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eraenaa · 6 months

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Gold Rush

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Everybody wants you, and I don’t like a gold rush.

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pinning, Jealousy ¿Simp Aemond?, Mature, 18+, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, P in V sex, Face Sitting, Not Proofread

Word Count: 7, 912 (I may have overindulged)

Beauty worth their weight in gold, and it’s the greatest blessing from the gods that you have both. The only child of Lord Lannister. Spoiled and sheltered, you had never known hardships or troubles. Pampered in the halls of Casterly Rock or anywhere you go. You leave a trail of mystification, enchantment, and adoration. Suitors line up and beg to pay you tribute. Songs and sonnets are made just to entertain and encapsulate the beauty and purity you have for centuries to come. Commoners and Lords offer their lands, riches, and allegiance just to have your hand, and now, a certain prince dared to join.

When the words slipped out of your uncle’s lips that you should join your father in his visit to the capital, the Red Keep was abuzz with curiosity. The Golden Beauty of the realm shall grace their presence. They shall finally see and admire the being that has been coveted and praised for years. Prince Aegon was excited, to say in the least. He has been curious and titillated by your said charms ever since poets decided to write nothing about the allure and trance you placed upon men by just one look of your emerald eyes. His brother found it as a hoax. He frowned at how they exalt your name and praise you as if you were The Maiden Herself when, in reality, they only read or hear of you. He would scoff to himself every time his brother would reread the songs made in your name. He would roll his eye every time he heard gossip and talk about you from the maids and knights. He was certain that this popularity and recognition had only made you egotistical and vain— a judgment made and solidified in him despite not having known or met you.

When the day of your arrival came, his older brother was the first to greet you, whilst Prince Aemond stood by the window and watched from afar. He frowned upon Aegon’s actions greatly, paying recognition to a girl whilst ignoring his wife, but alas, his brother could not be reasoned to nor be persuaded to do his duty. Aegon was always easily swayed and distracted by a pretty face, and with beauty such as yours, the queen’s first son had turned simple. Aemond rolled his eye as he stood by the balcony, watching his brother tour you through the gardens. Aegon displayed a beaming smile and an odd blush on his face as if he were the maiden and not yourself. You simply kept a small, pleasing grin on your lips as the eldest prince kept on speaking and offering you flattery and compliments, trying to ignore the feeling of a gaze following you ever since you entered the palace walls.

You set your gaze above, catching the lone lilac eye of a second silver prince. You held his gaze, which showed contempt and agitation you did not know the reason for. When Prince Aegon had noticed your attention had shifted, he cast his eyes above only to see his brother with his brooding demeanor, almost scowling at the two of you. “That is only my bitter brother, Aemond. Pay him no mind, my lady,” Prince Aegon stated and offered his arm for you to take. Your eyes shifted between the two princes, quickly curtsying towards the one who stood above and the took hold of his brother’s arm before he hurriedly escorted you out of sight of the younger prince.

You were soon introduced to the princess, the wife of the elder prince. The princess’ presence you then favored instead of her husband, who had a gown quite… touchy and clingy. You stood next to the princess, who introduced you to her adorable children, babes tugging at the hem of your gown and pleading with you with their big violet eyes to carry them. Your heart grew soft and took the little Prince Maelor into your arms, smiling widely as the babe clung to your neck and buried his adorable face into your hair. “My son has taken quite a liking to you… he is most fastidious to other’s presence, my lady,” The princess smiled. “He is simply adorable, Your Highness,” You say and brush the silver hair of the babe. “He is… he quite reminds me of my younger brother when we were children,” The princess mused, her voice afar with nostalgia.

“Have you been introduced?” The princess then asked, “To whom?” You inquired, distracted by the babe who shifted in your arms. “To—Ah, Aemond! We were just talking about you,” the princess then exclaimed, the silver prince standing by the door. You turned your gaze to the prince you had not been introduced to yet formally. “Lady Lannister, my brother, Aemond,” The princess introduced, and you curtsied since more at the one-eyed prince while having his nephew in his arms. You hindered your frown as he said no word, only simply giving a nod and the action of his lips thinning.

“I was just telling Lady Lannister how much Maelor resembles you when we were younger,” the princess smiled. You turned to the prince, who tried to give his sister a small smile but looked more like a grimace. “The young prince is quite charming,” You smiled and turned to the prince, who stood before you, stiff and brooding. Aemond clenched his jaw as his eye caught yours once more; you are not at all chaste nor demure in the presence of royalty as any young lady should ought to be. You were perfectly comfortable taking a member of the royal family into your arms as if you were equal in rank. Aemond seemed to stand uncorrected with his early judgment of you.

“She is quite handsome… I always thought the songs they made were an exaggeration, but it seems to not do her justice,” Aemond heard his mother whisper to his sister, quite entranced by your beauty, and it would seem as would everyone present at the dinner table. Princess Helaena generously invited you to their intimate family dinner. His hand clenched around his chalice of wine as his brother shamelessly leaned closer to you and whispered something in your ear to cause a sweet, amused smile to play on your lips. “Are you not bothered by this?” Aemond could not help but as his sister. “About about what, brother?” Helaena asked, clueless and concerned by the agitated state of her younger brother.

“Lady Lannister, we are most glad that you are finally here to accompany your father,” the queen said, not allowing Aemond to answer his sister’s query. “Thank you, your Majesty. You have all been so welcoming to my presence.” You smiled and could not help but let your gaze travel to the one-eyed prince, whose contempt had been nothing but plain and quite obvious. “Of course, the golden beauty of the realm is most welcome here indeed,” Aegon then chimed in. “But may I ask why it is only now that you join your father to the capitol?” The queen inquired; your gaze flew around the table, eyes expecting your answer, except for the lilac gaze of the younger prince, who stared steely and harshly at his plate. “Oh… it is because my father and uncle wishes for me to be acquainted with the court… for they are planning for me to marry soon, your Grace,” You said truthfully. That is when you feel a lone eye finally place itself upon your frame.

The queen hummed and looked not at all shocked by your admittance; her children, however, shared different expressions from what you could read. The princess simply nodded with a ghost of a smile on her lips. The prince beside you seemed surprised and, dare you say, disappointed by your purpose of coming. And the prince across from you seemed… you could not decipher his reaction through his hard gaze.

When morning came, you were pleased to receive an invitation from the princess to join her in the gardens to break your fast. You followed a squire, and you were led to a table surrounded by flowers and greenery, three children of the crown waiting for you. A pleasing princess and her brothers, one stoic, the other drunken. “Good morning, Your Highnesses,” You greeted and bowed, surprised as the young prince stood and matched your curtsy, moving to assist you to assist you to a seat across from him. You try not to over-analyze his actions; just hours before, he seemed disinterested in you— animosity was heavy around him. However, now, there seemed to be an air of civility surrounding him.

“What are your engagements today, my lady?” Princess Helaena asked as she sipped on her tea, you stirred yours and replied. “My father was planning to introduce me to some of the members of the court,” You say and turn to acquire the last piece of candied lemon. “Some suitors?” The princess asked, her brothers not at all joining in the conversation, merely sitting around the two of you as if they were dolls. “I am not quite certain, princess,” You say and let your gaze travel to Prince Aemond, who stared at the candied lemon on your plate.

“Do you have a favorite among them?” Prince Aegon then inquired; you frowned at his question. “I beg your pardon?” You asked for clarification. “Does any of your suitors hold great favor with you?” He said and took a chalice into his hand so early in the morning. “I have still yet to meet them, my prince… but I was told that Lord Arryn’s son was quite handsome, and many ladies of the court seem to favor him,” You answered but was turned to the princess, the topic seemingly more appropriate for the two of you. “Ah, yes, handsome Lord Henry,” Princess Helaena said in recognition, “It is true that he is comely. However, I heard he is one to wander,” The princess said delicately. Confusion painted your face once more, and it was the second prince who clarified,

“Lord Henry is quietly known for his depravity,” Prince Aemond said, making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like our brother Aegon,” he added, smirking as that earned a giggle from his sister. “I think it would best if you stay far from the son of Lord Arryn,” The princess said, and you nodded along.

You spent the day being introduced to Lords and Ladies of the Court, but more specifically, their sons. You felt the constant drone of a gaze following you as you conversed with the prospects of your hand. Their faces seemingly merged, and their names eluded you, so you could only offer them your pleasing smile and mindless small talk and keep your hand on their arm.

“Do you not have to train, brother?” Helaena then appeared beside Aemond, who was hidden behind a pillar, as he observed you being acquainted with the eligible sons of the court. Helaena held a cheeky smile as she caught his brother’s actions. You had only arrived yesterday, and the princess was already certain that you had caught the attention of her enigmatic brother. It was plain to her the attraction and curiosity Aemond harbored for the golden beauty of the realm, even long before you arrived. Yes, the One-Eyed prince would scoff when his eye would catch anyone reading a pamphlet containing the written songs in your name. Still, Helaena noted that he was the first one to acquire the said pamphlets, religiously reading them until Aegon caught wind of a lioness whose beauty was hidden in Casterly Rock. As a result, the one-eyed prince hindered himself from admitting that he and his brother were attracted to the same girl. Yes, the One-Eyed prince would roll his eye in annoyance whenever he heard gossip about you in the halls, yet he still stayed and listened to all of them.

“Should you not be joining the line of her suitors?” Helaena teased, amused by the way her brother’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. Helaena waited for his reply, but none came. It was a rare occurrence for Aemond to not find words. “I shall see you at supper, sister,” Aemond gritted and walked off, leaving Princess Helaena amused and with new ammunition to lovingly tease her brother.

Supper came, and to Aemond’s displeasure or satisfaction, you were there. Seated next to his sister, whispering and giggling as if you were the oldest friends when, in reality, you had only waltzed into their life just the other day. He supposed that he should find joy that his sister had finally befriended someone, but must it be you?

Must it be you who had to join them in supper and be in his constant presence? Seducing and tempting him even though you merely just sat there— making him question himself and his honor as he watched wine stain your lush lips or the way you would let out a low moan at the taste of the pie placed on your plate. You were too much of a temptation, a trial sent by the gods to test his patience and honor, in which he was seemingly failing, for all he wanted to do earlier was cut all the suitors who dared touch you and now taste the wine on your lips.

When supper had come to an end, Aemond was quick to stand and had a great wish to retire to his rooms, but his mother had different plans. “Aemond, will you escort Lady Lannister to her quarters? A young lady cannot be left alone in the halls at such an hour,” You turned your expecting gaze to the prince, watching as his jaw ticked and his tense form turned rigged. It was alarmingly clear that he had no wish to extend such generosity to you, but still, he obliged his mother and offered his leather-clad arm for you to take.

You walked out of the dining hall in exchange for the corridor. Tense, suffocating air surrounds you and the second-born prince, whose reluctance was nothing short of obvious. You tried to make polite conversation with him as he walked with you through the never-ending, dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, but his replies were only a nod and a grunt. When you reached the door of your chambers, you let go of the prince’s arm, pride wounded as you were completely ignored and could feel unaccounted animosity towards you. “Good night, Your Highness,” You drawled, growing annoyed by the moment but still had the respectability to lowly curtsy before the prince.

Aemond gulped as you curtsied before him once again, giving him a heavenly sight of your bosom that made him stiffen in his spot. He knew that your actions were a sign of respect; he should take it as a compliment that you had bowed before him lowly, but every time you did so, all you did was tempt him more. You were shameless as you fashioned a dress with such a neckline, giving every man a sight for their desires to only fester. Now he knew why every man who had encountered you had been left entranced and obsessed; you were a vixen, a true lioness.

Days passed as you stayed in the Red Keep, and you could feel the constant and growing animosity and disapproval Prince Aemond held for you. You had no idea the reason for it; you could not recall what you had done for him to grow so callous and mean towards you. You would hear his scoffs of derision whenever someone paid you a compliment, and he was within earshot to hear it. You would catch him as he would roll his unique lilac eye whenever you spoke or offered your opinion or even when you laughed. It was such a shame that such a handsome and attractive prince was so vile and rude. You were growing impatient and irritated with him. On any other occasion, your course of action will be to avoid and not put yourself in situations that would require you to be near the prince, but somehow, the gods were cruel and had twisted fate to have you in each other’s presence constantly.

When night finally came and offered respite from the bitter prince, you sighed in your chambers and tried to find a reason for his contempt towards you. It was an odd feeling you did not wish to fester; all your life, everyone you met was quick to grow fond of you. You were quick to leave them enchanted by your beauty and charms. You named it as your greatest gift— your greatest power was how well beloved you are by anyone… how you could wrap them around your pretty little fingers, which is why the prince’s dislike for you had left you entirely unnerved and bothered. You were growing scared that perhaps your charms were slipping and soon, all too, would feel the same animosity the prince harbors for you. You could not find rest that night, fear trickling into your system. The prince had unraveled your deepest fears with just his quiet distaste.

You step out of your guest chambers and threaded the halls of the Red Keep, walking the darkened halls and trying to find distraction in the library. You walked straight and paid no mind if any soul was in the library because you were certain that no one else would be present at this hour. You were mistaken.

Prince Aemond frowned to himself, thinking his mind had placed a trick upon him. The image of you haunted him even in the dead of night when he thought he could finally escape your beautiful torment. But as he heard books being retrieved from shelves and the way your scent wafted to where he sat, he grew aware that the image he saw was no apparition. You were there, with him, alone in the quiet room.

Aemond took quiet steps towards you, the moonlight bathing you in its light. Your frame aglow, making you look more ethereal as the silver light lights your golden mane. Aemond clenched his jaw as the same prominent desire for you only bloomed tenfold. “You should not be here,” He gritted, standing at arm’s length. It was concerning that he was standing at such a close proximity and you have yet to notice. It only solidified his theory that you were so enveloped in only yourself that you care not about the world around you. Aemond bit his tongue as an amused smirk threatened to escape to his lips. You jumped in your spot and turned to him wide-eyed in fear. He had never seen a lion frightened.

“My prince… I— I apologize, I did not know that the libraries are restricted at these hours,” You said and closed the book in your hand. “It is not,” comes the reply of the prince, making a frown of confusion paint your face. You turned your entire frame towards him, peering up at the prince who looked at you with nothing but resentment in his cold lilac eye. “Then why shouldn’t I be here?” You asked with a tilt of your head.“You should be in your chambers.” Aemond gritted and removed his gaze from you because looking at you illuminated by the moonlight made him feel too much. He stepped back, but you matched his actions and stepped forward. He took a step back again, and you only mimicked his steps. It was an odd scene, a dragon being toyed by a lioness.

Watching Prince Aemond’s nostrils flare and his jaw tick again made you smirk, as he was clearly annoyed by your presence. “You do not like me,” you suddenly announced, making his shielded gaze cast itself upon your eyes again. “You do not know me, yet you do not like me… why is that?” You asked and stepped forward once again, leaving just a sliver of space between you and the prince. Aemond gulped thickly as you were just a breath away from him. Your scent evading his senses, your enchanting eyes assessing his every move.

“Oh, I know you,” He spat but felt his knees weaken when you raised your brow, painting a fake confused look on your pretty face. Siren eyes mockingly turned into doe ones, and plump lips parted in fictitious shock. “You do?” You asked. “You know me? I apologize, my prince, but I do not recall our first encounter. Please, tell me how you know me,” you rolled your eyes and finally let your annoyance slip, for you had enough of the prince’s judgment. The prince and you stared each other down, him not finding words as you had your expressive, scathing gaze upon him. He did not know how to handle himself— he was always silver-tongued and quick-witted, never one to be speechless, but apparently, that changed when it came to you. When pitted against you, he felt like the quiet, dragon-less little boy he once was. His raging fire weakened and turned to mere flickers.

You scoffed and shook your head, not wavering or stepping away from the prince, ready to retire back to your room, but he took hold of your arm and pulled you even closer to him. “I know you. You’re a spoiled… vain… flirtatious little brat,” He spat, and watching your eyes widen and fill with offense brought back Aemond’s confidence, and he once again gained his silver tongue and towering, imposing demeanor. He watched as your cheeks flushed and wondered how it would feel to touch them. Would it be as hot as the fire that burned in his veins?

“My father and uncle used to always speak highly about you… about how cavalier, genteel, and dutiful the second prince of the realm was— it is disheartening to be faced with a mean, calloused boy who had shown me nothing but animosity since I’ve arrived— animosity which I do not understand the reason of!” You retaliated and pried his hold off you, Aemond trying not to grow amused as you said the words with a stomp of your foot as if you were throwing a tantrum. “You want to know the reason?” Aemond hummed as you glared at him. “Yes.” You said and crossed your arms across your chest. Aemond caught the action and reminded himself not to let his eye linger upon the deep live between your bosom. He was certain you did that on purpose. You were calculated; you did each of your actions, knowing fully well that it would elicit a reaction from those around you that would only selfishly serve you and your vanity.

He could see it in how you interacted with the lords and other men, flashing your coy smile, batting your eyelashes, and seducing them with just a mere movement from your graceful frame. He could see it in how you toyed with Aegon, letting him whisper things to your ear, leaning in closer when the older prince spoke, and laughing at whatever meaningless word came out of the prince’s wine-smelling mouth. And you did it with him as well, the way your eye would hold his gaze, seeking him out during dinner and distracting him whilst in training. You were a shameless flirt. Someone who craved attention, and everyone seemed to be grateful to give you what you sought— except Aemond.

“Because you are a flirt— a tease. You toy with men because you were gifted with beauty,” Aemond seethed and that only brought a deep furrow on your brows. “I am no such thing!” You defended yourself, and the prince only scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You are. It is plain. You have them wrapped around your fingers— you know how easily an attractive face persuades them,” the prince said but frowned as he saw your lips twitch upward. As if his words and insults were a jest. “Tell me, my prince… do you agree with their sentiments? Do you find me attractive as well?” You asked and tilted your head, smirking to yourself as the dragon’s fire stuttered and backed away once more. It was a battle, each opponent taking their hits and reloading in time just to fight with the other again.

The prince gulped and felt heat rise to the tips of his ear; luckily, the reddening flesh was covered by the curtain of his silver locks. “I— I don’t,” He said and stood his ground, forcing his voice to be steady and scathing though he told a plain lie. “I do not find you attractive,” He said more firmly and slightly more convincing this time. “You don’t?” You asked and watched as he curtly nodded and thinned his lips. “That is good,” you mused and backed away from the little space you had given him. The prince’s brow twitched as you said your sentiment, as he heard relief from your voice. “Why is that?” He curiously asked his turn to step closer to you.

“Because your mother had proposed to my father that a union between us would be well suited; well suited to whom I do not know, but that is what she had proposed. Telling my father that she had needed to bring the subject to you to see if you agreed.” It was a nice scene to see the prince’s whole body turn to stone in shock. His thin lips parted, and his eyes held cluelessness and disbelief. You took the moment of silence from the prince to speak once more. “Well, it is most fortunate that you clearly don’t agree— it would save me from having to be in the presence of such a… prejudiced and bitter prince.” You relished the way you caught his hand clenched around nothing and the way you were certain he was ready to turn violent by your words. However, you still continued to speak.

“Though the title of princess is quite tempting, and I am certain I’d look exquisite with a tiara— I’d rather run off with the stable boy and live in squalor than live in a place with you.” You finished with a satisfied smirk on your lips at the murderous look on the prince’s face. When his lips parted and tried to speak, he flailed on what to say. That only added to your triumph. “Good night, my prince, Aemond,” You said in a sickly, sweet tone and lowly curtsied again before walking your way back to your chambers.

It should greatly shame the prince. His actions would haunt him for moons to come, but the moment you exited the library, and he was once again left alone, he succumbed to his desires and undid the laces of his trousers. Pulling his painfully hardened length and pleasured himself with the thought of you. Your scent still hung in the air, and your voice still rang in his ear, but what pushed him over the edge was the image of you curtsying, almost going to your knees before him. His mind was made then. Whatever act he had portrayed the past few days will quickly come to an end for he shall certainly agree with his mother that a union between him and you would be most suited.

You sat in disbelief and utter confusion as your father announced to you that a union between you and the prince shall take place. “Why? Wh— did the queen ask his thoughts on this? Or was it just your and Her Majesty’s decision?” You questioned as you recalled the night in the library with the prince. It had only been two days since the heated and angered scene transpired, and you had done your best to avoid him and his raging lilac gaze. “The prince came to me and asked for your hand. And given the conversation I had with the queen, I assumed that his proposal has her blessing.” Your lips agape, and you try to work out your objections, but your father cupped your cheeks. “You, my darling, will be a princess just like you had always dreamed of.” He said softly, recalling how you ran the halls of Casterly Rock with a tiara atop of your head when you were younger— always begging your septa to tell you stories of princesses and their princes finding 'happily ever after.’

“I shall leave you to get ready— it will be announced to the court later today, and the wedding shall take place in a week’s time.” He announced, making you stand in utter surprise. “What?! Father— Why so soon?” You asked in disbelief. “The queen wishes his son to be married before the king meets his demise. He wishes for the king to witness Aemond joyously with his bride,” You were stunned and were certain that joy would not appear from a union between you and Aemond, making the Queen’s wishes moot. “Now, make haste as you shall be presented with your betrothed!” Your father smiled and kissed the top of your head, and hurriedly left the guest chambers.

Aemond observed as your proud gaze was planted on the floor as they announced the upcoming union between the two of you. He was certain that news had left you in quite a state of confusion. The prince passed his eye at the sea of people, mostly on the men who had lined up for years and courted you, only to witness that the beauty they coveted was then promised to the dragon prince. Aemond’s look turned to his brother, whose jealous gaze was upon him, and Aemond couldn’t help but smirk. He then returned his gaze to you again, finally having looked up and locked your eyes upon him. Nothing but confusion in your orbs, and perhaps anger that Aemond simply found endearing.

“I do not understand.” You gritted as you and Aemond were given a chance of privacy to get to know more about each other before the wedding. You two were in the room of the small council, the queen, your father, and the lord commander standing by the other side of the door lost in discussion as you and your betrothed were about to thread towards an argument. “You and I shall marry each other; what is so hard to understand?” The prince retorted. “I suppose the saying is true… the more comely the woman is, the more she is simple,” Aemond quickly added, grinning at how quickly you were to grow red in rage. Your cheeks match the scarlet of your gown.

“Why, in the name of the seven, would you agree to this?! You and I are not suited for each other!” you whispered harshly, not wanting your parents to hear you quarrel. "And what makes you think so?” The prince hummed, stepping closer to you, tightening in his trousers once more as your plump lips were agape. “I haven’t had a civil conversation with you. All our interactions have been arguments— do you truly think that a marriage between us would work?” You asked incredulously, mind spinning at how abrupt, incomprehensible, and inexplicable the fates were. “You wish for a civil conversation? Let us have one then,” he simply replied and took a seat in one of the chairs housed in the long table separating the two of you.

You took in deep breaths and studied as he sat calmly, his hands placed atop the wooden table. You eventually took the seat across from him. “Why did you agree to this union?” You asked, your mind still replaying the scene in which he stated plainly that he dislikes you greatly. “Because I am in need of a wife,” he answered. You licked your lips and shook your head. “Why me, then? When you are perfectly aware of our shared… distaste for one another,” You said and watched as the prince shrugged. “Because…” the prince trailed, licking his lips as he was certain you would not believe what he would utter because he himself would find it hard to believe as well at how he had treated you since you had come. “I want you.” He finally said after a long moment of steely silence. The prince clenched his jaw as he heard you scoff, and a sardonic, melodious laugh soon followed. “You want me?” You asked, “What? You want to punish me? Make me miserable with a union with a man who hates me?” You added. “I do not hate you,” the prince sighed and rolled his eye as you stubbornly shook your head.

“Ever since I have arrived all you had done was glare at me, pick quarrels and squabbles. You had offended me right to my face, and now you say want me?” You asked incredulously. “They say Targaryens are mad… but I had hoped your mother’s blood had leveled your and your sibling's heads.” You mumbled and did not expect to see an amused look on the prince’s face. A beat of silence surrounded the two of you, staring each other down. A lioness with a confused scowl on her face, and a dragon who had amusement and content on his. “I still do not understand,” You said, and the Prince sighed once more.

“It was all an act,” he sighed. My animosity towards you—all of it was an act. A facade to protect me because when I saw how you interacted with the other prospects for your hand… how obliging you were with them, I could not stomach the fact that you would not be mine,” he admitted, letting himself be vulnerable for the first time in years. I… I do not like sharing,” he then added.

“I was five and ten when I read the first poem written for you,” he started. “I have not seen you… I have not a clue of who you were except that you were Ser Tyland’s kin, and you were of great beauty as they have written, and you already managed to make me grow curious,” You stayed silent as the prince continued on to explain. “I waited every week for new poems to be published… the songs in your name still did not receive much recognition— you were still unheard of by the others. I was certain I was the only one who bought those pamphlets; you were a secret for me alone.” You nodded along and rested your back against the chair, observing the prince intently as he spoke. “Aegon found the pamphlets and began to grow curious too… along with the entire kingdom, and I just did not enjoy the thought that I have to share the desire to know you— to be with you with other men,” He finished, and you bit your tongue as you did not know how to take the prince’s explanation. Was it flattering or puzzling? You had no clue. All you knew was your heart was beating loudly in your chest and your stomach was filled with butterflies.

“My uncle often shared stories of you and your siblings…” You spoke, your turn to share an anecdote. “As a child, I have always been enthralled by the idea of royalty. So he would oblige me and tell me stories of the Dragon Princes.” Aemond nodded along as your eyes were cast upon the wooden table. “He would always go into great detail about your brother, Aegon… seeing he will be king, but I was always more curious about you,” You admitted. “But he said you always kept to yourself, so he could not truly tell me stories about you, so I would make him repeat the anecdotes already told time and time again. On how kind you were with your sister and how dutiful you were to your mother… how you were brave and determined— ceaselessly training with the sword even if you had lost your eye. And if you were not training, you were adding to your scholarly knowledge.” You turned your gaze to the Prince’s exceptionally beautiful lilac eye, “I have been fond of you long before I have met you, my prince. Ask my father and uncle… or anyone in Casterly Rock, for that matter,” You said truthfully, watching as Aemond’s lips twitch into a smile

“I would admit; I came here with the hopes of getting to know you… that perhaps a match between us would fall organically and not one that our father and mother made.” You said and fisted the fabric of your scarlet gown as your heart beat loudly at your admittance. The prince licked his lips, “Should it matter how this union was made?” He asked, “Either way, in the end, we’ll still get what we both want,” Aemond stated, his whole being satisfied as he was not the only one who pinned over a person he was still yet to meet. “I suppose not,” you smiled as your impending nuptials with a prince you had dreamed of since you were a child was to come. The door then swung open, revealing your father along with the Queen.“I hope the both of you had gotten the chance to grow more acquainted with each other,” The queen smiled, already excited with the prospect of your marriage and for you to be her daughter. You were most fitting to their family; not only will her son gain an incredibly charming and comely wife, but her daughter too will gain a friend.

“We have, your grace,” You said with a small smile. She gave a pleased nod, and her smile widened, “That is good. Come with me, child. Plans have to be made, and you still have yet to be fitted for your gown!” She said and held out her hand for you to take. You stood and turned briefly to your betrothed; you once again curtsied before him. Now, a smile intended for him was placed on your pink lips, and Aemond’s longing gaze followed you as you walked out of the room with his mother.

The day of your wedding was quick to come, and you felt entirely giddy and excited about marrying Prince Aemond. Your father escorted you down the aisle, the eyes of the kingdom following you as you gracefully walked to your soon-husband, who had a rare smile on his lips. When your father gave your hand for the prince to take, you felt gooseflesh scatter throughout your entire body. Aemond looked at you adoringly throughout the entirety of the ceremony, not at all paying attention to the Maester who blessed your union.

Aemond was entirely impatient for him to announce you as his wife and for him to finally be able to kiss your lips. To mark you as his in front of the gods and the entire kingdom. And when that moment finally came, the desire that burned brightly inside the both of you only grew. Aemond was not one to show affection publicly, but he could not hinder himself as he cupped your cheeks to deepen your kiss that was witnessed by all present in the hall. Their screams and cheers faded and turned mute as both of your lips intertwined.

Suppressed desires could not be contained any longer as you and Aemond had finally had a taste of each other. There was supposed to be a banquet to celebrate your union; the Queen had organized the feast to perfection, and your father spared no expense for the celebration. But it was unfortunately missed by you and your husband as Aemond quickly led you to your shared bed chambers, both of you unable to wait for nightfall to be in each other’s arms.

“Aemond,” You mewled as he pushed you up against the stone pillar in your chambers. His lips kissed your neck, leaving his mark with every kiss, and his hands quickly untied the laces of your gown. You hear him growl as you boldly move your hand to cup his hardened length against his trousers, hesitant as you move your hand. “We should be in the feast,” You said but made no move to halt your pleasurable actions. Aemond shook his head, “Do you want to attend the feast, or do you want to be pleasured, wife?” He asked and watched with dark eyes as the sleeves of your dress draped down your arm and revealed more of your milky skin. “I want you, husband.” You breathed, and Aemond let out a pleasurable sound as your hold on his length tightened.

“Kneel,” Aemond gritted, and your eyes widened at his command. “Kneel and show your devotion to your lord husband,” Aemond demanded and clenched his jaw as you did as he asked, slowly going to your knees, your eyes still locked upon him. You licked your lips as you were eye-leveled with his bulging length, “Take it out,” Aemond commanded and tightly closed his eye as you did the action, your skin finally touching his. You bit your lip at his massiveness, at how well-endowed he was and how beautiful he fully was. You swallowed thickly as you recalled the books you had read in the dead of night, detailing how man and woman should be.

Aemond let out a strained sound as you placed a ghost of a kiss upon the tip of his cock, your name spewing from his lips as you peppered light kisses along his length. “Stop being a tease, little wife,” he gritted and felt his stomach tighten at the smirk on your lips and the view of you kneeling before him. Your dress had dropped lowly, and he could see most of your bosom that had been tempting him for days on end.

You let out a breath and to him to your mouth. You half expected yourself to be repulsed, but with each moment you had his length between your lips, bobbing your head, sucking harshly, hearing the moans your husband spewed, and looking at his pleasured etched face, you felt your cunt drip with want and anticipation. Aemond groaned louder as you fondled his other parts, thanking the gods for blessing him with you as his wife. Thanking them for their favor to let him be bound to the Golden Beauty of the realm. The prince breathed in harshly as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, the need for release in him loudly pronouncing itself, making him abruptly pull out. He could not be so selfish and let himself succumb to pleasure whilst you were still filled with need.

Aemond pulled you to stand, fervently meeting your lips once more, and guided you to bed. Your dress finally fell, and Aemond greedily took one of your tit into the hot cavern of his mouth. He bit the bud and elicited a sweet whine from your lips, and he quickly soothed it with his tongue and felt you clung to him tighter. Taking his other hand and guided it to you other needing tit to pleasure it as well. Aemond smirked upon your bosom at how in need you were of him. Aemond moved his lips to your neglected tit, and his hand trailed down south, your eyes rolling back and your hands fisting the back of his head as you finally felt his cold hands upon your needing heat.

“So desperate for me, little wife,” Aemond hummed in satisfaction. Your moans echoed throughout the chambers, along with the sound of your wetness as Aemond slipped his finger in you, his thumb circling the pearl of your cunt, earning more of your sweet moans. Aemond moved to kiss your lips again, feeling how tightly your cunt clenched around his finger. You parted your lips as you felt climax nearing, your wide, lusted eyes locked in with your husbands, but before you could even succumb to ultimate pleasure, Aemond stole away his finger. “Aemond,” You whined, but your husband only smirked and pecked your lips. Making you watch as he brought his coated fingers to his lips and sucked the essence of you clean.

Your mind was dazed and frustrated as he denied you pleasure. Your eyes followed him as he removed his tunic and lay nakedly on the silk sheets of your feathered bed. “Come here,” He ordered, and you hesitated for a moment. You took your bottom lip between your lips and did as told, moving to straddle him as he lay. His hands found home on your hips, urging you to move forward, and you furrowed your brows in confusion as your core threaded farther away from his length. “Aemond, I—“ Words were lost as the prince’s lips were met with your cunt. His hands forcing you down upon his face. Your head tilted back in pleasure as you rolled your hips upon his face, his prominent nose perfectly aligned with your nubbin and his tongue darting in and out of your tightness.

“Aemond,” You cried as your thighs were quick to shiver; release was finding you once more. “Aemond… Aemond…” You uttered his name like a prayer. With one flick of his tongue, you came undone, your moans ringing loudly that you were certain that it was heard in the halls but could not find care. Aemond had a slight smirk as he moved you closer to his length. Your eyes were still glazed from your climax, and your mind was so disoriented that you did not even realize that Aemond had positioned his length at your entrance. The sharp pain of your maidenhead being taken was the only indication you had that you had now sunk upon his cock.

Aemond relished at the sight of you atop of him, your cunt taking and squeezing his cock. Your breast was heaving, and your eyes were welling with tears. Aemond reached out and took your bosom into his calloused hands, kneading the taut, soft flesh— earning a pleasured moan through your pain. Aemond gave you the liberty to move whenever you felt comfortable doing so. He was an impatient man, but he savored every small movement you made as you clenched along his cock.

Your furrowed brows dissipated, and your mouth parted as the tip of cock perfectly hit the spot inside of you that made you see stars. Aemond’s breathing labored as you rolled your hips, seeking further friction. He moved his cold hands to your hips and guided you to bounce upon his cock. “Aemond!” You cried, and Aemond could only marvel at your pleasured face and bouncing tits; you squeezed him so tightly that slight pain mixed with his delight. “Are you going to come, my wife? Will you come at your husband’s cock?” Aemond hummed and sat up, placing his head between your ample breasts, greedily inhaling your scent. “Yes… gods, yes!” You cried as he harshly thrust inside you. Both of you meet your peak, Aemond spilling his seed deep inside your cunt and you clawing at his bare back and leaving your own marks.

“My wife,” Aemond hummed in satisfaction and nuzzled his nose against yours, a smile on your lips as your foreheads pressed as the cheers from the feast that you two disregarded were lowly heard in your chambers, “My prince,” You smiled and kissed his lips, your heart full. Your being wholly satisfied as you were bound to the prince that your young heart had wanted long before.

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neckromantics · 9 months

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Astarion loves to take baths with you.

It's one of his favorite ways to spend his downtime in general, honestly. Not only is the bath such a soothing place to be (you know once this man has the option, he's going to splurge on a vast collection of luxury soaps, oils, hair masks, and body scrubs- the list goes on.), but there's just something about it that makes him feel so normal? Mortal, almost.

If he lets himself soak just long enough, the heat from the water begins to nullify the vampiric chill that he's grown ever so used to. It's a pleasant warmth that works its way past pale skin- past tired muscles and aching sinew- and settles down deep into his very bones. For a few precious moments, he can convince himself that the eternal discomfort of undeath has made off for good this time.

And his hair always looks spectacular after wash day. It's a win-win scenario for him. So for his favorite person to be involved as well? Well, that just makes it all the more better.

This time, you're lounging on the floor nearby as he soaks- having stuck around after washing his hair for him as he oh-so-kindly requested of you. He's still a bit new at asking for small acts of kindness, so of course, you jumped at the chance to put your hands to good use. You were so careful not to catch your fingers on any snags as you worked a sweet-smelling soap through his wet curls, nails scrubbing away at his scalp even after it's all rinsed away just to hear him purr for you.

You're leaning against the bath, cheek cushioned against your forearm as it rests along the edge. The other swirls idly in the water- kept heated by clever use of prestidigitation (you'd recently picked up this cantrip for purposes such as this) and softened by the finest oils stolen gold could purchase. The curtains in your room are carefully drawn, and although your source of light comes from the multitude of candles scattered about, it's still enough to see the nice flush the heat brings to his skin. It's a little odd to see him so pinkened, and obviously, you can't help but stare no matter how hard you try not to.

It's the blood- your blood- that's pooling beneath the surface of his skin and giving him this radiance that many a man would covet.

Rose blooms a pretty bouquet on the smooth skin of his chest, up the length of his bared throat as he rests his head, and even reaches the tips of the pointy ears you so adore. Gods, even his knuckles are pinker when he reaches a hand out of the water to push his hair away from his forehead, and your gaze immediately follows the trail of soapy water as it glides down his wrist- drip-drops from his elbow and back into the bath.

Astarion looks so... peaceful like this.

Pale lashes rest upon warm cheeks as he reclines, face fallen soft, similar to how it does when he's deep in trance. A part of you wonders if this is how he might have looked back some two hundred years ago, before the affliction that was bestowed upon him by his old (now deceased, you celebrate mentally) master.

Eyes of ruby open just a crack, and you know that smug smile is coming before his lips so much as twitch.

"You know, my dear, most people consider staring to be rather rude." He purrs.

You're proud to say you don't miss a beat.

"Good thing you're nothing like most people then, hm?" Quick wit- a developing side effect from the many days spent traveling with the cheekiest rogue in all of Faerûn.

Quick as you may be– he is quicker.

"Ah, right you are. Most people aren't nearly as beautiful as I am– one can hardly blame you for all of your slack-jawed gawping."

A half-huffed laugh is pulled out of you. Astarion loves to pretend he isn't just as delighted by your glossy-eyed admiring as he is amused.

And here you are again, suddenly distracted by the slightest bounce of silver curls when he tilts his head to watch your smile hit your eyes. His hair looks a bit longer when it's weighed down by bathwater and conditioning oils, almost to the point where some bits just barely brush his shoulders. You're so mesmerized that you have to touch him. The hand that's been playing in the water comes up to brush a few nearly translucent hairs away from where they've stuck to the curve of his neck, lingering afterward to carefully trace a finger down to his collarbone as you continue your oggle-fest.

Only just a moment longer, you tell yourself, and then you'll leave him be.

Yet, he doesn't let you pull away too far when you've finished. A deft hand comes up from the depths to capture yours the second you think about leaving him to his privacy, and you nearly jump at the unfamiliar temperature of its grasp.

He's warm.

Almost warmer than you, and it's honestly kind of jarring.

Astarion's still sporting that smile, although a bit kinder than before. If you weren't watching so closely, you'd miss how his eyes flash, uncharacteristically shy for just a moment before that heavy-lidded stare is set back in place. He brings your joined hands up to his mouth, petal-soft lips resting against the damp heel of your palm in a not-so-kiss.

They press for a long moment, and you can feel the appreciative hum he gives more than you can hear it. It occurs to you that he's probably just as dazed at your matching temperatures as you are.

"Get in here, darling." The command comes out as more of a question, really. You know in your heart that you have every right to refuse him if you really want to and that he wouldn't even consider holding it against you if you did.

But why in the hells would you ever do a thing as silly as that?

#bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #astarion #astarion fic #astarion fluff

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gojoux · 8 months

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『 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 』

· Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

· Summary: Life has decided to lead you to him or lead him to you, knowing that you two are destined together despite your differences. This told story is just a glimpse of a few memories between you and him, one that he remembers dearly.

· CW: 8.6k // Mostly fluff. True Form!Sukuna. Heian Era. Overprotective + Possessive Sukuna. Very subtle sex scenes. Slight violence.

Late post because the app screwed me over a divider. As you see... it’s thicker like him than usual.

The infamous King of Curses had only one weakness—you.

Ryomen Sukuna, the most fearsome sorcerer (or used to be one) alive, would melt in your presence. His usual cold and cruel demeanor vanished when he was with you, replaced by a gentle sweetness he showed to no other.

From the very first moment your paths crossed, he was utterly enthralled, something he would never expect to feel in his life. You’re someone he doesn’t even know or heard of and he doesn’t find the appeal from you, but there’s just something about you that makes him enchanted at first sight.

Your luminous soul called to him like a song. He knew you were destined to be his. And so he courted you as tenderly as his blackened heart would allow, coaxing you to return his affections.

Slowly, gently, he broke down your defenses. His smoldering gazes made your heart flutter. His feather-light touches from his big, strong hands and fingers sent shivers down your spine. Before long, you realized you were falling for this demon who looked at you with such longing in his crimson eyes.

He could shower you with all the passion and devotion he had been holding back. He cherishes you, catering to your every desire. Just being near you was euphoric for him.

When apart, he counted the seconds until he could see you again. And when reunited, he was unable to keep his hands off you, showering you with passionate kisses and whispers of sweet words.

“You are mine. Remember that,” he would murmur against your skin as he held you close. “Always.”

You had tamed the beast. Or so you thought.

While Sukuna was nearly defenseless against your love, it also ignited something far more sinister—his jealousy.

The mere idea of losing you made his blood burn with rage. Other men were not even permitted to look at you, lest they get torn limb from limb.

Though deeply in love, Sukuna’s possessive nature remained. And woe befall any who dared threaten what was his.

The first time it happened was weeks after you’d become his. A young lord from a clan sent you gifts and flowers, seeking your affection. When Sukuna discovered this, the fury in his eyes turned them molten gold.

“He dares think he can steal you away from me?” Sukuna seethed. In an instant, he vanished to hunt down the offending lord.

He returned hours later drenched in blood that was not his own. You shuddered to imagine what cruel fate had befallen the misguided young man. Sukuna said nothing of it, simply pulled you into a bruising kiss and swore you’d never leave his side again.

After that, the corpses started piling up.

A guard who eyed you lasciviously, eviscerated.

A peasant whose longing stare lingered too long, executed.

Anyone who so much as looked at you with desire was signing their own death warrant.

You begged Sukuna to show mercy, but your pleas fell on deaf ears. “They try to take what is mine,” he would snarl. “They deserve no less than agony and death.”

His demonic nature had fully resurfaced, and you realized just what you had unleashed. Sukuna would slaughter legions and burn the world to ashes if it meant keeping you.

You were terrified of what he had become. Yet some traitorous part of you thrilled at being so coveted, so passionately loved, even if it came at a bloody cost.

He was an obsession incarnate, and you, his obsession.

No matter where you turned, his shadow loomed.

There would be no escaping the King of Curses’ dark desires.

You were his.

How did it all start? It’s been too long since it went past your head already.

But you do remember vividly when you were walking that one night when your gut told you not to, you did.

You should have listened to your instincts. But there was something about the forest at night that called to you, beckoning you to explore its moon-bathed paths and whispering trees.

Curiosity won out over caution, and you decided one quick walk couldn’t hurt.

You set out just after sunset, relishing the kiss of cool night air on your skin. The woods were serene and lovely in the deep blue hush just before true darkness fell. Night blooms perfumed the air as you wandered along aimlessly, simply savoring this secret world.

Until you realized you had lost your way. Suddenly the trees seemed more ominous, the shadows deeper. You paused, peering anxiously through the gloom.

How long have you been walking?

Which way was home?

As you turned around in circles trying to get your bearings, a blow of wind appeared behind you. You froze, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You whipped around with a gasp. Emerging from the trees was a tall, powerfully built man. But what drew your wide-eyed stare were the four arms crossed onto his bare, toned chest.

You stumbled back in terror, but he moved unnaturally fast, appearing before you in an instant. Up close, details that had escaped you at a distance were now frighteningly clear. Tattoos are carved on his face and body. His eyes burned crimson.

You were face to face with the King of Curses himself.

“Please…” you whimpered, trembling. “I mean no trespass...”

Sukuna tilted his head, considering you with evident amusement. He reached out an arm towards you, his fingers gliding along your jaw, tipping your chin up. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for death.

But instead of tearing you apart, he simply chuckled. “Open your eyes. I will not harm you.”

You cracked them open hesitantly. Sukuna was observing you closely now, intrigued.

“Fear not. I merely wondered who was wandering my woods at this late hour,” he purred. “But I see now… you are no threat at all.”

His touch was surprisingly gentle as he traced the line of your throat. You shivered but did not dare pull away. The heat of his skin felt feverish against yours.

“What brings you here to me, I wonder?” he murmured, his piercing gaze seeming to lay your soul bare.

He tutted, circling you slowly. “These woods are dangerous at night, especially for tempting morsels like yourself. Do you have any idea what lurks in the shadows?” He paused expectantly, but you were too petrified to respond.

You licked your dry lips nervously. “I… I was simply exploring. I did not mean to disturb—”

“Quiet.” A finger pressed lightly over your mouth. “How shall I punish this trespass? I do hate uninvited guests.”

You finally found your voice, though it trembled pitifully. “P-please, I meant no intrusion. If you let me go, I swear I will never—”

“Let you go?” Sukuna tilted his head, looking almost offended. “Now, why would I do that? No, you will not be leaving.”

Your heart hammered at those enigmatic words. Just what did this dangerous being want with you? Surely not anything good.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna laughed once more. “Worry not, little one. I only wish for some company.” In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between you, caging you with his body. This close, the heat pouring off him was incredible, the coils of his tattoos seeming to slither and shift before your eyes with your heart hammering wildly.

A violent shudder went through you, though not entirely from fear now. Being clasped in his strong embrace had stirred something unexpected within you. A strange exhilaration at having caught the eye of this exotic and terrible being.

He leaned down, inhaling deeply near the crook of your neck. “Mm, such fear. I can taste it rolling off your skin… intoxicating.” His lips grazed your fluttering pulse, making you shudder. “You are afraid, yet also thrilled to see me, aren’t you?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Was it that obvious, the traitorous excitement you felt being so close to this dangerous demon? You just couldn’t tear your eyes away from his unusual beauty.

“I thought so,” he purred, looking utterly satisfied. He brushed a finger lightly down your cheek. “It seems fate has brought you to me for a reason.”

Sukuna sensed your reaction and made a small pleased noise. In one smooth motion, he swept you up into his arms and started carrying you deeper into the woods.

You gasped, hands braced against the solid muscles of his shoulder. “Where are you taking me? Please, I never meant to intrude! I am sorry! just—”

“Shut it.” His grip tightened. “Do not fight me. Submit, and it will go easier for you.”

Tears of panic spilled down your cheeks. But despite your fear, you felt your body responding to his proximity, pulsing with alarming warmth. Your thoughts scattered as Sukuna claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, tasting your helpless whimper.

“What are you…” you gasped, too speechless to find a word to fight back.

As if reading your mind again, Sukuna adjusts the way he’s carrying you to brush his lips against your own in a feather-light caress. “I hope you are not too afraid, little one. I have been alone for so long, you will keep me company. And I have no intention of letting you go.”

Some part of you recognized the truth in his words. No matter how your mind recoiled, your body was betraying you, longing for more of his addictive caresses. He sensed your crumbling resistance, his smile triumphant.

“You are mine now. Do not fight it.”

You stared around in awe at the sprawling shinden-zukuri as Sukuna placed you down and led you inside. Paper screens glowed warmly with lantern light, illuminating opulent tatami rooms decorated with priceless scrolls and vases, and through meticulously tended gardens dotted with tranquil ponds. Everything about this place spoke of immense power and wealth.

It was a far cry from your own humble village dwelling. You could scarcely fathom how a demon lord had come to possess such a magnificent noble estate out here in the remote forest.

As Sukuna guided you deeper into the manse, you passed several elegantly dressed women in simple yet elegant kimonos, all keeping their gazes demurely lowered.

‘Servants,’ you realized. But where had they come from? Were they taken like how you are now? Were you about to become another of his servants?

When you reached the main manor, Sukuna slid open the screen to reveal a grand receiving chamber. Priceless ink scrolls and painted silk screens adorned the walls. The opulence was staggering.

“Do you like it?” he asked, noting your awe. “I claimed this estate long ago from its previous owners.”

You shivered at the implication behind those words but said nothing as he guided you deeper inside.

Your bemused wondering was interrupted when Sukuna slid open a screen door, ushering you into a lavish bed chamber. A large futon covered in silks took up most of the space.

“You must be weary, little one,” he stroked your hair. “Rest now. I will have my servants draw you a bath.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead before gliding from the room. Still stunned by your opulent surroundings, you wandered over to the open window. Beyond the manicured gardens and koi ponds you could see nothing but dense forest stretching endlessly. Just how far had Sukuna brought you?

You had little time to ponder before two servant women appeared, bowing deeply. They poured hot water into a carved wooden tub and then added cherry blossom-scented oils.

You let them help you disrobe and sink into the fragrant bath, the tension in your muscles unwinding. The demon’s domain was still terrifying and foreign, but you couldn’t deny the comforts he lavished upon you. His possession had a gentleness to it that left you conflicted.

This place treated you better in less than two hours than your whole life in the village.

After your bath, the servants dressed you in silken robes layered in rich hues of wisteria and spring leaves. Darkened your lips with crushed berries. They arranged your hair with jade combs and dabbed perfume at your wrists in a courtly fashion.

Examining their work in a bronze mirror, you barely recognized yourself. The simple village girl staring back from the bronze mirror was gone, replaced by someone who looked like a noblewoman.

Sukuna was waiting when you emerged, hungry eyes sweeping over you appreciatively. “Beautiful,” he pulls you close to him. His lips grazed your wrist, inhaling the perfume there. “You will come to appreciate the comforts of being mine.” His words sent an illicit tingle through you.

“Thank you,” was all you could say as you felt your body sway toward him, eyelashes fluttering downward demurely. His attentions were clouding your caution, making you forget the circumstances that had brought you here.

Sukuna seemed pleased by your response. He took your hand and led you to a candlelit room where a feast awaited. You kneeled on plush cushions across from him. There, your eyes widen at the sight—dishes you could only dream of tasting.

“Uraume is my best cook. They know how to make delicious food,” he brags, pointing at the person with white bob hair with his eyes. Uraume bowed respectfully before excusing themselves.

As the night deepened, Sukuna kept your cup full, his burning gaze holding yours in the romantic glow. Here in this place of luxury, it was easy to forget he was someone who had stolen you away.

“Come.” He held out one of his hands. “It is time you rested.”

Back in the bed chamber, he guided you down onto silken sheets while your pulse quickened. His eyes roamed your body hungrily before he leaned down to claim your lips in a deep kiss. You knew you should resist, but his touch ignited a dangerous fire inside.

His fingers trailed delicately along your skin as he peeled away each layer of your robes until you were laid bare before him. “You are so lovely, little one,” he rasped. He pressed you down into the silken futon, his eyes focused on you. “I will teach you pleasures fit for an empress,” he growled.

“And you will learn to crave my body above all else.”

His words sent a spike of fear through you, even as your traitorous body responded hungrily to his. His burning caress left no doubt of his intentions. You trembled, but didn’t refuse him.

Here in this beautiful prison, you were his to do with as he pleased. And some traitorous part of you craved to experience the passions he promised.

As Sukuna’s body covered yours, you surrendered completely to him. Within these walls, you now belonged utterly to him.

You had been living as Sukuna’s pampered pet in his lavish manor for several days now. He gifted you an ornate silk kimono, adorned your hair with jeweled combs, and ensured you lacked nothing. At night, he would lay you across silken futons and set your body aflame with new realms of pleasure.

But each morning after, as he caressed your skin and murmured endearments, doubts crept in. Were there others that he touched this way? The thought filled you with unease.

You wanted his passion reserved only for you.

When Sukuna appeared in your room this evening, he found you quiet and distant, your smile restrained. Brow furrowing, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“What troubles you, little one? Have I not provided for you well?”

You gathered your courage. “I… I have a request, My Lord…”

He raised one brow, “Oh? Speak.”

“If we are to share such intimacy, I wish it to be only between us. No other lover, in any way.” You held his gaze evenly. “Will you vow this, please?”

For a moment Sukuna only stared, stunned by your bold demand. Then a sly smile curved his lips.

“My little one wishes to tame me, is that it?” He trailed a finger lightly down your cheek. “You seek to bind me to yourself alone?”

Heart pounding, you gave one short nod.

Sukuna threw back his head with a delighted laugh. “You fascinate me endlessly. No mortal has ever dared make demands of me.” His expression softened by looking at your innocent face. “But for you, I will agree.”

He leans down, face to face with you, “From now on, I am yours alone.”

Relief washed through you at his oath. As Sukuna drew you into a passionate kiss, you yielded completely for the first time, holding nothing back.

“My sweet, little love…” He lifted you in his arms. “I will make you forget any existed before this night.”

And he did. Laying you down, hands and lips he worshiped you, wringing gasps and cries from your lips as you arched desperately, mindless and pleading beneath him.

At the height of ecstasy, his burning gaze held yours. His heated gaze seared into yours at the pinnacle, fierce and possessive. “No other shall ever know you as I do.”

The feeling when your body joined, the sensation was beyond words, it felt like coming home. Like a missing piece of your soul had been restored. Wave after wave of bliss crested over you both, leaving you entwined in breathless ecstasy.

As lantern light faded to silvery moonbeams, Sukuna held you close, your heartbeats synchronizing. You now belonged only to each other in body, heart, and soul.

“Mine,” Sukuna rasped against your skin, his canine digging into your neck, marking you as his. “Just as I am yours. This, I vow to you, little one, from now until the end of days.”

His words echoed long in your mind, even as spent passion gave way to sleep in his enveloping embrace. The King of Curses himself was now bound to you irrevocably. And you to him.

The vow had been spoken, the ritual complete.

The days had settled into a predictable routine in Sukuna’s residence. He would vanish for hours or even full days to attend to mysterious “business”, leaving you to wander the chambers and gardens alone. You never ask where he went or what occupied him. Some fears were best left unspoken.

But your heart would lift eagerly whenever Sukuna returned, no matter how late the hour. Just knowing he had come back to you was enough. You took to waiting anxiously by the engawa, ready to greet him.

At first, he returned spotless and composed. But soon the blood became noticeable.

It would decorate his arms, spatter his chest and face in drying rust-colored patterns. The life essence of whatever poor souls had crossed him in the nearby villages. You didn’t need to ask how it got there.

The first time, you gasped and shrank back in horror. But Sukuna just smiled and opened his arms to you. “Come, let us get cleansed of the day’s exertions.”

You forced yourself to look past the gore, seeing only your demonic lord who needed tending. Taking his hand, you led him to the bath chamber.

There you gently sponged away the carnage, breathing relief when his skin emerged clean again. Sukuna watched you intently, eyes glowing with unspoken emotions. You didn’t dare examine it too closely.

When you were done, he would pull you into his lap, nuzzling against your throat almost tenderly. As if your ministries had tamed the beast lurking within.

“My little one,” he would rumble. And your heart would swell under his praises.

Before long, you began living for his returns. The hours apart stretched endlessly, your thoughts consumed with concern for his well-being. Your chest would tighten with loneliness in his absence. Maybe you craved him because you have no one to come home to, that’s why you are willing to be with him.

Surely he must share your needs, right?

The moment his shadow appeared down the corridor, you flew to him, embracing him heedless of any lingering blood. Sukuna laughed indulgently, hands gentling your desperation.

“Such passion, little one. Did you miss me so terribly?”

You nodded, not caring how you exposed your dependence on him. He tipped your chin up, his sharp eyes looking at you softly. “As I missed you. The time apart is agony.”

His admission made you smile in relief. After bathing him, you would prepare tea and draw him into quiet conversation, savoring this domestic intimacy. Here with you, he almost seemed content.

At late night, his lovemaking took on new urgency, as if reaffirming your bond. You matched his intensity, wanting to erase any distance the day had built between you.

“You are all I need,” he whispered afterward, cradling you close. And you knew then you were hopelessly lost to this dangerous creature. He had become your entire world.

When Sukuna departed each morning, part of you went with him. Until he returned to make you whole once more. There was no denying the truth—you were his, mind, body, and soul.

You see, life with Sukuna provided came at a terrible price—the waiting.

And so you hatched a plan.

You requested the finest silks from the seamstress and described the revealing garment you wished to craft. An elegant yet alluring yukata, hinting at the beauty beneath.

On the night of his homecoming, you adorned yourself carefully, arranging your hair over your bare shoulders, sketching your lips crimson. The ensemble left you feeling exposed, but also powerful.

When Sukuna entered the bed chamber, the sight of you made him halt in his tracks. Eyes widened as they traced over you hungrily, taking in every contour the diaphanous fabric outlined.

“Little one,” he rasped. “You look like divinity itself. What is all this for?”

You steeled your nerves and went to him, guiding his fingers to untie your sash with hands that trembled.

“I wish to ease your burdens tonight, My Lord. Will you permit me?”

A growl escapes his throat as your robes slip to the floor. The intensity of his gaze seared into your skin everywhere it touched. Strong arms pulled you fiercely against him.

“You test my restraint, beloved. Are you certain?”

At your whispered yes, his control shattered. With infinite care he bore you down onto silken sheets, praising every inch of newly bared flesh until you were dizzy and pleading.

Even at its peak, he kept the pace languid—long, delirious strokes of passion. The pleasure was sweet agony. You arched and moved as one, minds entwining as deeply as your bodies.

When it ended, you were changed. Sukuna held you tenderly as languor claimed you both, as if you were the most precious treasure in the world.

Perhaps you should have been afraid of this obsessive devotion. But you could not imagine life without him now.

As nice as it is living comfortably with everything provided for you, sometimes his residence becomes a gilded cage. You yearned to walk beyond the gardens, to visit the nearby villages you glimpsed from afar.

After much pleading, Sukuna finally relented. “If it will make you happy, we shall go. But you must stay close to me.” His eyes held an unspoken warning.

The day came at last. Taking his arm, you ventured out onto the winding forest paths, buzzing with excitement. Sukuna watched you closely, as if to imprint each delighted reaction.

When the first simple thatched dwellings came into view, you gasped. “Oh, look! Real village life, just as I remembered.”

“Then let us explore it,” he said indulgently, strolling by your side.

You moved through stalls selling woven reed baskets, hand-dyed yukata, and carved jade amulets. The smells of grilling fish and blossom-scented steam from tea houses mingled in the air. Your smile was radiant.

Most villagers averted their eyes and scrambled away at the sight of his presence. But their fearful deference only seemed to amuse Sukuna as he guided you along.

Pausing by a fountain, you turned joyfully to him. “Thank you for this, My Lord. I haven’t felt this happy in…” Your voice trailed off as you noticed a young man staring from across the village square. His gaze was fixed on you, his handsome face breaking into a flirtatious grin, looking at you with his eyes signaling interest.

Before you could react, Sukuna had crossed the distance between them in two swift strides. You watched in horror as he seized the insolent youth by the throat and slammed him against a wall, baring razor fangs.

“You dare look at her that way?” he thundered. The young man choked out pleas for mercy as Sukuna’s grip tightened relentlessly.

“My Lord! Stop!” You rushed over, clutching his arm. “I beg you, let him go!”

With obvious reluctance, Sukuna released his hold and stepped back. The terrified man crumpled to the ground, wheezing with his face pale. You tugged Sukuna (he didn’t resist) away quickly as onlookers gaped.

Once you were back within the secluded forest path, he rounded on you. “Why did you stop me?” he demanded, eyes still burning with fury. “That whelp was openly desiring what is mine.”

You trembled. “He meant no true offense, My Lord.”

Sukuna exhaled harshly, drawing you against him. “You are too forgiving, little one. Next time I may not be so lenient.” The promise in his voice chilled you.

Nonetheless, in the days that followed, you persuaded him to let you visit the village markets again. Sukuna acquiesced, but his mood turned brooding whenever you went out together.

It was not long before a repeat incident occurred. A passing noble’s gaze lingered on you a moment too long. Sukuna's reaction was swift and merciless. Before you could intervene, the shrieking lord was engulfed in infernal flames, his ashes scattering to the wind.

This time, Sukuna was deaf to your pleas for restraint. “They continue testing me, presuming they can admire my possession with impunity,” he snarled. “I will suffer this insult no more.”

Numb with horror, you could say nothing as he took your arm and led you from that place of death.

Sukuna would never change his nature. His jealousy and possessiveness were as innate as the demonic power coursing through his veins. And you were helpless to curb them.

Trying to tame such a savage spirit had been foolish. Where his claim over you was concerned, no mercy would ever sway him.

The journey back to the estate was made in tense silence. You could feel the rage rolling off Sukuna in scorching waves as he strode ahead. His jaw was granite, fists clenched and shaking.

Only once you were behind the privacy of the chamber walls did he finally unleash it.

“How can you defend him?” he roared, making you flinch. “Those pathetic mortals who dared to covet what is not theirs. It is unacceptable!”

You stood your ground. “I make no defense, only ask that you temper reactions. This endless jealousy causes nothing but suffering.”

Sukuna’s eyes blazed, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “You ask me to watch passively as they dishonor my claim on you? To permit their vulgar ogling?” He swept a hand savagely across a lacquered table, sending the vase crashing.

You jumped at the destruction but forced yourself to meet his volcanic glare. “I am not possession or prize to be claimed, My Lord. You cannot punish all for one foolish man’s gaze. I have told you this before, but I am not harmed.”

“Not harmed?” Sukuna bellowed, slamming his fists into the bloodwood pillar with a crack. “Not yet! But their desire will grow brazen if I do not act decisively now.”

He stormed toward you, making you back away instinctively. “You are mine. No other shall covet or touch what belongs to me. I would see this whole wretched village burn first.”

As his tirade raged on, you felt tears rising, spilling silently down your cheeks. The possessive diatribes, the limitless fury—you were exposing the folly of trying to gentle the devil’s heart.

Sukuna abruptly halted his pacing at the sight, chest heaving. His blazing eyes took in your hunched, trembling form. For an instant, something like shock flickered across his face. He blinked rapidly, swaying slightly.

“No… My little love…” All at once, the frenzied anger seemed to drain from him. He reached for you hesitantly, as if expecting you to recoil. When you stayed rooted, he enfolded you in his shaking arms.

“Forgive me,” Sukuna whispered. “I should not have raised my voice. But the thought of losing you…” One hand stroked your hair, then gently tipped your chin up. His thumb brushed away the tear tracks on your skin.

“You are everything to me in this wretched world,” he murmured. “I could not bear it if harm befell you.” His eyes were molten and his voice raw. “Tell me you know I would never let anything hurt you, not even myself in the madness of my rage.”

You searched his face and saw the sincerity burning there. With a fragile nod, you laid your head against his chest. His exhale was ragged with relief.

“I will try to be more merciful. For you, at least,” he sighs. “But you must understand it rages in my blood when I see them desire my most precious treasure.”

You stayed silent in his embrace. Perhaps this was the most he could concede—ferocity tempered with remorse. You could not change his possessive heart, only help him master what flowed within it.

And for now, it would have to be enough. His jealousy was a storm that would never fully be calmed. But like the storm’s eye, at the center there was still tenderness he reserved only for you.

Once more, the days dragged endlessly when Sukuna was away. You had explored every corner of the estate a dozen times over. The loneliness gnawed at you.

So when he left at dawn one morning, you made an impulsive decision. Donning a cloak, you slipped outside the manor walls while the servants slept. Your steps quickened as you neared the hill path leading down to the village.

You had only meant to take a brief, harmless walk to lift your spirits. But the smells of grilled squid and sweet adzuki buns drew you like a magnet. Your stomach rumbled, reminding you it had been ages since you tasted simple street food.

Checking over your shoulder, you darted to the nearest food stall when no one was looking. The elderly vendor smiled in delight as you pointed to the snacks that tempted you most. It felt deliciously naughty, this minor rebellion.

You were waiting for the bamboo skewer of piping hot squid when someone jostled you from behind. Whirling around angrily, you found yourself staring up at a rugged, unkempt man looming over you. His bloodshot eyes raked down your body in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Well now, what do we have here?” His words slurred drunkenly. “You’re that demon’s little toy, ain’t ya? His pretty pet.”

When you shrank away, the brute caught your wrist in a painful grip. Revulsion rose in you. “Let go of me!”

The man just sneered. “Where is your master now, hmm? Bet he doesn’t like you sneakin’ off alone.” He swayed closer, sour breath hot on your face. “Maybe I oughta teach you some manners, whore.”

Outraged tears stung your eyes. You opened your mouth to scream for help when suddenly the man’s hand was wrenched away from you with a sickening crack. His shriek split the air.

Whirling around, you saw Sukuna standing there, eyes blazing infernos. The man who had seized you was now suspended off the ground, clutching his mangled, dangling arm.

“Please, mercy!” he whimpered piteously. But Sukuna’s face was a merciless stone.

With a snarl, he slammed the offender down, pinning him by the throat. “You dare speak to her that way?” His voice was deathly quiet. “Dare lay your filthy hands upon her?”

The man gurgled pleas, legs kicking uselessly. Sukuna tightened his grip. “No. There will be no mercy for you.”

And before your eyes, he ripped the man’s head from his body in one savage motion. Blood sprayed hot across your face and cloak. The headless corpse slumped with a wet thud that echoed horribly in your ears.

You stood there, frozen. You’re sick to the stomach—it’s nauseating—looking at the brutal sight that your lover could do.

Rooted in shock, you barely registered Sukuna turning to you. He grasped your shoulders firmly. “Did he hurt you?” At your numb shake of the head, fiery rage flooded back into his eyes.

“Good. Because I would have drawn out his torment for years if he had.” With that, Sukuna flung the lifeless body contemptuously through the door of a nearby hut.

Screams arose from within as you stared at the gore coating Sukuna’s hands. The brutality finally jolted you from horrified paralysis. Voice trembling, you begged him to take you home.

The journey back was made in silence. Once behind the walls, Sukuna rounded on you like the last time.

“How could you go without my permission?” He paced like a caged beast. “See what nearly befell you? The filth who could do anything to you?”

You flinched beneath the verbal onslaught, too numb to defend yourself as he kept raging.

“You are forbidden from leaving again! Do you understand?” He seized your shoulders roughly. “It is too dangerous for you.”

You nodded, mute and hollow. With a harsh exhale, Sukuna pulls you against him as four of his arms envelop you in a warm embrace, some of the frantic anger leaving him.

“Forgive my harsh words, my little love. But I do not like you being treated like that.” His voice broke on the last word. He clutched you tighter, as if to reassure himself you were real.

After that day, whispers followed you through the residence like ghosts, for no clear reason. Servants offering polite smiles that never reached their eyes, only to resume their hushed gossip once you’d passed.

At first, you tried ignoring the sidelong glances and murmurs. But still, the cruel words leaked through.

“She is just a plaything to him.”

“Once the master is bored, she will be discarded.”

“He is only using her on the bed.”

“Once he tires of those pleasures, her time here will end.”

Their cruel words haunted you, sinking claws into vulnerabilities you’d buried deep. Did they speak the truth? Was your whole purpose here just to entertain Sukuna’s baser appetites? The thought you might be expendable shook you to your core.

You managed to conceal your anguish and distress at first. But the doubts festered, stealing your appetite and sleep. When Sukuna finally noticed the toll on your health, alarm flared in his eyes.

Gently taking your hands, he scoops you onto his lap, facing him. “What is bothering your pretty little head, hm? You know you can tell me anything.”

You shook your head, “It is nothing, My Lord. Not a big problem.”

“I do not like you lying to me, little one,” he shakes his head, not buying your secrecy.

“I am okay. Please, no need to be concerned about me.”

“How can I not? What is it? Tell me,” he holds your chin still to make you look at him.

Both of your stubborn banter goes back and forth until you’re both getting impatient.

You wavered, then spilled out the vile gossip you’d endured in silence. Sukuna listened gravely, thumb idly stroking your wrist. When you finished, he let out a long breath, gazing at you earnestly

“You believe their hateful lies? That you are some plaything to me? You know in your heart these claims are untrue.” He grasped your shoulders, staring intently into your eyes. “You are everything. Your faith in me is worth more than a million mortal lifetimes.”

He brought your hand to his chest, holding it over his steadily beating heart. “Do not let petty jealousies make you doubt what we share.”

Overwhelmed, you buried your face against him. “Forgive my doubts, My Lord,” you whispered.

“There is nothing to forgive. The fault is theirs, not yours.” Stroking your hair, he pressed a fierce kiss to your head. Then his tone turned cold. “As for these spiteful women, I will make them regret ever speaking such lies.”

You quickly squeezed his hands. “Please, do not harm them. I only wished to explain my melancholy, not see others punished.”

Sukuna frowned. “You ask me to ignore those who hurt you so? Who makes you doubt my devotion?” His grip on you tightened. “I cannot be so forgiving.”

“I know it comes from care,” you soothed. “But replying to anger with more anger will only breed misery.”

He paused, then exhaled harshly, pulling you close. Resting his forehead to yours, he went on. “I swear to you, my feelings run deeper than they comprehend.”

“Leave this to me now, little one. Just rest easy.”

True to his word, the gossip ceased quickly. You didn’t ask what Sukuna said or did to silence loose tongues. But the servants now bent over backward to please you, their once spiteful eyes now carefully respectful.

Their newfound reverence somehow bothered you more. But Sukuna seemed satisfied. “Let the wretches make amends for causing you pain,” he said nonchalantly.

Some part of you recoiled at his methods. Yet it warmed your heart to know he would avenge any slight against you without hesitation. Perhaps it was wrong to take comfort from his possessiveness.

But you needed to feel cherished after so much doubt. And Sukuna left no room for uncertainty in how deeply he treasured you. Each tender glance and touch slowly healed the wounds until you were whole again.

When he came to you beneath the silken sheets now, the passion held new meaning. A reaffirming of what you were to each other.

You were his sanctuary. Just as he was yours.

The gossip no longer stung when you knew his heart with such certainty.

Sukuna had told you he was taking a few days off to spend with you. With him home beside you for a blessed few days, the gloom cast over the estate seemed to lift. His four muscular arms caged you securely against his broad chest as you sank comfortably into his embrace.

He was attentive in ways you’d never seen before, constantly drawing you into his arms, asking questions about your childhood, your dreams, anything to get to know you better.

At first, you were shy, unused to being the object of such focused interest. But Sukuna’s patient gentleness soon had the words spilling freely from your lips.

You happily opened up to him in turn, chatting lightly about your days spent tending the garden, studying scripture with the monks, or watching the koi fish circle lazily in their pond. No detail was too small or mundane—he drank in every insight into your character with eyes that never once glazed in boredom.

He listened intently, his crimson eyes focused solely on you. As frightening as he could be, you knew this powerful being cherished you in his own way. You were likely the only person in the world he cared for.

When you finally worked up the courage to ask about his early life in turn, his gaze darkened briefly. “There is little of worth to tell,” he muttered.

He went on tonelessly to describe his parents casting him out as an infant, cursing his existence. Forced to eke out a living on the streets, he learned quickly that mercy was for the weak.

“I was not always like this,” he rumbled. “Once I was a human, born to parents who did not want me.” His fingers tensed where they rested on your back. “As an infant, they discarded me on the streets to die. But I survived, growing up feral and alone.”

You looked up at him sadly, heart aching at the thought of him helpless and abandoned with no one to care for him. You raised a hand to gently stroke his cheek.

Sukuna closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. “I do not tell you this for pity,” he said firmly. “My past made me strong.”

His eyes opened again. “When my cursed technique manifested, I used them without mercy, cutting down any who dared stand in my way. I reveled in my growing strength, the thrill of battle and blood... they satisfied me. I honed my skills until I became unmatched.”

You nodded solemnly. His description matched the legends told of the terrifying Ryomen Sukuna.

Now you know why he lacked mercy.

You take his hands in yours, kissing his palms. “The past is behind you now,” you told him. “What matters is who you choose to be from this day forth. My love for you is unconditional.” You smiled up at him warmly. “But I promise to teach you the ways of empathy and love, even if you protest.”

Sukuna huffed in amusement, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Little one, you may try, but do not expect miracles. I am what I am.” But his embrace around you was gentle, belying his words.

You poked his chest teasingly. “I will make it my mission to show you how wonderful love can be, the joys it brings to our lives.” Laughing, you added, “Just you wait, I will have you reciting poetry and picking wildflowers before long!”

“Hmph, do not get carried away,” he grumbled, but you could tell he was secretly pleased by your playful vow.

You cuddled against his chest, determined to shower this damaged soul with all the love and tenderness he had missed in his tragic early years.

The next morning, as soft sunlight filtered into the bedroom, you lay wrapped in Sukuna’s strong embrace. Your head rested on his muscular chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. His breathing was slow and even, still asleep.

You traced idle patterns on his bare skin, your fingertips grazing over the tattoos adorning his body. Your mind drifted back to the conversation from the night before when Sukuna had told you a bit of his past.

Abandoned and unloved, forced to survive on his own from infancy. Your heart ached for the small, helpless babe he had been. The thought of him growing up without affection or care weighed heavily on you.

You understood now why love and empathy were so foreign to him. But you were determined to show Sukuna what he had missed, to fill his long existence with the warmth and joy he deserved.

Your short mortal life worried you, however. Sukuna had lived for centuries, he would go on existing long after you passed on. Would he find someone new to love? How would losing you affect him? Immortal beings were not meant to give their hearts to fleeting humans.

You must have tensed in concern, because Sukuna began stirring, his four arms instinctively tightening around you. “What troubles you so early, little one?” his deep voice rasped, still groggy with sleep.

You tilted your head up to peer at him. “I was thinking about what you told me last night, about your past. My heart breaks imagining you alone as a child.”

He regarded you seriously. “It was long ago. Dwelling on what cannot be changed is pointless.”

“I know,” you murmured. “I only wish I could have cared for you then. But now I worry… what will happen when I am gone? My life is so short compared to yours. Will you find someone new to love?” Your voice caught on the last word as you averted your gaze. You weren’t sure you even wanted to hear the answer.

He was silent. When you worked up the courage to look at him again, his crimson eyes were looking at you intensely. With a swift, motion he flipped you beneath him, bracing his weight above you and capturing your face between his big hands.

“You think I could simply replace you when death takes you from me?” His thumb brushed your cheek tenderly. “No other has touched my soul as you have. Long was my existence before you, yet I was empty.” Leaning down, he touched his forehead to yours.

“Your fragile mortality may one day steal you from my side, but what we have cannot be replicated or replaced.” He lifted his head to gaze deeply into your eyes.

“When you are gone, I will be lost again. I accept that your life must end as mine continues.” His jaw clenched. “But I will find no peace with another. What we have is beyond replacement.”

Tears blurred your vision at his heartfelt words. You had not realized the depth of his attachment, that the absence of your love would leave him emotionally desolate.

You threw your arms around his broad shoulders. “Then we must make the most of the time we have,” you declared. “Fill our days with so much joy that you will carry the warmth of our love for eternity.”

Sukuna wrapped you tightly in his embrace. “Yes,” he agreed, nuzzling your neck. “I will cherish every precious moment with you, little one.”

His words made your heart clench, but you understood, he would never love another as he had you. Your lives were tragically misaligned, yet the love you shared transcended such limits.

You spent the day wrapped up in Sukuna, exchanging tender caresses, murmuring sweet nothings, strolling the grounds hand-in-hand. Every shared laugh, every affectionate glance was savored, imprinting your bond ever deeper.

As the sun sets in glorious color, you lay entwined together beneath the cover of a wisteria tree. Your head rested over Sukuna’s heart as he gently stroked your hair. His steady heartbeat and the rhythmic rise of his chest were deeply comforting.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” you whispered.

“As do I, little one,” he replied, his voice tinged with melancholy. “But we cannot halt the merciless passage of time.”

You leaned up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “No matter how short my life, I am grateful every moment of it is spent with you.”

Sukuna cradled you close, distress evident in his eyes. “When I am alone again, I will find comfort in the memories we have.”

His grip on you tightened, as if he could hold you to this world through will alone. You tilted your head back to peer up at him. “And when I am gone, will you be okay?”

“I will endure it. As I have endured all hardship in my long life.” He traced his thumb lightly down your cheek. “It will not feel the same, my little love. But do not worry about me, I will be fine.”

Your heart clenched at the raw honesty in his normally stoic demeanor. On impulse, you stretched up to press a soft kiss to his lips. Sukuna went still for a heartbeat before responding in kind, lips moving gently against yours.

“Then do not dwell on the inevitable end,” you cup his face in your hands. “Think only of how much we mean to each other now. If my love can sustain you even a little while after I am gone, that will be enough.”

Sukuna pressed his forehead to yours. “I will brace it when the time comes. But for now, my world is only you.”

You kissed him tenderly, then settled against his chest once more. Bittersweet joy swelled your heart, knowing you had brought some warmth into Sukuna’s grim existence. Though fleeting and painfully finite, your mortal love was a balm to his ancient, scarred soul.

The years passed swiftly. Sukuna remained your steadfast companion as you grew from a young woman into old age. He was always there to hold you close, whisper endearments, make you laugh with his wit.

In the blink of an eye, your hair became streaked with silver. Your smooth skin wrinkled and your energy waned. But your love never faded.

Sukuna stayed by your side as you grew frail, cradling you tenderly through restless nights, patiently spoon-feeding you broth when eating became difficult. His eyes reflected centuries of sadness knowing your time grew short.

Finally, you lay weakly upon your futon as he stayed close by your side. Your breathing turned ragged and a violent cough wracked your body. He gathered you gently into his arms.

“The end is near, my little one,” he murmured, smoothing back your thin hair.

You gave him a quivering smile. “I am ready. Just stay with me, please.”

He pressed his lips to your wrinkled forehead. “Always.”

You spent your final moments gazing up at his face, etched into your mind after so many years together. His image would be the last you saw in this life. With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes for the final time.

Sukuna let out a broken noise, pulling you tightly to his chest as your body went limp. Rocking your still form, he wept for the first time in his long existence. Anguished sobs wracked his powerful frame.

He had known this moment would come, yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer devastation of losing you. It felt as though part of his soul had been ripped away.

Sukuna had guarded your mortal form night and day in those final years. Now you slipped away before his eyes, leaving him utterly alone. The crushing pain made him understand the human concept of a “broken heart”.

But he took comfort knowing you had passed peacefully in his embrace. The only mercy was that you were spared a drawn-out decline. He had filled your short life with as much love as one man could give. He has known you for a short time compared to how you’ve known him for most of your life.

Wiping his eyes, Sukuna pressed final kisses to your cooled skin. He would honor you with a funeral befitting royalty. Then he must decide where to wander next. This place held too many haunting memories now.

Sukuna laid you gently on the futon and stood. He cast one last anguished look at your still face.

“My beloved…” he whispered. “No other shall ever take your place.”

Then he turned and strode from the room, jaw clenched against a fresh onslaught of grief. His steps were heavy with the unbearable burden of immortality and loss.

No, he doesn’t cremate you despite having the ability to do so. He doesn’t even want to think of burning you to ashes, or he might as well lose it and burn the world with it for taking you away too soon.

He buried you beneath the cherry tree where you’d spent so many blissful hours in his arms. He marked the site with a stone monument etched with his promise:

“In this life or the next, you are mine. None will ever love you as I have, little one.”

His task complete, Sukuna wandered for many years after. Though the sharp pain dulled to a persistent ache, the emptiness inside him never abated. He fulfilled his promise and took no other lovers, knowing they could only ever be hollow substitutes.

He will wait until his time comes no matter how long it takes to see you again in the afterlife.

He will wait long enough to see you reborn and claim you one more as his.

But the thing he knows for sure, you will always belong to no one but him.

I got emotional and carried away, I’m sorry 😭😭

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a-case-of-attachment · 11 months

Text

Astarion didn’t get jealous.

Scared and lonely? Well yes, of course he did. He even felt angry and vengeful as well but when one considers the life he had been forced to live up until his involuntary relocation to the nautiloid you could hardly blame him for feeling those things.

He couldn’t really remember being jealous of anyone or anything in the short years he had lived before being turned. Then again, he couldn’t really remember much from then at all. Not how he looked, his mother’s name or even if there had been someone for him to love and cherish. Everything important was gone, like it had been swallowed up by a dense fog and no matter how much he search all he ever found was more nothingness. Hardly a good reference point when trying to remember if you had experienced something before or were just familiar with the concept from books.

It was possible he had once been jealous of Cazador’s chosen few. The favourites that had gotten to rest in actual beds and spared the crueller torments that often befell the spawn. Not forced to lay on the cold and unforgiving floor, surrounded by rotting rat carcasses and the smell of fresh and old spawn blood so thick in the air that it felt like he was choking on the stuff.

Maybe that had been jealousy, but Astarion thought it had been more spiteful envy. More angry and covetous of the reprieve then jealous of the attention the favoured few got. He didn’t want to be one of those pathetic, snivelling devotees that scurried around behind Cazador like roaches, blinded by their idiotic belief that all the pain and suffering meant something. That there would be a worthwhile reward at the end of it all. No, all Astarion had wanted was to be treated with just a shred of common decency. Something that he had been denied until he had been fortunate enough to find you after the crash.

So yes, Astarion was sure that he had never been jealous before yet here he was, most certain that as he stared across the fire of their ever-growing camp that was exactly what he was feeling.

You and Gale were huddled close together just outside his tent, heads leaning towards the other and whispering as you both poured over the pages of whatever spell book the wizard had pilfered from the bandit camp, they had raided just that morn. You were smiling, laughing as the idiotic man waved his free hand about, clearly regaling you with a tale that he was heavily embellishing if not outright lying about. You seemed to be enjoying it though, encouraging him with your sweet laughter and wide smiles even as you shook your head in disbelief.

Normally Astarion wouldn’t care if you were feeling gracious and decided to bestow one of your ever hopeful companions with your attention. Astarion was always the one you went too first when arriving back at camp. He was always the one whose flirtations you returned and the only one in their camp of weirdos and misfits who could say they had seen you naked and on more than one occasion at that. He was the one who’s attention you sought. The one you always made time for. Him. Not anyone else…normally but tonight wasn’t like normal because tonight when Astarion had approached you, all charming smiles and quick wit you had done the unthinkable and he had been left staring after you in shock and disbelief like a complete idiot because tonight, you had said no.

Now, don’t misunderstand, you were allowed to say no. He wasn’t a monster. He wouldn’t force you into anything you didn’t want like he had been. Sure, there had been a playful back and forth a time or two. You like to tease him as much as he did you, playing hard to get and making him work for every stollen moment and mouthful of liquid gold that ran through your veins, but it had been playful, done with a teasing smirk and eyes full of promise. Astarion had known that with the right word, the perfect brush of fingers and a well-timed appreciative once over that you would be putty in his hands, willing and open to his advances and what that would lead to. You had never outright said no to him before and for Gale for god’s sake.

Had you maybe hit your head on their last little adventure, and no one had noticed. Perhaps you might even be under some sort of spell or enchantment. Whatever it was there had to be some sort of explanation for this, this madness because there was no logical reason as why you would suddenly up and abandon him for Gale of bloody Waterdeep.

You laughed again, louder this time. Your smile wide and eyes practically glowing with it. Astarion’s mood darkened even more, his eyebrows furrowing as his scowl deepened. Honestly, what in the hells could be so funny about the dull drivel Gale passed off as story’s of his adventures? If you wanted a story, then Astarion could spin you a tale so grand and fanciful that whatever rubbish Gale was regaling you with would look like a child’s bedtime story.

Huffing he turned away, his grip on the book he had been pretending to read for the better part of an hour tightening as yours and Gale's laughter mingled in the air like wine and vinegar. He was not jealous. He wasn’t. He just didn’t like Gale’s barking bellow he called a laugh mixing with your melodic and light one. Really, he would be doing everyone a favour if he went over there and stole you away. It wouldn’t mean anything. Wouldn’t mean that Astarion was hurt and angry that you would want to spend time with Gale instead of him. You were free to do whatever you wanted. He wasn’t your keeper, and you were more than capable of making decisions for yourself even if those choices were clearly wrong.

Astarion’s eyes narrowed as he watched Gale subtly move closer to you, using the small spell book he had suddenly pulled from his pocket as a rather poor excuse to draw you in. The two of you were so close now that a leaf would barely fit between you. He couldn’t see what Gale was showing you anymore but what he could see was how Gale was looking at you. His head was turned towards you, his eyes soft and full of longing as his voice dropped into something gentle, smoother. You seemed oblivious to the shift in tone, your eyes and attention fixed on the book between you, but Astarion could see it all. Gale was a man in love and longing, looking at you like you were the most breathtaking piece of art and the first drop of rain after a drought. It was uncomfortable to watch what Gale probably intend to be a private moment and it made something squirm and tighten in Astarion’s stomach.

Everyone knew that Gale had romantic feelings for you, well, everyone except you but you didn’t seem to notice that almost everyone in their weird little group wanted you in one way or another. Astarion was sure that at least three of the others were halfway in love with you and those that weren’t coveted your body. Gale though, he was the one who had fallen hardest, his feelings as clear as if he had spelt them out with fireworks in the midnight sky.

Astarion had been so smug at first when you had started to favour his company over everyone else’s. He had been able to see the wizard’s heartache and longing, but he had scoffed at the foolish man’s feelings, making a grand show of whisking you off to his tent or other less crowded parts of the camp so he could have you all to himself. It had been a heady rush to have all your attention on him, to become the sole focus of someone who wasn’t expecting him to take his clothes off and seemed to genuinely enjoy his quick wit and rather scathing comments.

He had taken a rather perverse joy in calling you darling and seeing Gale scowl as you smiled ever so sweetly at Astarion. He had been so free with his touch, everything from a simple brush down after a fight to cupping your jaw or brushing his fingers gently across your cheek. He was the only one you allowed to touch you so openly, practically inviting him to lay a hand on you whether that be the small of your back, the inside of your thigh or even your hand, your fingers laced together. Gale had seen it all and Astarion had thought the wizard had understood that you were off limits to the likes of him, but the fool had apparently not given up hope and thought to worm his way into your good graces with made up stories of grandeur and whispered spells.

You turned your head towards him, a question on your lips that quickly vanished as your eyes widened, finally realising how close Gale had gotten whilst your attention was elsewhere. Time seemed to slow then, the world around him falling silent as everything else fell away apart for the two people in front of him.

Gale’s eyes fell from your eyes down to your slightly parted lips. His tongue slowly wetting his lips and giving them a slight shine. His eyes went back to yours, a flicker of uncertainty dancing through them before determination set in. He shifted, the dull thump of the forgotten book hitting the floor not enough to break the intense staring the two of you were doing. Your breath hitched, eyes widening impossibly more as you and Astarion both seemed to realise what was about to happen at the same time.

Astarion had never moved so quickly in his life before.

One second, he had been sat across the other side of the camp, book open but forgotten in his lap as he watched you light up for Gale and the next, he was up and across the space before the book even had time to fall closed. His fingers curled around your arm, and he yanked you rather violently onto your feet and away from the wizards’ searching lips. “Ahh!” Your surprised cry was loud, most likely drawing the others attention but Astarion barely even heard it, his eyes fixed on Gale who had jerked back at your sudden disappearance.

“There you are my darling.” Astarion smiled brightly, his voice loud and cheerful as he spoke over your stuttering indignation at having been so roughly handled. Gale was glaring back at him now, hands curled into fists on his thighs and practically vibrating with anger. Though he supposed it could always be the magic he was always consuming to keep from blowing himself and more importantly them up. It could be quite hard to tell sometimes and Astarion didn’t care enough about the other man to actually bother to work it out. All he knew was that he had to get you away from him before Gale got another one of his disastrously good ideas and tried to make yet another attempt on your lips. “So sorry to break up this little,” Astarion slowly dragged his eyes over Gale, hardly able to keep the sneer out of his voice, “dalliance but there is something I need your assistance with love.” He didn’t wait for an answer from either of them, spinning on his heels and dragging you along behind him. “Astarion!” you hissed in a mix of annoyance and disbelief, but you didn’t stop him, didn’t even try and break free of his hold, just letting him quickly lead you across the small camp and towards the tree line.

Now with a part two!!

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #astarion x tav #gale x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #gn reader #gender neutral reader #jealous astarion #jealous gale #self insert

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b00tyliciousbabe · 2 months

Text

munch

bisexualbigboybf! x THICC!male reader

summary: manifesting my future husband

notes: THANKS FOR 1k ppl dem! BEEN IN DRAFTS FOR A WHILE. i think there needs to be some more love + appreciation for bi men and big boys so i amalgamated the two. not a fetish y’all, just a preference, they be taking care of my inner princess and for that i will ALWAYS be grateful. a lot of feminisation in this one so tread carefully. it’s a lil messy (jumps in tenses and stuff like that) but i litch couldn’t focus without getting too excited. ENJOY MY HEARTS.

song rec: normani - big boy (feat. starrah)

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your big boy bf didn’t think he had a chance with you at first, nor did he even want one. at first he hated you, watching how all the other men in your life were one flirty conversation away from having a piece of your juicy ass, and how the girls envied and coveted your thick hourglass figure. your sweet personality sickened him ; you made sure to give them your gym routine and your diet, being the beauty guru you were. but what he realised, was not that he hated you, but that he hated not having you. when he realised this, he needed you, more than anything.

you embodied a refreshing style of hyper femininity that made you all the more attractive to your bi man. seeing your body in its thick glory made him love himself more. how your belly added to your voluptuous figure, your plump cheeks, and fleshy muscle surrounding your chest and thighs, he was mesmerised by your form. you were, in his eyes, divine. little did he know that you had fallen first; his broad shoulders, strong biceps and pudgy belly practically had you ovulating. your gigantic teddy bear, standing at a foot taller than you, had a heart of gold and this protective aura around him, enamoured you.

when you debuted your relationship online, you were met with a flurry of mainly positive responses. yeah sure there were the odd few denouncing your femininity and body shaming y’all, but you ignored them because you don’t have to convince the world that you’re THEE baddie b and your man is the sexiest mf to ever exist.

luvagoalz: they are literally the embodiment of the wattpad height difference. I NEED.

user222: y/n getting dicked down DAILY by a giant is so girlboss of him.

sza: bestie got himself a big boy - y/n send me the deets for the wedding.

your bf is a huge gym rat and when you two became exclusive, your already voluptuous figure became all the more defined with his help. you were flawless. you love seeing him in the gym, sweating as the veins in his forearms pop out making him look so attractive. he definitely enjoys your company there, teasingly rubbing his bulge against your ass and face when no one was watching. his exhibitionist kink goes crazy seeing how beautifully your workout clothes hug your butt and cinch your waist. he used to be slightly insecure about his stretch marks but after a cool down session, and you complimenting them like lightning bolts imprinted on his skin, he felt superhuman. you always knew what to say to make him feel better.

he’s so protective of you. always sleeps on the side closest to the door and isn’t afraid to send someone to hospital if they even look at you the wrong way, or in a manner he doesn’t like. in his mind he’s seeded you and you’re literally carrying his kids and thus it’s his responsibility to protect you. it’s almost primal. he isn’t controlling or anything, but finds it incredibly important to remind you that with him you are completely safe.

they say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and boy was that the case during your talking stage. it was perfect; you love to cook and so he’s more than happy to try your baked goods. your boyfriend loves his sleep on the weekends and so in true house husband fashion you often prepare breakfast in an apron with your thick cheeks hanging out from behind. one day he woke up to the sweet smell of you making his favourite. groggily stumbling into the kitchen, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, long dick swinging out of his briefs as he advanced towards you.

‘good morning love.’ his deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he kissed the words into your neck. he held onto the groove of your hips, caressing your lower back with the tip of his index finger and watched as you writhed beneath him. ‘babe, what are you doing up? you need your sleep, you’ve been working so hard lately.’ you said, breathing haphazardly as he ground himself into you. ‘i missed you. and i want my morning kisses.’ beginning to untie your apron he turned you around, and removed the lace from around your neck. hiking you up on the table top, the heat of your bare ass, that his dick previous massaged into you, was cooled by the granite. you wrapped your legs around him, as your hands stroked his beard. wiping that shit eating grub off of his face, your lips came closer to his own, as you could feel his heartbeat in his throat - this man is so in love with you. the kiss lasted quite a while, precum staining the opening of his boxers and pooling on your thighs. you knew that you were about to be fucked dumb and so you turned of the hob to avoid burning the house down. the fire inside y’all was more than enough to keep you going.

your man doesn’t fully realise his own strength. he was very hesitant to have sex with you for a while and mostly stopped at groping you before his dick got too hard to ignore. so, for your first time, he had to refrain literally ripping your clothes to get to the prize of your nudity. he absolutely loves seeing you (try to) deepthroat. the reason? his size kink goes insane when you attempt to take his gigantic package. this man is LONG and GIRTHY, capable of splitting you in half and abusing all your spots with ease. the veiny sausage he’s packing could do some serious damage but he held back when it came to your first couple times with him.

he always takes time to ensure that your safe and comfortable. initially his size intimidated you, your mannerisms connoting your subtle anxiety. he kissed the fear out of you, reassuringly saying, ‘you know I would never do anything to hurt you.’

your boyfriend is the KING of consent, always ensuring that you want his big cock just as much as he wants to feel the warmth of your boy pussy. one day whilst he was working from home, he noticed you squirming like an omega in heat. he sighed and smirked. ‘d’you want me to fuck you?’ he burst out. already used to his blunt disposition, you nodded. advancing closer towards you, staring down at the desperation in your face, he stroked your hair. ‘use your words y/n, i wanna hear how badly you want it.’ his charisma practically had you high. ‘I need you, please.’ you began to undo the string that held up his joggers, as he removed his tshirt. ‘i can never say no to my baby boy.’ he smiled, pants bunching at his ankles as he slowly railed on the edge of your shared bed.

he encourages you to take him fully each time, praising you because no one else had been able to take him past halfway. ‘i know baby, i know, do it one more time for me.’ he said endearingly, wiping the tears from your face as his dick invaded your throat.‘THERE IT ISSS UGH FUCK! i love your mouth.’ he cooed.

equally, your bf is the only man you’ve been with that’s been able to satisfy you sexually. you steered clear from all the men who were only interested in your body and not your heart and so you had very minimal experience outside of toys and your hands. the few you may or may not have been with were damn near clueless. on the other hand…your man has had plenty of hoe phases. it sly bugged you how he’d been intimate with a greater number you could’ve imagined but all that disappeared when he first made love to you. the best thing about him is that he can handle allat that ass. despite the clear size difference this doesn’t stop you from being a FREAK. He even encourages it. loving your thick globes of ass flesh kiss his lower belly as you push back and twerk all over his dick. his favourite part of your shape are your hips. he wants to breed you full of his children.

whenever he says ‘fuck yeah baby, back that shit up.’ it sends you orbital. it’s well known that the two of you share a huge affinity for doggy. the way you stroke his pudginess while he rails you in that position has become a safety mechanism - one that he has learnt to make the experience all the more enjoyable. with one hand holding you up (realistically struggling to, under the sheer passion of his fucking) and the other one bent behind your back fingering his belly button. his huge dick borderline tears you open and by grabbing onto him makes you feel safe. he usually recognises that it’s getting a bit too much when your moans become screams, and you get tighter. and as much as he loves seeing you overstimulated and fucked out on his cock, he doesn’t wanna break you (completely). so he slows down, soothing your pain with sweet nothings and his large hands massaging your ass cheeks.

for him personally though, he loves to smush you underneath his weight. in prone bone, he has direct access to your ear, whispering words of affirmation but degrading you with the grip of his arms around your neck. his beard hair softly touching your cheek, causing a wave of bliss to hit you, always gets him going. he knows you love hearing him praise you; his grunts are so delectable, a symphony with the percussion of him clapping tf outta your cheeks. as you whine like a lil bitch, they become guttural, like an alpha in his rut. the carnal passion of your heavier and rougher sessions reveal a callous side to his possessive nature. dangerous how much it turns you on.

words can’t really describe how much you love his stomach, happy trail adorning his belly, and riding him offers you the opportunity to see allat that on a platter. his smirk as he tries to contain his excitement that your his and only his.

on the topic of eye contact, you’re favourite mutual position is definitely missionary - your bf adores every inch of you. how your body becomes compliant. your hole crafted to take his big dick. the way it pierces through the walls of your pussy, massaging your gumminess. he sometimes drools from how lost he can be in the experience. ‘take my cock, yhhh baby, fuckkkk.’

slowing down his jack hammering pace, he’d lean forward with his low hanging balls rutting into you agonizingly slow.

‘you like that shit, huh baby? yeah? loving on my dick so well.’ whispering as he begins to mark your collarbone. then moving upwards onto your neck, massaging your previously pummeled throat as you looked up, desperate to kiss him. he exhales into your mouth, breathing life into you that he had taken away with his hard thrusts. his softness escaped as quickly as it arose, thrusting his entire load into you.

‘shit’ you scream as he laughs hoarsely, the rasp in his voice a melting honey.

in the same position, you love his cum face. something about how his eye and nose scrunch as he pants and grunt deeply. his beard ticking your chin. it also allows him to be vulnerable with you. he would hold your head cradling it with an affection rivalled only by how sweetly his tip kisses your prostate with each lengthy thrust. when he first enters, he’s checking to see if your okay, if you want more lube. you say no. legs just above his hips, you bring your hand to stroke his beard as he concentrates on directing his dick in a way that doesn’t make him cum immediately upon re entry.

‘i love you.’ you say getting all emotional from how well he’s treating you. ‘I love you too y/n.’ he leans down for more kisses as your hand now snakes around the back of his head.

he stops, letting you catch your breath, playing with your hair and caressing your face lovingly. your arms drop immediately at the warmth of his touch. he lifts and cradles your head, a delicacy opposing his rough demeanour.

‘I fucking love you,’ your bf grunts, placing forehead kisses, panting, as he starts moving faster. your legs now wrapped tightly around his abdomen like a vice. he plants both hands behind your head, balling his fists at either side of your head to create the perfect foundation to fuck you hard. brings one of his hands to cradle your hair and to bring your head closer to his. your temples meet ensuring that you’re so close and intimate. the man brings his body up, still inside you, collects your legs together, one leg on each shoulder holding onto the thick flesh of your upper thighs, allowing you to adjust, before toppling over onto you again to get deeper inside your pussy. later, moving his hands up to behind your knees, his rugged fingertips grip the flesh of your hamstrings.

your boyfriend brings his fingers up to stroke your cheeks and remove the hair sticking to your face. he’s growling at his need to go ham, but he exercises self-control as a means to take care of you. however, what he doesn’t realise is that his painfully slow strokes transport you to a utopia of bodily ecstasy.

he ABSOLUTELY loves seeing the imprint of his girthy cock in your stomach, pressing down on it to add to your respective pleasures. and when you both reach the top of the mountain, the visual of you being completely fucked out on his huge pole, as it protrudes through your stomach which is now decorated with your own personal release, makes him wanna rail you again. and again. until you pass out or his dick becomes limp. the latter would never happen because wherever you are, that cocks gonna be UP.

aftercare is so underrated with him. in his past relationships, it was usually a hit and quit it situation - his words not mine. thus he didn’t really know what to do at first. he’s so used to hookup culture, that he never bothered. but with you, he knew he had to change; one, because he knew you’d never let him near you again if he didn’t take care of you, but mainly two, because you were his and he had a responsibility to cherish you. considering you literally couldn’t walk and body was limp, your man needed to ensure you were taken care of. though he always reassures you, you make sure to do the same. the first time you spooned him he slept like a baby. BIG BOYS NEED CUDDLES TOO Y’ALL.

he gets really apologetic, constantly asking ‘did I go to rough.’ as he massages the bruises on your hips. sometimes feels guilty that he fucks you too hard. You put his mind at ease telling him that you do like it. your bubble butt and tight hole were made to take his cock.

this still doesn’t stop him from confessing to you; ‘baby, I’m so sorry.’ he kisses your skin. ‘when I see that ass if yours jiggle, it drives me crazy, I just can’t stop.’ it often leads to him overcompensating. as the his cum seeps out of your obliterated cunt. he just wants to make you feel safe. the same safety he feels when he’s with you.

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tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

@lysanderplume

#gay #bottom male reader #smut #gay male #gay reader #male bottom #male x male #gay love #gay smut #male bottom reader #male reader #male x male fluff #bottom reader #bisexual #bi boy #gay men

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whenyouhearthedoorcreak · 3 months

Text

currently thinking about merlin and arthur and the royal crown again

the first time he placed the ornate gold crown atop arthur’s blond hair he felt so proud that arthur was king, that he was alive and ready to be the king he was meant to be, the worry still crept in at the edges but most of the image was filled with hope.

but months later as he placed it once again on arthur’s head he hates it, hates the way his shoulders push back and his face falls into a sheet, the way he steels himself against the harsh pressure of it

and that evening in arthur’s chambers lit by warm candles and the crackling fire merlin had snuck out of the council meeting to light before the king returned, with the cold november air bustling the windows, merlin follows arthur over towards the table. the king leans against it his head bowed and a heavy sigh leaving his chest, and slowly as if moved by the breeze outside, merlin steps forward towards him his hands gently cupping arthur’s jaw

“arthur-”

“merlin please, i know the speech already but please i don’t want it i don’t-” he stops speaking as he feels the younger man’s hand come up to his hair removing the crown from his pounding head

“no speech, just let go for a moment, just focus on this… focus on me” merlin’s voice is quiet and careful as he looks in arthur’s eyes

he’d always loved those eyes, the revealed the secrets of the kingdom if you looked long enough. merlin knows his own eyes are blue just like arthur’s but there’s something different in the kings. in the brightest and happiest days of summer they shine like an open sky, when he laughs no matter the time of day lighting around him they just Shine.

but when he is sad, tired and worn down like he is right now, those eyes are deep and bottomless as the sea, tossing and turning and they pull merlin down into their depths like a capsized ship,

it killed merlin to see him like this, he carefully rested himself back against the edge of the table, arthur sat tired in the chair before him

“your a great king arthur”

“did you not hear me say no speech?” arthur reproached

“your a better man though, a better friend”

“oh” arthur looked at his servant, his friend for all these years,

it had always been merlin who placed the crown on arthur’s head. ever since he was corronated the only person aside from himself allowed to touch the crown was merlin,

it was a strangely intimate experience that arthur had come to covet, the quiet moment in his chamber before he spoke to or hosted a feast or whatever other occasion called for the crown to be worn. merlin would pull the ornate box containing it from the locked cupboard and pull the crown from its cushioning, polishing the metal while arthur sat and waited in his chair, watching the careful work. when merlin had deemed it worthy he would look at arthur

“ready m’lord?”

arthur was used to honourifics, he never had much preference, sire was basically a nickname at this point in his life, but something about merlin calling him that had always felt like an anointing, saved for the moments when he wanted arthur to know his rank meant something to merlin.

“ready”

arthur would rise from his seat and move to the light cast by the windows near where merlin was, kneeling gently on the stone floor, looking at its gray facing before looking up at the man he had come to call his friend, merlin’s hands would place the crown on his head gently, like he was scared it would hurt him, arthur would rise and merlin would rest his hand at arthur’s jaw, looking at him for a moment.

the first time it had happened arthur was surprised, confused to say the least. but the terror he felt at having to wear the crown, to act as king in its full capacity seemed to ease slightly at the gesture, calm moved through arthur’s whole body starting from the place where merlin lay his hand.

now, tired and worn down by the weight of the crown, he was glad for merlin’s presence for the comfort of that hand in his cheek

“you don’t need to be a great king for us all to love you” merlin’s hand fell away before he spoke, he looked at the floor as if he were holding something else back

“i think perhaps if i up and left my kingdom without a ruler the people may not love me much anymore merlin” arthur jibbed, attempting humour

“not sure they’d notice to be honest, your not particularly memorable”

“oh right yes but i’m sure everyone would notice if you left”

“oh the whole kingdom would fall apart”

“of course i forgot, sorry should i just put the crown on you now?”

“don’t think it’d fit anymore, to stretched out from your big head”

“very funny merlin” arthur had always admired merlin’s negligence of authority, how arthur was seemingly nothing more than his friend in almost all moments. he could forget the weight of the crown for a moment, he supposed that was part of the reason why merlin being the one to adorn him with it meant so much. as if merlin were naming him worthy, like a symbolic gesture of the trust they shared.

“maybe you should have the crown” arthur was somewhat shocked by his own words, but more shocked to realize he meant them

“is that a proposal?” merlin was joking, arthur knew that, but he couldn’t help indulging himself in the image, merlin in fine clothes and the bejeweled crown of a king

“could be” arthur shrugged “queen title would suit you”

“your not getting me to wear a dress”

merlin had walked away now, began folding the laundry sittting near arthur’s bed

“merlin, if i did leave” he tried to focus on the room around the servant rather than the light on merlin’s cheeks or the gold glow around his messy hair “would you come with me?”

he’d always wondered, if merlin would willingly leave with him. a pent up longing in his check for merlin is say yes, to confirm that they weren’t only thrown together by fate but that they would choose this bond, this closeness, even if nothing forced it upon them.

saying it now out loud, asking it, felt like a kind of soul bearing.

“i’m sure any of your friends would” merlin

“merlin”

the servants hands stoped moving and he raised his eyes to meet arthur’s, the angles of the kings face casted ornately in the glowing light of the fire.

“your my friend arthur, id go wherever you go” the answer felt obvious, he’d thought about it more recently, with agravaine betraying them and arthur seeming more exhausted than ever he wished he could just leave.

“your a good friend merlin” arthur reached for something on the table, an old scroll in leather wrapping that needed stored away with the other trade agreements, trying to think. good friend wasn't enough for merlin anymore, the affection he felt for the other man was unquantifiable. attempting to label his feelings for merlin was as impossible and daunting as attempting to capture the night sky in a fishing net.

what he wanted was to find a way back to merlin standing in front of him with the other boys hand combing through his hair, but that was a rare thing. all touch was for arthur, it always had been.

…

if this gets notes i’ll finish it and post it to ao3 idk ive never written fic before

#merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur #merthur fanfic #merlin x arthur #merlinxarthur #merlin/arthur #bbcm #bbcmerlin #bbc merlin #merlin emerys #arthur and merlin #king arthur #touch starved arthur

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spider-stark · 29 days

Text

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN OLD FRIENDS

Gwayne Hightower x Septa!Reader

Summary - Devotion will never be enough to make the Gods forgive you for the sin of your existence. They will keep finding new ways to punish you.

Warnings - fem!reader, bastard!reader, septa!reader, mostly edited, heavy religious themes & guilt, angst, yearning, *slightly* ooc gwayne but mostly cause he's drunk and bitter lmao

Word Count - 1.3k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Dark obsidian walls glisten like the night sky as you enter the Starry Sept from the motherhouse. Towering statues stand sentinel around the round-altar, carved in the likeness of the Seven. Forever repenting for the sin of your existence, you often acknowledge them as you draw close—with a nod, a prayer, an offering.

But not tonight.

Even with his forehead pressed to the altar, you recognize Gwayne by his tawny hair, shimmering like bronze in the candlelight. His tunic is wrinkled, half-untucked from his trousers. The sharp scent of alcohol burns your nose, strong enough to smell it from across the Sept.

For a moment, a smile touches your lips. You think of lost nights spent by the Honeywine river. Skipping rocks on the water and drinking from a bottle of arbor gold, snagged from his uncle's cellar.

But nostalgia is all too fleeting, soon replaced by deep worry for an old friend.

Cavernous and austere, the Sept echoes your every footfall. Consumed by a drunken haze, Gwayne remains oblivious to your presence, even as you sink to your knees beside him.

It’s only when you speak that he looks up.

“I’m reminded of a verse from The Warrior’s Edicts.” Armed with sword and helm, the God's stony eyes seem to peer down as you recite His wisdom: “Drink muddles the sensible mind. ‘Tis the duty of knights to remain sober-minded, to pave a path of rectitude so that all men might follow.”

Gwayne’s voice is unusually hoarse, wavering slightly as he tells you, “You won’t find a sober knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Perhaps that’s why there are so many indecent men,” you turn your head to him with a soft smile, “because none are willing to pave a better way.”

Altar candles flicker, bathing his features in dim warmth. You note the faint stubble along his jaw, the dull shine of sapphire eyes. When was the last time you sat this close? It feels like a lifetime ago, now.

He swallows, looks down at his lap. “How did you know I was here?”

“Septon Halleck saw you come in,” you tell him. “Thought you looked in need of a friend.”

In the years since swearing your vows to the Faith, the aging Septon was your only blessing. Between services, he spins tales about his life before coming to Oldtown—of a youth spent north of the Neck, about a pale castle surrounded by frigid waters.

You tell Halleck stories about your life, too. He pretends not to notice that Gwayne Hightower is at the center of them all.

Softly, you tease, “Though if he had known you were drunk, he might’ve sooner tossed you onto the streets.”

Gwayne scoffs. Starts fiddling with his fingers, picking at them. “If the Septon’s life was half as grueling,” he grumbles, “then he would understand my need for a drink.”

“And what’s so grueling about the life of a trueborn son?”

It’s not meant as a slight, though a certain bitterness seeps through.

Raised in the shadow of trueborn siblings, you know well of the luxuries they’re afforded. Watched as your sisters were swathed in silk and coddled with gold, freely given all which you were made to claw for.

You recall a quote on envy that Halleck recited during your novice years, when your blood still ran thick with resentment: He who sits at the head of the table will still covet crumbs off a beggar’s plate.

But what if you’re the beggar? If the Gods gave you nothing but crumbs. Would envy still be a sin? Or a sign of injustice.

Gwayne shakes his head. Mutters under his breath, “You’ve never understood.”

“Understood what?”

“What it’s like to be shackled by your father’s name,” he answers, frustrated.

His thoughtlessness is a fist around your heart, squeezed tight.

If he was sober, he would apologize. If he was sober, he wouldn’t be here at all.

You suck in a calming breath, interlacing your fingers and resting your elbows upon the altar. Heat from the flames caresses your forearms as you utter a wordless prayer to the Warrior, asking Him to keep your voice from wavering.

“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Images flash in your mind. The hazy face of a father who didn’t want you. You clear your throat, say, “But I know it is to be nameless, and I can’t imagine the shackles of a noble-name hurt any worse.”

“Better to be nameless and free,” he says, “than noble and in chains.”

You fight the urge to laugh, instead citing a relevant phrase from The Book of Reflections. “Those bound in chains oft discover they were forged by thine own hands.” Gwayne’s head tips back, groaning. Your lips briefly twitch. “It’s not your fate to be nameless,” you tell him. “But, even if it were, the shackles are of your own making—you would bear them all the same.”

Drunkenness exaggerates his expression. Pulls his brows together, tugs his wine-stained bottom lip into a deep frown. “If I had known you were just going to quote scripture at me,” his words slur slightly, “then I wouldn’t have come.”

You don’t let yourself wonder at the implication there. That maybe he had come to see you.

“Why come to a Sept if not to receive wisdom from the Gods?” You ask.

Gwayne’s stare shifts upwards, settles on the scales of justice clutch in the Father’s stone fist. Sapphire eyes begin to blaze like searing flames. “For forgiveness,” he answers slowly, without inflection.

Hesitant, you ask, “So that’s why you’re here tonight? To ask the Gods for their forgiveness?”

His head shakes. His fingers never still, never stop tearing at his cuticles.

He holds the Father’s stare and, with a voice like death, says, “I’m here so they can beg for mine.”

The pressure in your chest grows tighter, his words resonating with a part of yourself long since buried by the Faith. The angry, bitter part of you—the nameless, the beggar, the bastard.

Instinct tightens your fingers, still interlocked. You look to those stone Gods. Feel an old weight settle on your shoulders as they look back.

Strained, you ask, “For what reason?”

Gwayne doesn’t answer. Asks his own question, instead. “Why did you join the Faith?”

You think of the Honeywine. Of the last time you sat this close.

Of a boy born with such honor, cherished by his Gods.

Of a girl born with such shame, scorned by them.

You think of the Faith. Of the passage that led you away from his side.

A Bastard's life is a testament to the reach of sin.

Tainted and tarnished, all they touch will come to rot.

Tears sting the back of your throat. Unsure of a better answer, you tell him, “Because we all bear our own shackles.”

As if comparing wounds, Gwayne offers up his own answer, too. “There was a feast tonight,” he tells you. “My father announced that I am to be wed.”

There’s such hollow silence. Obsidian walls wrap around you. Starlight burns your skin.

“To who?”

Something tells you that you won’t like his answer. A soundless voice, a whisper on a phantom wind.

Quietly, voice wavering, he tells you, “One of Lord Mullendore’s daughters.”

A stone drops in your stomach.

“Lord Mullendore…” Your mind begins to reel. Images flash. A hazy face. Silk and gold and clawing clawing clawing. “One of his daughters…”

All at once, the air is sucked from the room. As if oxygen is yet another thing denied to you in the name of repentance. As if all your devotion still isn’t enough to purge the rot from your existence.

Both soft and resentful, he murmurs, “She has your eyes…”

You keep your fingers interlocked. Gwayne picks his bloody. The Gods watch.

The path of devotion is fraught with pain. But fear not! Trials endured in Faith shall always be rewarded with Light. The Seven are just. The Seven are wise. The Seven are merciful.

a/n - Honestly, I just wanted to explore the internal conflict that might come from a bastard going the Faith of the Seven considering that, while they're welcome to become Septons/Septas, they're still viewed as being sinful and treacherous by nature. Additionally, the idea of a bastard being so in love with a pious, honorable man that she turns to his religion just feeds something inside of me?? like, her turning to scripture to communicate with him?? him beginning to resent the gods that 'cherish' him?? neither of them ever getting what they want??

anyways--all thoughts/opinions/feedback are welcome and very very appreciated!

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yanderenightmare · 1 year

Note

more gojo with curse!darling please! i lobe this concept<3

Gojo Satoru

P1 & P3

TW: abduction and captivity, mild condescension, mild coercion, NSFW hints, some descriptions of darling, but nothing too specific, a joke dissing people with blue eyes and pale skin

gn reader - fem labels (drama queen) & fem accessories (jewelry: various)

He kept you like one would a stray cat. Leaving you be as you found places of comfort around his apartment, hiding when you wanted to be left alone – which was almost always.

You hadn’t warmed up to him yet. Understandably so.

He’d set out food for you, locking the door with seals when leaving – scoffing out a laugh after coming home only to find the dish still on the table. He keeps forgetting you don’t eat.

You may look it, but you’re not exactly human.

But you are getting thinner, unfortunately. Suppose his apartment isn’t ideal hunting ground for a curse. And as you’ve gotten weaker, you’ve become wilder – primitive in a way – hissing at him when he gets too close – feeling vulnerable.

You’re very cute.

But, cute or not, he doesn’t want to starve you. He isn’t cruel. So he walks and wonders what it is that you would find appetizing.

Watching your behavior – how you sneak around his apartment looting – like a crow – collecting shiny objects to deck yourself in. Stealing all his rings, chains, watches, belt buckles, manchets, any gold or silver-rimmed glasses, and anything else you can use as jewelry – old coins, can tabs, all the silverware – along with everything else you deem pretty – fabrics, flowers, decorations, all his silk shirts.

You rob anything and everything of value, making a nest of it all in the tub.

His theory is that the bathroom is the shiniest place in the house and, therefore, where you feel you most belong. You sleep there despite him having given you a room – coveting all your findings.

He’s never really thought about how a curse can have such behaviorism. It’s not too odd to keep tamed ones as pets, but still, he’s never thought about why one would aside from utilizing them in combat. But you weren’t made for such intents and purposes. You were… just fascinating to have. Not far off from being an exotic pet.

But even for a curse, you’re unusual.

It’s not fear or death you thrive on. It’s… something a lot more innocent, actually – which is probably why you have no malicious instincts to hurt him – not that you could if you tried. But he can tell… you don’t want to be a curse, do you? In fact, those few times he has nicknamed you curse, you’ve scowled at him a little more than usual.

No, what you desire is devotion – to be worshipped.

What you want is to be a god.

Quite like him, actually. You like having your ego stroked.

It’s your pride that needs feeding, and he can only asses that it feasts on people’s mad desire for you – of which he has plenty to give.

But you reject it.

“I won’t rely on the pity of a filthy jujutsu sorcerer. I’d rather starve.” You tell him with a sneer, curling yourself up with folded arms upon your chest – pouting with eyes closed, drowned in your treasure bath as though everything wasn’t nicking your skin, trying to ignore him.

He slants his head to the side, crouched down beside you with his arms resting on the tub, a smirk on his face – playing cute as he reaches a slim finger out to touch your cheek.

“Won’t you let a filthy jujutsu sorcerer worship you a bit? Trust me, a curse has never made me feel so weak before. Don’t you think I’d make for the best beggar?”

You grimace, brows deepening into a vexed frown without opening your eyes, but you don’t flinch away. “I won’t be patronized. You keep playing with me like I’m your toy.”

“Maybe a little,” He chuckles softly. You’re such an honest and expressive little curse. “But I do think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen~”

“Naturally.” You reply simply, the furrow in your brow softening, but you don’t offer much more.

“Come on, pretty curse.” He drawls. “Let me help you before you waste away.”

You scoff. “Tch- foolish, selfish human… you really are such an ugly thing to behold.” The furl returns, but still, you keep your eyes closed. “Do you honestly think that your rancid touch is going to save me?” Then you laugh – harshly and mockingly. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. A god requires offerings left at their shrine, not the filthy touch of the peasants that leave them.” Your nose scrunches suggestively. “You should consider it a blessing to even be allowed to look at me.”

Vain and stubborn, he thinks. You are the curse of beauty. But still, he's never experienced rejection before.

Suppose he has to try a little harder…

He soon finds himself courting you. Trying to make you comfortable.

He starts giving you gifts – first, silver silk bedsheets that lure you into sleeping in your bed instead of the bathtub, along with other changes that make your room more appealing – ornate wallpaper, canopy drapes surrounding the bed, and a smaller chandelier for the ceiling. Happy to see you abandon your former treasure in the tub in favor of your new dwelling.

Then he gifts you other pretty articles – clothes and such that actually fit you – patterned silks and lace. He attempts to give you clothes you can use to cover up more of yourself, but you seem partial to wearing less – most comfortable in just an elegant kimono you can easily discard on the floor.

You’re confusing like that – walking around his apartment half-naked but hissing and scowling at him when he stares.

It’s more the jewelry you enjoy wearing – crowns, earrings, necklaces, body chains, rings for your fingers and toes, bracelets for your wrists and ankles – everything in abundance. Jingling when you step about.

You seem healthier after receiving his presents. Also, a bit less skeptical – now engaging in conversation with him – although often about what his next gifts will be and if he can buy you diamonds and rubies for you to bead your hair.

“Sorry, but the banks closed. I’m not giving you a single dime, your highness.” He laughs one day, eyes bright and smiling, watching the puzzlement befall your face before the spread of horror that soon followed after hearing his next words. “In fact, I’m gonna start taking things away.”

“You wouldn’t-” Your voice had dropped into something so weak it was adorable, no longer having that strident overconfidence you’d built up.

It makes him feel almost bad watching your face drain and become so distressed like a spoiled little brat who’d just been told no for the first time.

“Oh- I would.” He grinned like it was all only a cruel joke to him – something just for shits and giggles. “Satoru Gojo giveth and Satoru Gojo taketh away.”

“But-” Your lip wobbles, and he can spot the tears brimming in your eyes already.

He doesn’t let it bother him. Or at least he doesn’t let it show.

“I think I’ll start with all your jewelry- how about that necklace you’re wearing right now?” He threatens, pale hand reaching towards your neck to pull your pearls off – but you shrink into a ball on the floor before he has the chance to.

“No, no, no, don’t-” You start sobbing, and he thinks it’s the first time he’s seen a curse be so sad and desperate.

Not to mistake those countless curses he’d made cry and plead for their life, but that wasn’t what you were doing. You were grieving.

You’re really such a simple thing, aren’t you?

His smile softens into something not so cruel. Crouching down to your level, placing his hand atop your head where you’re bowed and bawling, petting you soothingly. “Okay then, drama queen. Stop your crying. I’ll let you keep it.”

You raise your head, hopeful. Looking at him with terribly puffy eyes - cheeks streaked with teardrops hanging off your lashes. Looking so pained and vulnerable, it made his heart ache at the sight.

You don’t say anything but he can tell there’s a question on your lips you’re unable to voice.

“Under one condition.” He answers.

You flinch when his hand slides from your hair to cup your cheek, holding your chin as he rolls on his feet and places a kiss on your salty lips.

You gasp and allow it for a second but then abruptly push him off – falling back on your butt. “No- you’ll make me filthy.” You rush out. “Beauty is meant to be admired, not reaped. It’s not right. You can’t-”

He watches you blush and stutter and thinks it’s silly how he hasn’t thought about it before. But now it’s become clear. Curses spawn from human fears, after all. It’s not strange that they’re so similar. But still… he’d never think a curse would be afraid of losing their virginity.

“It’s okay,” He coos, setting his knees down softly – crawling forward to where you sit, hiding your face behind small hands decked in too many rings. “I’m not gonna stain you…” He promises, his breath warm on your skin. “I’m gonna make you feel like the most desired diety in the world.”

Your breath shivers as he takes your hands and uncovers your face – eyes wide looking at him.

“And after I’m done admiring you, I’ll get you more diamonds and rubies than you can count.”

You swallow – eyes skittering from one of his blue ones to the other.

“Really?” It’s below a whisper.

“You bet.” He answers with a smile, flashing you a smirk. “I’ll get you enough to swim in.”

Your nose does a little twitch like it usually does, but this time, it’s not to express disgust. “Do you promise?” You bite your lip – staring at him.

“Let’s make it a binding vow.”

And that’s the arrangement.

You let him admire you in ways you’ve never let anyone else before, but only if he fulfills all your greedy heart’s desires.

He doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have something to spend money on that’s worth it.

You’ll lie next to him and he’ll get to study you up close – finding things that betray you – model details that aren’t in line with human imperfections. Missing bone structure, flawless symmetry, hairless skin devoid of any and all accent of mark or spot – just smooth milky texture without a single fault.

He says it’s sad – that the standard for beauty isn’t even achievable, to which you reply that it’s only fair everyone should be subject to the same disappointment, never to achieve perfection like you.

He asks if you think he’s really that ugly. And you say yes.

“Liar.” He accuses. Head propped on his hand, his hair a tousled mess lying in the bed beside you.

You’re looking up at the ceiling but close your eyes insouciantly at his comment. You tip your chin a bit as you speak – lips pouty and proud. “Lies are an ugly trade- in which I don’t partake.”

“Oh, really?” He rolls on top of you and you give a whine. Looking up into his sparkling blues and how his pearly hair falls loose and wispy. “Then look me in my eyes and tell me I’m ugly.” He dares.

“Puh-” You scoff, folding your arms above your puffed chest, looking off to the side, still with eyes closed as though to dismiss him like you so often do. “Men with beady bright blue eyes and pink skin look like pigs.”

You sneak a peek with one eye when he doesn’t answer. He’s still looking down at you – still daring you.

And you continue. Raising a finger to nudge his nose up. “Say oink-oink, piggy.”

He brushes your finger away as he leans in closer. Now with his nose rubbing yours.

“Tell me I’m ugly.” He repeats – his voice dipping low into that serious tone that makes your breath tight and your stomach flurry.

“You’re-” You try but it ends up swallowed, stifled beneath those big worldly blues. “You’re…” You try again but it’s worse than the first time, making you bite your lip. He’s not budging.

You look away. Feeling defeated and mopey because of it.

“You’re not as pretty as me.” You finally sulk.

So cutely grumpy with your pursed lips and vexed brow, he just has to laugh. “Tch- now that we can both agree on.”

And then he forces you to laugh too – beginning to snort like a boar into your ear, placing sloppy kisses to your neck while you scream out that it tickles.

P1 & P3

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victoriousscarf · 1 year

Note

Part of me wants to have /all/ of these for 'covet not the feel of gold or taste of blood'... but yeah some of them don't even fit 😅 Anyways I'll go with:

2. What’s my favorite part of the fic? (except your fav part is smth upcoming)

3. What’s the part of the fic I’m most proud of?

4. What part of the fic was the hardest for me to write?

7. Were there any major decisions I made about the fic that could have made it go a whole different direction?

12. Did anything about this fic’s reception surprise me?

13. What were my beta’s major comments about the first draft of this fic? (if you have a beta... DO you have a beta??)

2. We might have to come back to this one, yeah haha. I've written a few scenes or parts of scenes coming up that I think are quite banger, but we'll have to see.

3. So far I really like chapter 7, I was trying to balance how fucked up everything is with what co-dependent little shits Fili and Kili are at a time when Fili is really not... happy about it.

4. So far the first bit of the second chapter. And the beginning of chapter 9. It's a scene I want goddamn it, I just have to figure out how to set it up without dwelling where I wanna skim.

7. "I'm gonna do this in two, maybe three chapters."

By the time I got through the first chapter I already realized that was simply not gonna happen.

12. I haven't gotten yelled at yet. >.>

(But to be honest I was reading some of the like 2012/2013 Hobbit era fics not so long ago and it surprised me how like, intensely fucked up so many of them were. Purity culture has really done a number on us, even the creators that insist they don't care and will keep doing what they're doing--I even put off writing this fic for a long time because I was like hoo boy, I'm gonna get someone @ me when they realize I'm writing dark incest fic.

And it's not even like oh dark fic don't exist anymore, I just haven't seen a grouping of it the way the early Hobbit fandom like, regularly put out, in quite a while.)

13. I don't have a beta! In fact I don't think I have ever used one except maybe for some one shot back in the dark ages.

However shout out to @obstinatelybored for listening to me scream about this over DM for like 3 days before I wrote the first chapter. And everyone who has endured me talking about it since.

#covet not the feel of gold #vs does a meme #everything is giving me dwarf feels tonight

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rubysunnday · 1 year

Text

as white as snow

summary: Y/N runs into Anthony Bridgerton, someone she's known of for years, but never gotten close to, at the winter solistice ball. Through a dramatic turn of events, the two are forced to acknowledge one another and their feelings.

The winter season had always been a dark, cold and occasionally lonely one. Many families of the ton left London for their country estates, choosing to spend the winter time in sprawling fields.

But there was one event that many families travelled to the outskirts of London for. the Countess of Derby's solstice ball.

It was the biggest event of the winter period. Invites were a coveted prize. Which was why Miss Y/N Hughes was currently staring, open mouthed, at the green envelope in her hand, her name elegantly scrawled on the front in gold.

'Y/N, close your mouth, we are not a codfish," her mother, Lady Hughes, snapped, setting her teacup down on the saucer with a clink.

Y/N hurried over to her mother and held the envelope out in front of her. Her mother cast an uninterested gaze over to her hand. There was a second before the envelope registered in her mind and, when it did, her mother let out an undignified shriek, snatching it from Y/N's hands.

"Robert! ROBERT!" Her mother yelled, barging past Y/N and hurrying into the morning room where her father sat, reading the newspaper.

Y/N stood to the side, trying not to show her amusement at her mother's reaction to the invite.

"We must go to the modiste right away," Lady Hughes said, rushing back into the room, their housekeeper trailing behind. "We need new dresses suitable for this event. Y/N, come along, we need to get you a new dress, dear."

"Is this," Y/N inhaled sharply, "corset meant to be this tight?"

"Of course, miss," the modiste said, pulling the laces even tighter. "It's meant to accentuate the waist and boobs."

"I think it's meant to be comfortable," Y/N muttered, wincing as the boning began to poke into the side of her boob. "And allow me to breathe."

Her mother had insisted the modiste was to dress them the night of the ball - making sure their new dresses looked the best. No expense had been spared, as was always the way, and Y/N's new gown was covered in gems and beads.

It hung on a hanger, on the edge of her door, sparkling and glittering in the candlelight. The modiste trotted over to the door, lifting the hook of the hanger off the wood.

Y/N put her hands on her waist, wincing as she tried to take a full breath in, the tight corset restricting the action.

"Would it be possible to loosen this corset a bit?" Y/N asked, looking over at the modiste.

"No, we would ruin the silhouette of the dress otherwise," the modiste said, shaking her head. She turned to the dress. "Now, let's put this on."

Their carriage rolled to an abrupt stop. Y/N tried not to lurch forward, gripping the carriage door tightly to stop herself from falling into her mother's lap.

"Remember, best behaviour," Lady Hughes warned, poking a few pins further into her hair. "We want to make an impression. And you, dearest," she looked at Y/N, "are running out of time to make a match."

"Oh, mama -"

"No, I won't hear it. You've been out in society for almost two years. Unless I see something happen tonight, your father and I will be arranging a match for you."

Y/N's eyes widened. "What? Mama!"

"Silence, Y/N." Her mother leant forward, pushing in to her space. "We will discuss this more later."

The carriage door opened and her father jumped out, extending his hand out to her mother, guiding her down the stairs. Y/N took a moment, pulling back the blanket that covered her legs, and then slid across the seats to the door. She lifted her dress up and put a slippered foot onto the first step, placing her hand in the footman's.

The Countess of Derby's mansion was a magnificently beautiful building. There were fifty-five acres of immaculately maintained gardens and the house itself was set in over two thousand acres of land.

It was a beautiful example of architecture. Each brick had been placed with care, flowers curling around the columns and windows.

Y/N pulled her velvet cloak tighter around her shoulders as she began to walk up the steps. A freezing gust of wind whipped at her skin, raising the hairs on her arms. Braziers and torches lined the stone steps leading up to the front door. Footmen stood at intervals, ready to assist if anyone needed it.

"Miss Hughes!"

Y/N turned, looking back down the path. Another coach had pulled up and its inhabitants were clambering out in a gaggle of laughs and complaints.

"Lord Bridgerton!' Y/N exclaimed, a smile overtaking her face. She walked back down the steps, holding her dress hem up off the floor. "This is a surprise!"

Anthony Bridgerton took the steps two at a time, meeting Y/N half way. He took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, all whilst looking directly at her.

Y/N suddenly found it hard to breathe. His gaze was intense and his hand warm against her cold skin.

She'd known Anthony for a few years now. It'd been a chance meeting at the opening of a new art exhibition that he'd brought them together. Both of them had been drawn to the same painting for the same reasons and, suddenly, Y/N had a new friendship.

A friendship she yearned to evolve into something more.

"Brother? You're blocking the path."

Anthony stood up, rolling his eyes as he did so. He stepped to the side and his younger brother, Colin, stepped up.

"Hello, Miss Hughes," Colin said, winking at her. "You look lovely."

"As do you, Mr Bridgerton," Y/N said, smiling back at him.

Benedict followed behind Colin. "Miss Hughes," he said, nodding at her, a smile on his face. As he passed, he squeezed her arm in greeting.

"Mr Bridgerton," Y/N replied.

Daphne and Eloise followed behind their brothers, the former practically dragging the latter with her.

"Duchess," Y/N said, curtseying. "Miss Bridgerton." Y/N leant in to Anthony. "Good lord, there are a lot of you."

Anthony sighed heavily. "Imagine the carriage ride."

Y/N greeted Lady Bridgerton as she walked past, smiling warmly at her. "Shall we head inside, Lord Bridgerton?"

Anthony held out his arm and Y/N placed her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow. "We shall, Miss Hughes."

As soon as they stepped inside the foyer, Y/N's breath was taken away. Fir trees covered in candles and decorations sat in each corner, lining the expansive space. Each one guided them towards the main ballroom where even more fir trees were stood. Dancers waltzed around the room, reds, greens, golds and whites blending together.

"Is this your first solstice ball?" Anthony asked, his voice quiet.

His breath danced across her skin and Y/N felt her arms tingle with goosebumps.

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes trying to take in every detail in front of her. "It's... magical."

"Here, let me take your cloak," Anthony said, releasing her arm and coming around to stand in front of her. His fingers effortlessly undid the bow at her chest. His knuckles brushed across her skin, his signet ring cold to her warmth.

Y/N breathed in deeply and then regretted it as her corset almost tightened around her torso. She hid her stuttered breath until Anthony turned away, handing her cloak and his cape to the attendant by the door.

"Would you like to -"

"Miss Hughes?"

Y/N mentally swore. She turned her head and forced herself to smile at the older man standing in front of her, looking expectantly at her.

"Captain Sanders. I'm an old friend of your father's," he explained. "Your mother said I could ask you for a dance."

Y/N felt her lungs constrict. "Oh. Yes, of course, Captain."

She reluctantly held out her hand to the man. As he led her way, her other hand brushed against Anthony's her fingers locking with his for a split second as she tried to cling on.

Anthony watched her disappear into the crowd. His hand clenched into a tight fist and he then flexed it, trying to ignore the jealously and pain going through him.

It'd taken him far too long to realise Y/N was who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He'd know she was running out of time and now, when he was about to begin trying to court her, she was being pulled from his grasp.

"Please tell me you did not just let Captain Sanders whisk Y/N away," Benedict said, coming to stand next to his older brother.

"He didn't give me much choice," Anthony grumbled. "Apparently her mother sent him over."

"Ah, Lady Hughes - she's on par with Lady Featherington."

"What do I do?"

"Are you actually asking me for advice?" Benedict asked, gaping at his brother.

Anthony shoved his shoulder. "Yes." Anthony sighed. "You know why."

Benedict did. He'd seen how his brother looked at Y/N, how he spoke to her, acted around her. She made him a better person by simply existing in his life. Anthony had never smiled as much as he did when Y/N was around.

"Ask her to dance," Benedict said with a shrug. "Then, take her for a stroll round the room and tell her. Her mother is clearly plotting. You know your time is limited."

"I know," Anthony whispered, his gaze fixed on Y/N as she danced around the room. Her gaze fixed on his for a moment and he felt his heart ache.

Y/N, too, felt her heart ache. Felt the pain of being so close to the man she wanted. Yet so far away.

Captain Sanders walked her back to her mother after their dance ended. Y/N could feel her dress clinging to her skin, the corset restricting her every movement and every breath. She knew it was far too tight - it should not be this painful to simply breathe.

"Captain Sanders, I do hope you'll call on us tomorrow," Lady Hughes said, smiling at the man. "I'm sure Y/N will be delighted to see you again."

Y/N just nodded.

"Now," her mother said, as soon as they were alone," your father and I have decided that come spring, you and Captain Sanders shall be wed."

Her heart stopped. A high pitched whine took over her hearing, drowning the ballroom noise out. Y/N put a hand on her stomach, trying to maintain her composure.

"Mama -"

"No discussion, Y/N," her mother said, the warning clear in her tone. "You've had two years. Time is up."

Her mother flounced away, leaving Y/N behind. She stood there, stunned. Her breathing had quickened, her chest frantically rising and falling.

A cloak fell around her shoulders and Y/N jumped slightly, her head shooting up to see who had appeared behind her.

Anthony, his dark eyes full of concern, looked at her. "Shall we go outside?"

Y/N nodded, numb to everything around her. She didn't even realise when Anthony took her hand in hers, gently tugging her out onto the veranda.

The cold, winters air hit her instantly. It did nothing to calm her racing heart, to ease the tightness of her lungs as they stuggled to keep up with her panic. Her corset was impossibly tight, her vision was begin to spin.

"I am to be wed," Y/N whispered, walking aimlessly down the steps of the veranda and out into the hedged gardens.

Anthony followed at her side, his hand still holding hers. "I overheard."

"Captain Sanders is the same age as my father," she said softly.

"I know."

Y/N stopped abruptly, the reality of her situation hitting her. It stole what little breath she had left and the gardens began to spin in her vision. Everything became harder to focus on - as if she was being spun around and around and around.

"Y/N?" Anthony said, his tone urgent. He squeezed her hand, trying to get her attention. "Y/N, what's wrong?"

Y/N's breath was laboured, her chest rising and falling far faster than it should've been. She gripped Anthony's hand tightly, her nails digging into his skin.

"Corset," she gasped out, arching over, trying to breathe. "I can't breathe."

Her knees buckled, she could feel herself falling, she gripped onto Anthony's arms as he fell down with her. Her head hit the gravel path and the blackness overwhelmed her.

Anthony knelt beside her, his hand holding hers. His heart was pounding. "Y/N?" He gently shook her. Her head lolled to the side. Her chest wasn't moving and when he hovered his hand under her nose, no breath hit his hand.

He was trying to stay calm, to focus. But his heart was controlling him. Anthony shook her again and then, abruptly, harshly, remembered what she'd whispered.

Anthony pulled her limp body up and rested it against his chest. His fingers ran down her back, struggling to undo the buttons of her dress. One snapped off as he tried to undo and, in a moment of frustration, he ripped the buttons open.

He could see the red lines where her corset had pressed against her skin, even through the chemise underneath it. It didn't take him long to realise the corset was far too tight.

He'd seen countless corsets over the years and knew how they were meant to be done up and tied. This one was too tight, to constricting. No wonder she'd collapsed.

Anthony deftly undid the laces, pulling on them until the material of the corset came loose from Y/N's body. He laid her back down on the ground, making sure the ribbons of her cloak weren't tight around her throat.

He waited for a moment but she still wasn't breathing. Anthony shook himself and snapped back into action. He tilted Y/N's head back and gently opened her mouth. He leant over her and pressed his lips to hers, breathing into her mouth until he had no air left.

Anthony took a deep breath in and then pressed his mouth to hers again, blowing all the air he head into her.

"Come on, Y/N, please," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

There was a horrible moment where Anthony thought nothing had happened. That it hadn't worked. That, all the tales his tenants told him of men coming back to life after someone breathe for them, were false.

But then, Y/N started to cough, her hands flying up and gripping his arms tightly.

"It's okay, I've got you," Anthony whispered, pulling her up and into him, letting her lean against his chest. "I've got you, Y/N. I've got you."

Y/N slumped against him, closing her eyes as she tried to catch her breath. She let her hand trail down his arm until it reached his hand. Y/N threaded her fingers through his and squeezed tightly.

"You saved my life," Y/N whispered.

"You scared the hell out of me," Anthony whispered back. He leant his chin on the top of her head. "Why was your corset so tight?"

"Modiste insisted on it,"" Y/N replied, her words coming out a little clearer as her breath came back. "She kept pulling tighter and tighter."

"Ssh," Anthony whispered, sensing her panic brewing. "It's okay."

"It's not though," Y/N said softly. "Nothing's okay, Anthony. I'm to marry a man I barely know. I have no control over anything anymore."

They sat there, on the cold gravel path, clutching on to one another. Anthony pressed a kiss to the top of Y/N's head and she closed her eyes tightly, resting her head on his arm.

Snow began to fall around them. It danced gently down, light enough that it wasn't going to settle, but enough to tell that it was snowing.

Anthony helped Y/N to her feet. He turned her around and carefully did her corset back up, making sure the laces were comfortably tight. He then did the back of her dress back up the best he could, swearing every time he fumbled with a button.

Every time he did, Y/N laughed softly, her shoulders shaking.

Anthony turned Y/N back around to face her. He pulled the hood of her cloak up, letting his fingers trace the line of her jaw as he pulled away.

"You still have control," Anthony said quietly. "You can still chose."

"How?" Y/N asked, her voice almost lost to the dark night. "How can I chose?"

Anthony raised his hand, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. He held her chin in his hand. "Chose me."

He saw the surprise in her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, he could see it.

"Anthony, you..."

"Have changed," Anthony said, cutting her off. "I apologise for making you wait so long, Y/N, darling. But I know, now, that it is you I want to spend the rest of my life with. No matter how long or short it is, I know the time we spend together will be worth the grief and pain that may come later."

Y/N looked at him. "Do you truly mean it?"

"Every word. With all my heart."

The snow began to fall faster, the flake getting bigger. Y/N smiled at him, her eyes lighting up for the first time all evening.

"You can kiss me again, Lord Bridgerton," Y/N whispered. "I'll be conscious this time, I promise. I'll remember this time."

Anthony chuckled. "You'd better, Miss Hughes."

Anthony leant forward and pressed his lips to hers. There was a moment of quiet bliss before the urgency, the desperation, the desire took them over.

They walked backwards, disappearing behind the hedges and into a smaller, secluded garden. Anthony pushed Y/N until the back of her legs hit a stone bench. He guided her backwards until she was lying down on the bench.

Y/N pulled away, pushing Anthony back slightly. She smiled up at him, her skin hot.

"Lord Bridgerton, are you so desperate to make me yours?" She asked, dragging her hand down his hair and then onto his neck. Anthony groaned softly, leaning his head back into touch. His hand brushed down her thigh, the sensation reaching her even through her dress. He reached under her dress and Y/N arched up into him as his fingers danced up her leg, to her inner thigh, pulling the chemise up and up and -

"I don't think I could wait a moment more," Anthony whispered, pausing. "As long as you -"

"Yes," Y/N replied, pulling him down onto her and pressing her lips to his again. "Just.. yes," she whispered against his lips.

Anthony's hand resumed it's dance, delving higher and then disappearing inside her. Y/N felt a noise she'd never made before escape her lips and she arched up into him, her hand gripping the back of his neck tightly.

"Our absence will be noticed soon," Y/N said, her words disappearing into a moan. Her nails dug into his neck as he pushed her dress up higher, his fingers dancing around before going deeper inside her.

Anthony smiled, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered, "Don't worry. I'll be quick."

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton angst #anthony bridgerton x fem!reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fancfic

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mintmatcha · 10 months

Text

"I like to watch you pray."

The priest tries to keep his focus on the feeling of the rosary between his fingers, but he can see you haunting him in the corner of his vision. The beads' smoothness means nothing compared to your skin, bathed in the light of the stained glass window. Orange and gold and pink- the heavenly kaleidoscope of colors paints you so gently, like a an angel brought down from heaven itself.

Oh, but he knows better than to believe that. You place your hands over your heart as you walk his way, kitten heels sharp against the chapels floor. Despite himself, he looks up to meet your gaze, greeted only by the short hem of your skirt. The fabric lands just above your knees, but it's enough to make his mouth go wet with want.

"You're just so beautiful on your knees, Father." You reach out and brush a curl away from his forehead. "You're so beautiful when you worship."

He prays your hands stop moving, but they don't. They continue down his neck, nails tickling the soft spot above his collar before the loop under it. You drag him in like a dog and he follows obediently.

Then, like a dog, he begs. Despite how he pleads himself, his body leans into yours and his hands glide up the bare legs he was coveting. The rosary beads click as they bounce against your thigh, disappearing under your skirt.

"Father," you whisper, that devilish grin on your lips, "Why don't you spend some time worshiping me?"

#priest kink

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tacobacoyeet · 3 months

Note

pleaseee right more harry fluff!! heres a list of ideas i have, ofc if you don’t want to you don’t have to!!

-bf headcanons

-sfw alphabet

-him during umbridge detention and she like makes him watch y/n do the quill

-something going along to the song slut! by taylor swift ❤️❤️

and ofc js anything is fine😭

good harry writing is hard to find on this app

slut! | h.p.

a/n: a short and sweet little fic based off of my interpretation of slut! by taylor swift. it might be a tad too on the nose but @ssturniolo92 i hope i did your request justice!

warnings: there are a lot of different harry personalities across tumblr- this is my interpretation of him. cursing, harry james potter being just the best as always, a touch angsty, NOT PROOFREAD!

beautiful hues of gold, white, silver, and all sorts of colors were the first things that caught your attention as you stepped into the yule ball. your hand held harry’s arm as your heels clicked on the floor. you were dressed in a beautiful aquamarine gown, which glittered in the candlelight of the stunningly decorated ballroom. the chatter in the room grew quiet as everyone’s stares locked on you and your boyfriend… the coveted hogwarts triwizard champion. there was not much time for you to survey the room before professor mcgonagall steered you and harry off for the champion’s waltz, but it was enough time for your ears to catch the whispers. whispers of how harry looked ‘absolutely ravishing,’ how your dress was ‘...certainly a choice,’ and whispers of how you were probably only ‘using harry… what a slut!’ you sighed deeply, forcing yourself to stand tall as the two of you took to the dance floor.

“look at me,” he whispered, forcing you to meet his eyes as he guided you around the dance floor.

“it’s just you and me.”

you smiled weakly at him. what else could you do? a gaggle of girls nearby whispered loudly about what they would’ve done to be on harry’s arm for the night.

“god, he’s just devastatingly handsome, isn’t he?” one of them asked, eliciting a cacophony of giggles.

he sighed softly, taking notice of the thin layer of tears in your eyes. suddenly, he pulled you close, into his chest.

“i’m all yours.”

a little later in the evening, you found yourself several drinks in, a soft buzz coursing through your body as you people-watched, but all you could think about was how much you loved your boyfriend. you’d been dating for almost a year now, and the two of you truly couldn’t get enough of each other. when he first asked you out, you told him he was making a mistake.

“dating someone like me is going to blow up in your face, harry! people like you don’t date people like me.”

he never took that as an answer, though. and to be fair, it didn’t exactly blow up in his face as much as it had in yours. the whispers, the rumors, they were all an attack on you. but that was a price you were willing to pay for the man you loved to never pay it himself- but that was just because he was the boy who lived.

your thoughts ran rampant as the alcohol flowed through your body, leaving a fire in its wake. you glinted your eyes as you surveyed the room. you’d cry about the people that hated you later. right now? you looked fine as hell, and you intended to do something about it.

it wasn’t long until you had found harry and planted a deep, long kiss on his lips.

“what was that for?” he asked, a small smirk on his lips.

“i got all dressed up and i look amazing. i don’t care what people are saying about me, or you, or us, because they’re looking at us and how great we look and that’s all that fucking matters.” you slurred ever so slightly, a determined smile on your face.

“you’re drunk as hell, gorgeous.” harry laughs softly, his hand softly caressing your cheek.

“and i love you so. damn. much.”

you spent the rest of the ball in his arms, in the center of the dance floor, much to harry’s happiness. he loved showing off his partner, but he cared about your feelings more than anything, so he never wanted to do anything that would shine the spotlight on you too much, as he knew that most of the time, the words of others really did impact you.

a few hours later, he held your hair back as you knelt over a toilet, the alcohol you boldly downed earlier making its way back up.

“is it really worth it to get this drunk, love?” he smiled softly at you, planting a kiss on your head as he rubbed your back.

“for once?” you started, “it was. and if i’m going to be drunk… i might as well be drunk in love.”

#a writes #harry potter #hogwarts #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter fluff #harry potter angst #harry james potter #harry james potter fluff #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter angst #taylor swift #1989 tv

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littlejuicebox · 9 months

Text

Naughty or Nice?

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x F!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: The first winter post-BG3 / You became Astarion's consort and you're at a ball... he likes to toy with you. Rating/Warnings: M+ / Smut / Spoilers for the game / Cursing / Improper use of mage hand / BSDM vibes / Dom Astarion vibes / teasing, masturbation, overstimulation, exhibitionism, mentions of flogging, etc. Word Count: 3K Notes: This is 3/5 "Days of Star-mas!"

Click here to see my master list.

-----

Yet another holiday ball, how dreadfully boring.

You sigh as you tug on your dress for the millionth time before a sharp pinch on your rear stuns you into stillness. You let out a soft hum as you feel the warm breath of your lover against your ear, tickling your neck before he playfully nips at your ear lobe.

“Now be a good girl and quit fidgeting, my treasure. I want everyone to see how beautiful and desirable you look in that dress, and your hands keep getting in the way of such a delectable view.” Astarion chides, running his fingers down your bare spine, leaving a tingle of excitement in their absence.

You’re sat, as always, on the Vampire Ascendent’s lap; it’s quickly become a well-known peculiarity of your coupling that your ornate throne beside him hardly sees any use. You wriggle as the elf continues to wander his pale fingers up and down your spinal column. Apart from your neck, your back was Astarion’s favorite part of your body to display. Almost every gown he dressed you in nowadays, as his perfect, beautiful little doll, left that sinewy form around your spine well-exposed.

Tonight, he’d dressed you in another one of his custom, ridiculously expensive and more ridiculously provocative pieces, commissioned by one of Baldur’s Gate’s most revered clothiers.

The gown was a deep burgundy, hand draped to your curves and covered in countless glimmering crystals. A deep sweetheart neckline was barely held up by two dainty, useless straps. The back of the gown left your muscled form on full display; the final bits of your lower spine were partially obscured by a crossed set of laces, tied neatly in a bow and not leaving anything to the imagination as the skirt of the dress clung to your hips.

The Vampire Ascendent had called you the “perfect present” for his Midwinter Ball, and you were expected to play the part of his perfect consort as he presented you to several of the Guilds this party hosted.

Astarion’s hand grazes up your leg, fully exposed to him by the thigh high slit cut into the gown. You writhe as your lover teases you, letting out the softest gasp as his hand just barely brushes under the slit of your gown before traveling back down toward your knee.

“My perfect little present,” He murmurs as the music from the band swells, “Take a turnabout the room for me, little love. Let everyone feast their eyes on your beauty and covet what is mine.”

You knew the Vampire Ascendent always aimed to use you as a status symbol at these silly parties. You were quite the spectacle as the renowned hero of Baldur’s Gate turned into his obedient, and always provocatively dressed, consort. It was such a stark change from the heavily armored warrior woman you had been less than a year ago. The statue in the town square, made to your likeness, truly looked nothing like you anymore. You had been a fearsome, rugged, warrior… always caked in dirt and blood; but now, you were a perfect doll, always pristine and well-kept.

You groan, not really wanting to partake in the charade tonight, but Astarion gives you a little tut, and the sharp warning look on his face was enough to force you out into the crowd. The Vampire Lord may have a soft spot for his consort, but he was not above punishing her, if need be.

You slink off your lover’s lap and saunter about the Great Hall, gold chalice in hand, politely nodding here and there to several of the guild members that meet your gaze. More of them, you notice, are too distracted by the high cut of your gown and the spilling of your cleavage to actually meet your eyes. Typical.

Soon enough your pathway is interrupted by the leader of one of the Mercantile Guilds, a tall blonde human woman with an accent, whose name you’ve all but forgotten. You truly had no interest in the elbow rubbing and political chess matches that occurred at these soirées.

“Lady Ancunin… I was hoping for a moment to speak with you.”

The woman begins to ramble on, promoting her Guild, which currently holds control over majority of the sea trade to and from Baldur’s Gate. She is expressing concern over a smaller, but growing, faction and asking for support from the Ancunin House. You find the entire thing unbelievably boring, and barely stifle a yawn.

Suddenly, you hear Astarion’s voice in your ear, and your attention shoots to the high table where the vampire is lounging in his throne, sipping from a chalice, his scarlet eyes locked on you. It’s clear the lady merchant is none the wiser as she babbles on, and you soon realize the Vampire Lord is communicating to you through your blood bond.

“Now, now, little love. Pay attention and look interested. You know as well as I do that Lady Beauchamp prefers to use you as the middle person in our dealings, hoping your supposed “mutual alignment” as the "fairer sex" works in her favor. Perhaps you require a bit more… stimulation to keep you from looking so terribly bored.”

His voice reverberates through your mind, enveloping your psyche in a lover’s caress that quickly causes you to become slick with desire. You watch Astarion subtly snap his fingers at the high table, and shudder as you feel the cold tracings of a finger along your spine — an invisible mage hand, no doubt. Your eyes widen and flicker from Lady Beauchamp and back to your lover, where he is smirking in twisted delight before he turns away from you to laugh at some comment made by another one of the nobles.

The tall guild leader continues, “So, as you can see, Lady Ancunin… this faction is cause for— are you alright?”

You’re trembling as you attempt to hold some level of control over your reactions. How could he toy with you like this? The invisible mage hand has now trailed underneath your gown and started petting your barren slit with two cold, invisible fingers. Damn Astarion for never allowing you to wear undergarments and compelling you to take them off every time you tried to preserve a modicum of your own dignity.

You cough, trying to cover up the gasp that so desperately wanted to escape your throat. “Y-yes Lady Beauchamp, my apologies, it’s a bit cold in here what with the winter air. Please do continue… w-what is it you’re asking of our House?”

Lady Beauchamp’s eyes flicker over your scant, silken gown and you catch a glimpse of judgement in her eyes; you know she thinks you improperly clothed for the season. But she’s wise enough to hold back any comments and instead continues on with her end of the conversation, pleading her case for aid to you.

You are held as a hostage to your own arousal, thighs trembling as you are held on an edge your lover will not allow you jump off of. You wring your hands on the stem of your goblet, nodding at the merchant woman and trying your hardest to feign interest.

Gods you were dripping. You absently wonder if the signs of your arousal were becoming visible through your gown. Your eyes flit back to Astarion, and his gaze is fixed on you once again, a cocky eyebrow raised as he traces the rim of his goblet with one slender finger. You’re silently pleading with the Vampire Ascendent for mercy with your wide eyes and all he does is chuckle and shake his head, eyes crinkling in dark delight.

No. There would be no mercy. You feel the slickness dripping down your thighs as the mage hand plunges into you and you roll your eyes up to the ceiling as you stifle a moan.

“So… what do you think?” Lady Beauchamp asks, her head tilted in confusion. You realized too late that she’d been waiting for your answer, and that the pause in conversation had become uncomfortable enough for her to prompt you.

You nod your head slightly, barely able to breathe as you form the next sentence. The mage hand was back to stroking between your folds, and as you barely catch the scent of your own arousal, you worry that Lady Beauchamp would soon smell you, too. “I-it is much to consider, but I will plead your case to Lord Ancunin. Now I apologize but if you’ll excuse me, my husband has beckoned for me at the high table.”

Astarion has, of course, done no such thing. But you swiftly exit the conversation with the Guild leader and head back towards the Vampire Ascendent.

When you finally make your way back to your lover, he grabs your trembling hand in his own solid, strong one. He possessively tugs you closer to him, and then the Vampire Lord plants a kiss to your knuckle. He smirks mischievously, eyebrow cocking as he flits his hungry eyes to your groin. The mage hand is still continuing its ministrations and has now started to lazily circle your sensitive little nub.

“I can smell you, my treasure… and see your little trembles as you try so hard to be a good girl and keep it together. Absolutely delicious. What a tempting little treat… look at you, with your cheeks all flushed.” He coos, scarlet eyes moving up to look into yours. When you meet his gaze, you see hints of dark, possessive desire in his eyes... and a bit of sadistic pleasure as he witnesses your suffering.

You moan as the mage hand plunges into you once more, and even though the high table is now barren as everyone else has swarmed to the dance floor, you feel the pricked heat of embarrassment spreading across your face.

Astarion chuckles and drops your hand before running his fingers up your exposed thigh. “I think you’ve been a good little pet tonight. And you will soon get your reward. Go to the bedchambers and wait for me... I’ll send the mage hand with you to keep you company, of course.”

All you can do is nod your head, before turning on your heels and swiftly exiting the ballroom. You nearly sprint to your bedchambers, certain now that the evidence of your arousal is seeping onto the gown. As you enter the bedroom, you move to rip your gown off, but the mage hand swats your hands away from the laces. It seemed the Vampire Lord wanted to be the one to unwrap his little present tonight.

For a moment you consider touching yourself, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind, you hear Astarion’s tut of disapproval within your psyche.

“Now, now, little vampling. Be a good girl and wait. Before I’m forced to have the mage hand bring out the flog."

You whine in desperation again and hear that dark chuckle within your mind. The mage hand is continuing its ministrations, now aggressively teasing your nipples as you settle yourself on the bed to wait for your lover. Your entire body is wracked with overwhelming desire, every inch of you trembling as the invisible hand continues its torture.

“How long will I have to wait?” You breathlessly ask to the air, but you know that Astarion is always listening. There is a beat of silence where you think perhaps the Vampire Lord is purposely ignoring you, but then he responds, clearly entertained by your little predicament.

“Oh… not much longer, my treasure. Patience is a virtue. I’ll see you at the end of the party.”

The party wasn’t set to end for another hour. You nearly scream in anguish as another dark chuckle caresses your mind. Pinpricks of frustrated tears begin to form as you wiggle with the mixture of anticipation and overstimulation. Gods you wanted to touch yourself so badly; you were wringing your hands together to avoid the temptation.

“Little love… it is up to you if you’re going to be naughty or nice. But you know what I will be forced to do, should you choose to be naughty.”

You whine again. An hour… you could withstand the torture for an hour, couldn’t you? Surely you could choose to be nice.

And hells, if you chose to be naughty… the pain was always worth the pleasure, in the end.

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owlespresso · 5 months

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the red fruit which ripens

alpha!blade/beta!reader you are a beta courier. one of your clients is getting too close. tags: blackmail, mind games, nonconsensual touching, blade and luocha are just weirdos idk pt 2 of my part in @lorelune's a/b/o collab. the first part can be read here.

You have never known peace. You doubt any emanator ever has. The Mother of Harmony, of peace, bestowed upon you a fraction of her immortal grace. She cored herself, tore out a seed—jewel like and glistening, and beckoned you to feast. The taste went down so smooth and sweet.

That was the first and last time you held your blessing in awe. Xipe sentenced you, that day, to never know the peace she covets. You could catch glimpses of it, inhale the scent of it deep, but it would fade like morning mist, chased away by the winds of chaos and whatever awful business you were to tend to next.

When you strayed from The Family, tore yourself free of their clutches and hid where their millions of bulging eyes could not find you; you believed it possible to know peace. Perhaps not immediately. There was so much to take care of during your first days on the Luofu, paperwork and apartment hunting. It was all jarringly normal. You were mystified by the mundanity, delighted by it even. The world suddenly closed in for the better. There were no enemy factions to worry about corralling, no petty politics, no attempts to usurp you or take your life.

The world became the Luofu. It became your apartment. It became your favorite food stalls and your neighbors and the little birds fluttering about in the trees.

But it was not peace. Soon, you came to realize that even the average Luofu citizen did not know the concept as intimate as you hoped. They live in fear of Mara, of the Abundance, which they are so intimately intertwined with. Every pain is a life threatening risk, a potential trigger to a deadly malady. Outside of the Abundance, so many run themselves ragged, weighted by long work hours and petty squabbles with loved ones. The kindly folk by the docks find themselves cornered by the IPC.

No mortal knows peace, you have come to realize. Perfect tranquility is a ripe and red lie, birthed gold and glistening from the Goddess’s many lips, spread carelessly and listlessly across the universe. Unattainable by the emanator’s closest to her.

You believed once, and it hurt you. Not again. You will heed no honeyed words. You can only believe in what is cold, concrete, and solid.

—

“I feel like—” you begin, pushing through the rusted metal paneling of the dilapidated fence. “—you could have gotten here by yourself.” You usually don’t talk this much, but Blade’s habitual silence combined with your burgeoning irritation leaves you uncharacteristically eager to complain aloud.

The abandoned warehouse looms an eerie, empty monument of crumbling sheet metal and shattered glass. Long columns of broken machinery are gutted in pieces across the concrete yard. You make note to return later, just to make sure you’re not leaving valuable goods out to waste.

“I have never been here before. Kafka thought it wise to come with a guide.”

“And what do you think?” you pause, shoulder buried in the outside paneling of the building itself.

“What I think… does not matter.” Blade says cooly. “A blade is meant to be wielded. It does not choose who it cuts down or where it goes.”

“Hm,” you don’t have much to say to that. You shouldn’t have opened your yap in the first place. The less you know about the bizarre relations of the Stellaron Hunters, the better. You squeeze into the building through the gap. Blade hardly two paces behind. The metal groans and squeaks as he forces his way in. It feels like the loudest sound you’ve ever fucking heard, an offensive and high pitched screech that probably rings through the yard and neighboring alleyways.

“At least try to be a little quieter,” you grumble, squinting into the dark. The main room is made a maze by haphazardly laid out storage containers, many cracked open and already emptied. Wires hang from the ceiling, which has become an amalgamation of mechanical matter and rotting parts. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Black grunts his assent.

“Well. You’re here, safe and sound.” you waste no time, doubling back towards the Blade-shaped hole in the wall. Did he just walk straight through!? What are they feeding this guy? “So I—”

The sound of thundering footsteps and approaching shouts freezes you mid-step. Momentary panic jars you still. The Cloud Knights? Here? Now?

Your pulse thrums in your ears as you turn tail, ready to haul ass in the opposite direction, only to collide face-first with Blade’s firm chest. He jostles you to the side with his shoulder, ignoring your grunt of complaint. His hand rests on the hilt of his blade. Your stomach jumps into your throat.

“Where are you going!?” you hiss.

“To take care of the vermin,” Blade replies drolly, looking down his nose at you. His lips twitch into the beginnings of a puzzled frown.

“Absolutely not!” you say, and his frown pulls deeper. “Where there’s ten, there’s bound to be twenty waiting to back them up.”

It is unlike you to be so bold, but you seize him by the wrist, pulling him further into the jagged steel labyrinth. He allows himself to be led, surprisingly docile as you round corners and scuttle down corridors. Pale moonlight covers the room in a silvery sheen, providing just enough light for you to make out a door embedded into the outermost wall. Footsteps echo around you, calling voices made cacophonous by the echo. Blade’s grip on your hand tightens, likely annoyed and sorely tempted to begin the slaughter, but you yank open the door and jam yourself inside what seems to be a cramped server room.

A few circuit towers stand side-by-side, dark and dusty with disuse. Blade shuts the door behind you, opening his mouth to speak, but you’re already wedging yourself into the lone aisle between the wall and the towers, pulling him behind you.

A few moments later sees you crammed in the narrow space. The back wall and server towers rise on either side of you, caging you up against your troublesome accomplice. One of Blade’s thighs presses tight to your own. Warm and firm. The proximity betrays what you’ve expected since your first meeting. Blade is an alpha. Only now, brought so obscenely close, are you fully able to realize that. It’s a footnote in comparison to your agitation, which swims and simmers just beneath the surface of your skin.

“How long were they following us for?” you grumble aloud. “Tell Kafka she owes an extra 20% when you see her, and that I’m not doing this ever again.”

Blade sighs out of his nose. You can’t see his face well enough to make out his expression.

“You’re wearing a mask. Your identity is safe.” he says.

“The threat of being arrested still remains,” you grumble, listening to the clamorous noise outside. Trained troops rush back and forth, kicking up dust and old grease. You can’t quite make out what they’re saying, beyond a few paltry words, but no one has yet knocked on the door. Surely a good sign.

Blade squeezes your hand, and subsequently reminds you that you are holding it.

“That won’t happen. Destiny’s Slave would not risk your safety over something so simple. No harm will come to you, tonight.”

Well, isn’t that comforting. You wrest your hand away with a scowl, and clamp down on the pressing urge to let him know what you really think about his boss. He stares down at the place where your hands were once joined.

The next half-hour passes in relative silence. His eyes are all that is visible in the empty dark of the room, candlewick embers extinguished when he shuts them and leans back against the wall.

Eventually, the outside noise quiets. No more thudding boots or searching shouts, the warehouse silent as it had been when you arrived. Shimmying out from the pitch dark crevice is much more awkward without the frantic adrenaline, but you manage it, emerging in a new layer of dust.

“Alright. I’m heading out. Be careful.”

“They won’t return anytime soon,” Blade remains inside, arms crossed and impassive. Your frown deepens. You clamber through a hole in the wall. No Knights have remained behind. You feared a few would have stayed just in case, but none leap out from behind the rubble. Which means that the horrible feeling prickling up the back of your neck is just Blade’s cold, empty gaze trained on your retreating form.

Strange beast, you think to yourself, scuttling into the nearest alleyway.

—

One of your favorite things about Luocha’s home is that he is hardly ever in it. The first time you met him after helping him with his pre-heat, he pressed a silver house key into your palms, before turning and leaving. Not even allowing you to splutter a single, indignant protest. Back then, you mentally swore that you wouldn’t use it.

Now, you use it almost everyday. His neighborhood, smack dab in the middle of the Luofu, intersects with several of your regular routes. It’s just too easy so slide in between deliveries for a quick rest. It helps that he’s hardly ever home, leaving you to pilfer snacks from his fridge and take brief naps on the couch. You haven’t been bold enough to stay overnight. You’ve become far, far too intimate with the man.

No more, you decide, and stay firm to that decision even when he beseeches your company not a week later. It’s rude, but you can’t risk getting anymore attached than you already are. He’s become a bothersome burr stuck to your side, a looming presence in your thoughts even when he’s far across the stars, doing Xipe knows what.

There’s a knock at the door. You startle, because this has never happened before. You remain stock still on the couch. If you remain still, surely whoever is out there will get the message and bugger off. Another knock. You should have known that any solicitor determined to walk through the forest of a front yard would be too stubborn to give up after only seven knocks.

At the eleventh, you get up and stomp to the door. It’s mostly to preserve your own sanity.

You throw open the door, prepared to give the nosy bastard on the other side an earful.

It’s Blade. Blade is stood there. He blots out the afternoon sun, leaving you in the shadow he casts. It’s like seeing your clothes in the fridge. You blink several times.

“Ah. It’s you.”

“It is,” He’s holding a bouquet of flowers in his left hand.

“What… why are you here?”

“Kafka’s orders. She wanted you to have these,” he hands you the bouquet. You receive it. Fresh petunias and sprigs of rosemary curl next to daisies and tulips. It’s a nonsensical thing. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Nothing particularly artful about the presentation besides the pretty colors.

“I see… Is this your home?” He looks like he already knows the answer.

You decide not to humor him. You tuck the bouquet underneath your arm and lean up against the doorframe. “What’s it to you?”

He blinks, looks confused, and then responds after a moment of silent thought. “I… there is someone else who lives here. I remember it clearly, now.”

“You two know each other, huh? What a coincidence. But… how did you know where I was?”

“I asked the woman next door. She directed me here. I’ve been searching for you since the early morning.”

“All morning?” you tut, somewhat sympathetic. “That’s a lot of walking.”

“It is nothing compared to other pains I have endured.” Blade says, solemnly. “And I have traveled far greater distances on foot. You shouldn’t worry.”

“...Well,” you stare down at the bouquet for a moment. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t give you anything for the effort. You know that big, red maple by the pond? Go sit there. I’ll get you something to drink.”

Two minutes later sees you outside, cradling two crystalline glasses filled with lemonade. You didn’t get him the fancy stuff—the strawberry-kiwi-whatever fruit stuff that you hand mixed. But it’s something.

He’s hunched beneath the red canopy. There’s a dark, inky type of handsomeness he possesses. Dark hair tumbles down his back, shaggy bangs frame that wolfish face. He looks dour almost all the time. Like the frown lines and cold apathy have permanently creased it. He’s hunched beneath the shade. Like it sits on his shoulders as a physical weight. He looks up at you as you settle next to him, accepts his glass without fuss or thanks. Which is just fine, with you. You probably shouldn’t be doing this, anyways. He’s an intergalactic criminal. The less time you spend together, the better.

But at the same time… you can’t help but be curious. Curious about the mara which buzzes underneath his skin, yet somehow never breaches it. Curious about what manner of creature he must be to withstand the final stages of Yaoshi’s curse. Curious if there’s any real, lingering emotion beyond the stoicism he treats… well, everything with.

The two of you sit in silence and sip. You don’t feel any need for artificial conversation. It’s easy to sit down and simply exist next to him. No impulsive need for niceties.

“This house isn’t yours,” he says.

“No. The owner is a client of mine. He lets me stop by here, in between deliveries. It’s convenient.”

A few beats of silence. “How well do you know the man that lives here?”

“As well as I know any other client,” he looks at you expectantly, as though waiting for you to finish that statement. “Which isn’t very well. He’s not here most of the time.”

“You should remain cautious while in his presence,” he says, and you nearly raise a brow at the unsolicited advice. He levels you with his dull, candlewick gaze, as impassive as ever. A leaf flutters from the lowest branches onto his head. “That man draws his power from the source of the mara. He wields it under the guise of a blessing, and yet…” Blade frowns, almost a grimace, and doesn’t say anything else.

“I know.”

“Yet you take shelter under his roof and exist willingly in his space.” Blade stares at you. There’s a faint bristling in the air. A shuddering of the atmosphere that emerges from him. Thorny tendrils of bitter gold crackle beneath his pale skin. You don’t know exactly what aggrieves him so, but you get the feeling that you should say something to appease him, quickly.

“Well. I don’t know any other rich diplomats willing to offer me a free, mostly empty house to take a break in for… around twenty minutes a day,” you shrug. “It’s convenient.”

That seems to settle him.

“Do you… not like him? The merchant?” Does he even know Luocha’s name? What kind of relationship do these two weirdos have?

“In the strange purgatory of my existence, he acts as both poison and cure.” Blade informs you, as if it tells you really anything. As if sensing your befuddlement, he deflates a little, nose scrunching. He looks like a dour cat, stuck out in the rain. “He wants something from me. I can’t tell what it is. His unseemly fascination means it can be nothing good.” His attempt at elaboration gives you somewhat of a clearer picture, but it’s still some insanity that you’ll have to unpack later.

“I see. I’ll make sure to remember that,” you’re not sure if it’s possible to forget a conversation with Blade. Especially one that lasts more than a few moments. What prompted this? Genuine concern for your well-being? You have a hard time believing that. There are many things that are better off left unsaid, in your experience, so you don’t ask.

The rest of the visit passes in relative quiet. Blade finishes his lemonade.

You reach over. His gaze snaps to you immediately, a beaten dog evaluating a potential threat.

“You have something in your hair,” you inform him helpfully, plucking the leaf from his sable locks. You curl the stem around your fingers.

He doesn’t say anything after that. The two of you stand. He murmurs a brief farewell, and is off through the yard, slipping through the ferns to become one with the cast shadows. You’re not sure how long you remain after he leaves. The pond water ripples with each gentle breeze. Glimmering koi bob to the surface, in search of mid-afternoon snacks. When they find none, they dive beneath, water droplets flickering off their lashing tail fins.

Well, you think after another moment, at least you learned something.

Now, it is high time that you tend to the bouquet so generously sent your way. You dump the glasses in the sink, halfheartedly vowing to deal with them later, before taking a closer look at the arrangement of flowers. As you expected, it’s more than a paltry, sentimental gift. Tucked into the plastic wrapping is a small card.

Bladie said you got in quite the mess, the other day. You have my deepest gratitude for handling it so cleanly. He’s not that good at talking things out. He seems to like you, though! I wonder what makes you so special?

P.S. Next Tuesday, please escort Bladie to the address written on the back of this note. Please? Do it for me. :)

—

You hate working with criminals. Criminals other than yourself.

Though, you don’t fancy yourself much a criminal. Deliveries are an entirely different beast, simple points of contact which last at most for five minutes. Escorting a known, intergalactic criminal through multiple layers of the Luofu is completely different—something you would never do if anyone besides Kafka asked. You’ll dance to her tune, run her errands if it keeps you off her shitlist. But is there even a point if keeping off of hers just puts you onto someone else’s?

You’ll have some fierce thinking to do after you shake off the six Cloud Knights currently on your tail. You dive between market stalls. You leap over a counter, sending an array of fruits and vegetables tumbling onto the pavement. You ignore the enraged shout of the peddler behind you, pulse thundering in your ears as you weave between the passerby, narrowly avoiding a stack of crates.

The air stings at the corners of your eyes. The marketplace blends together to the point of featurelessness. You don’t know who you pass or what else you know over, too focused on what’s ahead to care about the wreckage left behind. At the very least, it may hamper the Knights as they shout and stomp and rush after you—and Blade, whose fault all this is.

You slide around a corner and into a red-bricked alleyway, lanterns strung between the two rooftops, gold and glittering against that fake, blue sky.

“Dead end.” Blade grunts. You hear the telltale click of his sword being unsheathed.

“No! Just follow me!” you snap, seizing his wrist and pulling him forward, all the way to the end. As you trudge forward, you tap a sequence into the walls on either side. The worn clay surfaces are coarse under your fingertips. None move after you touch them, but you feel a subtle shift in the energy as it rushes down to the focal point. The pattern ends at the back of the alley. You tap a chipped, ragged brick embedded into the dead-end wall. The slabs unfold, layer-by-layer, to form an opening.

You pull him through.

It folds shut behind you, the quiet sound of grinding stone following you through the passage. The hollering and thudding of the pursuit have been silenced. Their chaos of the market sealed away behind the otherwise impenetrable seal. You doubt the low-ranking footmen who chased you will know the way.

Yellow-green vines crawl up the pulsing walls. Luminous particles bob and float in the air like fireflies. The place is silent, leaving you with only the sound of your own panting and Blade—Blade’s rasping, spluttering wheezes.

You stop, right where you are, because you have never heard him make such a sound before. Even after a chase, or a fight.

The passage opens to a wider tunnel up ahead. You drop Blade’s hand, and turn to look at him. The adrenaline is fading, now leaving room for fresh, common sense.

Blades hunches up against the wall. The air enters and leaves his lungs in winded, rushed wheezes. His eyes are wide and unseeing. Those candlewick irises dart from the floor, to the place where your hands had been joined, and finally, then, to you.

A scent, like firewood charred too long, blistering into crumbled charcoal, blooms in and clouds the thin space. It’s like nothing you’ve ever smelled before, the vicious pheromones of an alpha at the very end of their tether. Something more, too, something earthen and ancient and charged. A flavor which has graced your palate only once or twice before.

Encroaching mara. You don’t know what he’s like, when his symptoms flare. You’re not eager to find out. The capricious nature of his mara has not once posed a threat to you. But his composure is slipping, his hands curling like claws and flexing. Like he’s getting a feel for his own body. Like the joints are sore and need stretching.

“Blade,” you stumble forward, pressing your palm to the cold, pale pane of his cheek. “Blade, look at me.”

His shaky irises hover awkwardly over your shoulder, before at last meeting your gaze.

“It approaches,” he rasps, looking as haunted as you have ever seen him.

“Blade, do not let the mara take you.” you take in a deep, steadying breath. The violent pulsing in your ears returns in full force, the unhinged mass of his disease gnawing at your physical form.

Bracing yourself, you reach within. You touch the very bottom of your long neglected wellspring. Harmonic Essence leaps to the surface, warm and loving and so eager to be put to use. It feels like an old coat slipped around your shoulders, a familiarity you wouldn’t dare indulge in under ordinary circumstances. It is a power long wasted on you, but useful this very once. It pulses from underneath your fingertips, washes underneath his pallid skin.

The acrid taste of his mara brashes against the tip of your tongue for a single, fleeting moment. It then skitters backwards. Retreats into the dark, churning void of what you assume to be his subconsciousness. It’s a temporary balancing of the scales, but his wild pulse settles.

You sigh, shoulder slumping in relief. The tension winds out of your body, hand dropping back to your side.

He still looms above you, jet black hair curtaining you in. When did he get so close? Or had it been you in your haste to soothe him? He runs hot as a hearth, the warmth which radiates from him thick enough to feel. This close, you can see his every breath, soft mounds of his chest straining the fastenings which hold his shirt together. Slender stripes of pale skin peek through his chest wrappings. You swallow and look away, up at the strong column of his neck.

“Are you with me?” you murmur. You don’t dare move, lest your retreat trigger the chase instinct which some alphas are known to possess. You don’t like making assumptions. You feel like Blade would be among that number anyways.

“Yes,” Blade’s voice is sandpaper rough. He moves before you do, shouldering past you into the wider tunnel. “You make use of these often, I take it.”

As though nothing had ever happened. Something bitter churns in your gut, but you don’t bring it up. There’s no reason to. He probably wants to distance himself from this episode as quickly as possible. You don’t blame him. The mara must be a humiliating affliction to live and cope with.

“It’s the fastest way to get around,” you break into a brisk walk, overtaking him. You’re the one who knows your way around, here.

“The mara would rend asunder the minds of anyone not wearing the correct protective gear,” Blade observes. There’s nothing pointed in his voice, but the weight of his gaze makes your skin crawl. Its keen focus is that of an apex predator’s, a beast somehow sated enough to keep his teeth from your throat. How long will that last? Fifteen minutes? An hour? The air here swelters with abundance. His mara must sup on it like a starved prisoner, far stronger and fuller than it could ever be on the surface.

He could easily match your pace, but he chooses to walk behind you.

“I could say the same for you.”

“I am an abomination of Yaoshi. The abundance has already taken hold of me.” Blade says, grimacing. You toy with the fraying edge of your sleeve between your forefinger and thumb. “All the saturation here does is spur on the symptoms.”

You make a face. He must sense your unease.

“I should be able to resist the pull until we surface. Provided we do not linger overlong.” Blade replies. It does remarkably little to reassure you.

A predator stalks at your back, one whose sanity may pop like an overfilled balloon at really any moment. Against your better sense, you feel anxiety lash at the bottom of your stomach, guts churning with that primal fear.

“Reassuring.” you bite out thoughtlessly.

“It would be in your best interest to focus on finding a way out, rather than back-talking me.” Blade says, and you swallow.

“Back-talking? I think my frustration is quite justified. You’re the reason we’re in this mess, after all.” you pointedly remind him. The words roll bitter off your tongue. Prickling discomfort coalesces with the saturation of abundance in the air, becoming a consistent buzz against the back of your skull.

Blade makes a ragged little noise, wedged between a wheeze and a laugh.

“Another do I make pay the price. I was not always like this. deathless beast borne of blind ambition and hubris…” he trails off. “I was once a man. Death walked with me as it walked with every other. It was never meant to—to become—”

A distorted warble slowly creeps into his voice. Shit, you just shouldn’t have said anything. The hovering energy coalesces, thin whispers congealing into thick, mist-like mass around him. It’s drawn to him.

“What’s your favorite food?” you turn on your heel and ask, crossing your arms. He looks down at you, brows furrowing as he roots around for an answer. “You haven’t thought about it, have you?” Do the mara-struck even have to eat? Blade is a particularly unique case among them, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he even remembers to eat. He is a blade, according to his own words. And a blade doesn’t need to eat. How desolate an existence he must have lived. Must still be living if his own preferences evade him.

“Well. Try to find an answer while I get us out of here.” you command. He’s quiet for the remainder of the trek. You emerge topside and immediately feel several pounds lighter. The air is fresh and sweet, the skies blue and open. You’re two blocks from your apartment in a dark, neglected alleyway.

“You can find your way back from here,” you sigh, chancing a glance at your companion as you stretch your arms above your head. “Right?”

He’s still quiet. You don’t sense the acrid tang of the illness. He looks thoughtful. You wish he would just give you an answer already. You’re not eager to be chanced upon again by a patrol, or by any other witnesses for that matter.

“Your question. I don’t have an answer.” Blade says. He sounds almost regretful.

Over your few interactions, you’ve come to realize that not much bothers him. Very little manages to budge that glacial mien. His demeanor, as you have come to understand, either sits as stoney neutrality or maniacal, giddy rage. The shades between are so very visited.

“It’s no big deal. You can just tell me next time, if you want.” If he even remembers. The idea of turning your back to him still riddles you with unease, but you do it anyway. Your steps are slow and measured. He stares you down until you disappear around the corner, meld into the crowds like just another thread in a blanket.

—

The sky above hangs a pale grey. It’s the threat of a light drizzle rather than a raging storm. You slip through the abundant foliage of Luocha’s front yard, unable but to notice that the shrubs and vibrant blooms have somehow grown in size since your last visit. The greens are hearty, fresh dewdrops glimmering off grass and unfurled leaves.

It’s not difficult to spot him. He’s lounged beneath the sole scarlet maple of the yard. He’s a spot of red himself, swathed in a richly-colored, likely richly-made, robe of it. The fabric pools on the lawn chair he lounges atop of. His eyes are shut, blonde lashes fanning against his perfect cheeks. Those eyes open as you skirt along the jagged stone edge of the pond, manilla envelope clutched in your left hand. He smiles, but does not lift his head. Sumptuous locks of golden blonde fan out behind his head like a halo. The very picture of serenity.

“Well, well. To what do I owe this visit?” he tilts his head, smiling like a contented cat. You huff, and avoid looking below his neck, where the plush robe parts to reveal the pale soft of his chest. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but any sliver of intimacy you may have granted him has long passed. The moment you look down, he’ll notice and impose upon you another outlandish favor.

“Don’t get excited.” You hand him the package, and begin to pull back, but he’s faster. He darts for you like a viper. Long fingers curl around your wrist to hold you in place. The look in his eyes is beseeching. He gently deposits the envelope on the side table next to his seat. He doesn’t look away from you for even a moment.

“Always so busy… doesn’t it exhaust you?” he murmurs, a sympathetic coo. He’s putting just enough strain on your arm to make standing uncomfortable, in hopes that you’ll sit down beside him.

“No. I’m used to it. I like being busy,” you bear the ache in your arm with unyielding ease. It is so small and insignificant in comparison to every other you have endured.

“Do you… like being busy, or is it that you’ve never known anything else?” Luocha tilts his head to the side, smiling. Your skin prickles. You resist the urge to swallow.

“You know what they say about assumptions.”

“Which is why I’m glad I’m not making one. You go to awfully desperate lengths to not be known, Courier.”

The corners of your lips twitch downwards, and his eyes gleam. “Don’t be coy with me. Did you talk to them?” You ask. The question has lingered on your mind for weeks, leaving you restless and more unkind than usual. The persistent threat of him is always at the back of your mind, represented in the throbbing between your temples, in the harshness of your voice as you snap at someone who might not deserve it. There’s no sense in beating around the bush, anymore. Not if you want to preserve your sanity.

“How very vague, for someone who just accused me of being coy. Be at ease, I haven’t had any contact with The Family. Merely some… particularly useful informants who have heard a thing or two. Hunches based on speculation that you’ve proven by being cagey.” Luocha assures you.

“...So, what do you want from me?”

“Merely conversation. I do find our interactions so compelling, however short they may be.”

“Being blackmailed doesn’t put me in the mood for conversation. There’s not much for us to talk about.”

“I beg to differ. I know so very little about you, despite all we’ve shared. I’m curious—what set you on the path of Harmony?”

“...” You look away, internally evaluating the pros and cons of going along with his little game. “Peace. She promised us peace. Because that’s what Harmony was supposed to be.” His eyes soften. The indignation sizzling inside of you sparks into a raw flame (he has no right to look at you like that), but you smother it.

“Did it live up to your expectations?” he asks. His thumb rubs circles against the hollow of your wrist. His gaze sweeps from your face, down your arm, to where he’s still got you. He’s waiting for you to be vulnerable, you just know it. A shark that smells blood in the water, circling and searching for tender flesh to lay its rows of teeth into. How does he imagine it will taste? Soft and meaty, melting underneath teeth and tongue? Layers of skin peeled back and pried open, made thin by older slices?

“It didn’t work out.” you reply. sagacious enough to play along only minimally. When you elaborate no further, he releases you with a smile.

“How interesting,” he hums. He reclines further, eyes fluttering shut. You could pounce on him so easily, like this. You could fix your teeth into his jugular and make it so he never threatens you again. The blood would be so warm in your mouth. His skin would be so sweet.

Don’t be gross. You grimace.

He drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

The fluttering of wings erupts in the canopy above you, a flock of songbirds taking an afternoon flight. He cracks open his eyes, then. He tracks some sort of movement (you aren’t looking up), idle, like you aren’t even there. He tilts his head to the side, the slender column of his neck completely exposed. The robe slips off of his shoulders, curvature of his collarbones and soft expanse of his chest open for your viewing pleasure. You’re annoyed.

“I’ve held you long enough,” he sighs. “Thank you for sharing. Though, I do hope we can manage a longer conversation next time.”

“We’ll see,” you just barely keep a sigh out of your voice as you turn to leave, speed-walking up the grassy slope.

—

“That old man’s damn cat has been coming into the yard and bothering all the birds,” you grumble, squinting into the aforementioned patch of forest.

Blade makes a noncommittal noise, indicating that he’s heard you.

“It pisses me off.”

“You care about the birds in someone else’s yard.” Blade observes. You frown deeper.

“It’s annoying. Cats are an invasive species, here. They slaughter all of the native wildlife—and sometimes they don’t even eat what they kill,” you sigh, tampering down your rising agitation. If you’ve learned one thing in your short and storied life, it’s that being impassioned isn’t good for you.

“So, how would you suggest the problem be solved? If the owner insists on letting it out…”

“I don’t really live here, so it’s not like I have any right to get involved,” you shrug, “It’s just… if you’re gonna be that irresponsible with an animal, you don’t deserve to have it. You know?”

Blade makes another noise. Closer to a hum, this time. You don’t know if he knows or not. But you do know that he’s listening. You stare into the yard, and in your periphery you can see him staring at you.

—

You see Blade more in the coming days. Despite your best attempts, a routine slips into being, like weeds through cracks in the cement. Silver Wolf doesn’t show up to accept her own packages nearly as much, anymore. It’s almost always Blade. You see him so often that you question if he even has a job anymore.

He glowers. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He says, low voice almost lost amongst the bustle of the crowd. The markets are especially full today. Nestled in the crook of your elbow is a plastic shopping basket, loaded with some bread, some spices, and some vegetables. The stall you’re at rests beneath a red tarp, casts warm shadows onto his pale, bone-weary skin. “There are currently no tasks which command my presence at the moment.”

“Well. It’s good to have time off, but you don’t need to follow me around.”

“...” he doesn’t reply, but he does follow you all the way up to the counter. You can’t tell if he doesn’t understand the nuance, or if he’s just being bizarre and stubborn. Regardless, tailing you like a lost puppy seems to alleviate his boredom. To each their own.

“If you’re just going to walk behind me, can you—” you shift the basket from the crook of your arm, preparing to offer it. He snatches it from you before you can even finish speaking.

“...Thanks.”

He takes his newfound job as the basket carrier very seriously. His dour face doesn't budge an inch as you peruse the rest of the wares, plucking a few items from open crates and wooden shelves to add to the bundle.

“So, see anything that piques your interest?” you’re not sure what prompts you to speak up. You should get through this as silently and as quickly as possible. The less time you spend in public with this man, the better. The presence of the Cloud Knights isn’t nearly as felt on this level, making it as safe a haven for criminals as can be. You suspect, sometimes, that it’s purposeful. In your many travels, you have come to realize that the criminal class is a valuable part of any economy, no matter how much those at the top may protest it. Those who disavow it the most fervently are usually the most involved, under the table.

Blade doesn’t respond, at first. His crimson gaze glances over the nearby shelves. He grabs a bottle of cloves and presents it to you, completely straight-faced.

You get the overwhelming sense he’s appeasing you more than anything.

“...Yeah,” you pluck it from his hand and halfheartedly eye the label. It’s hard to muster the energy to argue with him, especially when he looks so resolute. The fact that he’s continuing to tail you through the market is cause enough to ignore him. You drop the bottle into your basket and move on.

Thankfully, the rest of the trip passes in peaceful silence. You can feel Blade’s gaze, unreadable, lingering on your form as you pull your wallet out of one of your many pockets. The shopkeep, a sprightly young man with a head of bouncy, brown hair beams at the sight of you. You don’t remember his name, but you’re familiar with him. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts his mouth tight before he can get a word out.

He glances over your shoulder. You swivel just barely to look at your stubborn shadow. Blade looms closer than you remember him being, leaving you with an up close and personal view of his chest. You tsk and look up at his face.

“Can you get a bottle of white cardamom for me? It should be with the rest of the spices.”

Blade looks at you, and looks at the shopkeep. He is silent. The lines of his face are harsher than usual, burdened with deeper shadow. For a few, agonizing moments, you fear he may object, but he turns almost robotically and walks off. You’re not sure what’s upset him this time. You don’t particularly care. If you troubled yourself with the qualms of every pouting client, you’d be just as miserable as you were with The Family.

“Thanks. I could hardly get a word out while he was giving me those evil eyes,” the shopkeep says, shuddering.

“I guess his manners still need work,” Not that men in his line of work really needed any.

“Alphas that smell that strong and don’t even try to put a lid on it are the worst,” he gripes, bagging your produce with nimble hands, before pausing and looking back up at you. He wrings his hands, contrite and sheepish. “—er, no offense.”

“He smells strong?” you tilt your head to the side.

“Well, yeah. He’s all over you,” the man blinks. Some of his bangs fall over his big, brown eyes. He swipes them behind his ear thoughtlessly. “You guys just get together? He’s probably trying to flaunt it. Stake his ‘claim’, y’know?” he says with a sympathetic roll of the eyes.

You don’t particularly care what he says about Blade. A man able to lift a three-thousand pound sword doesn’t need defending. It’s his misconceptions about your relationship that irks you, for some reason. You don’t care about the opinions of others (you try not to care about the opinions of others) but you can’t resist the sudden urge to correct him.

“We’re not together.”

“Oh,” he blinks at you. “Does he know that?”

“Ugh. Enough. It’s none of your business.” your lips twist, a sliver of teeth exposed in your displeasure.

The shopkeep nods and beams at you, all previous curiosity wiped clean off his face. “Heard loud and clear!”

He finishes ringing you up and sees you off with a “have a nice day~!”. Blade follows you to your next stop, a stall that sells fresh fruits.

The frustration builds within you slowly. It’s a candlewick of a thing, at first. Blade is following you around. Irritating, but you can cope with it. He would leave if he was asked. Maybe Kafka told him to stick around for a while. She’s gotten into a bad habit of pawning him off on you, like he’s a child that needs watching rather than one of the universe’s most efficient killing machines. That’s fine. You’re not keen to get on her bad side.

Blade is scenting you. He’s sticking to you tight as a cobweb and giving dirty looks to people you talk to. That, you cannot abide by. It takes you at least five minutes to simmer, from the crate of apples to the lefternmost all of the stall to the bundle of leeks close to its middle. You’re not really looking at anything. Lost in thought.

“I am not an omega for you to covet. I don’t need your protection,” you tell him, letting your gaze idly roam over the prices. They’re written on fancy little labels with red accents, each one neatly stickered just below the lip of each crate.

“I never said you did,” Blade replies after a moment of deliberating. You look over a crate of cantaloupe. Selecting a ripe one is a practiced art.

“You didn’t have to,” you pause, melon held in your hands as you give him a scathing look. “Control your pheromones. You’re not an animal.”

“No. Worse, I am a blade.” he sighs, suddenly sounding unusually surly. Your lips twitch in the barest beginnings of a frown.

“Not an excuse,” you helpfully remind him. A shadow is cast over his face, then, dark and brooding. The space between his brows wrinkles, an uncertainty you haven’t quite seen from him before. There’s so little need to deliberate in a life like his own, so what troubles him now? It nettles something in you, makes you feel in a way that you don’t care to name and don’t want to look into. You deliberate asking, but he makes the choice for you.

“I will leave you, now.” When you turn to look at him, he’s already walked away from your side, strides longer than usual. He dissolves into the crowd like a sunset shadow, naught left in his wake but the scent you know still clings to your clothes.

—

“My, my. You rarely ever visit at this hour,” Luocha says, giving you one of those mirthful smiles where his eyes scrunch, unabashedly delighted (and undeniably smug) to see you. He lounges on the ottoman, slender fingers parting the pages of a furniture catalogue. “To what do I owe the honor?”’ He’s already deduced that you want something from him. You take no excessive pride in your poker face but it still pains you to be so easily read. Luocha stands apart from the crowd with his soft hands and feigned delicacy, but he smells blood in the water just as easily as any other follower of the Hunt.

“I just wanted to talk,” you see no reason to dance around it.

“You came all this way for a conversation?” He rests his chin on the palm of his hand in a haughty way that pisses you off.

“Isn’t that what you’ve wanted this whole time?” you grouse, and he laughs.

“I’m flattered, regardless. Come, sit and tell me all that is on your mind.” he beckons to a seat at his side, which you stiffly sink into, unable to relax beneath his hunter’s gaze.

“You’re an omega—”

“Yes, quite,” his smile is now coquettish. You feel your face wrinkle in annoyance, line of your brows dipping low.

“I wasn’t done. You know more about secondary genders than I do—and I don’t have anyone else to talk about it with, so…”

“I appreciate you confiding in me like this,” Luocha says, sweet as honey, timbre smooth as silk. There’s an ease about him here, in his own domain, that soothes and disarms you despite your best efforts. “It couldn’t have been easy for you to ask, so unused to relying on anyone else. I’m no professional, but I will answer your questions as best as I am able.”

He steeples his fingers with a smile, way too delighted for you to feel good about his generosity. He just likes knowing something you don’t, doesn’t he?

“Well. I’ve been spending time with an alpha, lately. It’s a work thing, but he keeps hovering around. Even after I tell him he can leave.”

“Ah.” Luocha says. The corners of his smile grow taut with something you don’t quite recognize.

And it’s a question you suddenly have to wonder for yourself. Is Blade bothering you? You can count on one hand the amount of times you have been genuinely upset with him. He’s quiet, most of the time. He answers your questions and attempts to appease you whenever possible. He carries your bags whenever you happen to be at the markets, together. Even if you really wish he wouldn’t, you can tell he’s trying to be kind.

“He hardly speaks. And when I does, I don’t really mind. But he hovers and keeps grabbing my shopping bags whenever we’re at the markets. I don’t get it. Is it some sort of courting gesture?”

“He certainly sounds like a character,” Luocha muses, sounding far off for a moment. “You have the right idea. He’s carrying your things to both lessen your burden and to prove himself capable, even if he himself does not realize it.”

You grimace, face twisting up, The truth has an acerbic tang to it. Luocha laughs unabashedly at your dismay, the sound melodic and trilling. The longer you spend in his presence, the more convinced you become that the Aeons crafted him specifically to vex you. You give him a scathing look.

“Come, now,” Luocha wheedles. “My humblest apologies, Courier—it’s simply so rare for you to be so expressive. I was caught off guard. Shall I get you something to drink? Come, please, sit back down. Surely you have more to ask of me?”

Reluctantly, you drop into the armchair closest to the door, leaning back as far as you have the space for, You fold your fingers together, elbows perched on an arm rest each.

“I don’t envy you. It must be difficult to bear the attentions of such a peculiar alpha,” Luocha says.

“You know him, then.” You can’t keep the accusation from your voice, something frenetic and ugly kicking up your pulse, making your stomach go sour. How deeply do they know each other? Enough for Luocha to consider spilling your secrets? Enough for them to conspire against your purposes unknown?

No, don't be ridiculous. You're not important enough a figure to be the center of any such elaborate scheme. Weak, as far as emanators go. Painfully average, even as far as betas go. Unremarkable in status and career. All that threatens you is what you have long left behind.

“I do know him. Quite well, in fact.” Luocha muses, undisputed fondness in his voice. How close are they? The question lingers bitter on the tip of your tongue. It vibrates underneath your skin, wild and desperate and gods, you want to know so badly. “Though he may deny it, he can be shy. You’re alike, in that way.”

“I am not shy,” you bristle. It’s your curiosity alone that keeps you in his company.

“An argument best saved for another day. Let’s not get off track—Blade is an alpha, but he bears few of the typical mannerisms associated with his secondary gender, which makes this newfound attachment to you all the more significant.”

Progressively, throughout your conversation, you’ve been able to feel the wrinkles on your face multiplying and darkening.

“It makes sense, if you ask me. You’re quite the extraordinary individual,” Luocha says, drumming his fingers idly against the armrest.

“So how do I get him to stop?” you brush past his superfluous flattery with practiced indifference. He wants to fluster you, to see you squirm. It’s one of the ugly truths behind the chivalrous front he wears in polite company.

“Are you sure you want him to stop?” he inquires.

“What are you getting at?”

“If you truly wanted to no longer be the object of these behaviors, you would have no problem telling him yourself.”

You laugh, and it’s a cold and bitter thing. “Not all men take rejection well.”

“As I well know,” Luocha reminds you. He’s so haughty, so utterly confident that sometimes you forget he’s an omega, a demographic as subject to unwanted advances as any you are a part of. He stands up, empty glass cradled in hand. The sheer material of his robe billows around him like fine mist, treating you to the outline of his smooth, toned legs. Blade is more built, the thought comes to you unbidden. You squish it like the raspberries you juiced only a week ago on Luocha's kitchen counter. You wonder if the stains ever came out.

“Objectively speaking, you have more of a reason to hold your tongue around me than you do him. Yet, you hardly hesitate to make your displeasure known in my company,” he points out. “It’s not because of my secondary sex. You hardly ever remember that I’m an omega, unless my heat is soon.”

“And your point is?”

He seizes your chin, then tilts your head up until you’re forced to look into those grass green eyes. Cradled between his forefinger and thumb, you are left with nowhere else to go. You wonder briefly if it thrills him to do this because he is an omega. If he finds some kind of perverse pleasure in subverting the roles society espouses about his kind.

“You could have told him off on your own. Instead, you went out of your way to consult someone you deeply dislike, looking for another, less direct way of handling it. All of that implies some degree of care, whether you want to admit it or not.”

He’s right, and you hate nothing more than when he’s right.

“Thank you for your time,” you dip back into your customer service with a placid and empty drone, because you know how much he hates it. You say it to his chest, refusing to give him the eye contact. Unwilling to expend the effort. For plausible deniability, because you don’t know what you’ll find on his face. The air has grown balmy and cloying and fragrant. You stand up, and he steps backwards. “But I must be going, now.”

“How unfortunate,” Luocha coos as you awkwardly find your way around him, having been sandwiched between his body and the coffee table. “I was going to put the kettle on…”

—

The shroud of night has settled over the Luofu. A crescent moon winks down at you from the artificial sky, peering between the treetops. You’re laid on your back, on the concrete patio near the shed.

Footsteps head in your direction. You already know who it is. There’s no one else that has that blistering, writhing aura. Blade comes to stand over you. His brows wrinkle in displeasure. You don’t know why. It’s not his patio that you’ve gotten your blood all over.

“You’re injured,” he says, frowning. He crouches over you. A pale thumb smears the drying crimson on your upper lip. Your entire face scrunches up, gnarled like a gargoyle, recoiling from the unexpected touch.

“Nosebleed,” you mutter. The space behind your eyes throbs in protest, accompanied by a fierce pressure at the bridge of your nose. All typical symptoms. The gifts bestowed upon you as Emanator unfortunately do not shield you from your allergies. To think, an Emanator could still be laid low by something as mundane as allergies.

“Who gave it to you?” Blade looms a little closer, gaze steely.

“No one. Sometimes my allergies act up. That’s all.” you assure him, squinting irritably. You hope your judgmental flower will shame him out of your personal space, but he lingers.

“You should remain indoors, then.” he draws. He lifts his bloodied hand and looks at it, too contemplative for your liking.

“I take medication for it. Just forgot today,” it feels wrong to justify yourself. He isn't owed an answer, but this is a rare moment. Blade showing such outright concern over something so novel is interesting (a more sentimental person might call it touching). Has his immortality rendered him incapable of distinguishing a few pesky allergies from a deadly ammonia? You can’t imagine someone so riddled with regeneration to register the difference between a gaping gash and a papercut.

“Then remember to take them.” he advises coolly.

“I will.”

You lay there, then, in silence unperturbed for a few moments. The hard ground is cool against your back. It’ll fix your aching spine, you’re sure.

“Are you not going to get up?” Blade asks.

“No. It feels nice to be on the floor, sometimes.” you assure him quickly, lest he assume your nosebleed has robbed you of all mobility. He stares at you, blank-faced, but you somehow can tell he is skeptical. You pat the space next to you, a silent offering.

You don’t expect him to take you up on it. This rare creature, crackling with the energy of his divine “gift”. You don’t indulge in typical sentiments, and you spurn love and limerence for your own sanity, due to the madness you have seen both inspire. To adore is to give of yourself, to exhaust what limited energy you have left. Yet, there is no arguing the fact of his beauty. His hair pools like fresh slick pitch. Faint moonlight catches on the sable strands. His jaw cuts a sharp and handsome shape, eyelashes long and thick. He stares up at the sky, unreadable.

“Kafka has no need of me in the coming days.” “It is… strange. The Stellaron Hunters are few in number, so our hands are always full. To be bereft of any responsibility… is rare.”

“You don’t sound thrilled about that.”

“No. It will leave me restless. And the silence will only give the mara room to spread. It’s better—more manageable when there is a task at hand.” Blade admits, a shiver in his voice.

“I do. I believe you are familiar with the place,” he says. That catches your attention. And makes you just a little nervous.

“Do you even have anywhere to stay?” The Stellaron Hunters surely have a vessel of their own where he can lodge. You’re ultimately not too concerned. You shut your eyes and listen to the midnight breeze, feel the black of the night against your skin.

You turn to look at him, almost afraid to ask. “Familiar?”

“The merchant has opened his home to me. I will remain there for the duration of my… off time.”

Again, you are sorely tempted to question the exact nature and origin of their relationship, but it’s truly none of your business. You’ve long espoused a policy of isolation, but there’s no denying how thoroughly entangled you have become in them. Elbows deep. You’re not quite sure how it happened. They’re infiltrated your monotonous life, moved in so slowly that you didn’t even notice until this very moment.

“Well. He’s not there most of the time, so it’ll be like having your own place,” You can’t imagine Blade as a homeowner, for some reason. It just invokes the image of him mowing a lawn in khaki shorts with that same, placid face he always wears. He’s too ethereal and strange to trim the hedges or fix a leaky faucet. Sometimes, you think he’d look more in-place if he levitated instead of just walking everywhere.

“I had lemonade the other day,” he says, and this fascinates you, because it is so very rare for him to initiate conversation about something so little.

“...And? Did you like it?” Perhaps it’s petty, but you already have a feeling that he didn’t. You hate to presume, but you think you have similar palettes.

“...It was too sweet, and burdened by a lingering, chemical taste,” he confirms your vague conjecture and you very nearly laugh. Or make some sort of short, wry noise like a horse’s snort.

“Yeah. Ones that aren’t made from scratch tend to be like that.”

“And that is why you make your own.”

“Exactly,” you lift your gaze from him and return it to the sky. “When you make something from scratch, you can make however you like. Ones you buy pre-bottled have too much sugar.” He hums in acknowledgement, but says nothing else.

The twinkling stars are no more authentic than the clouds which hover during the day. But you wonder how many far off stars he has visited across the span of his long un-life. How many civilizations he has seen toppled, how many lives have ended at his hands. What a terrifying beast Yaoshi has created. Yet, here he lay beneath a sky he has likely long tired of, humoring your purposeless requests for reasons unknown.

—

You’re tucked on the steps off the side door, head leaned back and eyes shut, drinking in the warmth of the artificial midday sun. Blade leans up against the wall next to you, arms crossed. You don’t blame him for staying in the shade, not when he’s always dressed so darkly.

You shouldn’t show your stomach to a known apex predator. Your instincts are tampered down, but you still curl your spine and lift your knees to your chest when you usually it on the stoop. You haven’t done it, today. Anxiety thrums in the space right behind your eyes. The scared animal inside of you writhes in his presence. You look at him, gaze by happenstance falling on the profile of his chest.

Breasts, you think stupidly, and laugh aloud. The noise is so sudden that you almost don’t realize it came from you. Blade looks down at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you're still too caught up in your own disbelief. Spending so much time with him has softened your skill, started to fry your remaining brain cells. He’s always been handsome. But you’ve started to too keenly note the bow curve of his lips, the narrowness of his waist.

And you hate, hate, hate proving Luocha right.

“What is it that you find so amusing?” Blade speaks slowly, like he’s talking to a scared dog or a lost child.

“Nothing,” you shut your eyes and tilt your head back, letting it thump against the top step. Blade inhales sharply. “Just remembered a stupid joke I heard a few days ago.” When you open your eyes, Blade has turned away, inspecting a row of gladiolus planted next to the nearby shed. The line of his shoulders has gone tense.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” you muse.

“Did you plant them?”

“No. I delivered the seeds. Only a week ago, I think. They wouldn’t have been able to sprout this fast.”

“Under normal circumstances, perhaps,” Blade skates a finger over a bright orange petal. “That merchant utilizes his gift so shamelessly. Even while at the heart of his natural born enemy.”

“And it’ll all be for nothing if that damn cat comes and eats them,” you grunt. You’ev stumbled upon torn up patches of grass and bitten through flower patches, stems snapped and petals crushed. You briefly, in one of your pettiest and cruelest moments, nearly suggested Luocha plant lilies next. The callousness of your own thought had startled you into silence, so gladiolus it was.

“Ah. About the cat,” Blade begins. You blink, wide-eyed. A cold pit forms in your stomach, because—

“You didn’t,” you gape.

“I did not kill it,” Blade says sourly, clearly affronted by the assumption. “I brought it to Kafka. They seem to get along.”

The tension melts out of you at once. Your petty grudge isn’t worth the blood of an innocent animal. You let yourself fall back against the stoop. The edges of the stairs dig into your spine.

“That makes sense,” you say, a touch wry.

Blade grimaces. “They send me images of the little beast every day I am not there. If Silver Wolf is to be believed, it ‘eats better’ than she does.”

Does Silver Wolf eat well to begin with? “That was kind of you,” you say instead.

“Was it? Or was it cruel to the man who will wonder where his pet has gone?” Blade inquires. He doesn’t sound particularly bothered by the possibility.

You scoff. “I doubt he’ll even notice.”

—

You are natant in the dull haze of half-sleep. The soft scent of camelias and fabric softener and linens. A cloying warmth cocoons you, keeps you mired in a state of partial sleep. Burrowed beneath the comfort exists a nagging feeling of wrongness, like a pebble in your boot. You cling to the sensation, let it pull you from the inky, peaceful depths. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to breach the surface. It feels like ages by the time you pry your weary eyes open.

There’s a body crushed into you. An unyielding, solid mass of muscle. The scent of something charred wreathes around you. Your cheek is pressed up against a heartbeat, steady and strong. It would be comforting if you knew where you were, or who you were with.

Alarm, molten hot, jots down your spine. Shaken from your stupor, you begin to writhe. Your palms slap against the chest of the man beneath you. You brace yourself against him in an effort to pry yourself free.

An arm around your midriff tightens, and the panic grows. You lash out, snarl, a hand reaching behind you to grab onto the assailant’s wrist.

The room blurs, then. The breath is knocked from your lungs as you’re reoriented and pinned with minimal effort. Your eyes blow wide, gaze caught by those candlewick eyes. Blade’s hair is mussed from both sleep and the struggle. His lips are pulled into a snarl. Your gut squirms at the flash of those deadly canines—sharper than you’d imagined (he’s never bared his teeth at you).

“Stop,” he commands, low and throaty. You shudder, foolish hindbrain moved to obey the order. This, you realize, is what an alpha’s command must sound like.

As you lay beneath him, chest to heaving chest, the pieces of the previous night return to you in fragments and shades.

Blade came to your door at dusk’s end. The shuttles had shut down for the night. You let him in, quickly, before anyone could witness a known fucking criminal at your door. You fed him dinner, anyways. Spoke late into the night—about what you cannot truly recall. Somewhere around three in the morning, you must have nodded off.

“Have you calmed down?” Blade asks.

“Yes,” you grumble, feeling thoroughly chastised despite his flat and empty tone. You attempt to dislodge yourself a second time, but Blade stops you fast. “Blade—” The beginning of a feeling you cannot quite name crawls up your spine, up the back of your skull. It’s a creeping, white hot sensation. A sudden deprivation of air. His eyes have closed. You feel your pulse spike. “Blade.” You try again. “Let me up.”

He draws a shaky breath.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

“What is there for me to understand?” you ask, voice a tepid little thing. He laughs. The sound is manic and bitter. When he opens his eyes, they’re hot enough to burn a hole in you.

“I… remember you,” he begins slowly. There’s a creeping breathiness there, you feel it under your palms, writhing inside of his ribcage. “When you are not there. I remember how warm your hands are, the smell of your sweat—the taste of when we are… together. And I crave it every moment we are apart. It’s—maddening.”

“What.” you’re taken back, all the sudden, to the sixth time Sunday called you to his office. A servant of the Harmony, you were, still protected by your naivete, still convinced by the smiling faces and open arms which surrounded you. A child. A seed, among the older and wiser trees in Xipe’s forests.

You remember the exact shape of his lips when he said it—you remember how it felt. You feel the same way now, pinned like a little butterfly. Lost in the reeds.

“I remember you,” Blade continues, slower and calmer, now. Burning wood to dead charcoal. “When we are apart, you are all I remember, and the emptiness that exists in your shape is too much to bear. I need—” he licks his lips, his empty pupils blown so very wide.

“The mara becomes quiet, when we are together,” he whispers, like he’s sharing a secret. His eyes close. His forehead is a wide rash of heat, pressed against yours. He takes a single, shuddering inhale, breathing your air.

And you—you’re still frozen there, caught up in the vice of his body and the couch. You stare emptily beyond him. His face settles into the crook of your neck.

The lamplight flickers on and off.

#oz write #hungering for hsr #blade/reader #hsr/reader

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