#anything she touches is tainted

[madame-mongoose]

can we ask. why you dont like hazbin hotel?

I could write a whole essay on why I don't like it or the other show. But I don't think that'll be very productive or healthy so in simpler terms: I don't like the designs, the story, the characters, and I really REALLY don't like Viv herself

[tenwhiteandalusians]

pertaining to the idea of tenax’s band of strays i do think it’s touching that the kids are the ones who saved him and waited outside the door to make sure he’s okay. for all tenax claims to be harsh and cruel it’s a fine indicator of his character that the kids won’t rest without him and are there every time he’s in danger.

[beloveds-embrace]

duke au angst, but könig isn’t a knight. He’s either not in it and reader just sinks into a pit of depression and withdrawals so much that rumours start speculation around the ton that reader is either dead or murder and it starts to take a toll on john reputation (they start going after why him, simon, johnny and kyle are so close) or a könig is an Austrian duke/way closer to royalty and when he’s over for business with John and/or simon, he and the reader hit it off (much to the boys dismay) and reader plans on leaving without a word, leaving nothing more than a vague letter that details why and a set of divorce papers (helped achieved by könig) and by the time they realise their mistake readers already living the high life in austria

….okay but the first one’s got me downright obsessed, anon 😩 second one too and i feel like i will absolutely end up caving and writing it later but for now, have this!

Angst dukedom post

Non-angst dukedome post(no konig in this one)

No but seriously, there is only so much you can take. Between everyone’s dismissal of you, the lack of any meaningful company, the loneliness- it was only a matter of time before you just… can’t do it anymore.

The change, though it starts slow, is impossible to hide. You stop having dinner with John, finding no solace in the taste of lukewarm, half-heartedly prepared food. You tell yourself it’s not worth it- the stilted conversations, the empty looks, the way his eyes always drift to anything but you. He’s too busy sharing hidden glances with Kyle, exchanging quiet touches with Johnny when he hand delivers the food, speaking to Simon with an intensity that has never been for you.

You stop attending the endless galas and balls you are meant expected to attend as the Duchess. You withdraw from the tea parties, from every suffocating event where you were paraded as nothing more than an ornament on Duke Price’s arm. You withdraw from the public eye itself.

Instead, you drift through the duchy, through the rooms that are suddenly empty when you arrive. You drift to and fro, in a haze of lonelinthat and slow-setting exhaustion.

The maids whispered of you before, but it used to be out of your earshot; now, you can hear them clearly, none of them afraid of being punished when not even your own husband can stand your sight. They mutter about how sickly you look, how your eyes are dull and lifeless.

She’s wasting away.

Maybe it’s for the best.

No one can love someone who fades into the walls.

But of course, the whispers aren’t just within the duchy. Rumors ripple out beyond the duchy’s walls-

The Duchess has gone mad, they say. Locked away by her husband, for her own good.

She ran away in the dead of night, they say. Couldn’t bear her husband’s coldness. Maybe he drove her to it.

He’s always with Duke Riley, isn’t he? Or the butler. Or the chef.

Poor thing. No wonder she vanished.

All of it gnaws and bites at John’s reputation, at yours, but he never comes to you and it doesn’t surprise you at all. He would rather find a way to bury it all then simply check on you. The facade has always been more important, and he keeps it with half-hearted excuses half-believed by some and dismissed by others.

But they are relentless, and soon they taint every interaction he has. No one meets him without a hint of suspicion in their eyes. How much of it is true, they seem to ask. What did you do to her? Is she really gone? She was a good woman, how could you do that to her? There is more scrutiny now on the time he spends with Simon, with Kyle, with Johnny. He starts to avoid public events himself, unwilling to face the relentless gossip that hangs over him now like a dark cloud.

Eventually, you stop dressing for the day, leaving your hair unkempt, your gowns crumpled and out of style. No one comes to check on you, the maids happy at having less work, and you tell yourself that you prefer it that way. No eyes to judge. No lips to lie. The solitude is nothing new, even if it’s never been this severe before.

Time blurs, too. You stop looking at the newspapers when they stop being delivered. The days mean nothing when every morning brings only a new kind of numbness, and some days you spend entirely in bed, too tired to even think about taking a step outside.

Yet, even with your noticeable absence, nothing changes. No one knocks on your door, not even once. No one checks to see if you’re eating, breathing, surviving. You feel so achingly lonely.

John doesn’t approach you once. You have become a specter, more distant than ever. And though he and the others feel a creeping sense of guilt- Kyle finds himself lingering outside your door, only to turn away with clenched fists; Johnny’s jokes die in his throat when he hears your name; Simon stares at the spot you used to take during the dinners and lunches he’d join; John stares at the very few portraits of you that line the walls and wonders how he’d even go about approaching you- none of them move to truly mend the gaping distance between you. They regret their neglect, but they do not know how to fix it. Or maybe they are simply too late.

dukedom au masterlist Part Two: Fix-it

[councilofcastamere]

WINTER NIGHTS | CREGAN STARK X TARG!READER ꧂

a b r i d g e m e n t : With tensions rising, your elder half-sister Rhaenyra arranges for you to seek asylum in the freezing land of the North. And fortunately for you, Cregan is there to show you how Northmen operate.

TW: penetration, loss of virginity, breeding kink, mentions gender roles but in a sexy way, sexual tension, sibling jealousy, childhood neglect, mentions of death by birth, shitty character development

A/N: I know the girly portrayed is Visenya but her body is tea in this so maybe I do know best…

The second daughter. The oh-so passed over maiden. Not belonging to anything, nor belonging to nothing. Not the first, and not the last. An ever enduring memory to a passed over era. Nothing significant. Never anything significant.

That’s what you were. Insignificance. A beautiful insignificance, if you could see beauty in tragedy. Beauty in all the ways of life. All the little horrible things that make up a big, beautiful, picture. People shan’t look close, you’d assure yourself.

But you were you. Born to the everlasting way of royal life. To the peaceful Viserys, and his second wife, a woman whose name is not all that important. Another maiden from a noble house that perished to childbirth. Lost her life, giving life.

And as it did not to many maidens, the Gods did not grant you the chance to grow up with your mother. The blood that dripped down her thighs had covered you from head to toe as you came into existence, and she had naught of you in her arms before a deep and long slumber overcame her. The stranger had come for her, and he did not slow down on its way. He’d taken her as quick as she’d given you to the world. A quick exchange, you’d suppose.

Now and then you think about her. What she might have looked like, what she might have liked, what she might have been had she survived the wretched burden of your existence. You’d often wonder if infants who survived childbirth ever felt as deep a burden as she did. To have your very first breath of life tainted with the death of an innocent. Tainted with tragedy.

Growing up in King’s Landing hadn’t been all that as it sounded. You’d never really been that happy, as ungracious as it sounded.

You had an older sister - Rhaenyra - who’d occasionally humoured you. You’d never seen much of her, really. Perhaps it was your own fault as well. For not actively seeking her out. For not being the younger sister one was supposed to be. Some people - as close to you as they may be - are just unattainable in your mind. Your kin aren’t your kin until you allow it.

You have better companions than her, you figured. You had your lady-in-waitings. Lady Vievenne of house Swann. Lady Laycie of house Oldflowers. Lady Claere of house Ambrose. Lady Evelyne of house Hightower, who was, by all accounts, a gift from your newest stepmother, Alicent of the house Hightower.

What you also had was younger siblings. Such as Aegon. Though he is naught but a skirt enthusiast, swimming along the sea of young maidens at his whim. But he cares not whether they are, does he?

And oh, do not get yourself started on the one-eyed prince and that smug little smile on his sharp-featured face. Nonetheless, he was gentle. Oh so gentle with his touch. And oh so sinister in the way that made you feel important enough to be in his good graces.

However, you chose to distance yourself from all parties involved as fate made it clear what it had in store. A great slap to the great Targaryen dynasty. A dark cloud looming over the already curse-clad clan.

For even you knew that the only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon, was itself.

“Sister.” you greeted one late evening, having taken flight to Dragonstone on your she-dragon, Starfyre. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“…y/n.” the elder sister called out, a small smile on her lips. “I… am glad for your visit.”

“…I’m certain you are,” you say, trying with all your might to contain a frown.

You eyed her awkwardly as she wiped her sweaty hands off her dress, letting out a sigh as the elder royal wasn’t quite certain how to approach the topic.

“I… understand… things quite haven’t been… that active, in our kinship,” Rhaenyra speaks up, taking a step closer. “And for that, I apologise.”

You could only nod, a small smile gracing your lips at the heartwarming confession of absent love.

“I apologise, also.” you smiled, your hands finding each other behind your back. “I suppose I should have been the one to seek your company and counsel as well.”

“Good.” Rhaenyra smiled awkwardly, a silence engulfing the echo-ridden chambers. “The reason, as to why I called you, might be surprising.”

You froze slightly, heart pounding as the possibilities of implications travelled through your mind. The goosebumps on your arms grew more prominent as a cold breeze passed through.

“Oh?” you answered, cocking a brow. “And what might that be, sister?”

“I ask of you to travel to the North,” Rhaenyra admits, a tone of seriousness overshadowing the warm moment. “I have already sent a raven to Lord Cregan Stark, and he has agreed to host you. If it pleases you, of course.”

No answer came out of your lips, save for your a mere breath. You felt a pang in your heart, consuming your every emotion, making certain you cannot detect how you feel about the news.

A dragon in the north? What a jest. You’d do better in Dorne, surrounded by sun-kissed squires and stable boys than laddish lordlings and Northern butchers.

“And… why should I?” you asked, respect in your tone. “Pardon me, my sister, but why have you made this decision for me?”

“Tensions are rising, y/n. You know that as well as I do.” Rhaenyra sighs, her body language giving up on its tense posture. “And I am aware of your… complex feelings on it. But to the North you must. I’m sending Rhaena to the Va-”

“Yes, because Rhaena gets to be hosted by a relative of yours, in safety. Meanwhile you sent me off to some Northern stranger!”

“Y/n.” Rhaenyra warned, raising a brow. She took a step closer as you composed your words. “You are my sister, and I will have you safe in the North. The Northmen are honourable men, and in time you’ll know.”

✫彡

And so you were, clad in thick fur, lady Vivenne and lady Evelyne at both sides of yourself. Across from you sat three servants, and somewhere else sat your sworn shield.

“It will be splendid.” Evelyne beamed, properly adjusting her hair, tied up in a bun, similar to the ones the older maidens wear. “We shall meet every dusk, and speak about our day. In front of the fire.”

“Not if I can help it.” you sighed softly. “Apologies, my ladies, but I’ll let you two get at it. I’d love to explore the North in solitude.”

“Right…” Vivenne nodded, looking through the small peep holes as the carriage slowed down, just outside the gates of Winterfell. “We’ve arrived, I suppose. You’ll have to greet Lord Stark. If he’s anything we’ve heard of and more, I wish you luck.”

You only nodded, watching as your ladies exited the carriage, standing at the side of the door. Their faces are cast down, as if in mourning. Perhaps they’re mourning the life of luxury provided at King’s Landing.

You could not blame them for it, really. From growing up in their own house, to growing up in the Royal house, to trade it again to live to see the snowy winters of Winterfell.

You shook slightly, the cold air hitting your face in an instant as you slightly lifted your dress, taking a step out of the three provided for the carriage.

You looked ahead of you, eyes locking on the noblemen and women, standing straight and proud. The women bore clothes of low quality, so obviously sewn to fit any class. The men wore dark furs, contrasting to the blue clothing of the opposite sex.

And in the midst of it, stood Cregan Stark, accompanied by a mere little boy of just two years of age. Your eyes locked upon his stormy-grey ones, his face etched into a stern expression, eyes focused on yours.

You maintained the eye contact, taking each step closer to him.

“Princess Y/N.” Cregan greeted formally, taking your soft hand in his. “Welcome to Winterfell. I am Lord Cregan Stark.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” you smile, curtsying in a fashionable manner. Your eyes stood glued on his as his lips brushed against the palm of your hand. “I’m truly honoured to be here.”

“…I’m certain you are.” Cregan answered, eyeing you skeptically.

Hearing false compliments wasn’t out of the ordinary for the wolf of Winterfell. He knew well enough that you weren’t suited for the North. You were a Southern lady, used to the life of feasts, luxury, and sparkly dresses.

“Let us go inside, shall we?” you smiled charmingly, looking up at the tall castle with dread in your eyes.

“Aye, so we shall.” Cregan nodded, his broad shoulders most notable as he sauntered into the opened gates.

✫彡

The first night went unfamiliar to you, the harsh blows of the cold weather creating a prominent presence looming over the already melancholic times.

You sat in your chambers, sitting at the stony window sill as you watched Cregan from above.

The lord was overlooking young squires on the courtyard, engaged in conversation with the knight in charge of guiding the young to-be-knights.

All dressed in fur, shoulders looking as if they were padded. Cregan’s hair was tied up, with two front strands escaping and hanging loose. His grey-blue eyes stood glued at watching the young squire’s techniques, and you could only sigh as you got lost in his appearance.

Ever since stepping foot into the North of Westeros, you’d developed a strange sense of interest in the beauty of Northern men. How they all dressed so grimly, but intimidating. How they’re oh-so honourable and hard working. How they always seemed so clean shaven but rugged all at once.

And you could not help but wonder what it would be like had you wedded one of them.

Being completely honest, you’d never really been the sort of maiden to stay inside of her chambers, waiting for her husband to return from his duty, deprived of affection.

With any Southern lord, being a doting unappreciated wife would never cross your mind.

But with Northern men, however, you had the feeling your efforts wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Before you could continue your vulgarly confusing thoughts, you saw Cregan’s eyes shift to yours, finding your gaze.

You could only lean against the window, a hand on the stony side as you gazed back at him. Your hair was loose, and you were dressed in your creamy beige nightdress.

You held his gaze for a moment, until ultimately turning away, leaving the implications of that gaze to his imagination.

✫彡

By the third day, you’d been reading in the old library belonging to House Stark. You’d sat on a plush seat, the dusty book on your lap as your gentle fingers flipped through the pages.

But you weren’t alone.

Cregan Stark sat near you, his knees in almost touching proximity to yours.

“Aye, the North is cold, but it’s honest.” he tells you, gently shutting his own book. “The snow doesn’t lie about its intention. No courtly games like they play in the South.”

“Oh, please.” you smiled, shutting your book as well. your body shifted so it was facing his, resting your head on one hand. “The courtly games are what makes it so fun.”

“Now, riddle me this.” You smiled, noting his full attention on you. His body language exuded calmness, and you felt secure in the knowledge that his comfort lies with you. “How do you not like courtly games? Personally, it makes my life all the more amusing.”

“I suppose it’s all jesting for you, princess.” Cregan said, his eyes resting on yours. “Amusement or not, I’d rather know where I stand…”

“With you, however…” His eyes trailed down to your bare shoulder, the white nightdress you’re wearing very much a sight of sore eyes. “I think I know.”

“Oh, do you?” you teased, cocking a brow. “And how so, pray tell?”

“Well…” he grunted, shifting in his seat to tighten the proximity around you two. “You’d do well not to cross any Northern man. They don’t take well to… courtly games.”

You only smiled at that, your upper body instinctively leaning in, albeit torturously slow.

“And, uh, suppose I… marry a Northern lord.” you teased quite coquettishly, a hand moving to rest on the thick fur coating his body. “What am I in for.”

You watched as his smirk only widened, gently taking the hand that rested on his fur, and taking it in his.

“Marry a Northern lord like me, and have your nights warmed under the thick fur of blankets.” he says, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles. “Northern loyalty runs deep, princess. That’s what you’d be in for.”

You nodded slowly, and you could not help but notice those coloured eyes of his descending onto your perky breasts.

Great, this was all going well so far. “I’d imagine… do you think he’d gift me a pup? I’ve always wanted a tiny pet, to keep.”

“Yeah?” The lord licked his lips, a hand resting on your waist. “You think you’d handle a wolf properly?”

“Well, I would.” you smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’m a dragon… and dragons do not surrender that easily.”

You smiled, shifting in your seat again as Cregan amusedly indulged you in your silly thoughts. “Just imagine it, my lord. I’d be holding that pup every night trying to get it to warm to me.”

Your hand slowly, but surely, trickled down to his clothed thigh, trying to maintain a sense of quiet intimacy.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you, then.” his voice lowered, bordering on husky. “Wolves aren’t so easily tamed, not even by someone with…”

He paused for a moment, a hand gently taking the one you placed on his thigh.

“…your charms.”

You’d have a cheeky comeback on the tip of your tongue, had it not been for Cregan’s lips descending upon yours, clashing together like Blackwoods and Brackens.

You let out a soft breath as you eased into the kiss, feeling his large hands grip your waists as if his life depended on it.

Your hands moved from his shoulders, to his neck, and then to his armoured chest. The armour he carried felt cold to your hands, yet it made it all the more sinful.

“Did you have this in mind?” you murmured against his lips, tongue circling his as you so sloppily attempted to kiss him. “Seducing me?”

The silence engulfed you two for a moment, only being overshadowed by the sound of soft breaths.

“You have it wrong, princess.” he breathed, firmly planting you upon his lap, your back pressing against his chest. “Do you take me for a halfwit?”

You smiled, looking over your shoulder as you attempted to chase his lips with yours again.

“No, but I certainly did not take you for a man so easily seduced.” you teased, guiding his hands to your clothed breasts. “You don’t seem the type to give in that easily.”

“Because it’s untrue.” he spoke up, lips brushing to against your neck. “But do you honestly think nothing would be done about the way you saunter around, looking as you do?”

His hands slowly tugged against your nightdress, pressing a hard kiss to your achy jaw before pulling away.

“Lay yourself down on the carpet.” he commanded, hands shifting to peel off his fur coat, along with his armour and tunic.

All you could do was nod and watch on as his armour went discarded on the floor, the metal material cranking against the stone ground.

His bare chest was now visible, the defining abs illuminated by the glowing fire. His hair messed up when he threw his tunic over his head.

“Cregan, I-"

And in one moment, you felt his large body overshadow yours, clashing lips again. Cregan lifted his body as to not crush you, hands on either side of your head.

You only permitted yourself to breathe unevenly, stead of moan. Your hands found his shoulders, desiring to pull him closer than possible.

“Ever since you’ve arrived you’d been nothing but trouble.” Cregan murmured, lips finding your throat. “Sauntering around with your ladies, endlessly teasing me.”

Your legs only shifted to wrap around his waist, back slowly arching at the kisses.

He took notice, and let one of his hands pin you down, lips descending towards your perky breasts.

“Gods, you’re wrong for this.” he grunted, swirling his tongue around the nipple. “For provoking me, as you did yesterday, and the day before that.”

“For thinking you have the authority to do this to a lord.” he breathed, your small breast fitting into his large palm.

“For…” he continued, kissing down your stomach, before ultimately glancing back at you “…thinking you’d get away with this.”

“I did not think I’d get away with this.” you tease, watching as he moves face-to-face again. “Which is why I did it.”

Your hands find his muscled arms, squeezing it gently. “I want to know how Northern men do it.”

You’d think you were jesting, but were you truly?

You’d have opened your mouth to say anything else, looking up at him, if it weren’t for the Northern lord himself roughly flipping you to your stomach.

“You wish to know, my princess?” he murmurs, unlatching his breeches. “You’d have your first time be with a Northman?”

You nodded, cheek resting on the carpet fabric without surrender. “Yes. Gods yes.”

He hiked your skirt around your waist, your plump ass visible to his peering eyes.

“You’ll be ruined for other men, aye.” He grunted, his hand wrapping around his rock hard cock.

“That’s good, because I desire no one save you.” you smiled, allowing him to lift your hips up and arch your back.

“Yeah?” he smirked, the tip of his cock rubbing against your damp hole. “You’ll have me make you my wife?”

You nodded, impatiently moving your hips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“You’d be a good wife, wouldn’t you?” he grunted once again, head finally pushing into your unloosened clit. “No Southern games, no poignant looks of yours.”

“You like that about me.” you painfully breathed, feeling the uncomfortable ache of his cock in your newly penetrated cunt.

His head descended, placing gentle kisses upon your shoulders. “A maiden. Perhaps you aren’t as well-equipped to handle a wolf as you said you were.”

“I am.” you protested, pushing your hips back. “Move your hips. I wish to prove myself.”

He only speeded up his thrusts, and as you allowed the moans to fill your lips, his hands found a way to push your head down.

“You’d carry my pups?” he asked, thrusting into you aggressively, pumping his cock in and out. “Wait on my cock every night?”

You only moaned incredulously, asscheeks clapping along with every snap of his hips.

“Yes.” you breathed, gasp and claps filling the room. “Fuck, put a babe inside of me. I want your children.”

“We’ll have to wed sooner, before the babe gets born in wedlock.” he grunted, hands gripping your hips, pushing you back onto his thick length. “But that’s what you wanted all along, was it?”

You gripped the fabric of the carpet, cheeks burning as it rubbed against the irritating carpet.

“For a thick cock such as this.” he teased, tugging at your hair.

“Yes.” you moaned pathetically, cheeks flushed as you felt a knot forming into your stomach.

Your lips parted, your eyes rolling above-ways.

“Yes, yes!” you moaned loudly, feeling his hands grope your breasts. “Fuck, you’re moving fast.”

“Never fast enough.” he murmurs, member sliding against your wet slit.

He could feel your tight walls clenching around him, milking his cock for all it is worth. His grip on you tightened as he thrust down to meet your upward motion.

And with one sharp thrusts, you felt the knot loosen and the cream dripping out your twitching clit.

Yet, he didn’t stop, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he rode you through your orgasm.

The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock was enough to send him reeling as well, burying himself deep inside of you.

Hot spurts of cum dripping out of your hole, you completely got yourself spent, closing your eyes and deciding you could just fall asleep on this carpet.

“No sleeping in the library.” he scolded lightly, putting on his fur coat, covering his naked physique. “Come here.”

You exhaustedly crawled over to him again, and snuck yourself into his coat, the clothing covering both of your naked bodies.

“I’m taking you to your chambers.” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “And for the next time, do not attempt to get so exhausted. I went easy on you this time.”

[meowzfordayz]

hashira accidentally touch your chest

Author’s Note: pls and ty enjoy this tidbit of crack-fluff. 😆💖

hashira accidentally touch your chest

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~1,600

CW: explicit language, Fem!Reader, mild sexual content

Suggestion Fulfilled: Can we get all hashira accidently touch y/n's breast

~faqs~

Fyi, “chest” means boob. I was just worried Tumblr would block this post from tags if I included “boob” in the title lmao. 😉

Shocked 😳😖

“I apologize, [y/n]-san, it won’t happen again!”

Gyomei’s nearly in tears, he feels so terribly 😞

“These things happen!” you promptly assure him, “Besides, you technically won the bout.”

No need to mention that he always wins when training together 🥲

“I cannot accept such a tainted victory.”

“Himejima-san, though I appreciate your concern and respect, there’s truly no issue.”

Meanwhile, Gyomei’s rethinking his entire Breathing Style to ensure he never accidentally touches anyone’s boob(s) again 💀 

In cold disbelief 😐😐😐

If you don’t say anything, then he won’t say anything

Alternatively, if you do say something, then Obanai will immediately curl up into a ball and die

Spends the rest of his day recalling the fleeting warmth of your breast

He swears his hand doesn’t even get cold, so affected by the heat of your bosom

Your boob must be ✨magical✨

“Iguro-san,” you call out gently, noting his dazed stare, his dinner untouched while he sits crossed legged, “Is something on your mind?”

“No.” 😐😐😐

Well okay then 🙃

“About what happened earlier…”

🫨🫨🫨 <— Obanai is FREAKING OUT

“… Iguro-san, I didn’t mind.”

And then you stand up, take your dishes, and leave

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEEEAAAN?!?!?!

Good luck finding Obanai tomorrow 🫡 (the poor man’s been pleasantly overwhelmed)

He’ll avoid you for eternity now 😌 (not really, but at least until he can breathe around you again)

She giggles 🤭

Lol

“Oh my! [y/n]-san, I didn’t mean to touch you so intimately!” 😅

“No worries, it happens.”

Your face may or may not be burning up a storm, but that’s okay!

Mitsuri’s blushing too

A lot 😳

“I hope I didn’t hurt you?!”

Because like, What if I gripped too hard?! 😭

She’s well aware of her own strength

“You barely brushed me, Kanroji-san. I promise!”

Phew!

She grins, relief evident as she bumps her elbow against yours

“Don’t tell anyone, okay? I would be so embarrassed!!!”

“Kanroji-san, our secret is safe with me.”

I wish it would happen again… <— lowkey both of you thinking the same thing 🤪

As a medical personnel (among other roles), Shinobu accidentally (or even on purpose, depending on where you’re wounded) touching your boob isn’t entirely unreasonable nor unrealistic

Obviously it would be nicer if she was caressing you out of love and affection 😔

And not methodically cleansing then bandaging claw marks that just so happened to cross over your chest 😒

“You should make a full recovery,” she’s all business, “The demon avoided your nipple and didn’t puncture deep enough to affect the functionality of your breast,” fortunately, you’re too exhausted to be embarrassed by her bluntness, “It has a nice shape. I’m glad you survived.”

EXCUSE ME WHAT?!?!?! 😃🫠

Now you’re kinda embarrassed

More so preening, really 🤭

It’s like when a doctor randomly compliments the rhythm of your heart or some other characteristic from a mainly professional POV, but you’re still caught off guard because who tf compliments someone’s kidneys or bowels movements or?????

In your pain hazed delusion, you briefly contemplate somehow getting your other boob injured too… gotta make sure you’re matching in (nice) shape, y’know? 😌

Kyojuro can be discreet, albeit more so for your sake than his

“I APOLOGIZE! I DID NOT MEAN TO TOUCH YOUR BREAST!” <— how he could react 💀

“Pardon my slip, are you okay?” <— how he actually reacts, because he isn’t entirely lacking in social awareness and decorum 😆

“Oh,” you don’t mean to squeak, but it can’t be helped when the most handsome man you’ve ever known just casually grazed your boob, “I’m fine! Totally fine! Haha!” 🫨😵‍💫🫠

You’ve gotta be more convincing than that, or Kyojuro will never forgive himself 😕

He’s a lil oblivious when it comes to physical attraction

Not like, infantly so, but given this particular circumstance?

He doesn’t realize you’re flustered; he assumes you’re mortified 😖

“You sound decidedly less than fine.”

He’s softer now, worried about startling you 🥺

“I was surprised! But don’t worry! I’m not worried!”

Okaaay, but he’s worried 🥲

“Is there any way I could make amends for my indiscretion?”

Not only is he handsome, but he is such a gentleman 😭😍

“Rengoku-san, there are no amends to be made, I promise. I’m not mad, nor do I feel unhappy or unsafe. I forgive you.”

Your regaining of the ability to speak in complete sentences greatly reassures him 😮‍💨😁

“Ah. Well. I am grateful for your kindness and understanding. It will not happen again.”

…

…

Hold up 🧐

Why does she seem… she seems… disappointed? Should I have said it will happen again??

You’ve suddenly given Kyojuro something quite pleasant to ponder 🤔

After all, he isn’t entirely oblivious 😉

“Are you going to apologize?” Sanemi demands

“For what?” you screech

“For touching my hand with your boob!”

Your eyes roll, “Oh fuck off!”

“I didn’t ask to touch you,” he grunts

“I wouldn’t have given you permission anyway,” you retort 😒

Arms crossing over his bare chest, Sanemi scoffs, “Well I didn’t give mine either!”

“You’re ridiculous. It was an accident.”

You seem genuinely pissed 😬

Sanemi rethinks his approach

“You know I’m joking, right?” 😅

“Nooo,” your sarcasm cuts deep, “I thought you were flirting.” 😐

Uh 😀

Well 😃

Shit 😄

“Fuck you!” 

When in doubt, curse ‘em out 💀

You scowl, confusion lingering as your blood boils, “Fuck you!”

“I said it first.” 🙄

You stalk away, fed up with his antics

#man child #sort of #romantically inept is more like it

As tends to happen with epiphanies, yours doesn’t hit until you’re almost asleep

“WAS THAT MOTHERFUCKER FLIRTING WITH ME???!” 😳🥴😭

Best believe Shinazugawa Sanemi is about to have a Lesson 101 in flirting asap ���😎

(assuming you’re older, like, mentor age to Muichiro)

Neither of you make a fuss about it

It’s like accidentally calling your teacher mom 😬

Or grabbing a random person’s hand in the supermarket thinking they’re your parent 🫣

Embarrassing, but not a huge deal — unless you make it one

There’re those three seconds of slow motion Uhh and What just happened and Oops 🫠

And then time speeds up to normal again, you have a quick conversation with your eyes (gosh forbid you speak and bring the unspoken into reality 💀), and it’s over

^^ Alternatively, if Muichiro initiates a conversation to clear the air, then you’re able to have a mature and concise chat that is respectfully and patiently resolved

Embarrassing/accidental encounters are part of growing up

As long as they can be navigated ~safely, there shouldn’t be any lasting harm

⚠️I also want to emphasize that I am talking solely on inarguably accidental/one time incidences⚠️

Hehehe

Giyuu’s hand is stuck 🫣

Only for like, a fleeting second

But omg 😭

He was already embarrassed, and now he’s triply embarrassed 🫠🫠🫠

“... Tomioka-san?”

You won’t lie; you aren’t especially bothered 🤭

But it is a compromising position to be caught in; Giyuu lowkey crushing you, one of his palms clearly cupping your boob 😬

#wrestling #or something #so maybe this isn’t super realistic #forgive me

You’re about to repeat his name when he finally springs to life, immediately rolling off you, standing abruptly, about to literally sprint away

And then he remembers his manners 🙃

He offers you a hand

His other hand; his boob hand is currently tucked away in his haori

He’s never washing it again

#closet perv

“Thanks,” you smile faintly, accepting his assistance as you lift yourself from the ground

You hope he can’t hear your heartbeat 💓

He definitely can 😶

But can you hear his?

“I don’t think we should train together anymore.”

Giyuu is swift and harsh with his solutions

“Why?”

Your question comes out stiffer than intended

He hesitates, unable to interpret the fear in your tone — the longing

“I always beat you,” he explains lamely, “Don’t you get tired of losing?”

You scoff cheerfully, grinning now as you squeeze his hand

Fuck, we were still holding hands?! <— Giyuu is in shambles 😳

“I could never lose!” you declare, feelings brimming in your throat, spilling onto your tongue, “Not when I’m with you.”

Then we should absolutely stop training together would be the responsible reaction

Attachments are the most dangerous game for a Hashira to play 😕

Instead, Giyuu’s rendered speechless, unable to shake his hand from yours

“Well alright then,” he mutters, stomach churning as he narrowly avoids the warmth in your gaze

In fact, you swear he squeezes back 💓

“EXCUSE ME! I HAVE A WIFE!” 😤😤😤

“You have three wives.” 🙄

Sputtering, Tengen shrieks, “I already have plenty of breasts to touch!” 

“Tengen,” you glare, not one to back down as you jab a finger into his own chest, “You touched my boob.” 😒

“AND I’M SORRY!” 😭

Much better 😌

“I don’t know what they see in you,” you scoff (you’re also lying, you can see plenty🤭), “They’re gorgeous… and you freak out when you accidentally touch a boob.” 💀

Tengen is 100% pouting now

“I don’t freak out when I touch their boobs,” he huffs

“Well aren’t they lucky.” 😐

“You could be lucky too!”

…

…

Tengen starts running 

You give chase

“DID YOU TALK TO THEM ABOUT THIS?” 

Tengen runs faster

“TENGEN!!!!!”

Tengen runs faster and faster

You give up

*insert gasping for air here*

“DO YOUR WIVES KNOW THEY’RE MARRIED TO A COWARD???!!!”

Oh well, you’ll have to visit their estate sometime this week 🙃

You’re sure to get an answer from Hina, Makio, and Suma ☺️

And you can’t wait to see more of Tengen 😏😋

Sorry, sometimes the horny just happens 🥴

[hyukascampfire]

𝓐T 𝓢WA𝓝 𝓛AKE ﹐､﹒ c.bg ˏˋ੭ꠥ ¸ˎ

as both equals and opposites, white swan and black swan, it is paramount that you and choi beomgyu do not touch. the curse of your natures did not even make exception for incidental brushes. that was never an issue for you—not until the day the prince took it upon himself to break every rule you’d ever known. ⋆˛ ˛

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

⸉⋆ ᧔ 🦢᧓ ･ 10.3k

𝒫airings ˒ black swan prince!beomgyu 𝓍 white swan princess!reader

𝒢 ‎⍪ smut ˒ fantasy ˒ forbidden romance

𝒲arnings ˒ smut, angst and longing, unprotected sex, lots of teasing, jealousy…, yearning and yearning, he cums on her, theyre both desperate, pathetically in love!beomgyu, shes all he wants, virgin!reader, loss of innocence, he talks her through it, he gets a little whiny… hmm i can’t remember if i’m missing anything. this is not proofread!! i’m gonna nap first.

✎୭ ashlynn's note @hmusunoo … baby you did your big one with this. i can not explain to you how excited i’ve been for this one. this is absolutely my favorite. it’s just so me, u know me so well and i think we should kiss. THANK U!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

Around you, mist and delicate flurries sit over white, fluffy blankets. Where it sits over the lake, it turns the horizon of the lake’s expanse into an obscured uncertainty. If you hadn’t spent so much time right here, you might think that it goes on forever. 

It’s a beautiful, clear winter’s morning. Sparkling air wraps you in sweet and crisp tendrils, every breath to your lungs almost bitingly fresh. But in all its lightness, your chest only feels heavier. You had hoped that coming here would be a little, momentary respite. The air is so free around you, though, the weight doesn’t float away with it—it just leaves nothing but the feeling for you to contend with. No skittish wildlife rustle the foliage, and a thin film holds the crystalline lake from lapping at the bank. It seems that not even the wind moves. Just you.  

It’s not your tears that you hide here. Sadness is a soft, gentle thing; an acceptable thing for a Lady like yourself to indulge in. It’s what the people expect of their princess. The demure and always prim White Swan. Always correct, always just how you should be. 

Your tears are more like scalding, molten licks of fire than the slow, darling tears that are expected of you, though. They’re angry. It clashes up against the walls you’ve built up within yourself, against the role you’ve assumed. 

That’s why you’ve come here. Coarser emotions are unbecoming of you, and it’d be a shame to feel them in front of others. It’s a shame that you’re letting yourself feel it now, even. You summon a thin sigh, funneling up all the tangy bitterness on your tongue to let it fall out into the air before you. 

It doesn’t do much for you, really. This—feeling like this, so beyond the reach of your usual ways to shove down ugliness—is unfamiliar. Your entire life has been this, why do you struggle with it now? In the center of you, mingling with that anger, it’s as though a blackness blooms. Like a wretched flowering of some invasive plume, or perhaps the floating of inky black feathers through your bloodstream, you feel painted dark and unpleasant. 

Holding the dappled fur of your shawl closer, you decide to watch chunks of crystal white ice float on the water’s surface. Or maybe the on-and-off snowflakes that float down around you. Even tracing the lengths of barren branches, lined with white fluff so still and serene, with your eyes. Anything but delving into what that tainted tug inside is, or what it might mean about you.  

Snow crunches, or maybe a branch shifting, beckons your attention. But the foliage isn’t too thick, and trees are sparse around the lake, and there is always some small winged creature fluttering between branches out here. So, you brush it off. 

A tingling about your person, some sort of whispering premonition, whisps and tugs just around your form. You straighten up at another thick step crunching in the snow from behind you. This time, you can’t explain it away.  

A figure greets you. Dark, raven strands of silken hair fallen over eyes of the same, his skin so stark against it, black shoulder cloak on his shoulder flowing like velvet water against his billowing sleeves all ruffled and enamoring. He glitters like the frost, twinkling silver threads and black crystals sewn in to catch the light and make a show of him. Standing there, looking at you, he doesn’t look caught or frozen. 

But you are. Wholly still, all of you like a sculpture of frost, you gawk right at him. You’d never interacted with the prince, the black swan. Never even seen him. It was never in the cards. Fear like ice curls clawed fingers over your heart and grasps it.  

All your life, grand warnings of terrible things of him and what might happen should the two of you ever touch fell from the mouths of those around you. It was the constitution of who the two of you are—born to be the balance to each other, never to touch. Just an incidental brushing of fingers meant turning the world’s balance over on its head. They told you that the world would begin to fray at the seams, reality would warp, and that it’d be all your fault. And they also told you plenty about who the prince was as a person, too. Not only do you fear him for the curse of your nature, but also for all the nasty things you’ve heard of him. This, meeting him, was a thing of your deepest-cutting nightmares. 

And, there, he stands in front of you. 

“What are you doing out here crying?” Beomgyu says, curious eyes darting over your face. Under his gaze, you’re not sure how to feel. But you feel every last bit of it, regardless. 

You wipe at your cheek, where he must’ve seen the wet streaks glistening in the light. Summoning some poise up from where you keep it in handy, you say, “It’s no matter. I was just looking out on the snow.” You fix up your hair and your dress.  

The prince frowns, studying your face once again. Utterly unconvinced by what he finds there, he gestures toward you. “You’ve been crying, princess,” he says. “I didn’t think that lying was in the cards for you.” 

Lying? Not in the cards for you? Lying is all you do. You lie to yourself and to others more than you are honest. “Maybe, but I’m well,” you say, and then you lift the soft skirts of your dress to step without treading it in the snow. “Really, I ought to get home before the snowfall gets heavier. It was lovely seeing you.” You try and make sure to keep a good and proper distance from him as you make for where you arrived here from. 

Beomgyu reaches out for you, only pulling back from grabbing your arm at a frighteningly slim realization. “Wait,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he realizes what he’d almost just done. “You don’t have to leave. Why is it that you cry?” 

He’d almost touched you. That close—you’d come that close to tragedy in only the first moments of your meeting. Your heart pumps out sizzling, frantic energy that has you looking at him wide-eyed and shaken. “I think you and I both are the most aware why it’s best that I leave,” you tell him, keeping it curt. You hold your arms to you.  

Strong brows knitting, he shakes his head and takes some big steps back. The snow, sat powdery and calf-high on the ground, creaks beneath them. “I’ll stay back here,” he says. “Just don’t go. Won’t you entertain me? It’s a gentleman’s duty to help a weeping Lady.” 

You falter. The words might have you blushing and offering him a modest thank you, but the way he says it—it’s rather taunting. It’s taunting in a way that gets right up under your skin and ruffles your feathers. “And why does it bother you so?” you ask him, arching a dainty brow. You’re not even sure why he’s come out here in the first place. This is the one place that you ordain your own. It seems that not even here can you be totally alone. “They’ll have a fit if they know I was here with you.” 

The prince, with his clear, ethereal features cracking into a wicked amusement that you’re not sure how to digest, says, “Perhaps they will.” He tilts his head at you, wispy strands of hair moving over his shadowed eyes with it. “But, princess, that’s the fun in it. That they will admonish you for it. Is that why you’re crying?” 

Fun? Nothing about what your people, your parents, might do should they find that you’d not only been near but spoken to the black swan, is fun. You level him wary eyes. And, though sense tugs at your feet and asks you to get going, you do not. You do not know why. 

“I think it is.” He’s got an obnoxious tilt to his lips. “I think that’s why you cry.” 

A scoff, an abrasive and distasteful sound coming from you, falls out from your mouth. There’s that awful imprudence and temerity that you’ve heard of the black swan—everything you ought not to be. “You seem the type to know everything,” you say. 

He laughs, delighted. “Is that snark?” 

Pursing your lips as though confused, you spin spiced threads of patronization into your voice. “Not snark,” you say. “Just an observation.” 

 “Hmm.” Beomgyu slides his hands into his pockets to warm his hands. “Might I make an observation about you, princess?” 

There’s interest written all over his face—you know he’s playing some sort of game. You also know that you shouldn’t indulge him in it. Still, you do. A slight raising of your brow, or maybe the interest twinkling in your eyes, too, tells him to go on. 

“I think that you are too dutiful for your own good,” he says.  

In a slight, testy step, he inches closer. Not so close that you worry, but the two of you are not even supposed to be in the same room. Anything is too close. You mirror it with a step back. “You don’t know me,” you say. Against your better judgement, though, your lips twitch into a soft smile. The kind of smile that is insistent, no matter how you refuse it. “So, I believe your wonderings to be entirely groundless.” 

Hair blowing gently in the wisps of a winter wind and his nose and cheeks gone pink, he says, “Oh, princess. Hardly. I think we know a great deal about each other.” 

Well, that’s true enough. All your life you heard of him and your curse. You’re sure it was no different for him, no matter your differences. “And what do you know about me?” you ask.  

Beomgyu’s laugh falls out in a white puff of curling frost. “I know it’s been arranged that you’ll marry a superior Lord,” he says. He observes you. “Am I right?” 

So fast, just with that, lightness falls from your face. You hadn’t wanted to be reminded. Your feet itch to be off, so that you can feel it elsewhere. Not here; not in front of him. Leveling yourself so that your voice doesn’t come out as stilted as you feel, you say, “Yeah. You are.” 

With his eyes narrowing on you, he says, “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a girl excited to be wedded look like that when it’s brought up.” 

You reign in your face and shake your head. “I am perfectly excited. It’s a blessing to be married into such a family.” As much as you smooth over the furrowing of your brows, or make your expression pleasant, it’s not so easy to tame the picking of your fingers. 

Anything other than excited, you might be. But absolutely not that. In fact, you are beyond yourself with anger, and you have nowhere to go with it. It bubbles hot just under your skin and demands a release that you cannot give. 

Being who you are, it’s been a truth you’ve known your whole life. Someday, you were going to be offered like a shiny, silver pawn to the highest bidder. And you, as the world’s white swan, are quite the enticing thing to own. You thought you’d banished the hope for a union of love right where you’d left the sense of self behind: years ago. The time’s come now, but you aren’t as at peace with it as you should be. No matter how hard you try, you are more human than you’d like to be, and far too human to be what the world expects you to be. 

If you’re going to be frank with yourself: you do not want to marry him. Living as something bought, expected to live forever as this mellowed out, poised version of yourself by the side of some man who you don’t even know or love... Of any fate you might be made to live, you think that this one is the worst. 

Beomgyu begins working on taking off his jacket, a white and pretty thing with thick, winter fabric. He offers it to you. “You don’t have to lie to me about it. Maybe them, but not me.” 

You look between him and his offering hand—his perfect features that are so elegant, and yet, there’s a wildness to him in those hard black eyes. If you didn’t already know so much about him, you might still be able to see the untamed in him. Who couldn’t? He wears it plainly; without remorse. You’re not sure how to interact with it, but, in a way, you envy him. 

Reaching out, you accept the jacket from his hand. Tentatively, with great care so as to avoid touch, but you do.  

It’s nice and soft against your frost-kissed shoulders. But it’s not enough to fix the bite against the skin on your face, so you trudge through the snow over to the sparse tree line, where the trunks might protect you better from it than the flat expanse of the lake’s surface. You press your back to a tree, and he mirrors it on the tree opposite to you. Looking over the great lake, so very serene. It twinkles with an ice film like sugar crystals atop its surface. “I guess I’m just... scared,” you say. The words come out soft and uncertain. 

He nods. Listening. So, you continue. “I don’t even know him. I haven’t spoken to my betrothed once. Maybe I’ll get to know him, and maybe he won’t be bad, but...” 

“But he’s not who you want,” Beomgyu says. “Not who you love.” 

Licking your winter-chapped lips, you eye him for a moment. You nod slowly and say, “...Yeah. I suppose it’s selfish, but...” 

Ignited, Beomgyu pushes off the tree to say, “Selfish? You give your whole life to being their saint. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t own you.” 

You, not us. Frowning, you ask him, “Are you not set for some marriage of convenience?” Marrying is different as a woman, but you don’t doubt that the prince’s family intends to strengthen alliances by offering his marriage up to some optimistic, lesser family with a daughter to bargain the way yours has done with you. Every last girl and boy born as you two have been—destined to a life bigger than yourself, a force in the world as much as you are a person—have lived just the same. All of them. Each incarnation of the white swan, and you’re sure every black swan too. The people of this world paint you as embodiments of balance and life, but use you more like power plays. Even your own parents. You were born from your mother all the same as all your siblings, but as much as it aches to admit it, you are not their child. In the back of your throat, hurt and bare anger wells up thick. 

He half laughs, half scoffs. “They could try. It doesn’t matter to me. They’d have to kill me before I do their bidding. Is it our fault that we were born this?” he says. “I’m going to live my life how I want, no matter what.” 

You tuck your hands into your sides, where they warm between the jacket and your body heat. His words and how he looks at your lives, it’s everything you’re not. Sense of self and determination to live for more than just your predetermined role—while you’d surrendered it all, he lives thrashing and fighting against it. A product of your mirrored and opposite natures.  

“Why?” you say, teeth chattering a bit under the cold’s caress. “You have a girl in mind?” 

That sounds nice. Being so hopefully devoted to someone, and them to you, that you might war against destiny for it. The thought only nurses hurt somewhere deep in your chest, though. Not for you. Never for you. You could be the prettiest on this Earth, the kindest, the most disciplined, or the least even. Still, that would never be yours. You know that, so why does it taste so bitter?  

A quick look, something new, passes over him. In his eyes, you see it. He looks at you for a long minute, the morning so quiet that nothing but tranquility hangs in the air for a moment, and then finally says, “Yeah. Something like that.”  

Entirely intrigued, you ask, “Who? Is she a Lady?” 

Beomgyu nods his head, that strange look lingering. “Of sorts,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest to lean back into the bark. “And your betrothed? Some well-off Lord?” 

A smile ghosts over your mouth. “Probably. I haven’t a clue who it is; but I’m sure he’s got enough coin to spare, if my parents settled on him.” 

The lines of his face gone playful, he says, “Not possibly more well-off than me.” 

Your nose crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say. A husband with money is nice. You can’t pretend that you don’t think of that, especially that none of your family’s wealth belongs to you, nor will it follow you into your marriage. Your heart revolts regardless.  

Shrugging after a few beats of silent considering, he turns his attention on the lake. His face turned like that, you admire the straight slope of his nose and his eyelashes as they flutter with his heavy eyes. Like the rest of him, his side profile is a contradiction. Strong and noble, but elegant like hewn from marble. It’s perfect. With all the talk in your ears, you’d pictured something far off from the youthful, wry man stood before you. Why you’d come to imagine him brutish, you’re not sure; he’s as much swan as you. Different and mirrored all the same. 

“I used to come here all the time,” he says. 

“Here? To the lake?” You perk up. This had been your hideaway as a girl; where you’d come at times like this when you needed to bury something away. You thought it’d been just yours. “I wonder how we never ran into each other. I used to do the same. I guess, I still do.” 

When his eyes fall back on you, they’re softer. More deep brown than black, but maybe it’s because you’re closer now. He says, “Well, I came here once or twice on my own, maybe when I was five. I didn’t really start coming back until I saw you. You were crying, all snotty, and throwing bread out for some ducks.” 

Your face twists up, maybe at the memory or maybe with confusion. It seems like if he’d really come here so often, and had even seen you here, you’d have noticed. “You must have thought I was weird,” you say, the words coming out around a shiver.  

“Maybe,” he says through a wry smile that’s cracked over his lips. “But mostly, I just wished I could talk to you.” 

He’d watched you, because he couldn’t approach you? You were under the impression that the prince had never cared for the rules, not even one so paramount as that. But, it seems that his brashness came to him later. He stands in front of you now, doesn’t he? Maybe it was just that innocent trust that, as children, you levy out to those arounds you. Especially toward adults; and all of those had preached over moments like this. You imagine a young, curious Beomgyu, hiding himself away between bushes, itching to approach or play with you. But he never did; you hadn’t the slightest clue he’d even been there until now. Could you two have been friends, if not for the curse? 

“You never came out,” you say. “Or introduced yourself?” It’s all you can really think. 

His mouth twitches. “Would you have stayed?” 

No. Then, you don’t think you would’ve. Even now, you’re stricken with the innate fear of touching him, no matter how surprised you are at how different he is. Different from what they said he’d be. You think you would’ve darted, should you have known who he was. For some reason, that makes your heart ache. A dark ebbing wave of ache that you are unfamiliar with. 

A slight knowing smile danced over his features, eyes gone to sweet crescents that turn them, usually so dark, into something rounded. Not so abrasive. He tilts his head off to one side and says, “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?” 

Cheeks long been numb, you answer, “An hour. Maybe and a half?” 

“I’ll walk you home.” 

You grimace. Arriving with him by your side, the man you quite literally were not supposed to even speak with, is the very last thing you should do. An awful idea. “I wouldn’t bother you. It’s probably not the best idea to show up after disappearing, with a man by my side. Especially not as a to-be-married woman,” you say. “But, thank you. Really.” 

He knows what you really mean, though. A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that, would we?” 

As he begins to turn, making for wherever he’d come here from, you call out to him. “Hey, wait. Your jacket.” You pull it off your shoulders and joust it out at him. Against your skin which it had warmed, the air is bitterly cold. 

“Keep it, princess,” he says, giving you a parting nod. “Get home warm.” 

Today, you are to give your hand to a man that you do not know.

In the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance and mingle with the roar of chatter. Hundreds of familiar and unfamiliar faces line long tables with runners decorated by platters of plump, sugar-dusted plums and fruit pies. They’ve all come in their winter’s best—whites and reds and luxurious furs lining thick, velvety fabrics or embroidered with sparkling threads and studded with crystals that twinkle in the low firelight. It’s warm and lovely and all just for you. 

But, you don’t feel any of that. All you feel is a heavy belly. Each smile you tug over your mouth feels like dead weight. You’re familiar with this—putting on the act. Smiling in faces that you know will turn around and have something else to say about you, pretending like you don’t know that it’s all false sweetness. You’d been trained in noble propriety since you could walk and talk. 

But, considering that they’ve all come here to shower you with gifts and lovely words for a marriage in which they could really not care about beyond how they make it a profit, it’s all a bit more sour. 

You’ve met your promised. The man you’re supposed to wed and spend the entirety of your life beside. You spoke with him for... what, two minutes? Two very awkward, very awful minutes. What should you have to say to each other? You’re meeting for the first time today. At your engagement feast. It’s a real conscious effort to not take your lip into your mouth and gnaw, or to not fuss over your hair, or honestly anything that might show these people that you are anything but pleased. 

So, you relent to their gaudy pleasantries. You listen to them tell you that it’s such a blessing to be married to a man of high society—and a wealthy one, too. They tell you that they knew your marriage would bring a great dowry; that all the white swans have. That they were watching and expecting it. All you hear is the dripping of greed; all you see is hungry eyes and fingers crossed behind backs. 

You relent to it until your stomach is sick and wrought with it. And then, the older lady ahead of you singing praises of your beauty, of how she wishes her daughter might catch the eye of a husband as advantageous as yours, does something out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift behind you, her snooty, pinched features twisting up into something new. You follow her gaze. 

Dark and beautiful and his eyes trained right on you, the black swan prince stands beside you. He’s lazed, a heavy cup of some thick, spiced and wintery drink in one hand, as he does. In the clear light of morning, he’d looked so out of place. But here, soft and hard planes of his face illustrated by the flickering orange firelight, he looks so right. 

You blink. And then blink again. Never once had Beomgyu made any sort of appearance at any hosted thing by your family. You just stand in place for a moment, registering his presence.

“You look lovely, princess,” he says. His eyes fall up and down you. The way he says it—it’s liquid smooth, but it’s taunting in a way. “The perfect image of a bride-to-be.”

He can’t be here. He can’t be here at all. When you look to the side, the woman is already gone. You have no doubt in your mind that she’s whispering in somebody’s ear right now.

“Prince,” you say, gritting your teeth while also dipping into an elegant curtsy. 

“Do you feel that way?” He raises his eyebrows at you, his gaze heavy with underlying tension. “A perfect bride? Happy?”

Making the conscious decision to not look around you, because you can already feel the burning interest of the eyes that you’ll find on you, you say, “I do. Isn’t this quite the feast?”

“I told you that you don’t have to lie to me, princess.”

You shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him. They’re all watching. Stepping back to cut conversation with something witty, you stop in the onslaught of a chorus of surrounding gasps.

Beomgyu had reached out to grab you, and only stopped himself short the same way he had the first time you met him. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he brings his hand down, curling the fingers as if to wash away the urge to reach out.

He’s closer now, too. His breath smells sickly sweet with the liqueur he drinks. A sarcastic grin over his lips, he says, “Did he pay for all this?”

You do a dance of give and take. You step back, and he meets it with a step toward you, all the way until you find yourselves in a quieter corner. “He did sponsor the feast, yes.”

“Well, isn’t that just great,” he says, voice carrying over the many layered sounds of the gathering. “And that makes you happy? You feel fulfilled by that? Is that the purpose of the lovely white swan?”

You’re not sure what he’s getting at, or why your marriage is any of his business. For some reason, though, despite those rational thoughts, some faraway memory whispers that it makes every bit of sense. “He is a lovely man.”

Barking a laugh, Beomgyu says, “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t believe that, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself.”

You curl your fingers into the obnoxious, glittering material of your dress. “Seriously, what makes you so sure?” you say. “What makes you so sure you know? This is good for me. This is the way things are supposed to go. Not everybody in this world can get away with serving only themselves and doing whatever they want. Maybe it works for you, but not for the rest of us. I’m glad your life is fun, though. Really.” 

His face doesn’t sharpen into offence, though you brace for him to. You’ve never spoken to anybody like that. Ever. Shaking his head, raven locks glowing warm around the edges, he says, “Because I know. I know. Are you listening to me? You don’t have to lie to me.”

Balking at him, you don’t know how to answer. That was nowhere near the answer you were expecting from the prince, known and notorious for his chaos and fire.

“I am listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Thick emotion slips through the seams. “Honesty has never done me any good. This is going to happen; all honesty is going to do is hurt me. So, I’m sorry.”

His mouth opens to fire something back, but you don’t hear it. Somebody digs their fingers into your upper arm, dragging you without a word away from your conversation. You stumble, letting them take you without a fuss. This was to be expected. You shouldn’t look back. If today was already going to be the last day you ever see him, it certainly is now that you’ve been caught not only in touching distance to him, but making conversation with him.

Tossing a self-betraying glace over your shoulder, you find his figure. Hand in pocket and his lips turned down, he watches you go.

You wish you wouldn’t have. You have no explanation for the emptiness it casts into your chest.

Recently, you’ve been crying so much. You might believe that it’s because you’ve been letting yourself feel freely, but you don’t feel free.

Your palms are soaked against your cheeks, face fallen into them as you shudder with it. Their words pin and scrape in your head, forcing you to contend with them before bouncing off the walls and you hear them again and again until your stomach has gone sick. Your parents had given you an earful. That’s been your whole life; you can handle that. The moment you saw him there, intending to speak to you, you’d prepared for it. Instead, it was their contempt and sneering faces that bleed your heart like this. 

In this life, you are alone. Totally, wholly alone. Who you are—your role in life—is not the blessing they claim it to be. Is it selfish to ask to be understood? For somebody to just understand, without your pleading or begging?

Maybe. It feels that way, anyway.

“Why is it that I always find you crying?”

His voice freezes you to where you sit sprawled on your floor. Spinning to him, you say, “What are you doing?”

Beomgyu shrugs, as though he hasn’t snuck his way into your room. “I felt bad for getting you dragged off. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”

Maybe his insisting on being around you should be annoying, but right now… You think you appreciate the company, even from the forbidden likes of him. “You can’t be here,” you hiss. “How did you get in? They’ll… if they find you here…”

His boots squeak against the polished flooring as he approaches you, and then settles down on the floor with you. The fire flickering behind him, his back to it, casts an orange light around the edges of his figure. He looks terribly inviting, like this: strewn on the floor, no holier or better than you, his face not sickly sweet nor cold and devoid of love, and his eyes curious to know how you feel. 

“I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I want to see you.” He tugs his jacket off, letting it fall on the dirty floor. Improper for a prince, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. That’s who he’s always been—that’s the one thing that was entirely true out of all the things you heard about him. “Who the hell cares about their approval? We don’t need it.”

You know what he means by they and we. Only a few days ago, you’d still believed that Beomgyu was other; that he was your total opposite, and that you should fear his darkness for all your lightness. All it’s taken is being around him the once or twice that you’ve been able to for you to realize the falsity that drips from that. When you’re around him, your soul, feathery and wispy in your chest and your veins and all the rest of you that constitutes you beyond what is physical, tugs. It’s impossible to ignore—it consumes you. Where your soul longs for him around the edges, like torn and searching for what’s been lost, you feel stuff that is beyond yourself.

Rather than your opposite, you think that Beomgyu is your other half. You think that they’ve gotten it all wrong. 

“How do you do it?” you say, back up against a white, whorling table leg. “How do you not care? I don’t understand.”

Inky eyes shining, he says, “I did. When I was young, I believed everything they told me. It’s hard not to, when it’s all you hear. Them, telling us that our purpose is to surrender ourselves to be something Saint-like. But when you catch one lie, you begin to catch the others, too. I saw their excuses and reasonings peel. Princess, it’s all lies. Everything you know is lies.” He says it with such conviction. Each and every word reaches down into that part of yourself that is missing something. “We’re not their Saints. That’s never been our purpose. I hate that shit; I hate that they’ve made you think that this is all you’re for. Marrying him? Never doing anything, because you’re scared of what it’ll mean for you? It’s not fucking fair.” He pushes himself closer to you. Now, your criss crossed knees are so close that a stray move might mean the world’s end. This time, you don’t panic. There’s no room for that among the swarm of your other thoughts. “So, of course I don’t give a shit about what they tell me to do. I’m going to live this life the way that it’s supposed to be. I wish that you could join me.”

“This life?” you blurt. It’s the one thought that appears clear to you, so it’s what comes out. Frowning, you add, “What lies?”

Deadpanned and as though he’s not delivering something that changes the world’s fabric around you, Beomgyu says, “There is no curse. There’s never been a curse.”

Your room is silent for a few moments, and then you shake your head and laugh. “How would you know that?” you say, nose wrinkling. If you don’t laugh, you’ll begin to actually consider the possibility of that. Just the very surface of the notion makes you nauseous. You couldn’t handle exploring the thought deeper. 

Beomgyu doesn’t laugh along with you. “The curse is a lie, and everything that comes with it. All of it is just excuses or justification for the hate for the other people. The whole reason that they ever decided on it was because of their hate. Maybe to the people alive now, it’s not a lie. But that’s what it started as.” His face, dark and soft as he reads your face, twists up. “Of course, we can touch. We are two halves of a whole. There is you in me, and I in you. Do you not feel it? The tug? That’s it. The black swan and the white swan were never meant to be apart and opposite. We are meant to be together. We’re meant to be the only ones that understand each other. It’s us against the world, princess.”

Your ears ring with the pierce of each word cascading out from his mouth. “Beomgyu, I don’t understand. That doesn’t��� Make sense. How?” He can’t just make claims about that. Not something like this. It’s not fair.

“I know it’s hard to believe, princess. It’s all you’re ever made to believe. But you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Tongue darting out to wet your lips and your fingers stilling where you fuss at the fabric of your chemise, you take a good look at him. Roaming over his features, the contradiction in them and the strange familiarity that constitutes him no matter the fact that you’ve only just met, you consider it. Everything he says is absurd, and it does go against everything you’ve ever known. You should turn your nose up at him for even suggesting it; should suspect that he only has some sort of plan to coax you into bringing the world’s end.

But, you do. You trust him beyond explanation, as though intrinsically.

You nod slowly, holding his eyes in yours. “But I don’t understand,” you say. “How do you know?”

He smiles ruefully. “I saw something—had a dream when I was young. I saw us, in every last lifetime. We have lived again and again, as we are, in so many different ways. But the one thing that was always there was that they couldn’t keep us away from each other.”

The world does a few spins around you. Lightheaded, you try to stay up under the oppressive gravity of that. You want to stick your head in the ground and shake your head and yell no, but that deep tugging that has plagued you beginning the moment you’d met him, and all the emptiness before it, tells you yes. 

How poetic is that? How tragic? You, two souls born to be one, made to live apart at the interests of the world around you. Made to do it across every lifetime, and yet, in each you meet. In each, the twinkling thread of fate prevails nevertheless. 

“Do they all love?”

That soft smile still playing on his lips, his cheek to his knee as he looks at you with the veneration of somebody who might’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and perhaps in this one, too. “No. Some of us were secret lovers, but so many of those lived how you do for the entirety of their life. Halved,” he says. “And never did any of them touch.”

Heart fluttering with wings in your chest, you say, “So, how do you know that the curse is a lie? If it’s never been done before?”

“Let me show you,” he says. “That I can touch you.”

All the blood in your body pulls back. You trust him; you do. But is trust enough to risk a touch that could be the end of the world? Is trust enough to be so selfish to do so? 

Seeing you blanch, Beomgyu’s eyes go glassy. “Please,” he says, voice breaking as if to touch you might mean more than just proving something to you. As if the weight of everything he’s ever wanted rests on the back of it working—that if this works, and the world does not fall apart around you, then he can love you how he does, and how he had so many times before. Inevitably. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Beomgyu,” you say, looking between his eyes and the twitch of his hand as it itches to touch you. “I don’t… I’m scared.” Your voice drops to nothing more than a whisper.

“It’s okay,” he says, bringing that longing hand up. Your heart jumps when he raises up by your face. “You can be selfish this once. I want to see you do something because you want to, not because it’s what you think others might want.”

Your throat burns and tightens. Every last sparkling bit of your being longs to lean into his touch—to do what you two have wanted to do so many times before, and finally bring your souls back together. “What if it happens?” you ask, your eyes soft and true like an animal turning its soft underbelly to receive affection.

“Then let it,” he says. “At least we would have touched. Just this once.”

Gritting your teeth and swallowing hard, your belly does itself up into knots. You don’t answer him, but your quiet speaks enough. His hand hovers beside your face with the weight of the world in it.

The first touch of the white swan and the black swan happens in a gentle cupping of your cheek. And, the world does fall down around you. The walls melt, air leaves, and the seams of everything that’s even been good or true are ripped out and sewn with something new and beautiful. It’s as explosive and cosmic as you imagined it, but it is not terrifying. It’s lovely.

Your breaths shudder, your lungs trembling as you look into his eyes and realize what this means.

“Fuck,” is all Beomgyu breathes. It looks as though that it’s all he can manage. His touch grows more solid as the both of you realize that the both of you are still very much here, and so is the world. Thumb pad grazing over the softness of your cheek, his throat bobs with a swallow. You think that if you were to press your hand over his chest, you might feel it thudding there to the same thunderous rhythm that yours beats to.

So, you do. Because you can touch him. His heart sings beneath your palm, even through fabric and flesh. You can’t help the wobbling of your lip and the hot tears that spill out past your eyes and roll down your cheeks.

The second touching is the bringing together of your lips. His mouth is soft and hard against yours, contradictory as the rest of him. He brings his other hand up to hold your face into his kiss. It’s not sweet and slow—it’s as ground-rumbling as the kiss between intertwined souls coming together after an eternity of being away. Each nip and lick and clash of teeth are like the claps of thunder of the storm that will end the world, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to card his fingers through the hair at the back of your head like the claws of a beast sent to ensure its end.

And, maybe Beomgyu is the beast that has come to end the world. You wonder how he’d waited so long to bring the truth to you, or if he was torn about ever telling you. What changed things, after so many years of him watching you from afar? Your engagement? Perhaps that’s what that drink in his hand had been: a thing to forget with.

It hadn’t worked. As he kisses you for all the lifetimes in which you couldn’t, you know that he couldn’t have accepted that and moved on. Of all the black swans that have lived and passed, Beomgyu must be the most stubborn and strong-willed. That’s why, out of every single life, this is the first that you touch. He would take the world on, or play with the existence of it, for this. Just for you. All for you—you’d found somebody who will do something just for you. Curling your fingers into the front of his tunic just over his chest, you pour the fire of that revelation into your kiss.

He roams his hands all over you, mapping your shape. You kiss and kiss, lips tugging and twisting against each other, and still it isn’t enough. Bracing a splayed palm over your lower back, he does not stop kissing you even as he lays you back onto the ground. The flooring is cold against your burning body. He supports his weight on one hand beside your head and straddles your hips to do nothing but run his fingers through your hair and just kiss you. 

Only when your lungs are too hungry to ignore does he free your mouth. His soft black hair dangles over his starry eyes as he looks down at you with them. Lips swollen and smeared with you, his chest heaves. Bringing his free hand up, he wipes your wet cheek.

“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “Beomgyu.”

Pressing his forehead to yours, he laughs. “I like when you call me that. I think I want to make you scream it—scream it until they come breaking down your doors and see that we are each other's. Until your fiancé hears it.”

Body bursting at the seams at the prospect, you nod frantically and dip your face into his neck to dust starry kisses there, too. He shudders. “I want it so bad. Can you please?”

“Of course I can. I’m going to make love to you, okay?” He pushes off you, crawling back so that he’s sat squatted just before your knees as you pin them together. “Open your legs, princess. Show me how pretty you are—I’ve waited so long for it.” He pats on the outer side of your knee.

Thrill spiraling up from between your thighs like sparks, you oblige slowly. You let your legs fall open for him, and choke on your own heart as he begins to slowly work your dress up the expanse of your legs, and then your thighs, baring to him the plush and unseen skin there. He eats it up wildly, his eyes gone ravenous and even blacker.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say, voice trill and unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”

A wicked grin cracks over his features. “I know, princess.” The fabric bunches at your thighs, now. You tremble with the stifling anticipation. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to feel so good—I’m gonna make you feel so good. I have so many things I want to do to you. Lifetimes of things I want to make you feel.”

Doe-eyed and laying your trust in his hands, your thighs twitch and you nod. He reveals your cunt at last, finally catching the glistening sight of it for the very first time. And, he does not disappoint. The look that washes over his face—the twitching of his lips, the tightening of his jaw in a flickering muscle, and the fire razing your cunt in his eyes—is something so dreamlike, but lucid nonetheless.

“You just lay down and let me help you. Treat you how a princess should be treated.” He works on his pants, silver belt clinking and then loosening, and then he’s just as exposed as you when his length pops free. It’s hard already, tall and pretty like the rest of him, but pink and obscene at the tip. He leaks from the little slit at the top. “Look at you. You look like you want to taste it,” he says, laughing while collecting the liquid to pump himself a few times. “Next time, baby. I’d love to see the proper mouth of the world’s princess choking on my cock.”

The air is cold against the mess between your legs. It sends a chill up your spine—or maybe that was the crudeness of his words. You suppose you should’ve expected nothing less from him. When he goes to climb back over you and line himself up with you, your thighs twitch and try to snap shut.

He pins your hip to the floor. “Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna see that pretty pussy. It’s not fair to hide it from me.”

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning.

Taking that hand and sliding it up behind the back of one of your knees, pressing that thigh up to your torso, he laughs a teasing laugh down at you. “Don’t say sorry,” he says. He holds his length adjacent to your slit and then begins to slip up and down the length of it. “Just let me fuck you. I need it so bad.” He hisses in tandem with you. The drags of his length, harder than how you thought a cock might feel, is like undiluted liquor. “I can’t believe this… shit, princess. I’m about to fuck you. I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you by his side.” 

You take your lip into your teeth when he pushes in. It stretches. You bring your hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other to dig into his tunic, mewling softly.

“It’s okay, princess. Hold on to me, you can take it, right? You cunt was built for me. Everything about you was made for me. Your heart, your pretty hands for me to hold, your sex, all of it. Do you feel how I fit right into you? How I was made to?”

You do. When he finally is balls-deep, his cock nestles exactly where it should. Not an inch too deep or an inch too scarce. The two of you were sculpted by something holy, fit just for each other. “Yes,” you breathe.

He can’t even linger sitting still  in you. He begins pulling himself out, all the way until the tip of him threatens to pop out lewdly, before shoving back in right up against that spot. He doesn’t even have to search for it. Head falling into your chest, he licks and bites. “The taste of you,” he says. Then, he presses his tall nose right over that spot in your neck where your heart’s gone wild. “The smell of you.” Wincing, he lays into you with more vigor, hips slapping against your skin. “The feel of you. You drive me up the fucking walls. How was I ever supposed to live without this?” he says. “I refuse.”

Your belly begins to tighten in a way that you’ve never known. Tears prick the corner of your ears, clinging to him as he fucks you into the floor like he’ll never have to opportunity to have you like this again. The wood cradles your back and the back of your hips, receiving each of his thrusts. You curl your toes and will back the lewd cries that threaten to spill over with each.

His voice is taut and wobbly. “Feels good, huh? I know. It feels… so good.” Dropping your thigh to cup your face, he says, “Cry. Cry for me. I said I wanted you to scream.”

Face burning and squirming against the hardwood behind you, you shake your head. “I can’t, gyu…”

“Yes you can,” he says, face twitching. “I want you to start letting it out, or I’m gonna stop. Do you want me to stop?”

Covering your face, with the back of a forearm, you grit your teeth through each punctual and yet sloppy grind up into you. Your bodies sweat and meld, and you’re sure that anybody walking by your quarters would know just by the hollow smacks of skin and grunts that you’re fucking a man. You, an engaged woman, are letting the prince turn your brain inside out.

But, there is nothing you want less than for him to stop. So, you let your mouth drop open and allow the sweet mewls to come with each rut.

“There we go. Louder.” He braces himself, digging his feet into the floor, and then he really starts driving into you. Sparks fly in your belly—each yellow and glowing and scalding. “Do I need to fuck you harder? C’mon, louder, princess.”

Thighs squeezing his hips so tight that they ache, you squirm. You struggle against your sounds—turning from sweet moans and mewls, you groan and gasp and your voice breaks. Each collision of your bodies breaks your sounds.

Curling your fingers into his silken hair, you grit out, “H—hoooh fuck, Beomgyu, Beomgyu, I feel… like…”

Bangs sticky and his eyes growing wilder, he knows something you don’t. The knowing, taunting grin on his mouth says enough. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it.  Just stay—stay right there, and I’ll give it to you. No running from it; it’s gonna feel so good.” His muscles go taut, and he doubles down on his efforts, panting through his nose and his neck sheened. He drops his head into your chest. “Fuck. Fuckkkk, I love you so much, princess. Thank you—thank you, so much.”

You don’t know why he’s thanking you. You don’t have the cognitive function to worry about that. Your mind has gone to two things: the growls and whines that rumble and tear from his chest, and the frightening tightness that only goes more dangerous. Your chest tightens—it feels as though, if he feeds that hungry beast gnawing deep down in your belly with any more of what he’s doing now, it will snap and take you down in its wake. Warbled cries crawling up your throat, you arch your back up into his chest to try and dig your hips into the floor, away from the bliss and the power of it.

“No,” he says, cursing. “No—don’t run from it. Don’t… Baby, please take what I’m giving you. It’s gonna be alright.”

Pushing back on the dark throes of the tide as it creeps up over your shoulders and sends shocks through your body, the hair on the back of your neck rising with the effort, you choke. Beomgyu takes a hand down the seam of your bodies and rolls your aching clit. They’re succinct and intentional—pressure right on the sensitive underside, sending your belly rippling as he pairs it with a few more sharp, more meaningful thrusts.

You see white. It’s white and hot. You are the sun, beaming and writhing like stardust. You curve off the floor once more, raking nails down the lengths of his back. Are you even making sound? You don’t know; you can’t hear it past the ringing piercing sharp in your ears. You shake beneath him, cunt gripping him frantically with flutters of your walls. 

He grunts, voice strained and shaking as he begins to follow his own release.  “Holy shit—look at you. You’re so f-filthy. So pretty, cumming on me.”

You bare each brush of his cock against your still twisting walls, trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your thighs jump and your toes curl, and it’s all too much, but not enough. He needs to come tumbling over the edge right along with you—if he comes with you, it doesn’t seem so hard. You chant his name, smooth voice gone hoarse.

Stilling inside you, he whines, “Shi—it.” A war wages behind his eyes for a long second before he slips his cock from you with a wet, squelching pop, strings of your release breaking as he lays his cock on your belly. His stomach goes tight, and with one last slide of his length, slick with your mess and staining your belly, his cock jumps. He shoots all over your skin, pretty glistening spurts like ribbons a milky white. 

He sits back on his haunches, slowly rubbing himself off to give you some more and come down. Your room is quiet now, aside from your heaving chests and the buzz of something new in the air. Letting his head fall back, wet strands of spiky black hair dangle around his neck, a bead of sweat catching light as it rolls down it.

“Feel okay?” he says, looking down on you with softened eyes. He pulls cloth from his pocket, unfolding the fine fabric, and he wipes himself off your belly.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, leaning into the palm he cups your cheek with. “I’m okay.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The world didn’t explode, did it?” he says.

You share a stolen laugh with him, feeling every last honey wave receding from the spot between your thighs. The world hadn’t ended, and yet, in every way, it had. Savoring the abated rises and falls of his chest and the content sagging of his shoulders, your belly tightens anew. 

What happens now, when everything else has been a lie? When you don’t believe that you can survive that lie for any longer?

So many hands work on you. One of your ladies in waiting laces you up in the back, and another works on your hair even while you stand, and one bounces a wintry, snow-kissed rouge over the plush of your cheeks. 

Yesterday, your world changed. And today, you’re expected to go on living in it.

When Beomgyu slipped out from your room last night after hours of holding each other under the covers, indulging in your ability to touch, you let your heart crack in two. You shouldn’t have. Why had you let yourself think that it was going to end up anything other than like this? You, getting prettied up to be sent away with your expecting husband, and the dreams you’d let build up to the clouds in the prince’s arms all shattered on the floor at your feet.

What else can you do? Loving Beomgyu freely is out of the question. Your parents would laugh right in your face, or maybe lock you away and make even more sure that you never get to see him again.

You try to burn the image of his eyes into your memory. Black, big and round and cunning all the while. You commit the broadness of his shoulders, and the pretty straight line of his nose in profile, and the pink plushness of his lips, and the little freckles you’d discovered yesterday, and the sound of his voice in your ear, and the feel of his touch on your skin, too.

“We’ll leave you until it’s time to come collect you,” a Lady says, bowing at the waist to you as the others finish up, tying the fastening of your dress up quick and sprinkling their final touches over you before following her out.

Your room goes utterly quiet. More quiet than it’s ever felt.

Dragging your limbs over to your bed, you let yourself fall onto it despite all the care they’d taken to get your skirts right. Resting your cheek to your palm, you let your eyes fall closed as you memorize the feel of your own bed, too.

When you flutter them open, there’s something peeking out from the pillow across from you. You furrow your brows and reach for it.

The paper is folded up with haste, torn from the edge of somewhere else and scribbled on with a quick hand. How long has that been there, without you noticing? Pushing yourself up from the bed, careful to at least maintain the smoothness of your hair, you unfold it.

ℳ𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝓉 𝒮𝑤𝑎𝑛 ℒ𝑎𝑘𝑒. 

Your soul comes back to life and seeps through your bloodstream. Sitting there for a few moments, idle at the largeness of what you’re about to do, you loose a breath. 

And then, you curl your hand around it, shove yourself up in a flurry of white, crystalline skirts, and you go.

The curious faces of the palace hands you pass do not stop you, nor does the morning’s bite as you find your way outside, nor does the almost-slip over ice, and absolutely nothing else stops you as you run. Is he still going to be there when you make it?

God, please let him be there. Don’t let this be almost.

Fists full of the abrasive fabric of your skirts and darting by barren bushes and trees, you do not stop until you clear the little tree line and the lake stands vast and frosty ahead of you.

When Beomgyu spots you, and you spot his figure against the background of the lake crisp in the morning, the sweet cooing of the birds and the rest of the bustle falls away. None of it compares.

“You came,” he says, dragging his feet through the snow until he’s right in front of you, his features elegant once more in the clear morning haze. “I didn’t think you would.”

You reach up to dust away snowflakes resting on his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him—that’s all you find yourself wanting to do, now. Brows pinching, you say, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just… was scared.”

“No, no, I came,” you say, feeling now the bare expanse of your arms. You run your hands up and down them. Heart in atrophy all the while feeling full just being here with him, you add, “Why did you want to meet here?”

The world is serene for a few long moments as he just looks at you, his gaze searching. “Don’t marry him. Don’t leave with him.”

You know where he’s going with this already. Letting your dress fall from your hands, the one they’d fashioned you in to do exactly that, you say, “And do what?”

“Be with me. Marry me. Be my wife,” he says, the lines of his face solemn. “Let’s elope and find a corner of the world that’s just ours, so that we will never have to hear another word from them again. Let’s just… be together. Finally.”

Chest swelling with something so hopeful that it’s painful, reality comes with its pin point and pops it. “Is that really what you want? You’ll take me, even though I’m promised to somebody else?”

His lip curls as though the thought were detestable. “What the fuck is a dowry to this? To the approval of the fates? The world could try snuff that fact out with whatever they’ll try, and a man could offer your parents a dowry of all its money, and still, you’d be mine. No matter what, our souls belong to each other.” His hand is frozen against your cheek. He’s been out here waiting for you for so long. “I’d take you, promised to another man. I’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, I’d have you each time.”

That’s all you need to hear: that you are cherished for more than just your nature, but for yourself. That he loves you unendingly and undyingly, and all you have to do is leave by his side. You’ve already left it all behind—thrown any attachment to the wind, because truly, what is that to this? You don’t know where you’ll go, and you think Beomgyu hasn’t a clue either. But you’ll find that somewhere together. 

Together, your half sings. His answers with a thrilling beat.

“This time,” he says, eyes blazing with conviction. You know he feels the tug, too. “We got it right.”

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note MY SHAYLAAAAA. MY SHAYLAAAAAAA!

﹙📋﹚ @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae , @bakugosbottombitch , @304files , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid , @ashistrashhhhhh , @no1likemybbgcharlie , if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part one part one cw: clothes stealing, forced transformation, coercion, familial abandonment, non-consensual touching/manhandling, restraints, masturbation mention, forced marriage forthcoming cw: dubcon, forced marriage, blood, mild injury a/n: reader is a swan shapeshifter. she retains some feathers as a human. based off this request, obvs influenced by swan-maidens, swan lake.

The first time he touches you, it's your wrist. A firm grip, just below the joint. Testing. Feeling the few feathers that sprout there, thumbing over the delicate, individual rachis.

You don't move. Don't speak. Torn between the instinct to flee and the paralyzing fear that you cannot. You watch his face. The thick brows, the kempt beard. The wrinkles that pull at his forehead when he frowns.

He is older than you—older than you look, at least. His arms are burly, heavy with muscle and hair, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows like he means to get his hands dirty at any moment. Willing to. Blue eyes, your favorite color until this second, framed by crow's feet and speak to experience.

He looks at you with expectations you wish you didn't understand.

"Can't leave without this, can you?"

Your dress, spun from feathers and thread, drapes over his shoulder like a pelt. As if it were a thing he hunted, caught, claimed—that he did not simply steal it from the lakeshore when you were distracted. It doesn't belong there. It doesn't belong anywhere but on you.

"Come along. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Your sisters are gone. Fled, shrieking into the oncoming sunrise. You do not blame them. But it hurts. 

The lake is still. Empty.

He lets the silence stretch, patient. He has all the time in the world. You don't.

You've watched human men before, from a safe distance, tucked among the reeds with your sisters. You've seen what they do when they think no one is watching. The way their faces shift at the sight of a woman. The way their hands reach, take, ruin.

You are a flightless bird, exposed. Not much of a swan. A sitting duck.

What choice do you have?

You follow.

You learn his name is John. That he has lived in this cabin for almost a year. That he built it himself. That he traps and skins, chops wood, salts fish, keeps a gun out of reach, hidden like your dress.

He tells you these things in pieces, the same way he feeds you. A bowl of soup set down in front of you with no ceremony. A tin cup of well water. A torn hunk of bread.

He talks a little, asks a little.

"Never seen anything like you," he says on the second night while you cower behind his chair by the fire. Where you slept after tearing out of his arms and screaming yourself hoarse. "Wish you'd talk to me. Awfully shy, aren't you?"

It galls you. Shy. As if he is not keeping you here, naked. Vulnerable. You ache for your wings. The sky.

You say nothing.

He exhales through his nose, it sounds like a laugh. "I suppose it's not an easy thing, coming from a life like yours."

You want to ask him what he thinks your life was. But you don't want to know what he would say.

He keeps the dress in a chest under his bed.

You desperately search and find it while he is outside splitting wood. The latch is loose. Stupidly unlocked. You lift the lid and your breath catches. There it is. Your feathers, your escape, the lifeline that made you you.

Your fingers graze the fabric. It should be soft, but it feels wrong, foreign and unfamiliar under your hands. You wonder if it is altered. If it will still fit. If it's too late, tainted by his handling.

"Looking for something?"

You slam the lid shut.

John stands in the doorway, hands on his hips. Forehead slick with sweat. The axe is outside, leaning against the chopping block, but his knife is at his belt.

He'd hurt you if you tried to run, maybe kill you. You are not so sure you want to die.

You don't answer.

He crosses the room. He doesn't look angry. He looks—wry. Pleased. Like he had been waiting for this.

He kneels beside you, one arm resting on his knee, and tilts his head. Reeking of pine and tobacco smoke. "That's not for you anymore, darling."

You swallow. This is the closest you've been since he entrapped you. "It is mine."

He nods, as if conceding the point. "And what would you do with it?" he asks. "Go back? To what?"

He reaches out, wiping away a single, hot tear. The fireplace pops, and you feel the warmth of his skin before you feel the roughness of his fingers. You hate it.

"The lake is still empty. They've not come back."

You think of your sisters. You think of the wind under your wings and streaming over your back, the open sky. You think of the sound of John reviving the hearth in the morning, how he dropped a blanket over you the first night, and said, You'll freeze like that.

Of course, he thinks nothing of the fact that he's the reason why you're naked. Blind to it or willfully ignorant.

"It's just you and me now. I'll take care of you, Shy."

Shy. That isn't your name. But you'll be dead before you give your real one to him. At least something will remain yours.

You look at him. He is a big man. Broad shoulders and palms. Thick, hairy arms and a barrel chest. You've seen the thing between his legs—he's made no efforts to hide himself or alter his routine with you hiding in the corner. He touches himself in the dark when he thinks you're sleeping.

He could break you easily. But he hasn't.

Not yet.

He brushes his knuckles over your cheek.

"Can't believe I found you," he says. "A pretty wife, fished from the lake. Or the sky, I suppose." He smiles, chuckling as if you're both in on the joke. "Mm. Wife." He presses his thumb to your bottom lip. "Yeah, like the sound of that. I'll make you a proper wife."

The way he says it is careful. Thoughtful. It is a promise, or a threat. You cannot tell which. 

You look at the chest.

You look at John.

And you do not answer.

John returns at dusk, the door creaking wide to let in the last slant of daylight, and finds you trussed up where he left you. Your wrists are raw, delicate skin rubbed angry beneath the ropes that tightened with your struggling. 

His shadow spills over you, and a sigh slips from him, edged with disappointment. He crouches. Fingers press into your skin, prodding where the rope bit deepest.

"Damn near hurt yourself, honey," he scolds, massaging the worst of the raw spots. He touches you in the way you've seen him care for his axe. Slow, reverent, making sure nothing is too damaged. Unusable. 

A hand settles over the soft, feathery patch above your rump, fingers carding through it appreciatively, lingering before he unravels the last knot. He ignores your hissing.

The moment you're free, you scramble away, body aching. You tuck yourself behind his chair, peeking out with sharp, distrustful eyes. He lets you go, lets you think you've won some small mercy. 

Then he turns his back, shaking out his coat, unpacking the sack he carried in, setting out each item on the table. Dull, practical offerings—salt, flour, needles, twine. Things for a life you don't want. Things for a home you will never call yours. And last, draped over his forearm, a dress. Mundane. Plain, homespun, the color of stone.

But you are distracted. Staring at the chest.

He only addresses your fixation when he's finished, and hauls it out from under the bed. 

"Take a look."

You do. You don't want to, but you do. Your gaze flicks to him first, wary, waiting for the trap. You open it, and your stomach drops.

Your head snaps up, stuttering, eyes glossing over with hot, helpless rage. 

His smile stretches, knowing. Then, he produces the last item from his trip and draws a bundle from the sack.

He explains it's the reason why he's later than expected. A special order that took hours and a bit of coin, but was well worth it. The seamstress did fine work.

Isn't it pretty?

See the little wing pattern she stitched in?

They're the only wings you'll have now.

He holds it out, delicate feathers and lace draping over his hand, the ruined remnants of your freedom reshaped into something grotesque. A wedding veil.

"Try it on for me, darling," he murmurs, offering it with one hand and adjusting himself with the other. "Let me see my bride."

[nostalgicmiscellaneous]

I'm that type of romantic that actually was really touched about the small things about Colin "Last of the Romantics'' Bridgerton: - Colin defending her, telling her he loved her first and being silly just to make her laugh, happy to dance with her and make her feel beautiful and loved, already so excited that he acts like she's already Mrs. Bridgerton and once she actually is, he clearly loves saying "My wife", being happy to show her their home together; - Colin making sure their first time was good for her, making all about her pleasure and taking pleasure on her enjoyment, reassuring her all the way through and after ; - Colin not being able to pretend he's unhappy about marrying her, encouraging her to come to him at the altar. He was an emotional mess because he loves her and it showed, from his smile, dancing with her, to kissing her and caressing her face: - Colin repressing himself, trying not to sleep with her not because he doesn't love or desire her but because he is the type of guy that needs them to be perfectly connected for that, because that's how it was with her, he loves her and when they did make love it was a complete connection to him and anything less taints what they have, if he still has negative feelings and doubts, but being "weak" when she says i love you, his brain short-circuits and his heart and body acted; - Colin feeling lonely and admitting to himself that it was mostly because Pen didn't reply to his letters, him keeping her letters, and smiling to himself while he reads it; - Colin so heartbroken and sad and yet he is there, in their home, sleeping on that fucking couch but there, not on the streets making her feel insecure about his whereabouts; - Colin learning to love equally, accepting and respecting, admiring her, taking pleasure on her success, unafraid of confessing his feelings and his issues, letting himself be helped and loved back... Those are a few of the things that i love about Colin this season...yes, he lashed out unfairly sometimes, he was stubborn and had his ego bruised at times, but he learned and he never stopped trying to protect her, even if with the wrong approach at times. That, my friends, means to me way more than many sex scenes. But that's just me, i like the details, the in between the lines.

[cuppajj]

Neo beasts x reader head cannons? 🥺

You know what anon? Just for you

Beast Ancients AU - Neo Beasts x Reader Headcanons

Congratulations! Someway somehow you’ve attracted the attention—and affection—of the Neo beasts. How do each treat you?

Saint Vanilla Cookie

This implies that he’s decided not to purify you out of his intense compassion. In fact, he’s settled for something arguably much worse: saving you for last, so you can witness his deliverance.

You’re his lamb, his bluebird, and he never lets you forget how blessed you are to be one of his

He’s gentle in almost every way. Voice, touch, words. He especially likes cupping your cheek and cooing sweet little things. Sometimes they’re laced with dark promises

On his orders, the Lambs of Penance are your personal servants and won’t let any harm befall you. Cream Wafer speaks to you respectfully, but you can hear a little envy in his voice

Saint pays attention to every little detail you have, the things you like, and your wishes. He wants to see you at your happiest because a tainted soul as yourself should never feel sad. He’ll wipe your tears away

But don’t assume he’s perfect; he’s far from. Saint stays true to his personal promise that you will be safe and happy and alive until the day he finally saves you, and that means that any potential threat to you will be dealt with by his lambs. If he thinks something will taint your soul further, he’ll be sure that it’ll never have the chance.

In fact, why don’t you stay with him? In his timeless kingdom, amongst his loyal followers and all the orchids that will watch over you. It’s the closest you’ll be to the light.

Make no mistake, saint is two steps away from being a yandere. He just wouldn’t get his hands dirty, and he would never change to that typical yandere-ish behavior. The oh so benevolent saint just wants to see you safe, and if that safety is under his wings, so be it…

Dragonberry Cookie

As the Beast of Pride, the way she loves is bold and loud. She will make it known to you that she loves you pretty quickly.

While she throws parties pretty frequently already, you’ll be center stage at a lot of them with her as she makes you dance together and drinks herself stupid with a bunch of glasses poured your way as well.

If you’re the shy type, expect to be embarrassed or put in big social situations a lot since she’s a massive extrovert who would bring you along to things. Outside of parties and other events of the sort, she would also love for you to watch her spar with Wildberry and her other soldiers

She’ll also give you lots of gifts

She does have a pretty big ego though, so she expects praise and validation from you. Compliments, acts of service, things that assure her you’re not just mooching off of what she gives you. If she thinks you’re not being grateful, she’ll get bitter and confront you about it, which will or won’t go well depending on how well you can prove your point to her

She’ll kill for you 100%. She might even do it in front of you. If you get messed up from that? It’s okay! You’ll get over it in no time.

Despite all this she does respect your boundaries, she’ll give you space if you’re vocal about it. She disappears on occasions and comes back covered in battle wounds and jam anyway.

You know about Pitaya locked up in her basement but you know not to touch them, let alone try and free them if you’re hero enough. She might just have to punish you for that if she catches you doing something you shouldn’t. Don’t worry though, it’s just this once, because you’ll surely never try anything again, right?

Big hugger, her love language is touch so expect hugs and kisses and mandatory cuddle sessions. Honestly if you’re just as messed as her then she’s a pretty solid lover

Frigid Cacao Cookie

It’s hard to tell he cares for you because he’s so distant, even from you.

You’re allowed into the throne room without summons, but the furthest into it you can go is to the foot of his throne. Like everyone else in the citadel, you’re not allowed to touch him.

Your days in the citadel are quiet. The outside is cold but the hallways and your room are warm, the latter always supplied to the brim with what you need.

Tiny licorice creatures slink in and out of your peripheral vision, watching you curiously. Sometimes they slink up to you, purring and chittering, and some might even be balancing trays of food, warm towels, clothes, or other things on their heads. Little do you know that Cacao has been ordering them to take care of you

While he doesn’t forbid you from leaving the kingdom, he’ll want you to come back to him one way or another. Ideally on your own, but one of the licorice oozes that have been watching you since you left could also bring you back.

You might see him out and about on rare occasions, and he might look at you. On even rarer occasions he might ask about your well being

The only thing he’s strict about is that you absolutely cannot attract attention from the other neobeasts, especially Saint Vanilla. The beast of Penance is already curious about learning what things make Cacao go soft; he does not need to learn about you.

Also don’t bring up Choco, he has a reaction to it

Celestial Cheese Cookie

Pampers you. Pampers you and pampers you and pampers you and pampers you

Thinks you’re the sweetest little thing and pinches your cheeks and everything

She’d be more than happy to show herself off, as well as all of her achievements. She gives you treasures from her conquests regularly

She’s similar to Dragonberry though where she expects praise, but unlike her she doesn’t get as angry. She doesn’t see her gift giving as a transactional thing, she does it because she can. You just gotta tell her how wonderful she is

The oases are a popular spot for her to bring you for food and refreshments, cared for by gold-adorned servants as she gushes over the grand vision for her kingdom. She’s honestly quite excitable and loves talking about herself and her plans.

Pay no mind to the scans that are run on you while you sleep, or the diagnostics of your information that run deep in her servers. She doesn’t think it’ll need to happen soon, but she’s planning to put you in a sarcophagus and hook you into her virtual world to make you live forever. She’s not going to let something else she cares about go.

Midnight Lily Cookie

The tamest one honestly

Unlike the others, she sees you as an equal. She knows your personal space and doesn’t encroach on it too much or too little, makes sure you’re well cared for and healthy, and keeps you safe. She also lets you leave and trusts you to take care of yourself. Being Beast of Sovereignty, she encourages the people under her to do whatever they please within their allegiance to her, and this includes you.

She’ll play the harp for you and ask you how she did

You also get lots of gifts and compliments from the other faeries for being the lover of their queen

She does have preferences though. She likes honesty and expects you to keep promises, she prefers if you do something for her in exchange for her doing something for you, and to not question her motive and means to take down her other half. She will get very defensive with you and shut down the conversation pretty fast

The flora in the silver kingdom bloom to their fullest around you both, but when Lily is upset with you, they curl or bud as you pass by them.

Speaking of chlorokinesis, get used to seeing her show no mercy with her plants. Unlike Dragonberry though, she’ll do her best to help you if the sight of bodies skewered on flower stems is too much. Maybe stick to the heart of the kingdom for your own good, where you’re less likely to see how the rest of Beast Yeast challenge her kingdom.

She has a whole bunch of rules set up when Saint visits. While she’d encourage not being with him at all, if you really want to see him, she made it expressly clear to him that he cannot purify you.

[r3starttt]

GOOD GIRL

PAIRING: soft!dom! Caitlyn x reader

CW: kinktober | scissoring. praise kink.

Caitlyn’s back is pressed firmly against the headboard, her knees tucked close to her chest, arms resting casually over them. The position gives her a quiet authority, a commanding stillness, as you crawl between her legs. You reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, gently parting her thighs with your hands. But it’s her hands that take control next—cupping your cheeks, her touch tender yet insistent. The softness of her fingers quickly shifts into something more demanding, pulling you closer until your lips are just shy of brushing against hers.

You barely have time to breathe before she’s pulling you fully into her, her lips claiming yours in a kiss that is anything but gentle. There’s a hunger there, a need that’s been building since the morning when her hands found your hips, her kisses lingered at your neck, and her low murmurs sent shivers through you. You could sense her stress.

Your hands explore the curves of her sides, the heat of your body pressing into her as you lean forward, trying to guide things further. But just as you think you're about to take the lead, she stops you. Her grip on your cheeks tightens before she pulls your hair into a messy grasp to push you far enough. This time, you’re not in control.

She leans in, her breath warm against your lips- she's keeping you exactly where she wants you.

"Take it off, yeah?" The pupils in your eyes torn into puppy eyed ones, flickering between her own and down to her lips. It's weak but clear enough, you nood until she lets go of you.

The pretty dark purple robe she's wearing slowly gets tossed somewhere on the floor. Followed by your sloppy movements, mocking that same action.

The sight is beyond delightful for her- but so it is for you. Her pretty blue hair cascading on each side of her face, lips glistening and rosy tainted, and her body. The toned of it, the delicacy that moved within her. "Good girl" and the way her hands found a way to take you so gently yet so hers.

"Lean back, love" and you obbey, with your elbows behind your back, supporting your weight and digging a comfortable spot made for you on the matress. Same action she follows once her eyes had already eaten you alive.

"Look at you..." Her hands travel from your clavicle and down your chest, between the valley of your breasts and up your nipples, taking them between her fingers with the softest hovering touch ever. "You’re so pretty... my pretty girl?"

Her tone sounds stupidity soothing, a melody that converts you into nothing but hers and hers only. "Yes" and you're always willing to give her that satisfaction, earning the pretty hums and smiles- she's proud. craving you.

Caitlyn's fingers run down your stomach until she gets to the lower skin and the cold pads of her fingers move to your legs, giving each a good glance before she acomodates you as she wishes.

There's a weird sensation covering you- turning your brain into fuzzy- the second her clit aligns with yours. It's the equivalent of feeling her lips brushing your neck, her murmurs on your ears or her nails digging into your skin. But It's wet and sloppy and messy and it feels oh so good.

Her lips turn into the prettiest circle- she lets out a quiet gasp. and her hands press over the tender flesh of your legs, adjusting the greatest speed and angle for your pussy to press and rub against hers.

Caitlyn starts slow and gentle, like she is with you. Her eyebrows quickly knotting into a soft frown, you can see her teeth adorning the red of her bottom lips. cheeks quickly flushed into a tender red and her hair becomes a bother, hiding half of her face as she guides your every move. She's gonna end up using you at one point. Not that you care.

Her hips moved up and down against your wet slit, pressing harder and harder against you as if magically you could become one. You leaned your head back, resting it against one of your shoulders, enough to not struggle to hold yourself and enough to get a proper look of her.

You wanted more, needed it. There could never be such as feeling her arousal messing against yours, being this intimate and vulnerable and having her so close. Hearing those pretty whimpers and groans whenever she struggled or felt like you weren't close enough. But the only thing that brushed your lips were a bunch of blabbers that painted into whines and soft calls for her.

"I- I know..." she'd nood, digging her nails against your thighs or calves and eventually- as you assumed, using you for brief moments just to hit the right spot for her.

You could only whine her name in quiet blabbers, hitting her clit back, rubbing your hips against her pretty pussy. Caitlyn tried to, but eventually she had to let you do some it too, you felt too good and looked so pretty for her to ignore.

"So pretty for me- god- so good" she rambled quietly, pressing and guiding your clits closer and faster. The sounds obscene. "Let me hear you love- be a good girl for me"

and as if her job had finally given the results they dreamt of, your bodies working as one- a mix of wet, whines and quiet pleads combining with hers, following each other's orgasm into one.

Her hands felt oh so soothing up and down your legs. And her chest raised with heavy breaths made for you to hear and admire. She could not look any prettier.

TAGLIST | kinktober taglist: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @clairoscharm

- caitlyn taglist: @imdrowningindispair @mirconreadzztuff22 @crispers @moonlyblue

[wandasaura]

THE COLORS IN AUTUMN, SO BRIGHT

summary — when the weight of your anxious thoughts becomes too much, wanda knows just how to ease all your worries

warning(s) — established relationship, essentially cowgirl!wanda, mommy kink, dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, use of petnames, body marking (hickies), biting, verbal teasing, teasing, begging, ever so slight dumbification, condescending tone, fingering, orgasm control, eventual orgasm, oral fixation, slight lactation kink (no milk), subspace, aftercare, soft mommy wanda, domestic wanda, men/minors dni

authors note — welcome to kinktober gremlins! and a very happy birthday to my enemy, @esouliie.

kinktober

The sunset was soft as it fell upon the quaint little cottage you resided in with Wanda on the outskirts of a town that welcomed you eagerly. The burnt orange glow casted shadows against the walls painted a delicate eggshell, etches of tempting darkness stretching across the mantle harboring styrofoam pumpkins and wooden decorations sweetly. The interior of your home had been effectively tainted by fall since September’s end, and the alluring illumination of sunbeams brought on a sense of profound ease that gripped at your spine and aided in the release of pent up stress. You’d long since abandoned a life of constant maneuvering, settling down on the few acres of land you could snuff out that wasn’t tremendously out of reach from the bustling city. You’d given into the ease of married life, submitted to the sensation of truly belonging, but there were still factors that piled up, and romantic bliss could only alter your habits so much before the woman that you’d been before came crashing back onto you. Only now you didn’t have to handle her alone, didn’t have to dwell in seemingly eternal darkness, didn’t have to find your way out single-handedly. She’d be there to guide you; to break down all of the walls that turned you cold until all that remained was her pliant, easily agreeable girl; her baby. 

When Wanda came inside through the always unlocked front door, kicked off her mud splattered boots in the doorway with ease, you noted the basket of freshly laid eggs in her hands and smiled lazily, half-heartedly, unable to give her anything more than that despite the overwhelming joy that surged through your under stimulated nerves at the sight of her so broken down by rapturous domestication. You never had to tell her when life wore you down, because somehow, she always knew. You knew that you’d conveyed all that you needed to in the simple tired smile you offered when her nose scrunched upwards, her head tilting to the left as she cooed softly. The basket of eggs was discarded onto the side table to be dealt with later, you her main priority now. 

“Hi, my angel.” She greeted sweetly, her lips, still warm from the exposure to unconcealed daylight, brushing against your temple which was equally warm from the weight of a cozy blanket thrown over your curled up frame. With your bodies warm in their own ways, you found an addictive comfort in her touch, and desperately leaned closer, hoping to capture more of her sincere affection. It was never that simple, never that easily won; not when you were like this, not when you needed her to be more than just your doting wife and life partner, but still you tried to capture it. “Is my sweet girl having a hard time?” She cooed, hands that were still dirtied with chicken feed and mud cupping your cheeks that had seen far worse concoctions since you’d moved from the city. It had been quite the adjustment when you’d first gotten the chickens, having to face the realities of maintaining a farm and the secretions that came with unhygienic animals. Wanda was handling it better than you, and each morning she stepped into her rubber boots with pride while you hung back and tended to the house. It was an uneven dynamic without a doubt, but it worked so well for you both that neither of you minded, and embarrassingly you thought that caked on dirt only increased her attractiveness that paralyzed your inhibitions on a good day.  

You shrugged rather dismissively in response to her question, not sure of the words on the tip of your tongue that only formed in short sentences despite your efforts to elaborate. There wasn’t much going on in your head at all, but what had been made clear through physical expression alone was your deep longing for her authority and strict control. You got like this sometimes, for no rhyme or reason at all, but unlike the partners you’d had in the past that plagued you with insecurities and toxic expectations that you still muddled through from time to time even now, Wanda had never been phased – or, she’d never allowed you to see how it phased her, either could be true. Secretly, you think she rather likes this side of you, especially when she’s able to erase all feelings of dread from your weary bones and turn you into her sweet submissive eager to do anything that pleases her. Sometimes it’s a battle to break through your stubborn reserve, but other times, all it takes is the right tone of voice and a title that holds untarnished endearment and trust. Never before had any of your partners earned a title in the bedroom, but Wanda, with her calloused hands and charming smile, with her soft contagious laughter and stern commanding presence, had shown you the true bounds of a healthy committed relationship. She’d presented the title to you one night, when you were in a mood similar to now, and it had just felt right. Still, you fought its use, pushed aside its tantalizing effects, tried to lock away the desire to call her anything but her name, but it had changed you, and even with your stubborn exterior, your heart longed to have her fully; every unprotected side of her, every persona. 

“I need words, my lovely. Come on, tell Mommy what’s wrong.” There it was; that title that you had been fighting the urge to let slip past your lips since you’d rolled out of bed and found her making tea in the kitchen, already in her rubber boots and sunhat despite it being October. She’d been doused in early sunlight then, illuminated by a golden glow that allowed her hair to shine so incandescently, just like it was now hours later. She’d been in and out of the house since then, tending to the animals and the upkeep of the lawn, feeding horses and collecting chicken eggs, all while you’d laid on the couch in a strop of unexplainable angst. The reminder of your uneven dynamic weighed you down further, and expressively your features betrayed your tight lips. “Does Mommy need to take away some of that stress? I can see how tense you are, my girl. Can feel it all beneath my hands. Let Mommy help, yeah?” 

All that you could manage was a soft nod of agreement, your eyes glazing over as you stared back at her with an indistinguishable depth beneath your twinkling gaze. She had you beneath her entracing grip of control already, but there was still much to be down about your forlorn attitude. When her eyebrows knitted together, green eyes sparkling with affection albeit antagonizing incompletion, you knew that there was something more that she wanted from you; there always was. “I need words, moya lyubov.” 

“Yes.” The exasperated sigh entangled with your simply spoken consent rippled against her skin in waves, but she allowed your curtness to be forgiven for the moment, certain that eventually she’d have you pliant and begging beneath her, but there was never any prize for rushing the inevitable. The long game was far more sweet in her opinion. 

You grumbled beneath your breath when that weight of her hands caressing your flush cheeks slipped away in a single moment, replaced by cold longing and slowly building desire as you analyzed her eyes growing dark with temptation each second that passed. You watched her with hooded eyes, barely able to contain the squirming that you did now that you weren’t beneath her expectant stare, and while you didn’t feel like moving by a longshot, rundown by the weight of your sudden and unexplainable mood, you wiggled out of the soft clothing that had covered you since morning in favor of preparing yourself for her. Even if you’d need reassurance and guidance to fully snap out of the daze you’d fallen victim to, your inhibitions craved being good regardless. 

You settled back on the couch once your orange shorts speckled with cartoon bats and your t-shirt adorned with a cheerful jack-o-lantern had been folded on the coffee table, leaving you in only a pair of panties that coincidentally mirrored the festivities of fall the same way your loungewear had. The spider web design that laid over your naked mound, just beneath a delicate black bow that rested against your bikini line, would remain in place for Wanda to remove whenever she felt ready, your body having her preferences memorized even beneath the haze that consumed you. The throw pillow beneath your head was plush with newness, a decorative piece bought just a few days ago that enveloped your weight without restriction. It was perfectly comfortable, unlike the pumpkin shaped pillow on the chair across the room, but still it wasn’t Wanda, and each second reminded you of how you longed for her company as it passed. 

The sound of the faucet running, the french doors closing on the fridge, the naked footsteps drawing near, had been lost as they battled the deafening noise that filled your head. When a shadow fell over you, blocking out beams of ebbing sunlight, you’d startled reflexively, eyes scrambling to lock onto Wanda who stood above you with refined amusement twinged into her smirk. “My baby’s all ready for me, huh?” The heat of her acknowledgment replaced the warmth where sunlight had once fallen, and desperately you squirmed beneath her stare saturated in tender affection. “Such a good girl, keeping your panties on, hm. You know how much Mommy loves to be the one to take them off.” 

You swallowed thickly, sinking into the cushions as she came closer with each softly spoken acknowledgment of your obedience. Your eyes drooped lustfully as you sought to meet her stare through thick lashes, clouded with submission that hadn’t yet earned the strength to break through your reserve entirely, though its effort to prevail was commendable. Without warning – very few things came with a warning when Wanda was in this headspace – her weight caused the couch to dip slightly as she knelt on either side of your pliant body, but her deliciously toned thighs encasing your wanting frame kept you from rocking too harshly to the side. 

“You just need your Mommy, huh? Too many thoughts in that pretty head. That’s okay, Mommy’s here.” She cooed sweetly, leaning close until her lips, polished with a glimmering layer of cinnamon chapstick that she’d picked up from the farmers market last week, laid softly against your temple in a sweet show of tender affection that would remain unwavering no matter the acts she committed to your body in fleeting moments of intimacy and trust. The foundation of your relationship didn’t rely on the adventures of your sex life, and while Wanda could be downright vulgar, there were always elements of your thoughtful wife beneath the surface of her addictive dominance. Her trail of kisses started at your temple, soft and sweet as it warmed your skin and heart alike, but as she traveled lower, grew confident and bolder with her actions, the mark of her lips felt like an eternally burning fire that marked you fully. When her lips wrapped around your nipple for a brief moment, hot tongue soothing the ache tha thad become intertwined with your arousal due to your pebbled buds having been left untouched for so long as you’d waited for her return, your back arched off the couch, hands tangling into her hair desperately. But, before her touch and those delicious licks of pleasure were truly yours to grasp onto, she moved lower, kissed harsher, bit rougher. Your belly became a canvas of soft pinks and deep purples, marks of her passion left to gaze at even in the sensual aftermath, and each new mark pulled gasps and whines from your lips that had still refused to utter that one title that would ease all of your stress. 

When she reached the hem of your panties, the black bow a delicate touch to your sole article of clothing, you moaned lewdly as she nipped at it, pulling away from your body only to release the silk fabric and watch as the elastic band snapped against your bikini line harshly. You writhed at the welcomed albeit abrupt sting that slithered up your body until it met that existing coil of pleasure in your belly and added to the insatiable pressure blooming slowly, feeling hot breath fan across where you needed her most, although any semblance of desired pressure was withheld, and as she continued to taunt, to tease, to poke every button except the one you needed most, you grew desperate and impatient. As her teeth sank into the sensitive skin of your thigh for the fourth time, you snapped your legs closed around her head firmly, arching your back until your core was just out of reach from her mouth. 

“Please!” The strain in your voice was near pathetically desperate, and you were highly aware of the sticky arousal that darkened the fabric of your panties, typically a shade of soft burnt orange. The patch of moisture where desire pooled was deep and obvious to the naked eye even if you yourself couldn’t see it, and Wanda set her gaze on it with a near primal glint sparkling beneath the surface that nipped at your senses and pulled you beneath the rip current of her addictive essence. 

With an expression curated through years of meticulous practice, her full lips coated in cinnamon chapstick formed the perfect pout as she trailed her gaze upwards and over your body until her dazzling green eyes fell upon your own, and so elusively she had you believing in the genuinity of her puzzled concern and sincerity. “Please, what? What do you need from me, my love?” 

“Touch me! Please!” You begged shamelessly, although still with caution, forbidding yourself from slipping beneath her brutal intoxication just yet, however you slackened your hold on her head willingly, knowing that even if you hadn’t she’d have pried your thigh apart until your core opened itself up to her and whatever sadistic urges she felt the need to bestow upon your desperate body. Your thoughtfulness was rewarded with a single finger dragging down the center of your panties; over the engorged button that had once been your unaroused clit, through the passageway of your folds that parted for her easily at the slightest application of featherlight pressure, until it found that patch of tantalizing wetness that pooled at your opening which she prodded at tauntingly. 

“But I am touching you, sweetheart. I know that pretty head of yours is so fuzzy right now, but can’t you feel me?” The pout that formed across her lips only deepened as she pressed harder against you, her own eyes becoming lidded with arousal that wasn’t easily warded off, however, she’d always been better at self control than you. Desperately thrashing your hips upward, it seemed your show of desperation had finally weakened her stone exterior, and with a faux sigh of reluctance, she tapped your hip twice, fingers damp from your arousal threading into the waistband of your panties and beginning to pull them away once you’d complied with her silent demand and lifted your hips. “There, is that better, darling? No more icky panties keeping me from having you fully?” 

“Have me.” Your attempt at bargaining for pleasure was merely a breathy plea, your eyes fluttering closed as a slight draft creeping in from the open window fell upon your exposed core. Wanda smiled smugly at your wilting defiance, her fingers pressing into your folds and collecting wetness that pooled at your entrance like glittering pearls. You gasped a ragged sounding breath when the first finger sank into your core, single knuckle deep but still something to work with. “Please! M– Wanda!” The call of her name on your lips as she sank deeper inside of you, exploiting all of the spots that made you weak with pleasure naturally, was instinctual, but at the very last second you’d realized your near mistake and corrected it, although that near slip had her growing bolder once more, her touches becoming pointed and driven. 

“So close. You’re almost there, my pretty girl. Relax, just let Mommy touch you. There’s no need for those big daunting thoughts right now. You’re too little for those.” She preened, once again adjusting her position on the couch and subsequently jostling the single digit buried within your most intimate canal. The abrupt movement had you seeing stars, her blunt nail scraping across your sweet spot momentarily. With her weight resting on her shins, the couch supporting both of you evenly, she leaned in close, brushing her lips against yours in a tender embrace that had you truly submitting; releasing everything that had built up within you without your notice. 

As one finger became two, and her thumb sought out your swollen bundle of nerves begging for attention, there was little spoken word that filled the living room in the build up of pleasure. Your whines and gasps became fast paced and frenzied, desperate for that finite explosion that would send you plummeting into submission and ease, but as she wound you up, imposed blinding pleasure upon you, she held you there firmly, unwilling to allow that coil to snap before you gave her that one thing she wanted. “Please! Please! I’m so close!” Your hands grabbed at her overalls, that faded light denim so loved and broken in from hours of labor on the farm the perfect fabric to grip possessively in moments such as now. 

“I know, detka. I can feel you squeezing my fingers, can hear how wet you are. Just let go. Stop trying to hold on and let go for me. For Mommy.” Her fingers that had set a rushed pace slowed to a near complete stop, and you sobbed in defeat as that blinding climax that had been building slipped away for the second time. 

“Please! Mommy! Please!” There it was, so soft as it fell off of your lips that had become flush with blood as you gnawed and nipped at them with anticipation since the start of her teasing. Wanda only smiled, allowing the thumb that had been previously stroking at your nipples to pull at your bottom lip, sinking into your warm mouth when you parted your lips. As you suckled on her heavy digit, took in the faint traces of your arousal on her skin, her fingers in your core picked up speed again, and without hesitation, she allowed you to fall over the edge into bliss. 

“There we go. Good girl. My good girl. Did so well for me. So good for Mommy.” She cooed, easily working you down from that blinding climax that had your thighs trembling and tears springing to your beautiful eyes. She pulled her thumb away from your mouth prematurely, wanting to hold you close as the aftermath of your orgasm fell upon you fully, leaving you with nowhere to hide from the intense emotions that no longer had walls to keep them prisoner. 

Collecting you in her arms, pulling you snug against her chest, you whined at the sensation of weightlessness on your tongue, still desperate and eager to have that intimate connection and stimulation. Without words, not needing to hear what you needed from her because she already knew — she always knew — the button on her overalls was undone easily, and like you’d done on a few nights before, your mouth that sought her skin latched onto her nipple, eyes fluttering closed in blissful submission as you had her close. 

“I love you, my girl.” She hummed softly, lips pressing against your temple once more, sealing her affection with a kiss that you’d never complain about. 

[wriokitty]

greens — ft. wriothesley

includes: hints at wrio’s past and his mother that he reflects on ; established relationship ; gender neutral reader ; reader force feeds him veggies because i hc he hates them ; based kind of on this post

“Wriothesley,” you warn. He pauses, glancing at you cautiously at your tone.

“You sound…not happy,” he points out.

You raise a brow, unimpressed and unamused as you say, “Very astute observation.”

“What’d I do this time?” He pouts, slumping in his chair as he tries to sift through his brain for what he’s possibly done. He doesn’t have to think for too long, though—you answer for him instantly.

He almost wishes you never did.

“Finish your vegetables, Wriothesley,” you scold firmly, “you’re not leaving this table until you finish your greens—they’re good for you.”

Finish your vegetables, Wriothesley.

They’re good for you.

You’re not leaving this table until you finish.

There’s something eerily familiar about the words. He thinks he may have swallowed his vision—a chill seeps along his esophagus as he swallows thickly, the frost mixing with his blood as it runs cold and makes him stiffen. There’s ice in his veins. Frigid, harsh, cruel, and sharp.

He plays with his fork, not meeting your stare as he moves the leftover dinner on his plate around with a dazed look.

“Not hungry,” he mutters. “I’m full.”

“You never finish your vegetables,” you huff, “honestly, Wrio, you’re an adult, you know. Don’t be difficult about eating healthy.”

Everything you say sounds devastatingly familiar. His mother’s words take shape in your voice, molding in your throat and waltzing past your lips to haunt him. It’s your voice, sure, but they’re her words. Something about it makes him feel young again—but it’s not rooted in nostalgia. Not fond memories or amusing moments he can look back at and smile.

They taunt him, he thinks. The sweet smile and kind eyes, the firm tone and gentle strictness. His mother’s love was easy to believe. So painfully simple, it felt like she did it just as she breathed. Inhaling his presence and exhaling her care for him in a steady rhythm between expansion and contraction in her lungs.

Eat your vegetables, Wriothesley, she’d tell him. If you want to grow big and strong, you have to eat them.

He wonders now, as he stares at the remnants of dinner, if she’d ever cared for his growth because she cherished his wellbeing. If the thought of him being older, stronger, and maybe even wiser was something she was proud of. (He knows the answer. Deep, in the gaping hole of his chest, the knife twists into the raw edges of a still-healing wound.

He knows. Better than anyone, he knows she never cared. Not for anything other than growing him big and desirable so she could sell him off, offer him up like she saw him as though he was marketable. Like an animal, maybe. An item. A luxury, even.

But not a child. He was never a child in her eyes—simply always just a person who wasn’t grown yet.)

“Hey,” you snap your fingers in front of his face, pulling him out of his daze. Something in your face is softer now, flooded with concern, dripping with anxiety. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” he blinks, staring past your head and at the wall. His voice is soft and barely-there as he all but whispers, “just haven’t heard that in a while. I guess some things never change, huh? I was a handful then, and now, too.”

It’s a poor attempt at a joke. You see right through it—you always do. Some form of recognition and realization and maybe even heartbreak flashes in your eyes, and he hates it. Hates that he can never escape something as mundane as dinner being tainted with demons that make everything unholy. Past demons that shape shift into his present. His future.

His everything.

They reach to grab him, to drag him back into that dark, unforgiving hole in his mind where he can’t climb out. Can’t reach for any sort of leverage to pull himself out and find the light. But just before they can reach out and touch him, you get to him first—one hand grabbing his across the table as you smile softly.

“Well, there’s only one way to handle a stubborn child who doesn’t eat his vegetables.”

“What? Punish me?” He raises a brow. You pretend you don’t hear the underlying bitterness in his tone.

Instead, you reach your fork across the table and onto his plate, stabbing at the broccoli head left untouched before bringing it up to his lips and waving the fork in circular motions.

He scrunches his brows in distaste. You smile and fight back a giggle as you sing, “here comes the plane! Ready for landing in three, two, one…”

“Are you serious?” He snorts, equal parts amused and equal parts in disbelief.

You huff, glaring. “The plane is waiting to land, y’know.”

“Fine,” he sighs in defeat, letting you push the broccoli past his lips and into his mouth. He grumbles, chewing against his will as you watch him intently. “This is gross.”

“Well, one day, when you’re big and strong, you’ll thank me.”

“I’m already big and strong,” he insists, looking a little dramatically wounded.

“Bigger and stronger,” you correct. “You’ll thank me eventually.”

He already has plenty to thank you for, he thinks, eyes trained on you as the light casts over your features like heaven resides in your skin. But adding one more thing to the list is more than okay.

Better than okay, in fact.

So umm….idk. I’m sad about him :( also it’s 2 am and I’m sleepy and this is not proof read I’m sorry. It could be written better but I’m tiredddf

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Barter 2

Warnings: suggestions of death, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

You watch the witcher set off into the fog from between the slats of the barn. It’s been a fortnight crammed into the space. The stench has faded to something tolerable but the tension hasn’t. 

The now orphaned maiden clings to your arm. That’s what she is now. The man in black all but confirmed it. His horse tramps off into oblivion without hesitation as he sits tall in his saddle, disappearing into the haze. You sit back as your companion sniffles. 

“They’re dead? All of them?” 

“It would seem,” you sigh and lean on the wall.  

Your sister was a sweet girl but even before the revelation, you had little hope. Especially as your mother went to search and did not return. Your father has only you and your brother left. Marsh is a child still but he will grow into his legacy, so long as you father lasts that long. 

“How could this happen to us? Why Krescent? We are a good pious village,” she whines, her sniveling grating your addled nerves. 

“Bad things happen to all, regardless of prayers,” you resign. 

“That is blaspheme,” she accuses. 

“It is the truth. It has happened to all in the wretched place. And if this witcher should be able to slay the evil, then I too shall walk off to my own doom, only a living one.” 

She looks at you with her watery eyes. They are such a pale shade of green that they look almost yellow. She always reminded you of a swampy witch, the ones in the stories you whispered so the elders did not hear. 

“I suppose...” she begins, “marriage is destined to all. It shouldn’t be such a surprise.” 

“To him?” You wonder grimly. “Perhaps, at least, I will be away from this cursed land, that I should not look upon it and think of my...” your voice catches as the witcher’s words crash upon you. Your legs buckle and you slide down the wall and fold against your knees. “They truly are gone.” 

Caralyn mops away her tears as she kneels at your side. Your own eyes do not weep though your chest concaves. You brace your head as your elbows rest on your knees. You take a deep breath. 

“My father did not protest,” you murmur. “He is too dumbed without my mother to do anything.” You look at her, still hunched, “you must promise to look after Marsh.” 

“I promise,” she avows and brushes your sleeve softly. “I will keep him close to my own brothers and sisters, now that it is up to me to see to them.” 

You nod and frown deeper, “I’m deeply sorry for your parents, Caralyn. They were always so kind.” 

“So kind, I do wonder why it should be them instead of me,” her eyes spring with tears again and she lowers herself to her bottom. She wipes her nose messily and heaves.  

You wring your hands. You wonder the same of your mother and sister. How can it be that Lessa would wander off and you would be left behind to miss her. Your mother was always the order in your life and now it is chaos. 

Along with grief, is more terror. What should happen should the fogler, or whatever he called, it not desist? What if the witcher were to defeat the monster? Should he really claim your hand? A wife?  

Caralyn is right, it is not great surprise to be wed. It is a young woman’s fate but this... what sort of wife can you be to someone like him. The tainted. The sort spat upon at even the lowest tavern. 

“He was not... hideous,” Caralyn suggests as if reading your thoughts. 

You scrunch your nose at her, “how he looks is the least of my woes.” 

“Tall. Strong.” She offers. 

“Car, stop,” you chide. 

“You must... must try to hearten,” she shifts closer so her legs touch yours and she leans a little, as if to comfort you. “As our mothers would always tell us, we must be good wives one day. No matter who. I’m certain if you prove a good loyal wife, he would not treat you as one of his beasts.” 

You stare at her and hum. She is not incorrect. You were never to choose your husband so it should be that it doesn’t matter so much who it is. Only that you serve him well. 

“A man is a man, even if witcher he be,” she declares. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Idia Shroud: The Daily Grind

Oooh, his limited-edition shirt (from a live performance, implying he actually may have attended a concert in-person??) has the Fates on it! Idia also talks about getting birthday messages from his mobile games… True Gamer rep... though I cannot forgive him using an all-in-one cream for his face don’t let Vil hear—

THAT GROOVY IS TAINTED 😭 The less I say about it, the better…

Rise and Shine!

Idia Shroud lived by numbers. Measurements, code, games. They were dependable things, easily controlled and predictable, unlike the fleshy meat sacks called humans. The most improbable creatures of all.

The luck of the draw had been unkind to him this year. A test ("In person attendance is required, Shroud," Trein had told him sternly), on his birthday! If a higher being existed out there, Idia was certain he was their least favorite child.

Touching grass? Tch, so annoying.

Idia drew out a ragged groan and rolled his neck, which still ached from having slept upright in his gaming chair. Clasped in his hands was a rectangle, its screen glowing as one of his many mobile games booted up. He had a list to run through, missions to complete--all a part of his routine.

Another day. Better do my dailies before heading out.

He sighed.

A familiar home screen unfolded before his eyes. It was a lounge, newly refurbished and dipped in a neon glow. Balloons clouded the ceiling, banners and streamers were strung up, confetti dusting the floors. Jewel-colored flowers in crystal vases and sumptuous dishes crowded the avaliable space on tables. On special occasions, the background was automatically decorated in honor of the holidays.

A grinning anime girl faded in. She was dressed in a fluffy cloak and hat, keeping her cozy for the winter season. This particular version of her was a SSR he had dumped money into to max out (no expense spared for the best girl).

"Happy birthday, Gloomurai!" she chirped, parroting the same phrase that she did to all players once a year. "Geez, did you sleep in again? Wakey, wakey! How are you going to enjoy your birthday if you're only half-awake for all of it? ... Wh-What? You're wondering if I prepared anything for you? Don't be stupid. I-It's not like... I... like you or anything..."

"Hihihihi... Aaaah, the way she runs hot and cold is so cute, just the best! This is peak content!" Idia chuckled to himself. Here, in the comfort of his private quarters.

Beep, beep, beep!

Idia yelped and leapt up in his seat, nearly dropped his phone. He squinted at the blinking envelope icon that had overtaken the screen.

"... What? A new message?"

Who's it from? I-I don't talk to any of my classmates enough for them to contact me out of the blue like this... C-Could it be Riddle-shi shouting at me to attend the next dorm leader meeting?

Idia cautiously opened the message. He winced as he braced himself for the redhead's shouting (all caps) from the other end.

A cheerful jingled played, followed by pixelated fireworks popping off. Ortho exploded forth from the envelope with a giggle, the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY blinking on either side of him. The video message began to roll.

"Gooood morning, nii-san!" his little brother cried. "Did you get a good night's sleep? I hope so, because you'll need all that energy for your exam--and your birthday party afterwards!"

"B-Birthday party? When did I agree to attend that...?" Idia mumbled, running a hand through his fiery hair.

The prerecorded Ortho continued. "But I know you. You're probably thinking, 'Birthday party? When did I agree to attend that...?' ... Right?"

H-He got me nailed word for word!!

"We can't have you shut away in your bedroom as soon as you're done with that test! So to make sure you don't try and squirm out of socializing, I've recruited a guest character for an escort mission to your class and then to the birthday party afterwards. They'll be by to pick you up at 7:30 am. See you then, nii-san!"

Ortho waved farewell before he blipped out of existence. Idia sprung out of his gaming chair, slick with sweat from a freshly sprung, anxiety-induced leak. He stared at his phone in disbelief, his eyes wide and bugged out.

"D-Did I... Did I hear that message right?! S-Someone's coming to escort me to class?! But the time right now is…!!”

Knock, knock, knock!

“E-Eeeep!!”

This time, he did drop his phone. Its fall was cushioned by the mountain of cardboard boxes, opened chip bags, and volumes of manga loitering on the floor. The impact restarted the video message: “Gooood morning, nii-san! Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

“Idia-senpai?” a voice called out, joining Ortho’s. Your voice. “Are you there? I’m here to grab you for class.”

Th-Them?! He turned paler than Death, even as his cheeks and the tips of his hair burned bright pink. Why… wh-why did Ortho have to choose THEM for this?!

“H-Hold on a minute!” Idia called out.

He crumpled to his knees and gathered as much of his junk as he could, shoveling it into convenient hiding places to create the illusion of tidiness. His closet, under his bed, empty boxes and bookshelf space.

“How much longer?” you asked worriedly from the other side of the door. “You might be late at this rate—and you know how Professor Trein can be about tardiness.”

“A-Almost…!!”

Idia grabbed his phone and got back up, glancing at himself in the reflection of his monitor. His bangs had gone awry, covering one eye in cobalt bangs. He hurriedly brushed them away, trying to get his hair to behave as best he could, then attempted to straighten out the creases in his pajamas.

Screw the school uniform. There was no time left to make himself any more presentable than this. He’d have to deal with the disapproving shake of his teacher’s head when he slumped in. If was preferable to keeping you waiting.

His temperature spiked again. Pink became red. He waved frantic hands at his hair, urging them to cool off back to blue.

Calm down. C-Calm down, you’ve got this!! You’ve played so many dating sims, summon that main character charm!

But in real life, there were no clearly defined routes to head on. No dialogue options to choose or love flags to trip. No resets, should he fail miserably. He was left on his own to fumble through social interactions—and their consequences.

He shambled over to his door and, swallowing hard, cracked it open. A sliver of light poured in from the outside, along with your smiling face. He was a monster crammed into a gap, and you were his savior.

“There you are!”

Idia tried to picture a brazen male lead. The sort of guy that leaned against doorframes with a cocky smirk and casually went, “Hey, you.”

Nope, nope, nope!!! WAY too cringe! I-I can’t say that like I'm a confident alpha dudebro…! I can’t…!!

Idia froze, his mind defaulting to a 404 error. Even his heart seemed to stop, seized by clawing panic.

“H-Hey,” he said meekly.

"Happy birthday, Idia-senpai.” You blinked, slowly taking him in. "Did you sleep in again?"

E-Eh…? What is this weird sense of deja vu? They sound almost exactly like the birthday login lines from earlier... e-except it's a real person this time, not a fictional character...

The pace of his heartbeat quickened.

S-Something’s wrong with me. Th-This reaction’s definitely not normal!!

He flushed again, fervid as a flame. Short circuiting, overheating.

“Er… Idia-senpai? Are you feeling okay? Your hair, it’s going haywire, shifting colors like a lava lamp,” you vaguely gestured. “And you’re still in your pajamas. You hardly look ready to leave your room."

“I-I’m fine!” he squeaked. “I wasn’t expecting a guest, s-so… I didn’t prepare to receive… any... one…” Idia trailed off.

"Hehe. How are you going to enjoy your birthday if you're only half-awake for all of it?" You extended a hand to him. "Come on, it’s time to wake up.”

Just like the greeting from the mobile game.

Idia shyly ducked behind his door, hiding his burning face.

Is this a dream? If it is, I don't know if I want to wake up from it.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Could you write for a female concubine that both Geta and Caracalla are in a relationship with?

The concubine of two gods

Geta/Caracalla x concubine!reader

warning : comfort, kissing, touching, mention of smut (rather smutish) nothing explicit, no use of y/n, nicknames : sun, heart, goddess

Summary : Her past uninteresting, her future uncertain, but in the present she had her place, she belonged to the emperors of Rome. A single concubine for the care of two gods, two men who desired and possessed her. She was theirs and had no choice but to obey...

info : Thank you so much anon for the request, I am so pleased to get one for Gladiator II. I love the idea, I wanted to do something similar myself someday, so this fits all the better. Have fun reading ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A scandal in the eyes of the senate, two emperors who had only passed their twentieth birthday a few moons ago without an heir were having fun with a concubine rather than looking for a wife.

But the Senate's secret was kept under wraps and the people hardly noticed, so Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla were all the more furious when the golden hands were placed around their handsome possessions.

The blue eyes of the imperial siblings had settled on them, both had been on a quest for something more fun, someone who was not tainted by lowly origins.

A woman who was a nobody and lived only for the bedie, ,,Give us our desire and we'll give you the world” Geta had promised her when he had put the tight gold bracelet on her, engravings of Apollo carved into it. It belonged to Geta and the chain that could be attached to the gold bracelet had a leather handle made by Caracalla.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emperor Geta

°For Geta it was Olympus, the sky he could turn to at any time when he disappeared from the light of attention. After a Senate meeting or a visit to the Colosseum, she was waiting for him, would always find him and he didn't have to search to catch sight of her. ,,My heart” he greeted her, placing a kiss on the back of her hand, kissing the golden rings he had made for her, she was his property.

°Above all, he could do anything he wanted with his property, satisfy his lust for her in every conceivable way. At night in his chambers, he went to her under the furs and pillows, saw the emperor without make-up and golden clothes, while he ran his hands over her golden body. Lips that tasted hers, that kissed and tasted her body, grips that would leave colorful stains like a mosaic and two bodies that demanded lust, ,,My...you are bound to the emperor” he reminded her and fingers closed tightly around her jaw.

°As lustful as nights and days could be, she was just as magnificent when she was at his side. He appeared with her in the safety of the palace, two gods whose hearts seemed to wander through the corridors, ,,More divine than they will ever be” she flattered him and adjusted the golden laurel wreath before they entered the senate together. With her at his side, he had the missing piece in his government, what he had in ideas and plans, she had in eloquence and influence behind him to make it happen.

°His past known to her but hers all the more mysterious, something that harmonized when they joined forces in the Senate against the "false" friends and he held her hand as they witnessed the stabbing of some senators, ,,Thanks to your grace" he whispered to her, a hot breath and a kiss on her neck a sign for more, for the night. But especially when the sun went down and the moon came out, the light of the goddess gradually lost its meaning and only the young man Geta remained, without make-up, without gold, only with a name that she spoke with her lips.

°When he lay there on the bed in pillows and furs, the goblet of wine in his hand and looking vulnerable, she was there to keep him from being alone with his thoughts. She would run her hand through his hair, kiss him and run her hand over his hands where the gold lay, ,,You will never lose your power...my Emperor” she would murmur to him, looking over the rim of the goblet at him and resting her hand on his chest.

°Two hearts that beat the same in dark hours when the burden of a ruler becomes too much. For when her olive ring felt too tight, he was there to loosen it, a reminder of his power, but in the same breath it was he who wrapped his arms around her, not letting go because he needed her not only physically, but also to have his human side protected by her.

°Above the gold, he and she were two gods when they wanted to be, but underneath they were two humans caught up in a larger thing. Love and devotion was the only thing holding them together before they became Emperor Geta and his nameless concubine again with the rising of the sun...but with the sun, a second desire settled over them, one with a lust for blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emperor Carcalla

°Caracalla did not see the divine when he saw her, he saw an amusement that never ended. Like a personal spectacle, a coliseum, a fight, a never-ending blood...more like a pet he dragged behind him on a leash...but in the figure of a woman in whose arms he wanted to lie when his existence became too heavy.

°His interest in politics was hardly an open secret, he could hardly make decisions himself without Geta being there. But now that he had the need, the desire for something for the first time, he didn't let himself be dissuaded. ,,If brother gets you at night, I'll take you during the sun,” he made his intentions clear, his smile revealing the gold tooth, the same sound of the leash rattling as he started to move and she had no choice but to follow.

°A follow she did day in and day out from the colloseum where she sat next to him, his hand wrapped around hers, sharing his excitement with her when one of his gladiators killed the opponent and blood spurted through the counter, ,,You bring us luck sun!” he proclaimed and a kiss as a reward. An intimacy he lived out with her in a different way what Geta wanted to have control over, Caracalla wanted to see everything free from her.

°When lights from the sun were reflected in mirrors, the emperor's chamber was illuminated and a trail of blood ran around the room, a throaty moan could be heard every now and then between the laughter. ,,Wonderful! My goddess is as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside!” he shouted as if he were entertaining an audience as he applied the knife once more, her naked body ran across the room, the chain slept across the floor and one of Caracalla's hands lay on the knife while his other lay under his toga.

°Despite his fits, he knew better than to take her than to pursue his lust physically with her, but both benefited from such a game. With each thrust as he pulled her to him, her skin warm and bleeding, her gasps and moans as he kissed her just to taste and lick her blood, his amusement grew, ,,Such a good king,” she replied, the pleasure in his eyes turning to a smile and another moan leaving his lips.

°Despite all the blood and lust, he was eager for her anchoring, for the woman in whose arms he loved to lie like a child who could do no wrong. A child who listened to stories of war, he giggled when another one died and stretched out to her touch when she gently stroked his cheek and gave him a kiss on the head, ,,My handsome emperor” her praise turned him on, soothed him and made him clasp the chain tighter.

°For Caracalla she was everything, a wife, an entertainment, his desire, the mother he ever wanted to have and he was almost like a child born with a golden tooth in his mouth. A king who was addicted to her and her feelings for him went deeper than that of a concubine and her emperor, it was recognition and love that united them both when the sun was in the sky before she went back to his brother at night because she was sworn to both of them for all time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @sigiismunda , @cottoncandiescupcakes , @somepallings , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs , @trampstampbrbie

@orphdices , @k-yurieee

[cumironi]

THE GIRL IS MINE : RYOMEN SUKUNA

you and sukuna have been broken up for three months, but it seems like he can’t take the break-up seriously and he tries to convince you to get back to him.

warning. non-sorcerer! sukuna, ex-boyfriend! sukuna, fluff.

it’s been three months since you broke up with sukuna, but life hasn’t gotten any easier. he’s relentless, calling and texting you as if nothing has changed. he still has a set of your keys, and although you’ve considered asking for them back, a part of you never has. instead, you just let him come and go as he pleases, all while pretending to ignore him every time he shows up uninvited.

as valentine’s day approaches, your friend asks you for a favor. she needs a gift for her boyfriend and wonders if you could pick something up for her. wanting to help, you agree and head to a nearby store, the weight of sukuna’s lingering presence dulling your mood.

the store is filled with romantic displays, everything draped in pink and red. you have a basket hooked on your arm as you wander the aisles, searching for something thoughtful and nice. you reach for a bottle of cologne, turning it in your hand, when that familiar deep voice cuts through your thoughts.

“looking for something, princess?”

your heart sinks immediately. you don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. sukuna. you grit your teeth, bracing yourself as the last thing you wanted today was for him to ruin your peace.

you slowly turn, meeting his cocky smirk. he’s standing there, casual as ever, like he’s done nothing wrong, like he hasn’t been making your life a nightmare since the breakup.

“i don’t remember inviting you into my day,” you mutter, tossing the cologne into your basket as if his presence isn’t already gnawing at you.

he chuckles, stepping closer. “you never had to. i always know where to find you.” his tone is laced with arrogance, the same arrogance that made you fall for him before you saw his darker sides. you roll your eyes, gripping the basket tighter. “what do you want, sukuna?”

he leans against the shelving, that smirk still on his lips. “just thought i’d see how my girl is doing, can a boyfriend do that?” he asks, feigning innocence. you know he’s as far from innocent as it gets. his eyes rake over you, studying you with a familiarity that makes your skin crawl. the store’s romantic atmosphere feels like a mockery with him here, tainting the air with his presence. you shift uncomfortably, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze.

you roll your eyes, already exasperated. “i’m not your girl anymore, sukuna,” you say firmly, turning your attention back to the cologne bottles in front of you. you unscrew the cap of one, taking a quick sniff, hoping to focus on anything but his presence.

sukuna doesn’t back off; he never does. leaning against the shelving, he watches you with that familiar, infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. you can feel his gaze burning into your skin, making your nerves bristle as you move from one bottle to the next, trying to act like he isn’t getting under your skin.

he lets out a low chuckle at your response, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “ah, but you’ll always be mine,” he says, a dark edge in his tone, as if it’s a warning. “you can’t just erase three years together, princess.”

he pushes off the shelving, walking towards you with an unwavering confidence. he reaches out, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck, causing you to shiver involuntarily.

his touch is possessive, just like it always was. he steps closer, his body invading your personal space. “you can pretend all you want,” he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “but deep down, you know you miss me.”

he reaches around you, grabbing the bottle of cologne from your basket. he turns it in his hand, inspecting it with a mocking smirk. “you’re not buying this for yourself, are you?”

you look at him with a flat, unimpressed expression, resisting the urge to shove him away. his possessive touch still lingers, just like it always did, and the proximity is suffocating. “no, it’s for someone else,” you say bluntly, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. your patience is wearing thin, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you rattled.

his smirk widens at your answer, as if he finds it amusing. he sets the bottle back in your basket, his hand still lingering. “aww, buying a gift for someone special? who is it, your little rebound?” he teases, leaning closer.

he’s intentionally trying to rile you up, and damn him, it’s working. his presence is overwhelming, and his taunts are a constant reminder of why you ended things in the first place.

sukuna’s voice drips with mockery as he steps closer, his smirk still in place. “so, this is what you’re doing now, doll? buying cheap cologne for other men?” you clench your jaw, rolling your eyes as you grip the basket a little tighter. turning to face him, your expression is flat and unbothered. “yup,” you reply sarcastically. “that’s exactly what i’m doing. must be a real shock for you.”

sukuna grins at your retort, amused by your attempt to brush him off. he takes another step forward, his face now just inches away from yours.

“oh, doll,” he says, his tone almost condescending. “i know you too well. you’re not buying that cologne for just anyone. you’re trying to make me jealous, aren’t you?” he reaches out, his finger gently tracing along your jawline, his touch sending a mixture of irritation and familiarity coursing through you.

you just sigh, turning away again. “whatever helps you sleep at night, sukuna.” you continue browsing, determined not to let him ruin your day more than he already has.

sukuna laughs, a mocking sound that irritates you even more. he follows you as you move down the aisle, his presence like an unwelcome shadow.

“oh, come on,” he says, his tone laced with mock disappointment. “you can’t even look at me anymore, princess?” he reaches out, taking the basket from your hands, forcing you to stop and face him. he holds it just out of reach, grinning down at you. “i think you miss me more than you care to admit.”

you hum in response, not even bothering to look up at him as he grins down at you. “if you say so,” you murmur, shrugging casually. you know better than to feed into his antics—he wants a reaction, and you’re not going to give him one.

instead, you let him hold the basket, walking further down the aisle and continuing your search for the gift. sukuna follows, as you expected, holding the basket just like he used to. you can't help but find the situation ironic; despite his cocky attitude, he’s the one carrying your things while you shop. in a way, it’s a win-win.

his presence might be irritating, but at least you don’t have to lug around the basket anymore. as you browse through more cologne options, you toss a few bottles into the basket without a word before moving to look for something else, fully aware that sukuna will just keep following you around like a shadow.

sukuna watches you as you wander down the aisle, his eyes studying you with a mixture of fascination and annoyance. he follows obediently, hands gripping the basket, as you add more items to it. he’s oddly compliant, and it annoys him that you’re not falling for his usual games.

“you’re not very responsive today, doll,” he comments, his tone a little harsher than usual. “not even going to give me a little fight?”

you grab a sleek watch from the display and turn to sukuna, ignoring his comment. his eyes narrow slightly in suspicion as you take his wrist, sliding the watch onto it without hesitation. he watches, surprised but intrigued, as you adjust the strap, examining how it looks on him.

“i need to buy my friend’s boyfriend a gift for valentine’s,” you say, your focus on the watch as you tilt his wrist to see how it catches the light.

the second the words leave your mouth, you don’t realize what you’ve just done—reassured his jealousy with an unintended confirmation. sukuna’s smirk returns, this time with a sharper edge. “so that’s what this is about,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement. “trying to make sure your friend's boyfriend looks as good as me, huh?”

you glance up at him, catching the glint in his eyes, but you refuse to let him rattle you. “just trying to see if the watch looks good,” you reply coolly, slipping it off his wrist. “not everything revolves around you, sukuna.”

sukuna’s smirk widens, his ego stroked by your admission. he watches as you slip the watch off his wrist, his gaze unwavering.

“aww, doll,” he coos, stepping closer to you. “you’re right, not everything revolves around me, but you used to.” he reaches out, his hand cupping your chin and forcing you to look up at him. “you used to be so focused on me. what happened to that?”

you meet his gaze, completely unimpressed by his touch, and stare at him for a moment. “you should ask yourself that,” you reply flatly, your voice carrying a note of finality. pulling your chin from his hand, you turn away without hesitation, walking toward another aisle as if his presence meant nothing.

sukuna watches you in silence for a beat, his usual cockiness lingering in the air. before turning down the next aisle, you glance over your shoulder at him, your voice casual as you ask, “what are you even doing here, anyway?” your question hangs between you both, a quiet curiosity beneath the surface.

sukuna follows you, his smirk faltering slightly at your continued disinterest. he takes a moment to answer, watching you as you browse through the aisle.

he takes a step closer, his voice low as he speaks. “i was shopping, doll. i saw you walking in and decided to come say hi,” he says, his tone betraying a hint of annoyance. he leans against the shelving, his eyes still roaming over you. “what makes you think i need a reason to be here?”

sukuna's eyes narrow as he watches you, his previous smirk replaced with a more intense gaze. the store around them seems to fade into the background as he becomes more fixated on the interaction.

his voice dropping to a low murmur. “i guess i just wanted to see how you've been doing.” he reaches out, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “you look good,” he says, his touch lingering for a moment before he withdraws his hand.

you remain focused on the items in front of you, barely acknowledging his presence even as he steps closer. his touch as he brushes the strand of hair away doesn’t faze you, though you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, more intense than before.

“i’ve been fine,” you say, your voice distant, uninterested in entertaining his attempt at a deeper conversation. you glance at him briefly, your eyes sharp but calm. “thanks for the compliment, i guess.” you shift slightly, turning away from him and continuing to browse, refusing to let him pull you back into his orbit.

sukuna's annoyance grows as he sees your dismissive attitude. he's not used to being ignored, especially by you. he watches as you turn away, his gaze following your every move.

he remains silent for a moment before speaking up again, his voice laced with frustration. “you’re still mad at me, aren’t you?” he asks, the words more of a statement than a question. he steps closer again, invading your personal space as he tries to get a reaction out of you.

you stop in your tracks and turn to face him, meeting his frustrated gaze with calm indifference. “i’m not mad at you, sukuna,” you say, your voice even and unwavering. “i just don’t see the point in acting like your girlfriend anymore, because i’m not.”

your words hang in the air, and you can see the frustration flicker in his eyes. he’s clearly not used to you being this distant, this detached. you give him a small, almost dismissive shrug before turning your attention back to the shelf. “there’s no reason for me to be mad. it’s over. simple as that.”

you grab another item, turning away from him, fully expecting him to continue trying to push your buttons, but refusing to let him get under your skin like he used to.

sukuna's frustration turns into irritation at your nonchalant response. he can’t wrap his head around your cool, almost distant demeanor. he wanted a reaction, some sign that you still felt something. but you’re not giving him anything.

he grits his teeth as you turn away, your dismissive shrug like a blade to his ego. “it’s simple, huh?” he says, his voice edged with sarcasm. he steps closer once more, his body almost brushing against yours. “if it’s so simple, then why does it feel like you’re trying to make me jealous?”

his gaze roams over you, as if searching for some kind of crack in your composure. he’s never seen you this calm, this unflustered by his attempts to get a reaction. “buying valentine’s gifts for someone else,” he continues, his tone mocking. “that’s a low blow, doll.”

you let out an exasperated sigh, turning to face him with a tired look. “i already told you, it’s for my friend’s boyfriend,” you repeat, your tone flat and dismissive. “you’re really reaching here, sukuna.“

you shake your head and turn back to browsing, not even bothering to engage with his mockery anymore. it’s clear he’s fishing for a reaction, but you’re not giving him the satisfaction. “honestly, it’s getting a little old,” you add, your voice laced with irritation.

sukuna’s frustration begins to boil over, fueled by your repeated dismissals. he steps closer again, his body almost towering over you. “it’s old?” he repeats, his voice gaining an edge of anger. “you really think you can brush me off that easily?” he moves in, his presence demanding your attention. “you can’t just act like i don’t mean anything to you,” he says, his jaw clenching. “after three years, doll, you owe me more than this.”

you look up at sukuna, meeting his intense gaze with a sigh, feeling the weight of the conversation hang between you. his usual arrogance falters as his eyes soften. his hand comes up to cup the side of your neck, his touch unexpectedly gentle.

“just… let me apologize,” he says softly, his voice losing its edge. “let me talk first. let me make things right.” his vulnerability, rare as it is, catches you off guard. you can see the tension in his jaw relax as he waits for your response, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. the desperation to fix things, to go back to what you had, is written all over his face. you hesitate for a moment, feeling the conflicting emotions stirring inside you.

sukuna’s grip on your neck softens, his thumb tracing a gentle circle against the skin. his eyes hold a vulnerability you've rarely seen, a look of genuine regret.

he takes a moment, collecting his thoughts as he speaks. “i know i messed up,” he says, his voice softer now. “i took you for granted, doll. took us for granted.” he steps closer, his body almost brushing against yours. “but i... i miss you,” he admits, his words hanging in the air. “i want you back.”

you stare at him, searching his eyes for any hint of sincerity. the regret in his voice, the soft touch of his hand, all of it feels so unfamiliar from the sukuna you knew—yet painfully familiar at the same time. as much as you hate him for what he’s put you through, the love you’ve carried for him hasn’t disappeared. three months wasn’t nearly enough to erase the years of memories, the moments where you felt like you were his whole world.

your chest tightens as you let out a soft, defeated sigh. “i hate that i miss you too,” you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

you nod, more to yourself than to him, feeling the weight of your decision as you meet his gaze again. “fine,” you say, almost as if the word leaves your lips of its own accord. “ we can talk, but this… this can’t be like before, sukuna. i won’t go back to that.” your words carry a quiet warning, but the truth is, you’ve already surrendered.

sukuna’s expression shifts, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. he recognizes the surrender in your eyes, the defeat in your voice. he knows he's won, even if just a little.

he nods, accepting your conditions, his hand still resting gently on your neck. “no,” he agrees, his voice almost a whisper. “it won’t be like before. i'll make you fall in love with me all over again.” he steps closer, his body pressing gently against yours, the heat of him sending a shiver down your spine. he leans in, his breath warm against your skin as he speaks, his words a quiet promise.

“i’ll show you that i can be better, doll,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “i’ll earn your trust back, i’ll treat you right. i’ll be the one you fall back in love with.” he pulls back, looking at you with an intense gaze. “just give me a chance.”

you frown, the familiar feeling of annoyance bubbling up inside you. sukuna always knew how to worm his way back into your life, no matter how hard you tried to push him away. and the worst part? you always let him.

you roll your eyes, letting out an irritated groan. “you’re so annoying, sukuna,” you mutter, not even bothering to hide your frustration.

without waiting for him to respond, you turn on your heel and head towards the register, your footsteps a little heavier than usual. he follows, of course, still holding the basket as if he belongs there beside you. even now, with his promises and sweet words, he’s still the same—a force of nature, barging into your life whenever he pleases. but despite the frustration, you don’t tell him to leave. you never really do.

sukuna grins as you storm off to the register, following closely behind you. he watches as you try to maintain an air of frustration, but he can see through it. after all, he knows you better than you know yourself.

he remains silent, walking beside you as you make your way to the register. he places the basket on the counter, his presence looming over you. he can see the conflicting emotions playing out on your face, and it fills him with a twisted sense of satisfaction. as you pay for your purchases, he watches, waiting for your next move.

you can feel his gaze on you as you finish paying, the weight of his presence heavy in the air. as you turn to leave, he follows, his footsteps echoing behind you.

once outside the store, the cool air does little to soothe your irritation. you pause, turning to face him, your expression still guarded. “now what?” you ask, your voice carrying a hint of challenge. “you’ve successfully annoyed me into giving you another chance. what next, sukuna?”

sukuna grins at your question, enjoying the slight challenge in your voice. he steps closer, his body almost touching yours. “now, doll,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. “now i show you how good it can be between us again.”

he reaches out, his hand gently brushing your cheek as he lowers his voice to a whisper. “i’ll make you remember why you fell in love with me in the first place,” he promises. “and i’ll make sure you don’t regret giving me this chance.”

he leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks, “i’ll court you proper this time around. dinners, outings, everything to show you that i’m serious about treating you right.”

he pulls back, his eyes roving over your face as if committing it to memory. “and if you don’t like it, you can walk away at any time, doll. i won’t stop you.” he waits for your response, his heart pounding in his chest, the anticipation making his blood run hot.

you fight the smile threatening to break through, biting your lip to keep it at bay. despite everything, there’s a part of you that’s amused by his persistence, his bold promises. “you better make it worth it,” you say, glancing up at him with a teasing smirk, “if you’re going to waste my time like this.”

his eyes light up, a glimmer of victory in them as he takes in your words. he leans in closer, his lips ghosting just above yours as he whispers, “oh, doll, I promise you—it’ll be worth every second.” you roll your eyes again, but this time, there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. he’s annoying, but maybe, just maybe, you’re willing to let him try.

sukuna grins at your response, enjoying the subtle shift in the air between you. he can see the hint of a smile, the slight falter in your confident demeanor. he knows he’s getting to you, and it fuels his determination. he leans in even closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “i’ll make it more than worth your time, doll,” he whispers, his voice low and enticing. “i won’t let you down.”

he pulls back, his eyes locked on yours, a silent challenge in his gaze. “let me prove it. give me this chance, and i’ll show you that i’m serious about winning you back,” he continues, his voice soft but firm. “i won’t let you down, doll.”

he reaches out, his hand gently tracing the side of your neck, his touch light and almost reverent. “i promise you,” he murmurs, “i can make you happy again.” he waits for your response, his heart pounding in his chest as he holds your gaze, hoping you’ll give him this chance.

you hum softly, the sound filled with a mix of satisfaction and surrender as you reach up to cup his cheek. his skin is warm beneath your palm, and you can feel the tension in him, the anticipation radiating from his body as he leans into your touch. “alright,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your lips just inches from his. the weight of the moment hangs between you both, heavy and charged.

sukuna's heart races in his chest as you reach up to cup his cheek, his eyes locked on yours, intense and full of desire. he leans into your touch, the simple touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through his body.

he swallows hard as he processes your words, your soft agreement sending a wave of relief and hope through him. the corners of his lips slowly curl into a wicked grin as he leans in, his face just inches from yours. “you won’t regret this, doll,” he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive rumble.

sukuna's grin widens as he feels the heat radiating off you, his heart pounding in rhythm with the surge of adrenaline. wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulls you flush against him, the warmth of his body enveloping you in a cocoon of familiarity and desire.

there’s a moment of hesitation, a breath held in anticipation, before he leans in, capturing your lips with his. the kiss is fierce and possessive, igniting the fire that had long lain dormant between you. it’s as if the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in this intoxicating moment.

he kisses you deeply, pouring every unspoken promise and emotion into it, a desperate attempt to convey how much he truly wants you back. the taste of you, the feel of you in his arms, reminds him of everything he’s been missing.

sukuna grips your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you closer, molding your body to his. the kiss is intense, filled with a mixture of desire, possessiveness, and a hint of longing. he kisses you with a fervor, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that resonates deep within him.

he pours his heart and soul into the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a familiar dance. his hands roam over your body, as if memorizing every curve and contour, as if trying to commit your taste, your scent, everything about you to memory.

he breaks away for a moment, panting slightly, his eyes dark with a mixture of desire and vulnerability. “i’ve missed this,” he whispers, his voice rough and filled with a huskiness that goes straight to your core. “missed you, doll.”

he presses closer to you, his body molding against yours like a perfect puzzle. his lips find your neck, trailing hot kisses down the sensitive skin, igniting a trail of fire in their wake. he bites down lightly, a low, possessive growl rumbling in his chest.

the heat of sukuna's lips against your skin sends a jolt of desire through you, but as his intensity escalates, a sudden rush of awareness snaps you back to reality. with a firm push, you create a bit of space, feeling the cool metal of a nearby car press against your back.

“sukuna,” you say, your voice a mix of annoyance and a lingering thrill, “we're still in public.” your heart races, both from his touch and the embarrassment of being caught in such a passionate moment surrounded by strangers.

he pauses, looking down at you with that familiar smirk, his eyes glinting with mischief. “what’s wrong with a little public display of affection?” he teases, leaning in closer, his breath ghosting over your lips.

you can’t help but roll your eyes at him, even as the corners of your mouth threaten to lift in a smile. “some people might not appreciate it as much as you do.” you try to sound serious, but the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to maintain your composure.

sukuna chuckles softly, clearly unfazed by your protest. “let them watch, then. they’ll only wish they had what we have.” he leans back slightly, just enough to gauge your reaction, his expression softening as he adds, “but i guess i can control myself... for now.”

the way he says “for now” sends another wave of excitement coursing through you, reminding you just how hard it is to resist him, even in public. you can’t help but roll your eyes at his confidence, a mix of amusement and exasperation bubbling up inside you. “you’re still a menace to society, you know that?” you retort, trying to keep your tone light despite the way your heart races.

sukuna grins at your playful push and your annoyance at being caught in a public display of affection. his eyes darkened with desire and a hint of mischief.

“oh, come on, doll,” he teases, his voice low and sultry. “where’s the fun in hiding our passion?” he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “i’ve never been one to care about what others think. and you know damn well i have a hard time controlling myself around you.”

you shake your head, unable to suppress a smile as you look into his eyes. “you’re ridiculous. what are you trying to do, make everyone jealous with your terrible flirting?”

sukuna chuckles deep in his throat, his smirk growing wider. “you say ‘terrible’; i call it charming,” he replies, his voice dripping with confidence. “and if it makes everyone else jealous, then all the better. they won’t know what they’re missing.”

he dips his head, his lips brushing against your neck again as he murmurs, “but who cares about them? all i care about is how you react to it.”

you groan in annoyance, a mix of frustration and amusement bubbling up as his lips graze your neck again. “seriously? you can’t just help yourself, can you?” you retort, swatting him away playfully, though the warmth of his affection sends a thrill through you.

sukuna chuckles, pulling away just enough to look at you with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. “i can’t help it if you’re just too tempting, doll,” he replies, his voice teasing. he then leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, and for a moment, all the tension melts away. “but fine,” he concedes, a hint of mischief still lingering in his gaze. “i’ll lower the pda for now.”

he takes your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he leans in slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “how about we go shopping for a dress for you to wear at dinner on our valentine’s night? i want to see you in something that makes you feel as special as you are.”

your heart flutters at the thought, and you can’t help but feel a smile tugging at your lips. “a dress, huh? are you planning on making a grand entrance or something?” you tease, raising an eyebrow as you try to gauge his intentions.

sukuna grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief and excitement at the idea of seeing you all dolled up in a pretty dress. “oh, doll, you have no idea,” he replies, his voice low and sultry. “i have grand plans for our valentine’s night. and let’s just say, you in a dress is just the beginning.”

he chuckles at your teasing, his hand still holding yours tightly as he looks down at you. “i’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you have the best valentine’s day you’ve ever had.”

sukuna starts walking to his car, his grip on your hand firm yet reassuring, you can’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and curiosity bubbling inside you. you glance up at him, the playful glint in his eyes making your heart race just a little faster. “alright, mr. mysterious,” you say, tilting your head slightly to study his expression. “where exactly are you planning on taking me?”

sukuna grins, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he leads you to his car. he opens the door for you, gallantly gesturing for you to get in before leaning against the car’s hood. he crosses his arms, a smug smile playing on his lips.

“that, doll, is a surprise,” he replies, his voice laced with a hint of playfulness. “but let’s just say it’s a place that’ll make you feel like a queen.”

as you settle into the passenger seat, sukuna makes his way around to the driver’s side, getting behind the wheel. he starts the car and glances at you, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “but don’t worry, doll,” he reassures, his hands confidently gripping the steering wheel. “i’ve got everything planned to perfection. tonight’s going to be a night you’ll never forget.”

you nod, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness at the prospect of shopping with him, knowing it’ll be a different experience than before. “alright, lead the way, charming rogue,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes, your heart racing at the prospect of what the evening holds.

sukuna laughs, his eyes flickering with amusement. “oh, doll, you’re playing with fire calling me that,” he teases, his voice tinged with both warning and promise. “but i’ll take it as a compliment.” he puts the car in gear and pulls out of the parking lot, his hands steady on the steering wheel. “just sit back and relax. i’ll have you looking like a goddess in no time.”