes wearily, sensing an approaching figure. You looked up, confused, when the midwife handed you the two swaddled babies. You nervously took them both into your arms, staring down in amazement at the two small red-faced newborns fussing and cooing quietly.

You let out a choked gasp, your tears barely held back as you smiled down at your children. Your children. How surreal, how sweet, those words sounded to you.

“Identical sons,” the matronly midwife said, praising you warmly, “You did well, child.”

She helped you adjust to holding your babies, patiently explaining to you everything you needed to know. When one of your sons started crying again, she helped guide both babies to your nipples, and you gasped softly at feeling both of your sons latching on and suckling hungrily for their first meal. You could feel your milk flowing, entering hungry little mouths. You half-laughed and half-sobbed, unable to even comprehend fully the current surreal situation.

You felt so overwhelmed. You had given birth to not one, but two babies, and they were identical boys. You were now a mother to identical twin boys. You just could not seem to register that thought no matter how many times you repeated it in your head. You looked up at Sylus, and he smiled back just as helplessly, also unable to wrap his head around the current situation.

“Thank you,” he murmured instead, kissing your lips. He smiled tenderly as you gazed at him wonderstruck. “My beloved bride, you have given me not one but two sons.” He kissed you more deeply, drawing out your soft moans. He kept you in his warm, protective embrace for just a few minutes longer as the midwives cleaned the room and prepared for their leave.

He peered down at you and his children, his smile unwavering. For Sylus, there was no greater treasure in the world than the three treasures he now held in his arms. For you and for his children, Sylus was willing to face Heaven and Hell’s wrath, to do everything in his power to keep his beloved family safe and protected.

As he watched you nursed his children, his hand reached up, his finger gingerly stroking one of the twins’ cheek. The baby’s skin felt so soft and smooth and delicate. He was enthralled that these two beautiful little babies came from you, that you had went through such an arduous trial to bring his children into the world, and now you cradled them protectively against your breasts, letting them suckled the precious milk your body was providing for the newborns.

He had never seen such beauty and strength as this, and so it seemed the only thing he could do was willingly let himself fall deeper and deeper in love with you, his beloved.

In the center of the hut, there was a firepit. Flames danced within the space, warming the quaint home.

It had been a few hours since you had given birth, and after making sure both you and the babies were taken care of, everyone had left, including Sylus, leaving you alone with just your sons.

It was still so dark outside. Dawn would not break for a few more hours, so you wondered absently where your husband could have gone this late in the night. You did not idle on those thoughts for too long, your attention focused entirely on the babies you had just birthed hours ago.

You sat up in bed, gazing in wonder at the two sleeping babies sharing the wicker bassinet, still in awe that these two little ones came from your body, conceived from the love between you and Sylus. You smiled as you watched your babies sleep, unable to ignore that they were indeed bigger than most babies born in the village, but not so drastically as many had you fearing for months. You chuckled to yourself, unable to fully fathom how these two babies were inside you just this morning, and now they were asleep right next to you.

One of the twins started hiccupping, breaking you out of your spell. Instinctively, you took him into your arms, carefully holding him over your shoulder. You gently patted his small back, softly comforting your son with soothing words.

“Motherhood looks lovely on you.”

You looked up when you heard Sylus’ voice as he entered the hut covered in a light dusting of freshly-fallen snow. You noticed he was carrying a basket of food in one hand and an extra bassinet in the other. There was also a fur blanket strewn over his shoulder. You raised a brow in confusion, and he chuckled in response.

“Everyone’s been so kind,” he explained as he set everything where they needed to be. He adjusted the second bassinet next to the first one before turning to face you. You handed him the baby in your arms, watching as he carefully placed the infant in his own bassinet.

Almost immediately, both babies started fussing and crying softly. You laughed quietly as you leaned in closer to Sylus, your arms wrapped around his. “They have never slept away from one another before,” you remarked, finding the situation heartwarming.

Sylus nodded, smiling softly. He helped you back into bed to rest before he knelt down on the ground between the two bassinets. He lightly rocked both bassinets at the same time, pleased when his sons calmed down, the gentle motion lulling them back to sleep.

As you lay on your side, watching this sweet scene, you felt so much love and joy in your heart. You yawned softly, and at Sylus’ gentle urging, you allowed yourself to succumb to sleep as well.

When you opened your eyes again a few hours later, you saw the two newborns tucked in Sylus’ arms as he cradled and rocked them while pacing around the hut. His deep, gentle humming was joined only by the warm crackling fire in the hut and the soft whistling winter wind outside.

You felt at peace, as if the world had quieted down. This moment in time felt so surreal, like a sweet dream you never wished to wake up from.

“I love you,” you found yourself saying sleepily, alerting Sylus.

He smiled back and walked over, settling down in bed next to you. You sat up, taking one of the babies from Sylus. You leaned closer to him, gentle eyes flitting back and forth between the two identical babies you both held with so much love and adoration.

Warmer than the fire, you heard Sylus’ gentle murmur, “I love you, too, my beloved.”

The years had rolled by on the grassland, life remaining, more or less, unchanged. This era of prosperity continued with the village now under Sylus’ leadership. You had seen six springs passed since your marriage to Sylus, and from this union, you two were blessed again and again and again.

The warriors are home! came the familiar words from the village and carried all the way down to the field where the sheep grazed.

“Mother, Mother, Father is home! Father is home!” your children ran by you barefooted, many already leaving you behind to rush to the village entrance.

Your twins helped you to your feet, and your hand settled on the large, round bump you carried once more. Another child was on the way. Your seventh.

Swaddled and resting on your back was your sixth, barely ten months old. He cooed happily, seemingly sensing his older siblings’ excitement. You smiled, always delighting in hearing your children’s sweet laughter.

You carefully made your way back to the village, listening fondly as your twins chatted and laughed. They were the spitting image of their father from head to toes, and while they inherited little of your physical appearance, they gained many of your mannerisms and quirks instead.

When you and the twins finally arrived at the village square, a crowd had already formed. After months apart, families were reunited again. This familiar scene had played out so many times before in the past, and yet you never tired of it. As always, there would be a celebration, for the glory and victories these brave men have brought home, but more importantly, to celebrate families reuniting once more.

As you and the twins treaded through the dense crowd, you saw your beloved husband towering in the center. Sylus already had his youngest daughter—barely three—sitting on his shoulders, her little legs swung over his shoulders and her small hands tugging at his hair happily. Your other daughter and son danced circles around their father asking for their turn to be held by him. You laughed softly as you witnessed Sylus’ overjoyed but helpless expression as he tried to accommodate his children.

At the sound of your familiar laughter, Sylus looked up. Seeing your approaching figure, his crimson eyes lit up with joy. He carefully set his daughter down to join her siblings. The twins immediately left your side and ran to their father cheering and already showering him with questions and praises. He greeted his sons affectionately, kneeling down to embrace all of his children and accept their kisses.

Your youngest son was now held in your arms, balanced on your hip as you stood in your place. You gazed at Sylus with the same love and joy as the spring when you had married him. Sylus slowly stood up, sighing blissfully as he took in the sight of you round and heavy again with his child.

“I’m home,” he said the familiar words warmly, and your heart swelled with happiness and love.

“Welcome home,” you responded fondly, smiling as he crossed the distance with just a few short strides. He gathered you into his arms, enveloping you in a familiar warmth and scent only he possessed. You sighed happily against him, only broken out of your daze when you heard your youngest son giggling. He squirmed against you as he held his little arms out for his father. You smiled as Sylus took the baby boy from you, easily holding him in one arm.

Beneath the azure sky, in his loving embrace, you remembered a story Sylus had once told, a memory that was yet to come. The sweet bell-like laughter of your children was carried on the playful wind across the luscious grassland. Surely this moment must be it, you thought, unable to fathom a greater happiness than this.

Sylus knelt down before you, his lips touching your growing belly fondly, his touch gentle and loving.

“My beloved.”

You looked down lovingly at your husband, your heart beating quietly for him as he gently guided your youngest son’s hand to your round belly. He spoke softly to the baby boy, his voice sweet and tender. Sylus looked up, the depths of his love for you reflected in his crimson eyes.

In this moment, you also recalled the elders had long ago told tales of a paradise after life, but you wondered how there could be a greater heaven than the one on the grassland with your lover—your destined half.

Sylus.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #lnds fanfics #sylus smut #x — fanfics #me realizing this is the second sylus fic where you guys planted a seed in my head #and it turned into a 10k+ word fic #am i #am i just #that easy to coerce???#is the sylus chokehold that bad?????#(yes)#(but that’s ok)#(my soft sylus agenda will live on heck yeah)#(ok bye thank you for reading stay hydrated you lovely lovely ppl <3)

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 months ago

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smart - October 6th - jegulus - @stag-microfic - word count: 172

"Mister Potter," McGonagall surveyed him over the tops of her glasses, eyes boring into his soul. "You're intelligent. One of the smartest students in your year, actually. You may not put your best effort into all of your work, but you certainly don't need a tutor."

Swallowing, James debated on explaining. Minerva McGonagall was strict, and uncompromising, and had standards higher than the Astronomy Tower. But she also had a soft side. And James was getting desperate.

"Listen, Minnie," he said, tilting his head and grinning abashedly. "What if I told you that, yeah, I do alright in Potions. But...I could be a bloody genius and I wouldn't be able to get Regulus Black to talk to me without an excuse. So...I need some help."

The professor stared at him for a full minute, expression unyielding, before sighing. "One session. That's probably all I can convince him to do, anyway. After that, you need to work your own magic, Mister Potter. You are smart, after all."

And James left her office grinning madly.

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queers-gambit · 2 months ago

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Tower Scrolls

prompt: during the Siege of Eregion, Elrond barters for his fiancé's life, and her life's work.

pairing: Elrond x intended!female!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 4.1k+

note: brain go wonky, don't take this too serious

warnings: we got angst! we got drama! we got spoilers! i think it's more hurt and comfort, but to each their own! there's cursing, character injury, canon-complicit character death, blood, depiction of abuse and torture, violence, is this a reader insert? i don't know anymore, but i think so. oneshot, filler, very abrupt ending.

Fire rained from the sky. Ash snowed on once white-sand buildings. Tension permeated the air. Blood irrigated soil.

Eregion was under attack.

Elves screamed in despair, Orcs snarled from outside the city walls, and no matter where you turned, you were trapped in this never ending barrage of violent misfortune. To the best of your ability, you manned the city walls and ordered the citizens of Eregion to find shelter, tunnel out of the city, or pick up arms and fight - fight for their homes, their families, their lives.

It was nearly a natural succession of power after dedicating majority of your life to Eregion and Lord Celebrimbor; a common presence, friendly face, such an outstanding ally that few hesitated to take your command. Yet you were met with resistance, some Elves rejecting your orders in favor of this "Annatar, Lord of Gifts," apparently sent from the Valar themselves to aid Celebrimbor in his creative work. They thought he was Lord of Eregion now, and since you were loyal to the previous Lord - who Annatar claimed had lost his ever sharp mind - you were looked upon with the same frown.

So, you did the only thing you thought you could do.

You protected your Lord, almost to the extent of your life. Too many had already fallen, you refused to follow; insisting on remaining with Lord Celebrimbor for the duration of his efforts so long as Annatar was in Eregion. The immortal being wasn't keen on the idea, but Celebrimbor was much soothed around you - so, he agreed, on the condition that your Lord finish his work on the Nine Rings.

After escaping before, Annatar thought the best suited idea would be to chain Lord Celebrimbor to his work bench; knowing you did not have the means to break him free and feeling it was a safe move. However, as you witnessed, the will of the Lord of Eregion was by far stronger than that of The Deceiver.

"I cannot!" You begged your Master. "No, you will not ask this of me! The audacity you possess - "

"You must!" Celebrimbor insisted, taking your cheeks in hand to smush your lips in a pucker. "Listen to me - listen! You have always known right from wrong, but now is not a time for rationality, it's a time for action. He mustn't get the Rings, I need you to run with them. Run away - far, far away from here, use the tunnels - "

"I will not abandon you," you snarled, "nor will I abandon this city, not while she still stands!"

"This is bigger than us, bigger than Eregion," Celebrimbor tried to convey his severity, forcing the Rings in your hand - but you were stubborn. For all the traits he loved, he despised your pigheadedness the most - despite admiring it once upon a time. So, he managed to convince you to cut just his thumb off after originally asking you to take the whole hand so the cuff could slide off, but he downgraded to just his digit for the same desired effect.

"Go," you begged him, tears in your eyes as you wrapped his hand with a clean(ish) cloth to staunch the bleeding. "Go, please, before He returns. Do not look back, my Lord."

"Come with me - "

"I'll hold Him off to give you more time. Now, go. Go!"

It wasn't easy, but Celebrimbor left you behind. No sooner had you confirmed his escape did Annatar return; surveying the workshop and you with sinister eyes.

"Where is he?"

"With luck? Far from here. With hope? Even past that," you answered, stood in the middle of the room - looking as if nothing could phase you. All a lie, of course, but Sauron didn't need to know you were close to pissing your pants out of sheer intimidation. "So... You're Him? I have to admit," you gestured at him, "it's a bit of a let down."

"I have many names - "

"Oh, spare me the personal lore all of Middle-earth knows," you snipped, offering a stale look. "You need a new story."

However, Sauron smirked and circled you, taunting, "I know you know where he went. I know you know where the Rings are, too."

"Then have a look in my mind, see for yourself," you smirked back, "go ahead and see that I purposefully did not ask and my Lord did not tell. Go on, if you do not believe me, have a look and know you are wrong - " You were cut off by your own gasp when Sauron's eyes rolled before he brandished a sword to pierce through your foot and into the floor.

"Where. Is. He?" Sauron seethed in your face; hot breath fanning the fly away hairs.

"Away from you," you managed to grit, the sword in too deep to yank free by yourself. "You'll never find them," you laughed without humor when Sauron's anger got the best of him; storming through the workshop, tearing it apart, searching in vain for Nine Rings that were not there. In his anger, you obtained a series of fresh blemishes as he threw anything he could to the sound of your amusement.

Yet any glimmer of hope in your chest was doused, all traces of faith and humor vanishing when guards lead Celebrimbor back into the workshop; discovering the destroyed forge and you, pinned by a bloody foot in the midst. You couldn't move from your place as the guards surrounded Sauron with the intention to apprehend him, yet you saw the threat before anyone else. You begged the guards, your kin, your brethren, to back away, to take your Lord and flee! You begged them to run. You begged them to listen, to hear you!

But it was too late.

Sauron turned your people on one another and had them slaughter each other before disposing of the final guard himself. You screamed at Celebrimbor to run, nearly tearing the blade through bone as you attempted to reach for the man who had taught you your entire life. The man who gave you a chance. The man who built you a home. The man who introduced you to your intended. The man you loved like a father.

But Sauron's grasp extended to all.

Celebrimbor was beaten senseless, the Dark Lord trying to pry information about the Nine from him by any means. Yet your Lord did not budge... And that's when Sauron turned to you. "Please, no! Don't! She doesn't know anything! I swear, please, spare her!" Celebrimbor pleaded when Sauron ripped the sword from your foot before knocking you to your knees; bowstring pulled back, arrow armed and aimed at your calf. "She doesn't know amything!" Celebrimbor screamed as your first tear fell.

"But you do," Sauron narrated, loosing the arrow into your flesh. You tried to subdue your screams, but the immortal took to alternating between shooting you and Celebrimbor with arrows; though his struck lethally, yours struck painfully. To Sauron, you were a plaything; a token to negotiate with, attempting to withdraw information by offering you harm, thinking it was enough to break Celebrimbor.

He was mistaken.

You panted as blood dribbled from the corner of your mouth, wincing as Sauron's boot came down on your knee; smearing his heel into an open wound with you flat on your back. "She... She doesn't know," Celebrimbor tried again. "She is... She's the Lady of Eregion now, and I would not curse her with such a burden as you have me!"

"Oh, a promotion?" Sauron mused, glancing at you - but you saw his underlying desperation.

"Eregion is no more," you whispered, head lulling on the floor to meet Celebrimbor's eyes and smile sadly. Blood lined your teeth. "It would've been the honor of my life should I have been able to defend your city, my Lord."

"Our city."

"How touching," Sauron's eyes rolled.

"She doesn't know," Celebrimbor repeated in anger.

"I know," Sauron nodded, "I looked in her mind. Still, the bond between you is greater - perhaps, you'd be more inclined to share with her?"

"He'd never," you chuckled in delirium, "he'd never sacrifice this world for the likes of you." Another arrow thumped into your shoulder, making you groan as Sauron angrily tossed the bow aside. Fearing your life was soon to be extinguished, you whispered, "I-I'm so sorry, my Lord. I failed you."

"No, do not say such a thing," Celebrimbor insisted, Sauron stalking over you before squatting in front of the Elven smith, "for it is I who failed you..."

Sauron sighed, sounding condescending yet soft as he reached over to stroke Celebrimbor's cheek, "Look what you have done to yourself."

You didn't care for his poisoned words, knowing your time was limited - just like Celebrimbor's. Yet the Dark Lord tried one last tactic: mercy. He promised to end your joint suffering should the location of the Nine be revealed. Your Lord was defiant still. So, Sauron tried gaslighting, and when that didn't work, he begged, "Please."

Still, it did not work and Celebrimbor affirmed his time was ending... So, naturally, after he plucked up a spear, Sauron threatened, "There are ways of keeping you both alive." In Sindarin, he added, "Friend." To the look of horror on Celebrimbor's bloody face, Sauron offered, "Must I show you my mastery of that craft as well?"

"'Craft'?" Your Lord chuckled ruefully. Then he spat, "Your only craft is treachery. So pure, it shall betray the very hand that forges it."

Sauron stepped over your limp, bleeding form too casually, quietly seething, "Your words are empty."

"No," Celebrimbor insisted, sitting himself up slightly. "No, hear me. Hear me!" Your dimming eyes widened as your Lord found his feet, back against the stone pillar he had once slumped against as support. "Shadow of Morgoth! Hear the dying words of Celebrimbor! With only Y/N, Lady of Eregion as witness!" You didn't move, you couldn't... You were defeated, you knew there was no way Sauron would let you leave this tower alive. So, you listened and bore witness for as long as you were capable of doing so. "The Rings of Power shall destroy you. And in the end, I foresee one alone shall prove your," he shouted, "utter ruin!"

"NO!" You screamed when Sauron turned, shouting in anger as he strode over you and stabbed Celebrimbor with his spear. You could only watch in fearful disgust as the Dark Lord, still in fair form, hoisted the Lord of Eregion up the stone pillar as if a flag on a pole.

Celebrimbor was in obvious pain, mouth agape, blood dribbling from his slathered lips. Sauron's words were still heard despite the low, quiet register, "You're wrong. I am their Creator." He growled, "I am their Master!"

"No," Celebrimbor's head shook as if pitying the immortal. "You are their... Prisoner. Sauron, Lord..." He trailed as his life's light was snuffed, "of the Rings."

You let your grief manifest in tears, watching as Celebrimbor's eyes found yours - conveying his goodbye as he mouthed one last apology... Then deflating as his soul, as promised, vacated this form to return to the shores. You didn't voice your note of Sauron's single tear, just staring at your Lord in disbelief - until the Dark Lord planted the end of his spear to the ground, staking Celebrimbor above all.

"N-No, no, wait!" You begged, trying to turn over onto your stomach to pull yourself across the ground. "No, please, please, take him down - get him down from there! Please, do not - do not leave him up there!" You cried out as arrow shafts were irritated back to life, reaching blindly - helplessly - upward as if you could reach the Lord of Eregion from his hoist.

Sauron watched you for a moment, the Orcs heard marching up the tower. With a swift swing of his leg, Sauron kicked your jaw - effectively knocking you out and overturning your body to your back; splayed out as if on display... Similar, but not akin, to Celebrimbor - whose pooling blood soaked into your gown.

Through your unconsciousness, Sauron eventually ordered Eregion be razed to the ground, every Elf slaughtered, and the Elven leaders be brought before him - unharmed. He gave specific instruction for every scroll in Celebrimbor's workshop to be torched; his way of punishing you for your insolence over supporting and protecting Celebrimbor.

When you awoke, the tower was quiet. You stiffly lifted your hand to your jaw; rubbing it tenderly, letting your sight refocus and being acutely aware of every feeling in your body.

"Fuuuuuuuck," you whimpered, trying to sit up but being unable due to protruding arrows. You went limp again, feeling a single twinge of anger you had to wake up because your eyes caught sight of and stared at Celebrimbor.

You failed...

You gasped shrilly when hands seized your upper arms and heaved; lugging you over the shoulders of two Orcs as a third swiped at the arrows to break them in the most painful way possible. Considering their brutish nature, you would've thought they'd have lopped your head off and moved along - but instead, they began carrying you towards the door.

"Wha-What's happening?" You asked through a slur, feet dragging under you, spying one of the Orcs gathering scrolls and tomes you spent your life writing alongside Celebrimbor in their dirty arms. "Wait - wait - what're you doing? What're you doing!?"

"Quiet!" An Orc snarled, dropping the hilt of his dagger to the soft part of the base of your head where it connected to your neck. You were silent out of sheer pain.

Down the tower you were drug, brought into the devastated courtyard where Orcs snarled at you from all sides; the two that carried you dropping you on your shattered knees. You were held at knifepoint as Orcs streamed from the tower and dropped your scrolls and tomes in several different piles a short distance away. Head injury caused your sight to blur in and out, but you knew what they were doing... What they intended.

"Please, please, don't do this," you whimpered, hearing several Orcs laugh. "No... No, no, no, no, please! Don't - " You had no more fight as collectively, your records were so extensive that several piles were made, few set ablaze.

All around you, Elves were slaughtered mercilessly, bodies left behind where they fell; the sounds of the city dying with them as the Orcs ran out of the innocent lives to claim. You could only watch. Before you, the Orcs tossed banded lassos around the decorated statue of Faenor, evident their desecration knew no bounds.

Yet hope sparked... The blade at your neck tightening when you perked up upon seeing several Orcs leading few saved Elves into the courtyard - your fiancé one of them.

"Elrond!" You cried, the Orc snarling a hiss as the hand in your hair yanked back. You struggled to the point of blood draw when Elrond's sight casted on you - trying to escape his captors, but being held back.

"Y/N!" He called back, the High King Gil-galad at his side and finding you amongst the rubble, too. The King muttered something you couldn't hear, but to Elrond, he understood the Sindarin word: wait.

"Hey!" You snapped, blade drawing a line of blood from your neck; pressure mounting as he pressed closer. You growled in annoyance.

Faenor toppled to the ground, shattering the heart of any Elf left to witness - Orcs mounting him, ravaging for hidden and seen treasures. With Gil-galad, Elrond, and other survivors, the Orcs moved inward as if to ensure the Elves had a front row viewing to the incineration of their culture.

"Y/N," Gil-galad called to attention, earning several snarls and hisses, "where is Lord Celebrimbor?"

"Dead," you whimpered, Orc growling at you in reprimand.

Elrond's eyes swept over the scene and swiftly understood the impending doom. The largest of the scroll piles was before the Elves now, an Orc pacing around it with his torch alight, tears down your cheeks as you couldn't look away as if in a trance you did not realize.

"No, Uruk! No!" Elrond begged when the Orc went to drop the flame; you struggling against your captor, both hands around his meaty wrist.

"No!" Gil-galad's beg echoed around you.

"That is the full record of Celebrimbor's works," Elrond tried to make the Orcs understand potential ramifications. "The wisdom of all who ever dwelt in this place, all accounted by the Lady Y/N, whose work cannot be found outside Eregion! Its value is beyond jewels or even blood! Take our lives," Elrond gestured to himself and the King, you struggling again on horridly abused knees, "but leave it be, I beg you."

Perhaps you were far too used to people listening when your fiancé spoke because you eagerly sat forward best you could while thinking perhaps the Orcs would listen to Elrond. Imagine your acute and heavy despair when the Orc laughed manically and turned to shove the torch into the bundle of fragile parchment. "NO!" You sobbed uselessly, watching the last of your life's work go up in flame.

You fought against the Orc's grip as Gil-galad snarled, "Cowardly traitors!"

"You fucking bastards!" Your head reared back to (painfully - nobody wins with a headbutt) break the Orc's nose. He released you as other Orcs were wrestling Gil-galad to the ground, able to pick up a blade and take out three too-close enemies.

It was the first time Elrond heard such language fall from your lips, but all he could register was the Orc punching you in the jaw in an attempt to subdue you - blood spitting to the side, seemingly darkening a bruise already blooming. He's never felt such rage.

Elrond fought with his bare hands; elbowing the Orcs behind him, punching the ones before him, fighting to get closer to you. He got ahold of a torch, screaming in white-hot anger as he set the Orc that hit you ablaze; dropping the torch and taking you into his embrace.

"My love," he breathed in your ear, able to peck your cheek just as the snarling Orcs forcefully ripped you out of his arms. "No, no!" He tried to reach out for you, but both were wrangled in.

"Please, don't! NO! No, no, no!" You gasped when Elrond was taken in custody, yet it wasn't you who saved him.

Another Orc reminded, "No! Lord Sauron wanted their leaders unharmed."

"Well, what about her? She looks injured," A different Orc growled, jostling your shoulder and pointing his dagger at your throat. Elrond was forced to his knees as you were, facing one another.

"Lord Sauron did that, said to discipline her should she resist," the Orc answered in a hiss, others shoving more Elves into the courtyard - including Arondir from the battlefield. A blade was held to Elrond's throat as your head bowed in the heat of the bonfire; being ripped up by your hair and forced to turn to watch the flames. The Orcs noticed the pair of you seemingly cared more about the literature than your lives, so, they thought you should relish in this moment.

So Elrond was held in a similar position, but his sight was on you; watching you crumple into despair while more Orcs tossed the last of the scrolls into the flames. Your life, since a youthful student, had been spent intermittently in Eregion under the care of Lord Celebrimbor, whom you thought of as an adoptive father, learning heraldry. He let you work at his side, keeping accurate, detailed record of his philosophies, ideas, processes, and creations for the histories. Yet, now, they wafted into the air as ash - lost to this Age, never to be recovered or duplicated or seen again.

Once more, you dropped your head, earning a backhand to the temple. Gritting your teeth, you let the Orc force your head up but shut your eyes tightly, defiantly; hearing their breathing turn ragged. "Cut her eyelids open!" An Orc barked.

"That's not what Lord Sauron said," another seethed with refusal.

"She's resisting!"

An Orc scoffed and stabbed your thigh with a dagger, eyes flying open as you gasped in pain. "There! See!" It laughed, holding you in a chokehold as tears leaked down your cheeks. Elrond struggled and shuddered against his captors, hating the sight of you dismantling yourself emotionally, but to witness your abuse, he hated more.

Then, from a short distance, a horn bellowed.

"Dwarves!" King Gil-galad identified, the Elves rejuvenated by the surprise (and delayed) arrival of aid. In tandem, they began to resist; yourself included by ripping the dagger from your thigh and driving it into your captor's ribs; praying flesh came too when the blade was ripped free.

He grunted and shoved you forward onto your chest and hands, able to flop over to watch your approaching demise - only to discover Elrond surging up to the Orc and snapping its neck with his bare hands.

"Elrond!" You gasped when the Orc fell to the side... Dead.

"C'mere," the half-Elf you intended to marry panted, reaching down to yank you onto your bloody feet; catching you on his chest when your weight buckled. "I got you, I've got you, love, you're safe," he whispered, hoisting you into his embrace before turning for the stream of Dwarves. "Durin!" He greeted jovially.

But when the Dwarf turned, it wasn't the ginger prince Elrond knew like a brother. The dark haired Dwarf heaved a sigh, informing, "The Prince... Is in mourning," before rushing off into the fray.

"'Mourning'?" You repeated in a daze. "Over Disa?"

"His father, perhaps?" Elrond guessed, tightening his arms to lift you and turn away from an Orc rushing forward. He blocked the enemy's advance, trying to keep secure hold of you - leaving an opportunity for you to use the last of your strength to drive your dagger (still in hand) into the Orc's throat. "Good girl," Elrond praised as the creature fell, panting from exhaustion. "Can you still fight?"

"I can barely stand on my own, Elrond," you whimpered, gripping his neck and shoulders in a vice grip to remain upright.

He nodded, "Right." With a sniffle, he lifted you again and rushed for an alcove, depositing you in rubble before caressing your face. "How bad?" He asked softly.

"Enough."

"Let me see - "

"Elrond, there's no time," you snatched his hands when he attempted to reach for your skirt, "the city is under attack, it's falling to Sauron - you need to help them. Go, go fight."

"I won't leave you."

Your ears rang with the same words you told Celebrimbor.

"You have to, this is bigger than any of us," you repeated what you'd been told.

"Elrond!" Gil-galad was heard calling, Arondir appearing in the mouth of the alcove.

"Over here!"

When the High King arrived, he paused to take in the sight of the pair of you. "Good," he panted, "you're both alive. The Dwarves are aiding our escape, we must leave now... The city is fallen," he directed at you.

"You should all go," you sniffled.

With confusion, Elrond snapped, "Without you?"

"I've business to see to in the tower."

"The tower will fall," Arondir explained, slowly lowering to a squat to put himself on your level. "Whatever you think is left is lost, my Lady."

"Celebrimbor's in there. I was taken before I could get him down."

"'Down'?" Gil-galad repeated, "What does that mean?"

Tears filled your eyes, telling the trio what Sauron did to you and your Lord; the King insisting hope was lost and it was time to go. "I cannot walk," you whispered, shaking your head, "and my injuries surpass - "

"I will carry you," Elrond rushed, holding your cheek gently, "I will not leave you behind."

"No... She will walk," Gil-galad stepped forward, revealing his Ring of Power, Vilya. You were unsure what his intention, but Elrond moved behind you to let you lean back into his chest as the King chanted his prayers.

Yet you passed out before fully healed.

"My King - "

"She's alive," Gil-galad soothed Elrond, the hand hosting Vilya laid to your forehead, "just exhausted. She's been through much, far more than I care to fathom. Sauron took it easy on her, he used mortal weapons against her."

"He didn't intend to kill her?" Arondir questioned.

"He needed her alive - whatever the reason," Gil-galad frowned.

"Will she wake?" Elrond worried.

"I have faith she will, trust in the Valar," the King nodded. "Now, if you intend to fight another day, we must go. Now."

And so, the Lady of Eregion was smuggled out of the smoking city in the arms of the Elf she loved, leaving behind all she knew and created. By the Third Age, at least one scroll written by her hand could be found in every library of Middle-earth; and in the Great Library Elrond built for her, detailed accounts of Lord Celebrimbor's work as recalled and honored by his adopted daughter, future Lady of Imladris.

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