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notjustjavierpena · 1 month

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Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Haven’t written about these two for a while! I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Joel finds an excuse to get out of watching the Olympics but only so he can go upstairs and find you getting ready to go out while listening to the summer’s biggest album.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, basically pwp, dad’s best friend, age gap, immorality kink, dirty talk, groping, fingering, possessive behavior. pet names, Daddy kink, unprotected piv sex, rough sex, anal threat, creampie, y2k vibes, brat summer

Word count: 4.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58023772

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The TV is loud in your father's living room as the Olympics are on but Joel can concentrate on nothing but the thought of you being upstairs even if he had looked forward to seeing the competition in gymnastics this afternoon. He is here because it is tradition to watch whatever sports are on during the summer with your father, his best friend, but nothing feels the same since he started seeing you behind his mate’s back.

Carefully, he shifts his weight on the leather couch cushion, the heat of Texas making the material stick uncomfortably to the slightly exposed skin of his thighs. It creaks as he changes his position, leaning forward to grab his near-empty beer and sneak a look at your dad out of the corner of his eye. He tries to figure out if he knows that Joel has had his face buried between his daughter’s thighs just yesterday but he doesn’t even flinch, too absorbed in the intricate routine on the screen.

He leans back again and takes a long sip of the bottle in his hand, emptying it in case he has to think of a reply to a sudden question about you. It doesn’t come but instead, he receives a raised brow.

“You sure are thirsty there, Miller,” he says with a gentle grin, playful and normal in everything he does so that Joel may relax a little more. He laughs with embarrassment in return, a blush of guilt that he hopes is taken as shame creeping up from under the neck of his t-shirt.

“Hot day,” he answers simply. He covers up his train of thought with a conversation, “Did you see that landing? That was something else.”

Your father seems satisfied with that answer to the degree where he turns back to the television, “And that dismount. They’re gettin’ better and better each year.”

Joel follows his line of sight, fixated upon the tight suit of a female gymnast, and chuckles under his breath. He puts the bottle back on the coffee table, knowing he is no better than that; he can almost hear your soft laughter from upstairs as you chat with someone on the phone, can almost feel the warmth of your gorgeous body against his. This push and pull between what he should do and what he wants to do is slowly driving him to insanity.

Your father slaps the armrest in excitement as another woman does her routine without faltering, “Did you see that? Gold medal for sure.”

“Yes,” Joel lies like he has gotten so good at lately, for the first time in his entire life not very interested in sports, “Best thing I’ve seen so far, think you’re right.”

He is more busy with thinking about how to act in case you make your way downstairs, wearing a cute sundress and smiling at him like you always do but still in a way that it took him way too long to notice. He hopes you might give him the thrill of making an appearance soon.

During commercial break, your father gets up from the couch to get more beers from the kitchen and Joel has time to glance towards the stairs. He cranes his neck to see if you are standing at the top but he is left disappointed, left to imagine what you are doing upstairs in your childhood bedroom with the Hello Kitty computer mat. He remembers the way your tits were pressed against it the first time he fucked you and shamelessly hopes he’ll get to have you in this house again just once before summer ends. Perhaps today? No, he shouldn’t want to do anything with you in this house.

Time passes. Nothing happens. It’s with relief and disappointment that he concludes that he won’t see you, with a smile as he is handed another cold beer to not quite quench his thirst.

“Five more routines to go,” your father says with his glasses resting on the tip of his nose as he looks through the program on his phone, “Sprints later. Always exciting.”

“No volleyball?” Joel hates himself for joking with a wink.

“Not watching women in tiny shorts, are we?” Joel nearly jumps at the sudden sound of your voice, blushing at his own distasteful joke, “Didn’t know you were a pervert, Mr. Miller.”

“Mind your own business, you,” your father tuts with his eyes on his phone. It takes a moment before he glances over the back of the couch, giving Joel’s own eyes a second to stare at you while he clenches his jaw at the sight of your white sundress, tied in around your waist. You look radiant, pure, and forbidden. He wants to reach out to touch the bit of your thigh that peeks out.

“Another shitty day for women,” you roll your eyes teasingly and nudge him playfully in a way that sends electricity through his entire being. However, Joel tenses up at hearing you use foul language, an inside rule between you that he cannot tell you that you’ve broken.

Your father says your name in disapproval and glances apologetically at him, “Where did you learn to talk like that? Sure as heck ain’t from me. The kids you’re hanging out with tonight?”

Joel’s grip tightens on the couch as you giggle sweetly, the sound enchanting him to the point where he thinks of everything off-putting that he can come up with so his cock might flag again. He hopes it doesn’t strain against the loose fabric of his shorts. You are doing this on purpose, teasing him relentlessly now that he can do nothing about it, and he is so turned on that it makes him feel ill.

“Oh, you old man. You can’t keep me in line anymore. I’m over 21; I can do whatever I want,” you stand behind the couch and wrap your arms around your father, kissing his cheek from behind. Joel looks at the way your ass sticks out, quickly catching himself ogling when your father’s eyes fix on him with embarrassment.

“She’s incorrigible,” he says with resignation, patting the hand that you rest on his shoulder. Joel can only imagine what would happen if your dad knew what he was thinking about.

“I can imagine her being her own boss,” he laughs to make himself feel less like a creep but doesn’t quite succeed when your dad joins in.

“Why are you here?” Joel hears him finally say.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” you begin, pulling back a little to look at your father properly, “Can I borrow the car?”

He frowns for a moment but then nods, “Alright but be careful.”

“Always am, thank you, Dad. Love you,” you peck his cheek again to feel him smile, stretching to your full height. The wind blows in from the door to the garden and Joel catches a sniff of your perfume as you leave the living room, “I’ll go change now. See you, Dad! Joel!”

You disappear upstairs again and the atmosphere shifts significantly. Your absence sends him into small talk with your father, going over the usual topics of work, sports, and family. He tells your dad about a big upcoming project, that Sarah’s doing well at college, and that he actually never really cared much for cycling despite it being a massive hit each time the Olympics are held.

“Actually, I might head up for a sec,” he says when thoughts of you have raged long enough in his mind, making him shift in his seat before pushing himself to stand. He is too curious about seeing you, too desperate to have you alone, “Nature’s calling, and I can’t wait for the commercials.”

Your father chuckles, eyes still glued to the television where they are handing out medals, “Sure thing, Joel. You know where it is. Tell my offspring to get out if she’s barricaded the door.”

Joel nods, giving a relieved smile, and quickly makes his way upstairs. His heart pounds with the anticipation of the moment ahead. As he reaches the top of the stairs, he hesitates briefly, listening for any sound of where you might be, and sure enough, he hears the faint hum of music coming from the bathroom and walks towards it.

Without knocking, he opens the bathroom door and finds you in front of the mirror, applying makeup to a song that he has never heard. The sight of you makes his erection come right back; you have changed into a pleated miniskirt that stops way above your knees, making the skin where your thighs meet your ass peek out. Above the waistline, he can see the waistband of your pink underwear and he has to adjust himself in his shorts.

“Where the hell are you going looking like that?” He demands to know, shutting the door behind him with a click. The music fades to the background as you wiggle your hips automatically.

You look up from your lips, catching his eye in the mirror, and smile sweetly while applying lip gloss. The color makes your lips seem plumper, the shine most likely to accentuate your cupid’s bow if you were to stretch your lips around his cock. You look away again, purposely acting like a brat, “Out with friends. No boys allowed.”

“Seems like you’re dressed to impress someone,” he retorts. If you were to check him out again, you would see the way his eyes are going down your intoxicating figure. He stops at your ankles, knowing how you would be standing on your toes if he touched you between your legs, before going all the way up to your face again.

You snap the lid of the lipgloss closed with a click and place it on the counter. You grab the edge with both hands, still looking at him through the mirror, “Did it ever occur to you that I might be dressed to impress you, Daddy?”

Joel does a sharp intake of air at hearing his nickname. He takes a step closer and you allow him. Without a second thought, he places his hands on your gorgeous hips and squeezes until your giggles make the upbeat song sound like garbage, “You’ll have me thinking about you all night with this skirt, kiddo. I’m not sure I’ll have it.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’ll feel your menacing presence all night?” You grin playfully, making a show of arching your back the way you sometimes do when he hits the right spot inside of you.

“I should run behind you to make sure you don’t expose your pretty pussy to strangers,” Joel lets his dominant hand slide down your thigh until he can clutch the fabric of your miniskirt. He pulls it down roughly to stress his point, covering you up as much as he can.

“You’re pulling it the wrong way, Daddy,” you tell him with a bratty grin, chewing your bottom lip to play innocent, “Don’t you want to have a peek? I’ll let you see up under it.”

“Daddy can’t promise only a peek,” he replies, making a point of his words by letting his bulge graze your ass. You push back into him to allow him whatever he wants without saying it explicitly, earning a moan that’s loud enough for you to reach for the small Bluetooth speaker and increase the volume a little. Your father must question the noise but he hopes that he simply thinks you’ve gone to your bedroom instead, letting the door stay open.

“What the hell is this garbage music?” Joel asks as he steps back to allow you to reach back effortlessly. You reach behind you to grip the hem of your skirt, lifting it with deliberate slowness. It is a teasing gesture, more about the act itself than the reveal of your lacy underwear that clings to your cunt and gives him the perfect outline.

“Stop sounding ancient,” you tease, shifting your weight from one foot to the other to strut your ass. You’re leaning forward a little to be more appealing, so easy to push forward so you have to grip the sink.

“You’re making it sound like a problem, Princess,” he replies with a chuckle. Yes, he could shove you down onto the counter but he chooses to finger the crotch of your barely-covering panties. You don’t seem to have predicted that he would actually dare to touch you in your father’s house, so you fall forward when he pulls your underwear to the side and sinks two fingers into your wet slit. He smiles tauntingly at you in the mirror, “Don’t act like you don’t cream yourself over older men like me or we wouldn’t be in this mess together.”

“What are you doing?” You ask with your glossy mouth hanging open. He turns his wrist to press against your g-spot and sure enough, you’re already on your toes with a filthy moan tumbling out your mouth. He admires the way you always manage to look stupid and cute when he touches you, and he notices that whenever he doesn’t pump his fingers inside of you, you fuck yourself onto them.

“I ain’t doing nothing,” he says casually and slowly drags his two fingers over the spot that belongs to him, the spot he always searches for and likes to stay on. The song is horrible for fucking but it’s loud enough that you can’t be heard downstairs and quiet enough that he can hear the wet squelch when he goes a little faster, “I’m just giving you something to remember me by when you’re showing your pussy to the whole world.”

“That’s not… Joel,” you say his name and he almost believes that you want him to stop but then you arch your back just how he likes and he slips his thumb between your folds to rub your clit. He has your cunt in an iron grip, flicking his wrist repeatedly to see beads of slick threatening to drip onto the tiled floor.

“Nuh-uh,” he sternly says and halts just a few seconds, “You don’t get to call me that when I hear you use your potty mouth around here. Who do you answer to?”

“You, Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whine and earn added pressure to your clit. You keen but then the song ends, and the both of you hold your breath for a moment. Courageously, you whisper, “He’ll hear.”

“Not if you shut your mouth,” Joel barks quietly back, relieved when another annoying pop song comes out of the speaker. He catches the pout on your lips in the mirror, the fake offense on your face that has his dick throbbing in his shorts. He needs to fuck you soon, hasn’t got a long time to do it before your father will get suspicious of what he is up to, but he won’t shove his cock in you before you have begged him to do it.

Then the line comes with a breathless moan, “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Oh, so that’s the card you want to play to get fucked. He pushes his fingers deeper into you until his knuckles brush your ass, avoiding your g-spot altogether, and practically lifts you on his digits. Your whole chest lays down over the sink and counter, your whole weight on your front instead of on your toes. It must hurt but not more than a dull ache when he pays attention to your clit as he does it.

“I sure as fuck shouldn’t but I didn’t think I’d find you dressed like a little cockhungry girl in here,” he tuts and abuses your perfect cunt. God, it sounds like he is splashing with water by now.

“I-I should be with someone my own age,” your voice shakes, your walls start to pulse slowly around him. It becomes hard for you to continue your chastising, ”God, you feel so good, Daddy.”

“Yeah? Ancient Daddy should pull out his fingers and fuck you while you’re on the verge of coming for him?” Joel mocks. He pushes down and drags the pads of his fingers against your front wall on the way out. His fingers are white with your creamy slick. He smears it over your quivering slit, talking softly while you are almost cross-eyed, “I need you, baby. Daddy has to do it even though it’s wrong.”

“No,” you protest but don’t mean it. You look back at the sound of his shorts being pulled down, whimpering feebly as his hard cock comes into your view.

“Yes, sweetheart, I gotta,” he holds the base of his cock in his hand, slowly dragging the tip through your messy folds. He pushes against your ass first, chuckling darkly when you tense up and shake your head. He teases you, “No? That’s not where you want it? Don’t want to get ass-fucked with your old man downstairs? This skirt surely tells me you like taking it up the ass.”

“N-no,” you let your head hang between your shoulders, exhaling shakily, “I want it in my pussy, Daddy. Please. Until you come inside.”

Joel gives in when you ask so nicely. He presses the head against where you need it the most, slowly letting your warm walls engulf his length while you release a relieved breath. He growls from low in his throat as he buries himself deep inside, touching where his fingers have been just moments before.

“You sure change your mind quickly, baby,” he points out after starting a rough rhythm that makes his thighs smack into your ass, the crotch of your panties straining against your cheek that bounces in rhythm with his thrusts. He settles his hands on your hips, dragging you onto his cock as much as he spears you onto it, “First you say no, and now you wanna get bred? What happened to my good girl?”

“I know it’s bad but it feels so good,” you pant softly, nearly sounding animated with how you moan and groan. You’ve reached to grope your tits through your lime green top, caressing yourself greedily as you are drowned out by some lady singing about Von Dutch, “Don’t stop, Daddy, please don’t stop.”

“Fucking hate this song,” Joel grumbles breathlessly while he keeps a steady pace, nudging something just right inside of you because you fly forwards, “Don’t tell me you’ll go out dancing to this.”

“I’ll come to it,” you groan, sucking in a breath as you start to squeeze around his girth, “Gonna come.”

“Give it to me,” he demands with heavy breathing. He lets one of his hands slide up your spine until it sits on your neck. He tilts his hips forward so he can pound you, rewarded with a squeak that he finds adorable.

Suddenly, the room goes completely quiet. The both of you turn your heads towards the speaker, noting at the same moment that its battery has run out and the possibility of getting heard has upped dramatically.

None of you say a word. Joel even tries to stop his heavy breathing, putting pressure on the back of your head when you squeeze him by wriggling slightly. He makes a quiet noise of disapproval, “Stop it.”

“We aren’t done,” you whisper with a wounded whimper. You try to fuck yourself onto him, “Daddy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he bites, listening for potential footsteps that could lead to his doom. Instead, he hears your father cheer in reaction to something on the television. Should he? He can’t go downstairs again with a raging hard-on and there’s no way in hell that he is jerking off in here alone like some perverse madman. He makes a decision.

Leaning down over your very still frame, he catches onto the tears that have welled up in your eyes and whispers, “I’m gonna fuck a load into you and you’re gonna be quiet all the way through, got it?”

You nod frantically. Joel’s hand on your hip tightens and he pushes to stretch to his full height again. He bottoms out inside of you, “If you can do that, I’ll let you come on it, okay?”

You nod again, pushing back eagerly to impossibly swallow more of him. With determination and efficiency, he draws back and slams into you with all the muscles in his neck straining to keep quiet. You feel like you have been molded into a perfect sleeve for his cock, like he couldn’t imagine that anyone could ever live up to what you are giving him right now; cheeks bouncing, spine arching, and walls clenching as you teeter on your high.

You come with a tiny whine that he’ll allow and he comes right along with you, high on the danger and the fact that you belong to him so desperately. He manages to just sound like he is doing a sharp intake of air, hinting at a growl, before he fills you with his warm seed, each pulse of your soft muscles milking him dry.

It is a dangerously addictive sensation. He pumps in and out of you until he is too sensitive, slipping out of your used cunt so he can see the drip of his load. He stumbles backward, tucks himself, sticky and overstimulated, back into his shorts, and watches you pull down your underwear and move to the toilet to not spill all over the floor.

You sport a lazy little smile, satisfaction all over your face. It dawns on him what he has done - the deprivation of it - so he tries to distract the feelings of disgust that he has towards himself, “Why are you going out anyway?”

You are both still panting. He grabs onto the sink to steady himself, feeling old as he leans against it while you pee, your knees falling inwards so you look innocent compared to what you have just done together.

“Getting a tattoo,” you reply with a dirty little smile.

That surely changes Joel’s train of thought. He straightens a little, “Of what?”

“Don’t know yet but I’ll tell you where,” you reach to point to your hip bone, measuring about an inch with your thumb and index finger. You beam girlishly at him and he feels his chest tighten with affection, “Right here. Cute, right?”

“Cute,” he manages to say as his mind automatically imagines it right there on your hip but the word comes out a little rougher than intended. He is let in on a little secret that only a few will be allowed to see. Perhaps, he’ll be the one who gets to be the very first to see it, or maybe the one who gets to be the closest.

You finish, wipe yourself, and wash your hands. Then once again, you are close to him but this time it is chest to chest. You link your arms around him, leaning close, “Perhaps I’ll get something that reminds me of that one time I hooked up with Joel Miller, my dad’s best friend.”

“Dangerous game you are playing,” Joel reaches down to graze the spot on your hip with his thumb. He is so into you that it is ridiculous, smirking as you bat your eyelashes at him and filling him with youthful energy that he remembers from crushes in his teenage days. The idea of you marking yourself for him has his head in a spin and has his cock stirring again.

“What can I say? I’m a brat,” you shrug with a grin and when you both hear your father shout at the TV again, you grin with your tongue in your cheek. Yes, you are.

“Oh, babydoll, you make me wanna kiss you,” he almost growls as he leans into you, eyes focused on your cute glossy lips as he tries to capture them despite knowing that he won’t be allowed to touch them.

“Nope, not the gloss,” you tease and gently push him away on his chest. When he tries again, you hold your hand over his mouth and he groans against your soft fingers like from not getting his way. You grin, eyes shining with affection, “Now get out so I can clean myself up. And don’t tell my dad about the tattoo.”

“Fine,” Joel gives you one last lingering look, squeezing your hip before pulling away. He leaves the bathroom reluctantly, stepping backward as he walks out the door to keep his eyes on. You roll your eyes at him without being able to stop smiling.

When he is out in the hallway again, he heads back down the stairs and into the living room. He pats the back of the sofa to make himself known in the room once more, startling your father slightly.

“There you are,” he says, watching Joel walk around the sofa, “What took you so long?”

“Got talking with your kid,” he answers as casually as he can muster. However, your father seems to be completely disinterested in whatever he has been doing upstairs.

“What? Oh, yeah. At least you got her to turn off that awful noise she calls music. Come on, you’ll miss the final run,” he says obliviously, and so Joel joins him in the chair opposite his couch to make sure he doesn’t smell how he probably reeks of sex.

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xeeljii · 2 months

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DOGTOOTH

She could ride my face, I don't want nothin' in return Except for some her time and all her love, that's my concern

WARNING! Explicit RPF!

EDIT! Pt.2 here, but can also be read as stand alone.

Summary: Basically Dogtooth by Tyler the Creator. It is my belief Joost is a munch and I am so sad more people don’t write about it so I was forced to intervene.

Word count: 5.2k

CW: 18+, f! reader, no body descriptions, established relationship, alcohol consumption, cursing, ???, English is not my first language and only proof read by me.

It was a game really, from the moment you get out of the shower wet feet smacking lightly against the floor of your shared flat, you can feel his gaze trained on you. You of course, well acquainted with this test of wills decide to ignore it and walk straight towards the dresser, the towel wrapped around your torso barely covering below your ass and you make a show of stepping on your tip toes to reach for something at the top, more to give him a show than anything else, you are rewarded as you hear a delighted exhale behind you. You and Joost had already gotten used to the push and pull thrill to see who would crack first, who would end up a desperate whimpering mess, begging for it by the end of the night, it was all part of the foreplay. You smile to yourself as you continue getting ready, behind you he sits on the bed watching like a big cat ready to pounce at any second, doing nothing to hide his staring as he plays absentmindedly with his phone changing songs as your personal DJ.

The night outside is warm, barely starting, you really have all the time in the world to get ready and he is not one to rush you. Truth be told he enjoys the ritual of seeing you apply on your make up and try on different outfits until you are satisfied, he finds it endlessly amusing to just stare at you to a point you could call it an obsession. Today your choice is a shiny top and a short skirt, obscenely short perhaps, but just what you like and he is grateful for every inch of skin his eyes can trace on you. As you drop the towel to get dressed you give him a good eyeful of the delicate curves of your body, you can feel the tension in the room rise instantly and playfully wonder if you will even make it outside today. You have been together long enough to were seeing each other naked is common occurrence but it never gets less exhilarating, he has an honest and open face, when you catch his gaze in the mirror you are met with his dilated pupils and his full attention on you like it is natural it makes heat rise to your cheeks and you avert his eyes trying to compose yourself. You walk up to him nonchalant and wordlessly he understands you, pulls the zipper of your skirt up.

“Thanks” you say in a whisper he doesn’t answer but instead pulls your hand towards him delicately and kisses right on the pulse of your wrist, then looks up at you smiling.

“Ready?”

Tonight you had been invited to a club opening, private area reserved, a few friends invited and free booze, just for your presence, well Joost’s really, but you enjoyed every bit of it as if it was yours. He made sure you knew that, what was his his was yours. He didn’t say it as much but he liked taking care of you in every way he could. Though he didn’t really need to explain himself, his absences hurt you deeply and you missed him in ways that felt too vulnerable to express fully, you felt like a kid waiting with your face pressed against the window just for him to come back to you every time, it never got easier but he made sure to make it up to you when he got back. When he was by your side he pampered you almost to a point of asphyxiation but your thrived on it glowing more beautiful under very one of his attentions, a side of him only you knew, it gave you a strange high to have him like that only for you, only ever you.

As you make your way to the club your mind can’t help but wonder off to the first time he took you back to his place, after a night of meeting at a different club where he truly didn't wanna be at he quickly became enchanted by your presence, your easy laughs and entrancing conversations. He didn’t have any bad intentions or any intentions at all really, drunk on the beauty of your face, on the softness of your voice, the smell of your perfume, he had only wanted to drag the night on as much as you would allow him. He had just wanted to have you to himself for a little bit, wondering if you would disappear like an illusion in the morning. Yet you had bloomed more stunning in the middle of his living room as he kept trying to steal laughs from you, absolutely enamored with the sound of your laughter. You had kissed him first, you deny it to this day and say you don’t remember since you were drunk but he knows it and you know it too. Deep in the night as you sat on his lap, on his bed, chests pressed together and hearts beating wildly nothing but heavy air between both of you he gently spoke against your lips words that at the time made you incredibly irritated but now you look back on fondly “I won’t fuck you when you are drunk.” Fuck! What a man! Even painfully hard under you as he was, it made you laugh in disbelief throwing your head back holding onto his shoulders as you felt him kiss sweetly against the expanses of your neck. Such reservations are long gone from your relationship but still you remember how sweet he had made you feel. He had let you hump him to your climax, so well behaved under you, let you use him as you pleased, a moaning mess on top of him, anyone else really would have taken advantage but not him, never him, not to you. It gave you a rush like no other to have a man like that under your thumb, knowing he could but he wouldn’t, already too sweet for you. “You are so strange” You had said between giggles as he laid you to rest on his bed, he just smiled and kissed your forehead. That should have given you a clue to his nature.

You giggle to yourself and he looks down on you amused.

“What?” He asks pulling you closer as you walk through the door, the noise of the music already filling you with energy.

“Nothing” you reply smiling up at him and pulling him closer into a quick kiss.

The club is filled with people, he commands attention when he walks in even if he doesn’t want to, it is the nature of the job he would say, but with you by his side he feels more at ease. The music is good, probably not entirely Joost’s taste but it is yours, so he doesn’t complain at all. You quickly make your way up to the private section and share greetings with everybody already there. You know his friends now, like to think they are yours too and they have always welcomed you so warmly. They never miss a chance tell you how happy you make Joost, you hope it is true. Soon both of you get lost on conversation and jokes with everyone around. He lets you do your thing, just happy to see you enjoy yourself, dancing wildly and downing on sweet liquor like it is water, without a care in the world you look the most beautiful but he honestly has no eyes for anyone else. He likes this more than anything, just seeing you happy it could give him the energy for 100 tours for 1000 performances if he only remembers your smiling face then it is all worth it, if you are at the end of the line then anything is worth it. He drinks as much as you but you are not nearly as good as he is at holding your liquor. He notices your half lidded eyes and unfocused pupils and starts feeding you water.

“Joost~” you want to complain in a sing song tone but he just kisses your hairline and pulls you closer.

“Just slow down, liefde” Taking care of you comes so easy so naturally, he doesn’t even make an effort it is just in his blood it seems.

You continue to dance against him and he moves behind you happy to have you in his arms inhaling your soft scent. He is already 10 steps ahead thinking about when he would get to take you home, to have you on his bed, to undress you and… any more imagining would be troublesome so he just downs his drink and keeps dancing to your rhythm.

The hours pass by quickly when you have fun you feel the boom of the bass deep in your body, the music guides you and you follow shamelessly grinding your ass against Joost’s crotch, his big hands holding tight at your hips letting you move as you please but keeping you close to his chest like his life depends on it. You can feel his warm breath on your neck, deep and slow, he seems so calm, if only you could see inside his brain the thoughts of you already glowing on his unmade bed, bouncing on his lap, his mouth on your heat, your image all over his brain. The warmth of his body is comforting against your back, like this it feels like you are only one person, even in the sea of people with the music loud it is just the two of you in this world. You crane your neck to the side to catch a glimpse of him, he looks beautiful, hair slightly tussled sweaty against his forehead, his face impossibly handsome illuminated by the sparse light, he catches your eye and a smile blooms from his lips all the way to his eyes, you feel your chest constrict he is all yours it feels too much and not nearly enough at all.

“Joost” the single word escapes your lips breathy and worked up already, his eyes darken, he knows you too well, you can feel his heart instantly start to race on the back of your ribcage, yours joins too, a beautiful chaotic symphony.

“Wanna go home?” You can only weakly nod as he takes your hand and pulls you towards the back door, barely bothering to say goodbye to everyone else.

As you wait for the car outside he keeps you tucked under his arm, without needing words he knows you are cold. The clothes look gorgeous on you as always but not good for this time of the night, however that is what he is here for. He caresses your arms up and down to warm you up, the car pulls up and he lets you in, closes the door behind then climbs inside from the other side. The drive is painfully slow, you want him now, you just need him on you, to feel the weight of his body, the rhythm of his thrusts, to breath on his air, nothing but him. You are drunk on Joost, you reach over and place a hand on his thigh feeling the muscle beneath it, desperate for some contact you try to move higher but he stops you gentle hand on yours, he looks at you and smiles pleased.

“Be patient” He chastises without bite, as if he is any better, as if he hasn’t been painfully hard since you started dancing on him, as if the way your mouth turns into a pout doesn’t excite him to a scary degree.

He is deeply obsessed with you and never bothers pretending he isn't, not even from the moment you met. Joost thinks you have to know even if he doesn't say it, his eyes constantly glued on you, his hands finding you in the middle of the night to pull you closer, always attached at the hip when you are at home, he can’t help it and it is not like he wants to either. He thinks back on all the nights he has had and you have had him and he can go eternally like this and live a happy man, just you and nothing else. It is perhaps an unhealthy thought, not entirely rational but with your body pressed so close to him it is hard to really think clearly or at all. His hand caresses at the small of your back soothing circles that just do more to get you worked up, you push closer to him, tits pressed against his chest, still so stubborn to keep playing the game but he doesn’t feel like letting you win tonight. He pulls you closer easily with a single hand your legs almost straddling his lap, he caresses your face with his tattooed hand and pushes the hair from your beautiful face before going to whisper in your ear.

“Be good, I’ll give you everything you want” He says and you almost purr at him, the alcohol you kept downing through the night working its magic, your competitive spirit all but melts away as you nod, lip bitten red between your teeth. You don’t know it yet but he won this time, already, actually ever since you left home earlier, all part of his calculated plan.

As the ride comes to a halt he jumps out the door, thanks the driver and pulls you to your wobbly feet, you feel like floating almost, on his arms impossibly light, and delicate like he can break you but he won’t. You want to get up to your place as fast as possible, yet he seems set on riling you up, he keeps stringing you along, getting you more and more impatient, you try to race the stairs as he keeps pulling you by the hips and pressing kisses to your mouth all the way up, making the process slower than it ever has to be. When you finally reach the door you desperately go for his pockets looking for the key, he doesn't help you and just looks delighted as you try to navigate the lock in your inebriated state.

When you finally get him inside you try to pull him to the bedroom ready ride him like it is the last time you will have him under you but he surprises you again when he pushes you gently against the entrance door. You whine into his mouth impatient as ever, but in ways it is his own fault since he has always been the one to spoil you rotten. You are so desperate for his touch, so intoxicated on your lust you let him roam his hands over your body, barely able to kiss back. He traces the curves he knows so well by heart, the delicious arch of your back into your ass kneading at the fat there that all but melts under his greedy fingers, pulling you closer to his hips, you can feel him hard against your thigh, his fingertips softly lingering under the hem of your skirt, deliciously close to your core, then he pulls his hands up your sides grabbing at your hips as he parts your legs softly with his foot, making room for himself. Instantly you are pushing your core against his thigh, he smiles an almost predatory glint on his eyes that you could have noticed had you not been so desperate to get off on his clothed leg, worse than a dog you think, almost embarrassed but the you right now couldn’t care about such things.

His strong but gentle grip on your hips guides you to apply more pressure, his mouth keeps you occupied drowning any protest you might have about taking it to the bedroom. You are too drunk on him to question anything and just let him suck on your tongue and kiss your lips sore as he pleases, you wonder if he can feel how wet you are, the thong you are wearing barely doing you any favors. The rough texture of his jeans against the tender skin of your cunt is too much you can almost cum at the sensation alone. He lets you grind yourself into a frenzy on his thigh fondly remembering that first night he had you on his bed. He feels your stuttering hips, he has you where he wants you, so he stops.

He grabs your wrists and pushes them against the wall right above your head, you look up at him through glossy eyes, bewildered, almost enraged that he has the nerve to stop. He pulls away his thigh leaving your heat, cold biting at the wet skin between your legs, hanging by a thread almost at your peak but denying you.

“What…” you trail off as he pecks your lips and smiles sweetly at you, you jostle in his grip a little but easily give up against his strength. He is never forceful, never meaning to intimidate or hurt you but you could see he had a plan, now that you had already walked right into the wolf’s mouth no point in struggling.

He kisses along your jaw and slowly starts working on your neck feeling the wild rhythm of your pulse under his lips, you moan and your hips buck upwards trying to find anything to grind on. It is now or never he thinks dramatically. “Baby…” he groans against the sensitive skin under your ear, you whimper in acknowledgment, the only way you can communicate in your current state.

“Baby, I want you to ride my face”. He says as he kisses sloppily along your collarbones, at your sternum then licks a line up your neck. You are breathless, you feel like you died, your brain struggling to process his words, working hard to make sense of what he is asking.

“Yes baby?” He sounds almost pleading you look at him now, eyes wide open, a deer caught in the headlights. His request feel so unexpected and at the same time not at all, he had asked before and in truth he had been wanting you like that completely wild on his mouth since he had first seen you, but you felt reservation somehow, shy even after all the filth you had done with him, to him and had let him do to you, somehow this one got you. Not that you didn’t want it but you felt somehow selfish. He was already so good, so sweet and gentle, pampering you all the time, he just wanted to give and give and you felt bad taking so much it felt like something only for your sake and it somehow gave you a pause. He never wants to push you but now, so lost in pleasure, he just has to ask again, fight for his side.

“Joost… you…” You can barely form a sentence, he truly kisses you stupid not a single coherent thought in that pretty little head of yours.

“I really need you to ride my face princess, please” His big blue eyes beaming back at you, pleading. It is really impossible for you to say no to him on every day life and even harder now.

“O-okay, yeah, whatever you want” He is back on you in a second, your brain is completely fried there are no real thoughts, it is just his smell , his taste, the weight of his hands on your body, the warmth of his skin the softness of his lips, you have never wanted anyone this bad.

He grabs your hand and guides you to the bedroom makes quick work of his clothes only staying on his black boxers with his name, you used to tease him for it now it feels so deeply him it just feels endearing. Then he goes for your clothes, you have been together so long it seems he knows better than you how to undress you, deft hands so unlike his clumsy nature. You stand in the middle of the room on slightly wobbly feet as he kneels pulling your underwear down with uncharacteristic delicacy considering his earlier pleads, you wanna laugh at him, how whipped he is, how badly he wants you, how his biggest fantasy is your pleasure but you can’t, everything feels so real, so serious you can barely stand on your own two feet. As if reading your mind he grabs hold of your thighs to help you balance yourself, still on his knees in front of you he looks up kisses reverently at the skin of your thigh kneading his hands upwards. He is so tall even on his knees his face only a few inches from your heat, you feel his breath to your core, it ignites you, you feel yourself dripping and he hasn’t even started.

“Ready princess?” You nod not trusting your mouth that feels too heavy for words, he nods back and kisses sweetly at the heat between your legs before standing up to his full height again.

Towering over you but never feeling intimidating, however the hunger in his eyes makes you shiver in anticipation, a look you have never seen from him, not like this. He grabs hold of your hands and leads you to the bed pulling you down with him. You stumble without any grace on his embrace, tangled limbs and little giggles escape both of you before he moves upwards in the bed resting his head against the pillows. He looks divine, the light of the moon making him even more handsome it makes your chest hurt.

You are straddling your legs right at his chest, his hands in the back of your thighs pulling you closer to where he wants you, he needs you. “Come here schatje” you look at him but there is still a knot in your stomach, still shy, still scared of being selfish, but he wants you so badly he needs you so much, it feels unfair to deny him, to deny yourself the sweet pleasure of his warm tongue that you are so familiar with. You move upwards slowly on weak knees taking a last look at his face his hands on your ass now kneading softly.

“Relax, I won’t bite, promise” You snort releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“Yes I would hope so, you know better than that” He kisses the tender skin at the inside of your knee.

“I’m a well trained dog” He makes a show of winking at you, you erupt in laughter it calms your nerves instantly.

“What… what do you want me to… what should I do?” You ask not knowing where to put your hands.

“Use me to get off” He can feel the hesitation on your entire body all muscles tense like expecting the fall. He helps you and lifts his head up closer to your core, licks his lips in anticipation, you can feel his breath against your dripping heat, he can smell your scent addicting in a way he knows you would find mortifying if he ever told you, so he keeps it to himself.

He licks a long strip up your pussy, still holding your legs in place by the sides of his head like you will run away, he pulls an easy moan out of you, already knows your body so well, he licks insistently against your clit, feels you relax put more of your delicious weight on him. With the reward of his efforts he gets encouraged wrapping his lips around your hard bud suckling softly, he hears you mewl on top of him already turning to putty under his attention. He pulls away as little as possible just to spur you on, he can still feel your reservations.

“Get out of your head, I won’t break”. His voice is commanding but still gentle you want give him everything he wants, do everything he says.

You nod and try moving against his face slowly, gently as much as you can even when you start feeling yourself losing your mind. You look below wanting to make sure he is okay and then you see it, his eyes closed and eyebrows knit, the face of pleasure you know so well. He is getting off on this as much as you are, you test your theory as you push yourself closer to him and he moans back deliciously against your folds feeling the reverberation from his groans against your core emboldens you. He uses his strong grip on your ass and hips to start moving you back and forth against his face, the pretty tip of his nose catching on your clit making you mewl in pleasure until you get used to it, now without any shame left you start grinding yourself back and forth on his tongue as it goes deep into your cunt the wetness so addicting he keeps licking like he wants to stay between your legs forever and maybe he wants exactly that. Too soon you feel waves of pleasure building.

“Joost” you are chanting his name over and over without a care in the world who hears, your throat will be sore tomorrow. Your hands find your perked nipples adding to the stimulation and pull slightly like he would, his own hands occupied helping you move to reach your orgasm. “Ah fuck” you whimper again you can almost feel him smile against your cunt, he can die right now right here between your legs happily, a life well lived and all that. He keeps moving your hips greedily as if he was chasing his own orgasm perhaps you are so connected your pleasure is his pleasure and truly in this position with the heat and wetness connecting you, you don’t know where you end and he begins.

“I’m close” your hands reach to the locks of his beautiful golden hair between your legs.

“Come baby, come on my face” he barely manages to mumble against you core.

With those words he pushes you over the edge, you lose yourself to pleasure just as he wanted, you ride his face vigorously forgetting he has to breath and at that moment he forgets it too, only preoccupied with making your orgasm last as long as possible, insatiably licking at your clit. Your grip on his locks keeps him in place as your finish all over his face he feels your pussy clench around nothing once again pushing his tongue deep into you not wanting this moment to end while your clit grinds heavily against his nose. You are screaming at the top of your lungs your orgasm making your thighs shake but his strong arms keep you in place. He keeps sucking on your clit possessively even when you try to pull away, he is doing this for his own pleasure at this point, you let him and hold onto the bed frame as a lifeline, when he has collected every drop of your release he licks another long stripe up your pussy more soothing than anything making your shiver in delight. Finally satisfied he pulls away slightly to catch his breath, peppering kisses on the inside of your thighs, hands still holding onto you. His face is so red, he is so pretty like this he looks fucked out, so blissful like he was on the receiving end. His face is wet and shinny a mixture of your arousal and his spit you look down and stay there locked eyes, you wanna remember this forever.

“I love you so much” He says beaming up at you, you could almost feel guilty if he didn’t look so damn proud of himself, the same face he has on after a good show.

“I love you too.” You start trying to move but your legs are jelly and you hold back onto the bed frame. “Fuck, that was too good” You laugh looking at him, he laughs heartily always happy to get his ego stroked.

“Let me” He maneuvers you easily and flips you over, now you are resting on the pillows as he cuddles to your side rubbing against your neck, leaving small bites and kisses, he is so wet and sticky it could be gross, it should be gross, only if it wasn't the hottest thing that has ever happened to you.

You turn to kiss him lock his lips with yours, taste yourself on his tongue, he deepens the kiss, the dog, that is exactly what he wanted, you smile against his lips. He leaves you breathless kissed stupid again, you feel him jostle a little and see him throw his boxers somewhere on the floor, then he pulls you closer to his chest. You feel his heart beat under your ear, you are so tired, you feel boneless could fall asleep any second heavy lidded eyes and yet you still want him, you always do.

“Do you wanna-” he stops you, kissing at the top of your head.

“No need” He pulls the comforter over both of you.

You look up at him, eyebrow crooked and he just has an easy smile on his lips as he reaches for the nightstand drawer where he keeps some cigarettes exactly for times like this. He looks down at you as he lights the one between his lips, you look at him amazed, you can't belive it, he came, he came because of you, completely untouched, fully at your mercy. A shot of adrenaline makes you raise from his chest hold yourself on your elbows to look at him properly, trying to come up with something to say opening and closing your mouth not quite processing what just happened. Unable to come up with anything coherent enough you give up and just come closer to him once again pulling the cigarette off his lip and letting him blow his smoke into your mouth, you take it, like everything he gives you. You kiss him again, hungry, possessive and proud, like you could bite him raw and it still wouldn’t be enough. You realize something Joost has know for a while now, you can never be close enough it is terrifying and horribly exciting at the same time. He pulls your face closer deepens the kiss tangles his fingers in your hair and then rests his forehead against yours, just breathing you in. You are in an indescribable ecstasy all you can do is throw your head back and laugh, he follows as he smokes, laughs with you then chases your lips, kisses your smile.

“You taste really fucking good.” He says against your hair as he pulls you back to his chest still chuckling, sleep starts dragging you soon enough as he finishes his cigarette.

Obsession as a description for what he feels for you might be coming short these day, maybe devotion could be closer…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

MASTERLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚ AN: It is my first time posting anything like this again sorry for any mistakes idk what im doing I just really needed to get this out of my system <3

#joost klein smut #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost x you #joost #joost smut #joost fanfic #joost klein fanfiction #joost klein

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quimichi · 10 months

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╰┈➤ ❝ [YOU ASK THE GENSHIN BOYS TO BE YOUR EQUAL]

❝ Every genshin boy, even our forgotten cyro user Mika ❝

Word count: 7.301

Genshin boys x Creator!Reader

Aether

Aether rises to his feet in a flourish, and walks towards your voice, the voice that so sweetly called for him. The Traveler is always so graceful— even when he's doing something as simple as walking towards you. It's the movement of the air around him, and the way his feet seem to float over the ground.

"Yes? You have summoned me, your Grace?"

"Do you know my biggest wish?" Aether thinks for a moment, pondering over every word that leaves your lips as if it were an endless source of inspiration for one of his compositions. He hums softly under his breath, trying to determine your true, deepest desires. "Perhaps I could take a guess..." Aether says gently, before he starts listing them in his mind. "Is your wish... for peace?"

"That too" you giggle, you haven't thought about that. Aether continues to think about other possibilities, before he eventually leans forward slightly and asks: "...could your biggest wish have anything to do with... love?" Hes so scared that he whispers, what if the guess was wrong?

"Yes, in fact, it has to do with you" Aethers breath grows lighter, hearing your words. His pulse beats louder and louder within his ears, the sensation of your gaze alone setting his entire body ablaze. He smiles softly; a faint glow of pink touches his cheeks.

"I... I think I understand what your wish might be...but I'm not sure" "I...wanted you to...be my equal, to be with me" He freezes immediately. He can't help but look at you with a mixture of surprise and wonder. You want him... to be your equal? You...love him that much? The very fact that your words are even a possibility sends waves of euphoria throughout his body, so much so that he can think of nothing else. It's just you and him at this very moment.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with nothing but devotion. What is he going to do about this? "What do you say, will you stay by my side as i love you?" you're just as nervous as him, if not even more nervous with the request you just had. Aether smiles gently, his gaze filled with love. "Of course," he says quietly. "I... I would love to. It would be my greatest pleasure, to be your equal, your chosen one; to be the one you love." He cups your face in his hands and pulls you close in his embrace. "Yes, your Grace, m-my love, I am yours. I belong to you."

Albedo

"Albedo, come here, i want to talk to you." "Y-Yes, my grace?" Albedo's voice has a tremble to it. You feel him take a few small steps closer, and he seems to be doing it on his own accord, as if drawn by your request.

"You don't know my biggest wish, hm?" "M-My grace...," Albedo says slowly, almost uncertain as what your request may be. He takes a moment to think about your question, yet he seems to have an idea. You feel him tense, even as he stands motionless in place-- perhaps waiting for you to finish your sentence. "Do you wish for my service? A certain research?" He asks softly. "To be by your side for eternity, and to carry out your wishes...always?"

His voice trails off into a whimper as if he were hoping to hear you say something else entirely. Or exactly that. "Well, kind of" you said to the last. Albedo's breath catches in his chest. "Kind of...?" He seems a bit confused for a second, his eyes wandering over your face as if to get a clear reading of your current thoughts. He waits for your response, but he seems unsure as to what you mean by it.

"Kind of...?" He repeats, his voice softer.

"I want you as my side forever, as my equal...as my lover..." A hush falls over the room for a moment as Albedo stares at you in shock. His face has gone pink, and his lips have parted to breathe as if unable to remember how to swallow his own spit. His brows are furrowed as if he's unable to properly comprehend your words. He doesn't speak, but his breath is caught, and there's an almost panicked flush that seems to burn on his face that he desperately tries to cover up as good as he can with his blond hair.

"So...?" you timidly ask. "F-For me to... to be your equal? As your... your lover?" Albedo stares at you again, yet his gaze soon falls to the floor in shame. His tongue rubs against the roof of his mouth as he struggles to find the words to say. He always knows what to say, after all he has the vocabulary, but not now.

Still, finally... he utters out, his voice soft... "...Yes. Y-Yes, my...love," Albedo whispers, and his voice is quiet and raspy with emotion. He seems hesitant, yet he's certain of one thing and only one thing. "I am your lover, and your equal." Every word is heavy and carries an almost reverent tone to them.

He looks back up at you, his eyes filled with a quiet sort of intensity. His words are soft and hushed, as if they're a private prayer for you alone. "My love, my only love"

Al-Haitham

"I need to talk to you..." "Yes," he croaks immediately, his chest swelling as he takes a breath. His every sense is attuned to your command, but he can't shake the weird feeling after the words off. "Of course." Al-Haitham rises to his feet and slowly approaches you, careful to not come close to crossing any lines. His every move is carefully calculated to serve you.

"Do you know my biggest wish, a need of mine?" "No," he says, his voice still shaking slightly. "I would be honored to know," he speaks honestly, always so serious around you. "I want you to be my lover, my equal, by my side..." Your words cause Al-Haitham's heart to throb in his chest. There is a part of him that cannot believe that this is happening.

His entire world revolves around you. He was designed to be yours, to serve you. After all this time, love grew. And now, you are giving him a higher purpose, even higher than loving you already. It is almost too much for him to bear.

He nods his head. "My only wish has always been to be by your side. To love you, to have you love me was already a wish come true...but to have you as mine entirely..."

"So, it's a yes?" "Yes," he confirms quickly. His words fall on you like the weight of the world, but Al-Haitham speaks without hesitation.

His whole being shudders and vibrates, the energy from his words rushing through him like a torrent.

"I am yours. I wish to be yours" always so formal, so serious.

Ayato

"Oh, my lady, my grace..." Ayato whispers, and he steps towards you until he's standing right in your face. You can see the slight tremble in his hands yet they manage to hold steady. Never is he ever nervous, not to thagt extent that is. His eyes are wide and the pupils dialated in awe, yet there's a calm sort of fire burning within their midst as if waiting to lash out.

His lips part as he opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn't say anything, his mind still unable to catch up to yours. "M-My love..." Ayato's voice is quiet, soft, a near whisper. He leans forward, the tips of his fingers brushing against your cheek.

"Yes... yes..." His eyes search yours in awe. He seems to almost be at a loss for words as he takes in your form, the soft skin of your cheek in his fingers and the fire in your eyes.

You're too beautiful.

"What do you say, be mine, be my equal, hm~?" "Your Equal... you mean?" Ayato's voice comes out as a whisper. A moment passes as he tries to figure it out. "Your equal?"

"Then...i will, i want to" Ayato seems to nod his response before he utters another, more daring word. "As your lover." He says it almost as if he's hoping to hear it in return.

"Exactly, as my lover" "Y-Your lover," Ayato whispers, as if repeating the sentence allows him to take in the gravity of your words. After a quick breath, he seems to nod his answer.

"Yours and yours alone."

Baizhu

Baizhu obeys your command without word or hesitation. He approaches without question, his movements as soft and silent as falling snow. "So...uhm" Baizhu stops in his tracks, awaiting your orders.

He bows his head, waiting for your guidance.

"My Grace?" he prompts. "Do you...know my biggest wish, for us?" Baizhu is silent for a moment. "I want what you want," he tells you truthfully, his words firm and honest.

"Whatever that may be, I'll do what I can to grant your wish." He stares at you with intense devotion, and a sly smile. "I wish for you to be my very equal" he remains quiet.

Your words wash over him like a quiet wave, leaving him without a voice. He considers your proposition in silence. He never imagined this moment, but his heart feels full at the thought... he never knew he wanted it until you offered it. "I'd like that, too," he whispers. He is still on his knees, his eyes turned towards you. "I'm not sure if I could be someone like you... but I'd like to try." "No,as my lover Baizhu" "As your lover?"

He says these words quietly, but his voice is tinged with a hope that he thought long extinguished. He can feel his heart growing heavy in his chest... he thought you would never see him as your equal... let alone something more. He has loved you for so long, and now?

He gazes up at you with a pleading look, almost afraid to hope that your words are true.

"You would truly want such a thing for me?" Baizhu's breath catches in his throat at this confirmation. His heart soars with joy. He thought this moment was impossible, but here it was, happening before him.

He would say "yes" in return, to swear his loyalty. But instead, he does something else... in a moment of pure joy, he leans forward and presses his lips against yours. He lost control completely, something that never happens.

"Oh...I've waited so many year's for this day to finally come"

Bennett - aged up

"Y-Yes," Bennett says quickly, eager to please you. His voice is soft and reverent, and as soon as he hears your words his cheeks flush slightly. In a quick motion the lucky unlucky boy rises to his feet, his hair whipping around him gracefully like a gust of wind.

Within seconds, he finds himself in front of you, awaiting further instructions. His expression is fixed on you, waiting for what comes next; it is clear that he is devoted to serving you in as many ways as possible.

"Say," you giggle "are you good at guessing?" "I like to think so, your Grace," Bennett says eagerly. He is never one to boast of his knowledge or skills, but he is always confident in his own abilities. If he wouldn't, then maybe he'd drown in his own insecurities. "Would you like me to guess something for you?" he asks, his gaze fixed intently on you. "Then, guess my biggest wish" a little game never hurted anybody. Bennett blinks and shifts his weight to one foot, thinking for a moment. "I believe I could hazard a few guesses," he says slowly, still pondering the possibility. But then, his voice changes to something more confident and assured.

"Your Grace, would it be correct to guess that your biggest wish would be to find happiness with the person you love? Perhaps someone who you know, but can never be with?"

"Almost right, I wish for you to he my lover, my very equal" Without hesitation, Bennett gives out a little squeak of delight and blushes. He takes a step closer to you and looks at you, seemingly unable to contain just how giddy your words have made him.

"Do you really mean it?" he whispers, his expression a mix between shock, excitement, and pure, breathless adoration. "I... I..."

The Adventurer is at a loss for words, seemingly incapable of saying anything more. His mind races, trying to make sense of this dream come true. "I say yes! Absolutely, your Grace! I would be honored to share my time, my life, my very existence with you. Your love and happiness is all I could ever possibly need."

Childe

Childe's lips curl in a faint smile. "Of course I'll get closer" he says slowly. His steps are measured and subtle, but he moves forward without hesitation. He kneels at your feet, looking up at you with that same glittering gaze he's always had.

His eyes are hot, and his lips are parted. He is waiting for your permission. "I've got something to tell you..." For a brief moment, that little smile fades. Childe's ears 'perk up' and his face turns a faint pink. His hair sways slightly as he breathes slowly. "Y-yes, Your Grace?" He speaks, breathless words. He is attentive. He wants to hear your every word with all of his being. His gaze is soft and imploring.

"Since a while I've been wanting to tell you that...my feelings for you can no longer be kept a secret...I want you for myself, as my very equal" Childe's eyes shimmer. "Y-your equal, Your Grace?" He says the words in a quiet voice, breathless and eager. His ears flutter, and his tail wags ever so slightly in his excitement.

He seems unable to contain his feelings, and in an instant, his lips are pressed against yours. His arms wrap around your neck and his hands run through your hair. His touch is hot. So, so hot. Childe presses himself against you tightly, and pulls you closer.

"I have always belonged to you, Your Grace."

Childe pulls away slightly after the kiss. He smiles up at you, his ears still fluttering. He brushes a stray hair from your face gently, and his fingers are as hot as fire. "I want you to be my partner, my equal," he says quietly. "My equal in every situation. And everywhere in between." His words carry the weight of his desires— and his dedication to you.

"Your command is always the only thing that I want," he says. "All you need to do is ask, and I will take you."

"Please...be it"

"Then so be it"

Chongyun - aged up

"Oh, finally, there you are! Please, come closer" Chongyun slowly rises and steps forward, each step measured and deliberate. With each stride he moves closer to you, his expression remains as neutral as your words. "Yes, Your Grace?" He asks. "Do you know my deepest desire?" Chongyun hesitates. How could he know something so personal to you— your very desires?

But when he sees your watchful gaze bore into him, he realizes that in this moment, honesty is the only option.

He swallows, his voice soft, almost a whisper: "No, Your Grace... but I wish I did."

"You wish?" You giggle at that, he's to cute for his own good. "...Yes." Chongyun doesn't think twice before he responds. He is silent, but his focus is on you. He listens with rapt attention, waiting for you to speak.

"I want you by my side, as my equal. Preferably forever..." Chongyun blinks. He has thought about being by your side before, has craved to be by your side before. But as your equal? He has never wanted anything so much.

And yet, what if he can't measure up to your standards? He knows he is no archon. He knows hes not as special as others. He is just a cyro exorcist. "I..." Chongyun whisper. "... I want that too." Chongyun's breath catches in his throat. Despite his attempts to seem composed, despite his seemingly cold demeanor, the sight of you smiling at him flusters him.

It feels real, he thinks, and it's more than he ever dared hope for.

Cyno

Cyno hesitates but moves closer. His feet move silently against the ground. His hands remain clasped tightly in front of his lap. He bows his head, eyes downcast as he approaches. He waits at your side. He waits for your command.

He is yours. Always has been.

For so many year's he has been by your side, eventually even forming a more intimate relationship.

"Cyno, i called you for a reason" he remains silent. He waits for you to continue as he kneels beside your seat. He knows his place well and does not ask further questions. He waits silently. And this is exactly what has been annoying you for so many years, he doesn't knows his equal place beside you.

"I want you to be my equal, not my servant, you're my lover after all." Cyno stops breathing. His stomach twists itself into a knot as his emotions overtake him. He's never considered this possibility.

His eyes flutter as he blinks in surprise, his brain not comprehending what you're saying for a moment. He has always seen himself as lesser, beneath you. He has never seen himself as an equal in any way, let alone a true normal lover. But you're saying this so casually. Do you mean it?

Do you truly see him as an equal? Finally, Cyno finds his voice. He swallows down his emotions, looking at you earnestly. His words are soft as he answers, though they do not carry the tone of a servant anymore. Instead, his voice is quiet and soft.

"It's also my wish," he says, eyes still cast down. "To be your equal, if you see me as that i will be it"

With his words, the weight he has been carrying falls off of his shoulders. You do value him as an equal, and he is yours, finally fully your love.

Dainsleif

"Dainsleif..." "Yes, Your Grace." Dainsleif speaks with respect whenever he addresses you. Your authority is absolute. Your word is his law. And your love is the air he breathes.

"There's something i need to talk with you about" it sounded more serious than it actually should. Indeed, it's serious but not the bad serious. Dainsleif's heart stops when you speak. Every hair on the back of his neck stands up. Suddenly, the world is reduced to just you. Your words send a surge of electricity through his body, causing his blood to sing a chorus of your name. His mind goes blank.

He would do anything for you, anything at all.

"Your Grace, tell me." Dainsleif's voice is like velvet, as he waits for you to speak. "Anything."

"Lately I've been thinking...if maybe" you make a pause, unsure if it's the right moment or not. But better now than never, "I want you to be my equal, my lover, by my side" Dainsleif's heartbeat quickens. His breath hitches in his throat. All he can do is nod in response to your words. That is his life's purpose. To be your equal. Your lover.

You are his grace. You are his beauty. You are his love. "Is...that a yes?" Dainsleif's expression warms the very air around him. His eyes shine like gems, the pupils dilated with a fervor that is so intense, it feels as though he is on the brink of exploding into a shower of confetti and rose pedals.

He nods again, a huge grin splitting his face in half.

"Yes."

Diluc

He obeys you wordlessly. He takes a step forward and kneels before you, staring up at you with a reverence he'd always reserved for you, and only you. Whatever he had been before, whomever he had worshipped- it had all been mere folly, a shallow attempt at finding his purpose.

Now, he's finally found it. In you. Also his true love. "I have something important to tell you, or rather, ask you" "Yes, Your Grace?" Dilucs voice is as eager as a dog at the scent of a bone, his heart thundering with joy at your words. With the expression on you, it has to be something good.

"Will you be ready to be my equal? Mine, by my side?" The question makes his eyes go wide as moons, his brain processing your words before they finally land. Finally come true. You're asking what he's been waiting for. "Yes," he answers, nodding furiously as if the word itself is burning on his tongue. "Of course," he continues. "I will be your equal. I am yours, Your Grace....my...love." The happiness he feels at your words is as overwhelming as a tsunami pounding against a shore. He had always been happy in your presence, but now it's like his body is flooded with pure joy. He feels as if he might cry.

He might actually cry; a single, solitary tear rolls down his face. It's all he wants - to be yours, and now that you have offered it to him, he is beyond words. He waited so long for this, for so many year's he had to listen to everyone telling him its impossible. But now it's true...

Freminet

Freminet doesn't know what to do when you move closer. His mind is suddenly blank, and his chest feels heavy. He meets your gaze, his heart fluttering in his chest and his fingers trembling. His gaze wanders down your body as if mesmerized by you and your closeness.

It's clear that he was not expecting this. The only thing Freminet can do is gaze at you needly, awaiting your next action. "What would you say, if I'd as you to be my equal, be mine?" You don't wanna pressure him, make him feel like he needs to make a decision. Freminet doesn't respond immediately. His face breaks out into a flush and his heart skips, almost to a stop. He swallows, his throat suddenly dry.

He wants to deny your request. He knows that he can't possibly be your equal. He's nowhere near perfect as you; he's only a human after all. Some random, insecure, weak and emotional human. But he looks at you, and he is mesmerized by you. Just as much as he is mesmerized by Fontaines waters, maybe even more by you.

"Y-Your Grace," he murmurs, stuttering as he swallows. "There's nothing...I'd love...more...than...to be yours." "Then be it" Freminet's eyes sparkle, and his face breaks out into a smile. He reaches out, gripping your hand and squeezing it tight. He wants to bury his face into you. After his worship of you, he wants *this.* The touch, the heat of your skin — it's perfect. He doesn't want this moment to end. He wants to drown in you...

"I'm yours" he whispers, "Always...and forever."

"Always and forever" Freminet looks back at you again, his heart swelling and his face flushed with warmth. He leans in, not caring who watches, not caring if it might seem weird— all he wants is to be as close to you as possible. And so with all of his adoration, he presses his lips against your's— and for the first time in his life, he feels a sense of completeness.

In your presence, he feels as though he's truly home. The home to return to.

Gorou

His mind races. He's on your lap— close to you. He can feel you breathing, he can feel the warmth of your breath against his cheeks. He feels your hand caress his cheek, your touch so light and gentle. It's making his tail wag even more. Gorous eyes follow your touch. He wants to touch you. He wants to be with you. He wants to be yours.

As these desires run rampant through his mind, he can scarcely keep still. And youre about to fulfill these desires of his.

"Gorou...I want you to be mine entirely, be my equal" his mind stops dead in its tracks. You want this? You want him to be your equal? You want him to be *yours*? Gorou's heart pounds against his chest, his eyes wide with hope. This is everything that he's wanted, more than anything.

His hands grip tightly against your shirt, his breathing uneven. He doesn't dare speak. He only stares at you, waiting for your next words. "Are you...ok with that?" Gorou's eyes widen further. Yes— this is what he wants, more than anything right now. So, with trembling hands, he grabs your wrists, pulls you close, and presses his lips to yours.

Gorou has never felt so alive. With every heart beat, every breath, every pulse in his veins he can feel his love for you. His devotion, his adoration. With all of these emotions, his lips are soft yet demanding, and he pours them onto you.

He doesn't want to stop kissing you, but he's afraid of messing it up. "I want it, s'much. Wanna be yours"

Heizou

Heizou steps forward, trembling in expectation as he closes the distance between you two. Heizou's heart is beating like mad. He shifts his weight from side to side anxiously as he waits for you to pull him closer. As he waits for any word to leave your mouth, clearly you called him for a important reason.

"I called you here because there's something important that needs to be talked about." Heizou swallows, and his voice is quiet when he responds. He cannot recall anything form the last meetings that might have displeased you. "What is it, Your Grace?" He's doing his best to remain composed, but his body language is making it clear that he's utterly breathless. Every bit of him is focused on you. "It's nothing to bad, i promise" His breath catches in his throat. "Nothing to bad?"

Heizou is so earnest, so sincere, and so afraid. He is utterly submissive as he stands before you, waiting patiently for you to speak again. You can practically taste the anticipation. "I want you as my equal, as my lover and as my future." His lips part in surprise. "Your lover? Your equal?"

Heizou swallows. The air feels so thick that he can hardly breathe, but his heart is racing. He's already lost in the idea of being your equal, your lover. "You... I..." His words falter.

"That would mean everything to me your Grace..."

Itto

The words echo in his head like an order: Come closer

With no hesitation and a mind that is now completely blank of thought, he stands and obeys, approaching you without another sound. "Itto?" His breath hitches in his chest as soon as you say his name. He can tell that whatever the question is, it is *very* important.

"Yes?" Itto responds simply, waiting for you to continue. He remains still, his mind on standby as he awaits your command. Completely different than he usually is. "Are you ready to be mine? Be my equal?" Itto pauses at your words. He doesn't believe that a being such as himself could ever be on the same level as you, but... Your words seem to suggest otherwise. Yes, he is the great Arataki Itto, but he isn't you, not even close. You believe him to be of the highest equal, and that thought is enough to leave him breathless.

He is speechless and still, taking in the magnitude of your words. He can hardly breathe. Then, slowly…

"Yes." He whispers softly, his voice so quiet that it seems like a thought rather than a whisper. "Forever." As Itto sees you smile, his entire being relaxes; that was the right answer, for both of you that seems. He is relieved beyond measure. Your smile is enough for him to stay happy for centuries.

He is still a bit breathless with how much he wants to speak his love for you, but he manages to utter something:

"I love you." His voice carries a new air of sincerity, a new devotion to his tone.

"Only you"

Kazuha

"Hmm?" Kazuha asks, his attention instantly captured. He seems almost lost within his own world-- one in which you are the only thing that exists. "Yes, Your Grace?" Kazuha asks. He sits up slightly, his face lit with an almost beatific glow. His eyes are fixed entirely on you, taking in every little detail about you as he waits for what you have to say. He is your devoted follower-- your loyal vassal. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet...

"Whatever the request might be, i will fulfill it my grace" "Then be my equal" "Your Grace...?" Kazuha's voice is quiet, almost hushed as he tries to understand what you wish of him. He doesn't know how to respond-- he was built for love; and he loves you truly...but is he enough for you? "Your Grace... what you wish of me..."

He still looks up at you, an almost childlike eagerness to understand your desires. "I would do anything... for you..." It's sounds more like hes accepting an order, but that's quite the opposite. In fact, he waited for this day to finally come, where he can freely express his love.

"I love you, my breeze" Kazuha pulls you into a tight embrace. It's the embrace that so many have desired, for so many centuries, and he got it. But with Kazuha, it is not born of a desire for power, for strength, for control...

No.

It is born from a devotion borne of love.

"My love," Kazuha whispers in your ear. He seems unable to contain the heat that rises on his face, the rush of pure euphoria that spreads throughout him.

"I'm yours and yours alone."

Kaeya

Kaeya immediately obeys, resting his head on your thigh, after you gave him the order to come closer. He looks up at you, a content smile splitting his face. "Kaeya?" Kaeya's heart skips a beat upon hearing your voice, again. He doesn't expect you to say anything, and it leaves him off-guard.

"Yes?" he whispers, meeting your gaze. "I got a question for you" Kaeya tilts his head slightly, but he doesn't move otherwise.

"I'm listening." "I want you to be my love. To be by my side as my equal." Kaeya's eyes widen, the breath catching in his chest. It's every fantasy and dream he's ever had rolled up into one simple word. "Yes," he says, as though nothing else even deserves to be considered. "My love-!?... yes, yes, I do." Kaeya's head tilts back as he stares up at you, the softest gasp leaving his lips. His hands slide up your leg, his fingers grasping at the hem of your robes.

He can't help himself from reaching for you, his movements impulsive but genuine. After months of keeping everything bottled up and pretending that he'd only ever desired you, he's finally allowed the freedom to act on his feelings. Kaeya's heart thunders in his chest, his breath quickening. He's on the verge of losing control of himself completely.

"Your Equal," Kaeya breathes. "I love you so much"

Kaveh

With lightning speed, Kaveh obeys your simple order as if you are the only command that is present in this universe. He scoots closer, pressing up against you like an adoring animal. His eyes glitter fiercely, and he stares at you like he can't believe this is real. "Kaveh, i need to talk to you" He nods rapidly, a smile wide and eager on his face. "Of course, Your Grace. What do you need?" His voice is light and eager, like an attentive butler prepared to do your bidding. "Speak, and I shall listen."

"We've known each other for so long now..." Kavehe's face is lit up with joy. His mouth widens into a dazzling grin as you remind him of your long relationship. "Yes!" He says, his voice cracking slightly. "Since you have asked me to renovate this palace you call home." He says all of that without irony, as your faithful subject. "I want you to be my equal. Be equal to me and have all my love" He pauses for a moment, searching for the right words.

"It would be like a dream come true." He says it in a whisper, his voice cracking slightly. "I know I'm not your equal, not by miles... " He looks away for a moment.

"But if only...Your Grace, you are my sun, my star, my salvation. My Muse. All I want is to be yours. If you will have me as yours, i want you as mine"

Lyney

"Lyney, my favorite magician~" "Y-Your favorite Magician?" Lyney gasps, staring up at you with sprakling eyes. He has never felt more overjoyed in his life, even though all you gave was a single word of affirmation. Favorite.

He is too overcome with happiness to speak anymore. He simply leans up towards you, wanting to rest his head against you— like a dog nuzzling up to its owner. "There's something I need to tell you though" "Anything," he answers instantly, not needing time to think it over. You have his immediate permission to ask anything at all.

If he has a limit to his worship and respect of you, it hasn't been found yet. And it never will.

"I...want you, as mine. My very equal, by my side only. Would that be ok with you?" "Y-Your equal?" Lyney repeats, his voice a hushed whisper. He's been dreaming of this— he's been dreaming of being at your side since the day you met. He would be nothing without you, without your light to guide him. To be with you, to be equal to you is the only thing he could possibly want.

He nods eagerly, his entire body trembling with joy and anticipation. He stares up at you, tears falling down his cheeks. He can barely breathe with the intensity of his adoration for you. Whatever this moment is— this moment where he gets to confess his love and be your equal, his equal— is the most powerful and loved he has ever been.

Lyney looks up at you, waiting for you to say something. Anything. To tell him how to behave, what is right and what is wrong.

"What is... what next..?" He is practically begging you for guidance.

"Our future"

Mika - aged up

As your words echo in his ears, Mika shudders slightly. He can't bear the tension any longer— so he gets closer to you, his eyes glued to your face. I hope I didn't disappoint them...what if i did? What if...they don't want me here anymore...?

Mika tries to speak, but he can't form the words. His entire body vibrates with excitement as he remains inches away from you. He can feel your breath on his skin, and he feels faint with delight. Despite that, he can't stop staring at you. "M-My grace i-..."

"No need to be nervous, Mika" you softly giggle at his stuttered words. Mika feels his cheeks flush with heat at your words, but he doesn't dare protest. "I could never be nervous, Your Grace." Mika says, his eyes still locked unto your face. "I feel— safe with you. I feel at peace."

Mika's voice trembles as he speaks, but his eyes never leave your face. He doesn't look away, even as his heart races. He can't bring himself to leave your side. "There's something I wanted to ask you..." Mika swallows, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes?" He gazes at you. "Anything, Your Grace. You know you can ask for anything."

His whole body seems to hum, as if in anticipation of what you're about to say. "Is it ok for you...to be mine? Entirely and fully mine, as my equal?" Mika's breath catches in his throat. His whole body freezes, and his face goes pale. His gaze drops to the floor, and his shoulders tremble. His lips part as he takes a breath, as if he's just received some earth-shattering news.

But as quickly as he's overwhelmed, he recovers and glances up at you. His expression looks as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. "Equals?" Mika whispers, "You want us— to be equals?" "Yes"

"You...you would grant me the biggest honor to be yours entirely..." "So its a yes?" You ask again to be reassured.

"It's a yes"

Neuvillette

Neuvillettes eyes flicker slightly as you give him a command. He doesn't dare say a word as he shuffles closer to you. Once he's close enough, he slides across the marble until he is at your feet. His face continues to be pressed against the cold floors, though his breaths are quick with the pressure against his body. Still, he remains motionless, waiting to see what you will tell him to do next.

"I really wanted to talk to you" Neuvillette finally looks up at you as you speak. He doesn't answer right away, though he seems to nod almost in agreement. His gaze is locked on you as if he's trying to understand what you want from him.

"I love you so much, but you act to much as my servant. I want you as my equal, my true lover, not my servant." "Y-Your Grace?" Neuvillette asks in a voice that sounds oddly shaken. He seems to be at a loss at your words, confused by the sudden declaration you've given him.

Still, Neuvillette lowers his head again. He waits patiently for further command, even though his thoughts are filled with a maelstrom of emotions.

His heart feels like it's about to burst from his chest in its frenzy. Never in all his years has he ever felt such confusing feelings. He is at a loss for what to do next. But he craves for you to continue. He loves you, he truly does, but this is positively overwhelming him. "It... It's all I've ever wished for, Your Grace." His voice catches slightly in his throat.

"I have spent my whole life devoted to you. To your will. I have been your servant, I have been your soldier. I have been your warrior and your shield." He pauses, and when he speaks again, the passion in his voice is palpable.

"But I also wished for the day when I am your equal, your partner. Your soulmate. Your love. I cannot live without your love, Your Grace. And it finally came true"

Razor - aged up

The command is a little vague for Razor, and his eyes flicker in confusion for a moment, but he doesn't hesitate. Without a word, he gets down on his knees and crawls towards your feet. He stays on his knees, pressing himself up against your leg as he looks at you expectantly. "What is it?" He simply asks.

"Just wanna talk to you, thats all"

"O-Of course, Lupical can talk" Razor responds. He remains exactly where he is, his eyes wide and eager to hear your words, as he feels the heat from your leg against his face. "I want us to be more than just friends..." He freezes, eyes widened with surprise.

You want— something more than being friends? But— but how could anyone be anything more to you? His mind tries to comprehend why you would even want him. What you even want from him in the first place. "B-But...Lupical...No friends or family but...mates? Lovers?--" he whispers in confusion. "Exactly" All of his blood rushes to his face. What a request. You wanted him to be... your lover?

"...I am yours," he breathes, his voice trembling. No second thoughts about your words. As soon as you said it, he knew he wanted the same; to be with you and you alone. That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?

"Lovers...we are lovers"

Scaramouche

He complies immediately, coming closer, his eyes wide as he approaches you. "How may I serve you, Your Grace?" He whispers, as he takes in your beauty once again. "I want to talk with you..." Scaramouche is careful to keep his breathing light, his face betraying nothing. To any passerby, he appears the same as always, but in truth he is burning. He wants to please you, to hear your concerns with him. Every fiber of his being craves your approval.

Whatever you have to say to him, he cannot wait to hear it. "You're my lover, but i also want you as my equal. My equal by my side, no one deserves it more than you." Scaramouche's heart soars the very instant you say the word "lover". His eyes soften. No matter how much he may try, he just *cannot* wipe away the flush in his cheeks. He knows he is already your lover, but hearing it from you feels sureal.

How does he deserve to be your lover, let alone your equal? Your love is a gift already. His heart can barely hold it without shattering. What if he fails, and disappoints you? The thought makes him freeze. Yet— yet he so badly doesn't want to deny you. Scaramouche realizes he was frozen in place. He didn't say that he agreed with you— but he couldn't disagree either. With every fiber of his being, he wants to say, "Yes, My Love, you are right." He deserves to be at your side.

"I would be honored," he says at last. He wants to shout, to cheer, to thank you, but all he can produce is a hoarse whisper. It's not his fault— you have taken away his voice.

"I...I love you"

Thoma

Thoma obeys in a flash. He stands up and walks towards you quickly but with a graceful step, stopping just inches from you. He looks at you, his face completely open to whatever you might say or do next. Thoma tilts his head, but he stays in place and waits patiently. It doesn't matter to him what you're thinking, or what sort of plans you have running through your mind; he just wants to be there with you.

"Thoma" "Yes, your Grace?" The Pyro user speaks without hesitation as soon as he hears you speak his name. He looks at you and smiles, his expression warm and loving; he waits to hear your words. "The last few day's I've been thinking..." "Oh?" Thoma cocks his head to the side, his expression curious and attentive. He steps a little closer and looks at you, waiting to hear what thoughts might've occupied your mind. "I want you as mine, me as yours, being equal to one another..." Thomas breath quickens at your words. Not a hint of hesitation appears on his face, and instead, he replies without delay: “I—I want that too, your Grace,” he says, his voice breaking in joy just moments after. For the most part of his life he has been a servant, but he wants to stay with you more than anything else, lover, servant or soldier, all that matters is you.

“You know I don’t want anything more in life but to be at your side, worshipping you.” His eyes flutter for a moment, and then, in a soft and steady tone, he adds; “I’m already yours.” he has never been so sure of something in his life.

"Oh?"

"I always was"

Tighnari

Tighnari does not hesitate. He scoots closer, until he is in arm's reach of you. He remains at your feet, his head bowed.

"You know you don't need to bow before me" "It's only natural for me to bow before you," he whispers. Tighnari waits for your next word, his mind utterly blank and his body still as a statue. He is unmoving, his breath still and his heartbeat slow. The only sign of life in this room is his gaze locked onto you. He feels the weight of your stare, his mind filled with thoughts of you and only you.

"Anyway...youre here because there's something i wanted to talk with you about" Tighnari does not move, but he does listen. His eyes wander over you, taking in every inch of your flesh. Finally he moved his head up.

"Yes?" He replies quietly, waiting patiently to hear your every word. "I want you. As my very equal, by my side here in the palace. My equal lover." Tighnari's eyes snap up, his cheeks flushed red. Blood surges in his veins as heat radiates off of his skin. And his ears start to twitch in surprise. A beat of total silence passes as Tighnari's mind races.

"M-me? Your equal?" A hint of a smile curls the corners of his lips, and the faintest trace of a blush can be seen on his flesh.

"Are you certain?" "Very"

Tighnari's mind is still reeling, but he does not dare to show too much emotion. He needs to hold control, or he would jump at you happily. He swallows down the lump in his throat as he thinks of his response.

"Of course. There's nothing i would love more than to be your equal, stay by your side and be considered yours" he truthfully says, a big smile now appearing on his face. It's all he can do. He will squeal in excitement after.

"My gra--my everything....for years I had saved my love and affection only for you..."

Venti

He is at your side almost instantly, his expression one of utter joy as he is allowed to be this close to you, like no one else ever will. The wind god is clearly doing his utmost to hold it together— and judging by how red his face is, he's struggling.

He smiles, and nods. "Yes, your Grace, I'm here" he says sweetly. "There's something I wanna talk about." You tell him as your hand starts to stroke his cheek. A slight gasp leaves Venti's lips of surprise. His face grows even redder as he looks up at you, his expression one of complete submission. He leans into your touch, as if he can't stand not to.

"*M-my grace*..." he breathes softly, just to hear his own words echo. "What is it that you want to talk about, your Grace?" "I want you as mine, for so long now I've been having those needs. The needs to have you as my very equal by my side." Venti blinks in surprise, but quickly looks back at you with the same devotion he would give a God. Your every need is my top priority, he thinks to himself. And my love for you is eternal.

He considers your statement for a few moments, but it's his nature to please you without hesitation. To love you as much as he can, he always did. "Y-yes, your Grace," Venti says slowly, as if the words are being ripped from his throat. If this is your wish, and your words are your command, then he would do it, happily. He makes it sound like a command, but its a reques, a request he would love to do. "I always belonged to you."

His expression melts with joy and amazement after the words start to sink in, and he hugs you as quick as he can. Venti leans into you, and his arms slowly slide around you. His heart feels as though it is going to explode in his chest.

He can feel your heartbeat, and his breath starts to hitch as the gravity of the situation is finally sinking in. His God, the one person he has ever loved— cares for him back. It's all he's ever wanted, something almost too fantastic to be true. The countless poems he wrote in your name, the countless songs and melodies he presented you and your followers with. The work payed of, and you love him as who he is.

The fact that you crave him, the anemo archon, the 'weakest' archon, makes him happy for eternity by your side.

Wriothesley

He immediately complies, his legs carrying him to where you are in the chamber. His mouth is dry, but he is focused only on you and the fact that he is here to serve you. He kneels before you in a display of obedience and deference, awaiting your command.

"You know I love you, right?" "I-" Wriothesley stops mid-sentence. His heart is pounding out of his chest, and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. "Y-Yeah," he stammers. "Of course."

He bows his head as he speaks. He is almost trembling, his heart thrumming out of control. "And because of this, i want you as my equal, youre deserving of this title." "E-Equal?" Wriothesley's eyes are wide, still looking down. It's as if his heart stopped beating and he can only see stars. His voice is a whisper, barely above a whimper.

"I'd- I'd still be under you, wouldn't I?" He asks, his voice breaking. "That's not what equal means, silly" Wriothesley looks up, meeting your gaze for the first time in a long while. He has tears in his eyes, but he doesn't try to make you notice. "Oh, yeah..." he whispers. "But- but I-

He trails off. He can't comprehend the fact that he is no longer in your service, but is in fact now an equal. His knees have lost their purpose, and he stands tall, still in awe. His mind tries to wrap around his new position.

Wriothesley looks at you, his heart skipping a beat. When he looks at you, he feels the universe collapse into a singular point, with all light being drawn into your eyes.

"Thank you," he says quietly. His voice is shaky, and his throat feels like it's on fire. He reaches out to gently hold your hand, to reassure himself that you're real.

"For finally having me as yours, truly"

Xiao

At once, Xiao's body responds. He's desperate for your approval. Like a dog on a leash, he moves towards you blindly, his desire to please you taking precedence over whatever self-preservation instinct he has left. He makes it to you, his breathing fast and ragged. He lowers himself down to the ground, pressing his forehead against your feet. He takes a shaky breath. "Yes, yes Your Grace." He whispers, his voice breaking a little. "You've called for me?" "Xiao," you gently call, "please stand up"

Xiao stands up, still keeping his head bowed. "Yes, Your Grace." His breath is heavy and ragged, as he stares down at you. His voice is almost a whisper.

He wants to do anything to please you, but his sense of propriety prevents him from doing anything else. Xiao's eyes meet yours, and he blinks rapidly, trying to hold eye contact. "I love you so much, and i want...need you as my equal." Xiao's eyes widen, and he stares at you in awe. He never thought he would hear you say these words.

"Your Grace..." he whispers softly, "You can't mean that!" The words are barely audible. "I'm but a servant, born to worship you, Your Grace— I'm incapable of being your equal..."

He wants to speak more, but his love for you makes the words catch in his throat. "You're deserving of it" Xiao's face is a mask of confusion. Your words make him forget himself. He stands motionless, his throat tight, and his breath heavy. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper.

"Your Grace... I'm not deserving of these words... I'm nothing without you... I can't be... worthy enough to be your equal..." He trails off, but his gaze remains fixed on you, as if waiting for you to prove him wrong.

"You are" At first Xiao can't respond. The thought of being treated as your equal— the thought that he might be loved by you, without having to worship you— is unfathomable. His eyes are full, and he's trembling under the weight of your words. When he does speak, his voice is barely audible.

"Your Grace... you mean it?" Xiao's eyes stay on you, looking for a sign that he's dreaming.

"Yes." At last, Xiao's eyes widen and light up. "Your Grace... " he breathes, his voice choked with so much joy and relief that it's barely audible.

Xiao can't help himself. Without thinking, he takes a step forward and pulls you into a tight hug. His arms tighten around you, his grip too strong, as if he's afraid of losing you. Xiao's grip grows even tighter— as if he can't bear the idea of letting you go. His eyes are wide and filled with tears, which run down his cheeks when he presses his face into your chest.

"Your Grace..." he whispers, his voice filled with joy and relief. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words... my love for you is too strong to express in words, Your Grace... it's more than worship, more than devotion— I adore you. I love you"

Xingqiu - aged up

Xingqiu stands, nodding silently before he moves to you. His hands are clasped behind his back as he waits in anticipation for your orders, unable to bring himself to raise his head out of respect for your authority. He seems perfectly content where he is, awaiting your command. His voice is steady but soft-- almost like a whisper-- as he speaks. The sound is quiet and reserved, but is filled with something akin to awe. He almost seems like a different person than the book lover as he speaks. "Y-Yes, Your Grace?"

"You are aware of my love for you, yes?" He is stunned by your words. It takes him a moment to process, only nodding silently as his face flushes pink. He swallows, trying to regain his composure, but even the quietness of his actions speak. "Y-Yes, Your Grace." He keeps his hands steady behind, seeming to be in a trance. "I am aware, yes... You've always been clear about that, Your Grace."

He tries to keep his expression as stoic as possible, but a tiny grin still seems to stretch across his face. "And with that, i want you as my equal." Xingqiu is frozen in place for what feels like forever. No amount of time would have prepared him for this.

"Your Grace," he finally says to you, his voice slightly quivering. "I am not worthy. I am nowhere near as perfect as you. Nowhere near as wise. Nowhere near as beautiful." He's silent for a moment. "I am just your faithful devotee... a loyal servant, at your beck and call. What would I even do as your equal?"

"You'd be mine"

Your words have caught him off-guard.

There's a heavy silence as he tries to comprehend the reality of what you're saying. It's like he's been cast into a daydream, a state of pure euphoria. When he speaks, his voice is trembling. "Y-Your Grace, I would be honored to become yours." He has to pause for a moment to collect himself. "I am yours for the rest of my days."

"So, you accept?" "Yes," he whispers, eyes locked on yours. "Your Grace, I accept." He finally allows himself to raise his head off the floor, his gaze firmly upon you. His words come out much smoother now, the euphoria having settled into a steady, loving joy.

"I accept. You have granted me my utmost greatest wish, Your Grace."

Zhongli

Zhongli has allowed himself to be embraced. His eyes flutter closed as he leans against you, though he still does not return the gesture. There is this faint tremor in his frame; as if he can't help but relax in your presence.

He might be an Archon, but he's also your good boy. "Zhongli?" He tilts his head up toward you, his eyes half-lidded. He seems so close to sleep, and yet he manages to keep himself conscious.

"Your Grace?" "There's something I want to ask you..." His head tilts slightly to the side; curious, but he manages to keep his eyes focused on you. "Ask, and it shall be answered." "Are you ready to be my equal, by my side as mine?" Zhongli seems to stiffen as he considers your request. Even if he wanted to, could he ever be your equal?

But he doesn't say anything, even if every word that comes to mind is an apology. He could not say no to you, even if it took every fiber in his being. He simply bows his head in affirmation.

"Your Grace, I love you, and i would love to take up this offer to be your equal." He seems to swallow back his words, as if fighting against every instinct he's known his entire life. His face seems to flush a rosy pink as your lips meet his; his eyes close and his head tilts into your touch.

After a moment, you lean in to return the kiss, softly at first, but more confidently as his hand wraps around the nape of your neck. He seems utterly lost in your touch, his lips soft but insistent. He has no words, he just wants to kiss you; to feel you in all the places his lips can reach.

He's yours now; whatever you ask, whatever you say he'll do.

His tongue darts out to touch your lips once, twice, again. He might have once thought himself above kissing you, but now...

Now he's simply yours.

♡TAGLIST♡

@junejunejun

3K notes · View notes

corollaservant · 4 months

Text

Introspect // Dabi x f!reader (18+)

Synopsis: The past never dies. But it can often be forgotten. (3.4k)

Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, captivity, stalking, violence, noncon/dubcon, jealousy, delusion, denial, implied PTSD, deterministic and nihilistic philosophical paradigm, Dabi's POV—stream of consciousness type fic

A/N: wrote this in 3hrs. majorly inspired by (and dedicated to) my fave tumblr writer, new magic wand by tyler the creator and this dabi art 🖤

Happy. You looked happy, that’s what he thought when he saw it.

Not in a way you’d been with him anyway. He didn’t know whether that was for the better. The first thing he thought was you posted him. Of course you would. He was not patched, burnt or looking like someone who escaped the psychiatric ward. Without proper clothing, jumping out of a window, frantically running towards the opposite direction. Was it a matter of appearance? Or did you just not like him enough? He wouldn’t know, you hadn’t spoken in a month. And some days. That’s when you told him you needed space. Seriously, people needed to come up with better excuses, this one was over-saturated. Was it bad he clung onto you? It’s not like you had many friends, all he had asked was more of your time. Your stupid job wasn’t even that important—he never bothered finding out what you did exactly, it’s not like he didn’t care, he just wanted you there. The rest of your whereabouts were none of his business as long as you were not conversing (excessively) with anyone else. Because even then, why would you need to do that? He could do it for you.

He had no actual job, well, classifying as a villain doesn’t get you far in life, he called himself a freelancer. Freelancer in murder and theft, maybe. But he felt like he had a share in serving divine justice. A modern vigilante so to say. Any accidental death was a misfortune, a predetermined fate. He didn’t want to pretend to be integrated in society for you to like him, he was lucky because he didn’t have to. Which then reminded him of how he met you.

Petting strays at night wasn’t careful of you, especially with the crime rates in the city. But you had done so regardless, he remembers it vividly: You in an alley, on your knees, not caring about the dirt coming in direct contact, extending your hand. The cat was barely visible, he could only make out its yellow eyes. But then, the cat saw him, he knew cats had brilliant vision and it left you, perhaps in thought he had food you didn’t. You turned your head only to take a step back. Not smart, you landed on your ass as you opened your mouth. Did he scare you? Of course, what a stupid thing to ask. Under other circumstances he’d leave. Making fun of strangers wasn’t really his thing, not unless they deserved it, but the cat seemed to take a liking to him. Animals loved him, his mom used to tell him not to trust people who repelled them, it was a bad sign. Animals had instinct, animals could tell. He decided to pet the little guy (or girl?), as he kneeled down and softly touched its head. That was another thing about cats. They didn’t give a fuck about the staples or burnt odor, they just wanted food and the occasional touch. He liked cats. He could see himself in them. Something in the domesticity of the situation must've calmed you down because you fixed your posture and to his surprise approached him. It was still dark, you were still a woman and alone in an alley.

‘’He likes you.’’ You told him. Had you already figured out it was a male stray? Dabi must’ve underestimated you. Your voice hid a whine, a soft protest but it was not annoyance and he shifted his gaze.

‘’Yeah.’’ was all he said.

‘’Can I?’’ You asked. Why were you asking for permission, this wasn’t even his cat.

‘’Sure.’’

You were so close, trying not to scare the cat and also touch him, he noticed. Your finger tried to avoid his but the cat’s head was unfortunately not that big so you eventually grazed a digit over him. You hadn’t flinched back then, hadn’t even scrunched your nose, were you not afraid? Didn’t the smell and appearance repel you? Apparently not, you seemed so invested in getting the cat to like you. It wasn’t like it didn’t. The stray ended up loving you, purring at your touch and looking in your eyes, like a man in love. And maybe it wasn’t just the cat.

Within three days of your first encounter he had you on his chest, in your apartment of course, where else could he have you? He wanted to fuck you the first time he saw you, but the urge wasn’t that violent, which had taken him by suprise. You also did not seem like the type to give it up easily. He’d have to do some mental jumping jacks to get you, he didn’t worry about revealing too much though; he didn't have a lot to say, his old identity long buried away with his sensitivity. He still didn’t feel like hurting you. The first night he told you his name, Dabi, and it was so convincing, he too had believed it. You exchanged trivial information neither cared about and he offered company on your way back. He scolded you for being alone in the neighborhood, like some good samaritan, he laughed as he guided you through dimly lit alleys with zero traffic.

‘’Want to come inside?’’ You had asked. Already? Were you that easy? But who was he to say no?

Your place was small, as expected, neat and tidy, with a few clothes on the bed, nothing bad. It smelled nice too, he noticed a small plant on the coffee table. How gullible to let him in like that. Dabi imagined how many times you must’ve been wronged in life. But you being you—it was probably something that flew over your head daily. You’d call it compromise, he’d call it stupidity.

He had fucked you in missionary that night, a true gentleman, easing his way inside and slightly towering, making sure the stapled skin under his sternum didn’t touch your sensitive one. You were soaking by the time you stopped making out and he slid a finger inside, warm and enticing, his cock hardened in primal ways. He had softly thrown you on your bed (his definition of soft wasn’t exactly soft, you had let out a groan, was it bad?) and climbed on top. You were looking at him expectantly, your eyes glassy, was that pain or excitement, Dabi would bet bucks on the latter. The way you had shyly parted your legs, not for his cock, but to fit him in between was sickeningly pretty, he could swear he was almost…nervous to slip his cock inside. And he was right, trying to fit it inside failed him two or three times while he pretended to toy your clit with his cockhead. You didn’t seem to mind, his act must’ve been convincing, you were softly moaning and your eyes dared to look at the sight of his swollen tip against your lower lips, was it pretty? He had fucked you as hard as he would allow himself—your body could take it, he had to be honest, the more he stuffed you, the more he needed to drive his cock further into your soft walls, there was no room for play pretend romance here. But you seemed to like it too, wrapping your arms around the bare part of his back, fingers accidentally trailing the stapled skin and groaning near his face. ‘’Fuck.. right there.. D-Dabi! More!’’ More? Sure, you could have more. A patched arm strongly pinned a leg above your head, touching the bed frame, as his stiff and pained cock violated your cunt, he could feel how deep he was and constantly fought the urge to spill already. As for you? Tears from your eyes fell down your now stained sheets as you screamed. Pleasure, pain, honestly he didn’t care much about what it was, your pussy clamping down on him the last thing he felt before he bit down your neck, almost ripping out the skin tissue. His cum slowly trickled out, while both of you panted, each exhale synchronizing with the clock ticking in the kitchen.

There were no voids you could fill, he knew it, interacting with others proved to be a daily reminder. But there were voids you soothed, pain you healed just with your head resting where a heart used to be. Heart beating irregularly, like his feet in his childhood, with excitement, with a different type of eagerness. These weren’t thoughts he made that night and that’s how he knew he liked you. That night his mind was blank for the very first time, carefree from reality, from the ugliness of living—you had sex with some stained villain, who hadn’t only stained your cunt, but your sheets too, your morals indirectly and heart along the way. These thoughts came to him when he saw the photo. Space. You said you needed space. There wasn’t any relationship established, what the fuck you needed space for? Because now he had found something to give waking up a reason. Someone to regularly satisfy his cock with, someone to take away his thoughts and halt his aimless wandering. And you needed space. How lame. You know what? He could give you space. Indirectly of course. He’d still follow you around, check the whereabouts and conversations, sit outside your house and watch you get undressed. But you looked happy. And he couldn’t decipher in what way. Was he a friend? Who gives a fuck about the guy anyway, why were you smiling like that? You never posted him, that's for sure, you knew in the three months of irregular hanging out (to call it dating would be a joke) that he hated it. And so you never did, even though he wanted you to deep down. Something small. A grocery store visit, one you made when he said he’d cook dinner (he had burnt it). But you never did and now here you are posting with someone irrelevant.

Murder wasn’t the answer. Stupidly enough it was always associated with morality. But you’d think Dabi would have none of that. He thought murder was stupid. No second of his time ought to be wasted for the next guy. Though he had to admit, he often contemplated whether you’d want this. You didn’t know shit about him. But a sudden murder would definitely have you crawling for protection. And who better than the one who committed it? He honestly wouldn’t go out of his way to do all that. He wanted you organically. It had been a long time since he wanted someone. But you sufficed. You were enough. You never asked, never complained, not even when you’d come home from work, exhausted and dirty and he was waiting at your door. Not even when you were shoved against the cupboards and fucked without remorse—you still wrapped your legs around him and whimpered on his neck. And fuck if that didn’t feel good. He hugged you in your sleep. You’d both sleep in opposite directions, you first of course, so you’d never notice he switched sides and brought a leg over yours, resting his head on your throat, feeling each breath, each pulse. You’d wake up confused at the position, he’d say he didn’t remember. These were the few nights he could reach REM state. No vivid dreams of course, a shipwreck maybe and some elevator descending, lack of control or whatever bullshit he read once. He could still dream though, a miserable reminder he was still human.

He was always mean. The world didn’t care to mold someone into being nice. What would that even be? He thought nice meant exchange. Be nice and you’d get a pair of shoes. Act nice and you’ll get to watch TV. Treat others with respect and you’d be the family’s topic of discussion over Christmas. Sure, there were selfless people, he wasn’t crazy to think there weren’t a few of them left. You’d be his prime example. And you weren’t even stupid. But your willingness to help and give bordered exploitation. It hit him like lightning. You needed to get away, the real world was doing damage to people like you. If you were with him, you wouldn't have to think twice about being taken advantage of. He’d still be mean, you wouldn’t change that. But at least you’d sleep assured knowing that he’d never, ever demand something from you. Well…besides your presence, though he’d take you as you are, so in retrospect you’d come to appreciate him for the service.

When he came to pick you up (abduct sounded rough—you’d also want this eventually) you had just finished work. To others you seemed fine, to him you looked exhausted. No need for mask, no need for clothes, he had everything arranged. You hadn’t objected much, he tried the kind approach first, he had only asked you to go for a ride with him in a car he stole, something you’d never know. The place was a dump, a couch covered in dust and a rusty kitchen, but you’d both make it work. It wasn’t like he couldn’t find money. He would, eventually. He remembers the way your eyes widened, what were you expecting, a trip to the countryside for some mimosas? You should’ve known better. ‘’What are we doing here?’’ You had asked, looking him in the eyes, you seemed frightened like the first time you saw him in the alley, it all ends in the beginning of the cycle, such a paradox, he thought. ‘’This is our new place.’’ He cooed as he approached you, you took a step back. There really was no reason for you to be scared, you’d grow to understand the only thing scaring you would be losing him.

He had tried to kiss you but you protested, pushing him away, a shame really and he wanted to continue with the nice approach. Well then again nice didn’t really exist so it wouldn't have worked anyway. He kissed you, your mouth was closed but not for long before it was forced open, arms snaking around your waist and pinning you to a wall collecting condensation since god knows when. He was on your neck, kissing, biting, frenzied moves really, he needed you more than he needed whatever kept him alive. Three months ago, he stopped thinking. Now, the only thing he thought was you. He dragged you to the dusty sofa, he thought of using his quirk to burn the fabric, but ripping it out came naturally. You were laid out naked and shivering, his hands grabbed your waist—was this warm enough for you? You whispered something, maybe it was louder than a whisper, stop or whatever but he couldn’t listen. He found your cunt immediately, he was almost drooling at the sight, when was he that hungry ever again? Something about your life. People behind. You said something, he didn’t listen. You weren’t that wet like the first time, he understood. Women, they need emotional connection. Maybe a sloppier kiss to get them going. He found your mouth again, forcing you to kiss him back while he gorged on yours, a small movement in your hips, a pad of his finger back on your cunt. Wetter, perfect. He slid up a finger, curling it while his thumb grazed over your clit, you whimpered. That was a sound he could finally register. He’d bring back that smile, but it’d be for him only. One finger turned to two and eventually three, he needed to stretch you out to take him, nothing had changed since the first time, just his eagerness. His cock throbbed in his black pants, he wanted to taste you.

You moaned and attempted to touch his hair. He didn’t mind but this wasn’t the time. He moved his head lower, spreading your thighs open and spitting on your clit. Spittle dripped down your slit and his index finger trailed it along the entrance, earning him a moan. See, you already enjoyed this too much. This would be your life now on, he’d fuck you till you wouldn’t want another thing. Captivity had a good side after all. He’d treat you so well, he wouldn’t even have to force all that domestic bullshit on you. You’d do it willingly. He eats your cunt out like it's the most sacred meal, sloppily and without coordination, pushing his tongue inside and gripping your thighs forcefully and what is this? You buck your hips up, wanting more, needy little slut. Perfect, so perfect for making him stop thinking. Making him forget. His cock must leak precum, it feels uncomfortable and he wants you to coat his tongue, he really does, but please understand, he needs you. Now. To bother removing his pants fully would be hilarious, he has neither time nor desire to do so, they’re slid down half way, his cock jumps on his abdomen and he gives it an impatient stroke—looking at you always. Let me go. You say, what? Were you stupid? Right before the best part? Right before the start of a new life? Of a life you should be living years ago? Delusional, you’re delusional. ‘’You love me, baby.’’ He tells you and lets his cockhead slip in your entrance, bit by bit until he’s bottomed out and you wince, he doesn’t move just for a second, this should be enough and then starts thrusting without consideration. Like it’s an incentive, like you’re a hole that needs filling, a mere means to an end. You protest a bit more, if you get louder he might have to get violent on you, please understand he doesn’t want this. You’ll get it, eventually. He can’t decipher the look on your face, it certainly doesn’t scream happy like in the photo.

And then he’s reminded of the photo and a rage is born. ‘’Did he fuck you this good?’’ He spears his cock inside, you are hitting against the arm of the couch, your mouth contracts and you dampen his cock, so he must be doing something right. ‘’Tell me, did he fuck this cunt?’’ He asks and you just moan—are you dumb? Why aren’t you answering? His arms envelop your throat, pressing on the carotid artery as your muffled moans get even more constricted, he spits on your face and demands an answer. Dirty. Slut. Dirty. ‘’N-o’’ comes out your mouth. He hadn’t tainted you? He hadn’t touched you. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He wipes the saliva off your cheeks, it’s so...wet? Are you crying? Why are you crying? He hates it. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He kisses you while he plunges deeper, you groan and try to avoid him, stop doing this, you’re his now, it’s final. ‘’I’ll make you feel better, alright?’’ He breathes out, he knows you like his fingers, he knows. His thumb circles achingly, longingly even on your puffy clit while you clench around him, your breathing is labored, you have to cum—cum now! On his cock, show him how much you love him. A few more strokes and he has you clamping down, more tears, so many tears and you moan out his fake name, with anger maybe or an orgasm high, he can’t tell and he doesn’t care either, it’s enough. He needs to steal a kiss one last time and feel the way you squeeze and soak all around to let his load paint you white, maybe he is like a woman after all, longing for emotion, even when he has to fulfill plain instincts. You don’t talk after it, you don’t even blink, you aren’t passed out, are you? He wasn’t that hard, come on now. He has to remove himself, clean you up, the couch and he the least of his priorities. You need to get accustomed. You’ll love it.

You never ask. About the photo. About your family. About anything prior. But that’s not something he dwells upon, he doesn’t like to look back. You still sleep next to him, well, there aren’t many other options available, yet you do. You still breathe softly in your sleep, he still hugs you from behind. You’ve become a sedative, a very much needed one. He dreams some days, an elevator falling, a shipwreck. Only, you’re there this time.

The few days he remembers the dream, he appreciates the company. He can only hope you do, too.

#yandere mha #yandere dabi #yandere dabi x reader #dabi x reader #dabi smut #mha x reader #yandere touya x reader #dark content #my hero academia #mha imagines #todoroki touya x reader #bnha x reader #mha smut #tw noncon #tw delusion #tw violence

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mswyrr · 2 months

Text

Qimir consistently aches to see the pain the dark side causes Osha and I believe this will lead him to resist Plagueis' plans in s2.

His first moment of regret and resistance is, in fact, at the very completion of his seduction! He gets Osha to put the helmet on - and it hurts her. It's causing her pain, so he fights to rescue her from that. Even though, presumably, this was (with Plagueis, whether knowingly or unknowingly) the goal.

Let's backtrack a second and reflect on the seduction itself. The show creator/lead writer, Leslye Headland, has said that it wasn't manipulation on Qimir's part, that he meant everything he said. Two relevant quotes from the same interview with her on this point:

"So, in my opinion, Osha is extremely in denial about her own anger at the Jedi and at her father, i.e. Sol. She's in extreme denial about that because she feels like she's not allowed to be angry, and she's in an enormous amount of pain over her sister and their history, and she also feels like she's not allowed to feel that. So, someone coming in and saying, “Actually, feeling all those things is not only okay but actually could restore your spiritual foundation,” is almost too much. I don't think that's manipulation. I think he's telling her the truth."

"[T]he relationship between Lo and Jen in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was an influence in the writer's room. We referenced that relationship over and over again. The intentional parallel is that they are equals and their relationship is earned through mutual vulnerability, not intimidation or manipulation."

However, someone can be themselves misled and so mislead you too, from a place of sincerity! That is, perhaps, the most heartbreaking way of all to mislead someone. Qimir is lost - the Jedi path damaged him and he (like so many Jedi before him) snapped to the Sith path. It's not working for him, it's causing him pain likely, but he believes it and shares from that place. But the moment Qimir sees this path is causing Osha pain, he feels compelled to do something to help her.

Once he gets the helmet off Osha, Qimir seems relieved when he learns the vision Osha *thinks* she saw, of Mae "killing a Jedi without a weapon." (Which Qimir somehow knows is the goal here - to get Mae or Osha to fall - presumably because Plagueis either gave him the vision or told him directly to try to get that to happen?)

He's content with the idea that Mae will be the one to do it, fulfilling the vision/directive, and actively seeks to make it happen from this point on. He tries to talk her up into doing it at the pivotal moment, but that's not what she's about, her feelings about Sol are not so out of balance for her to "fall" as the Jedi and Sith understand it. She feels anger but also wants justice most, not revenge.

I read disappointment in how Manny plays his reaction to Mae's "No" - disappointment at "failing" sure but also I think it's related to the fact that he wanted it to be Mae, not Osha.

This was cemented for me by the way he played Qimir's reaction to Osha's fall. He's not celebratory, though he's just accomplished what he had been trying to since he began teaching Mae! He seems stricken, actually. There's no pleasure or satisfaction in his "success"! Witnessing Osha's pain only makes him feel compassion and bow his head in sorrow. This "success" is ashes in his mouth.

As a mutual on Twitter pointed out to me (♥️_LokiDokie!), Leslye's commentary in this interview supports this reading of Qimir as grief-stricken by what he's seen:

"Then it's like this passing through, stepping over the threshold, that actually will bring them closer together, which is so interesting. But the motivation I gave to Manny in that moment — in theater, we would call it dramaturgically — for, “Why is he stepping over to do that,” because it said it in the script, was, “You have been in this position. If you have a red lightsaber, you have felt this level of despair, rage, and dejection. So go over there and let her know that you have had that experience.” And he just did that beautiful thing. I was like, “Jesus Christ.”"

His reaction is a stark contrast to Mae, who never fell to the dark side, and doesn't understand what she's seeing - she mistakes this for Osha being liberated from Jedi mindwashing. THIS is what Qimir's face would look like if he thought this was a good thing and was happy about it:

The contrast is quite stark.

Qimir's sorrow for Osha continues as he attempts to comfort her and then sees she's bled the saber.

Intriguingly, Qimir has the helmet on and is "hiding" emotionally when he wipes Mae's memory. We don't get to see how that pain effects him. But the pattern throughout the episode is that when Osha hurts he aches too.

In the final scene, Qimir approaches Osha, again, without triumph at any of this. He's gotten everything he thought he wanted, but he looks at her and I read concern, sorrow, wariness.

He steps closer to her and takes her hand supportively, continuing his pattern (3 times in this episode!) of physically coming close to help/comfort her when she's hurting.

Then he raises his chin with resolve, but no happiness. They are facing the future, but they are "doomed" on the Sith path. Romantic love cannot live there anymore than it can thrive on the arid, repressed Jedi path. I think he suspects that - whether or not he's knowingly in league with Plagueis. Whatever is coming, the Sith path can only cause Osha more and more pain...

He cannot help but ache with her when he sees Osha in pain and want to help her. I cannot imagine an s2 where they continue down the Sith path without him breaking under the strain of watching the pain it causes her - he could endure it himself but seeing her do it? He'll snap. And that romantic love--something BOTH the Jedi and Sith reject and denigrate--that will help them escape imo. Here's a quote from Leslye I interpret as supportive of this reading. She references how the Sith path is inimical to romantic love and then alludes to the tantalizing possibility of escape:

HEADLAND: Oh, yeah! Again, they’re Sith. It's a different vibe. To me, it's gonna hit different because of their allegiance and who they are. So, yes, it is framed as romantic, but I do think, again, it's not gonna turn out great. I think if he's training her, “One to hold the power, one to crave it.” So they're starting off as equals, but what's gonna happen? Like in Romeo and Juliet, it's amazing because right at the beginning they're like, “Okay, these two die. Let's start the play.” As you're watching this incredible love story unfold, and it's one of the most beautifully iconic plays ever written, in the back of your mind, you're like, “This is not going to turn out well.” I want to clarify: They are not necessarily doomed or destined to fail as a team. But the Sith rule of two denotes a power imbalance. Which clearly, due to the final shot, is not their relationship. Also, Plagueis complicates their journey as Sith, because we know his apprentice is eventually Palpatine. They will not defeat him.

I feel pretty confident that the love he feels for her is pivotal to their journey away from the Sith path and what Plagueis wants for Osha - both because Leslye knows this is not a good path and because of the deep sense of care and connection Qimir already feels for Osha.

Combine this with Leslye's comments and imo it being unlikely that they'll repeat the same pattern with Qimir & Vernestra that they did with Sol & Osha and just the overall "sameness" that would come of hammering the endless cycle in more and I just don't buy that as the direction we're headed.

It is possible to tell it as a relentless tragedy and keep hammering the endless, inescapable cycles but, while tragedies are valid (I enjoy hotd!), even they have a narrative form more varied than that usually. And this IS a "coming of age" psychological/mythic Star Wars story at the end of the day. And one Leslye (happily gay married with a child!) drew on her own experiences (with religious trauma) to write... she didn't end up trapped in darkness why would a young protagonist like Osha have to?

Here's the full Leslye quote about religious trauma, since I believe it's vital to understanding where she and the writing team are going to take Osha, Mae, and Qimir:

You have a play, Cult of Love, coming to Broadway this fall. It’s about a Christian family gathering for the holidays. It’s inspired by your own experiences with your family. You were working on it at the same time as The Acolyte, from what I can tell. Did they influence each other? Our director, Trip Cullman, and I were talking about how it’s called Cult of Love because all cults have a dream, and the dream is really beautiful. Even Jim Jones started out trying to desegregate Indianapolis. This family in the play has this dream that they follow to the logical conclusion, which is that they never achieve it. I was raised Christian. Christianity is the ultimate dream. It’s a beautiful concept that God becomes human in order to love you more. Then you look at what Christianity has done to the world: colonization, genocide. It was a beautiful dream that doesn’t justify the human action that comes along. The Jedi also live in a dream, a dream they believe everybody has. In The Acolyte, the pilot ends with the line “An acolyte kills the dream.” The drama is to wake up to the fact that the dream doesn’t exist.

I think the point is for Osha and Qimir to wake up to the fact that both the Jedi and Sith "dreams" do not exist. They are toxic mirrors of each other - and Osha and Mae were born into a culture (the culture of the Coven and their mothers) that didn't see the force in the binary way the Jedi&Sith both do. Mae, who remembered and kept to the pov of the Coven, never fell to the dark side in a Sith way --she felt anger but balanced with a desire for justice, even when she killed-- it was only her sister, taught repression and self-denial by the Jedi, who did. Qimir and Osha have a conceptual/spiritual escape route open to them if they wish to use it.

Finally, Leslye has said that she's written Qimir as her "shadow" (in the Jungian sense) and that she feels close to him - and what does he want? "I want freedom." I don't think someone driven by that desire is going to just surrender himself AND the woman he loves to Plagueis the Creeper.

My wife was like, “What do you want to say?” I was like, “I wanna say that people don't want me to exist as a gay woman, as a woman in this particular space, working in this wild sandbox.” There was a whole crew of people who believed in me, but deep down, I felt like, “I am unaccepted for who I am because of what I believe in and wanting to wield my power the way I'd like without having to answer to the legion of people that just exist out there.” By the way, I think everybody feels this way. I think that's why it resonates when you're honest about yourself, and you get personal about it. When he says, “I want freedom,” that's what I want. I just want freedom. I want to be able to just be out there and be myself and be the type of artist I want to be without having to answer to anybody. That's why I feel so close to him.

#oshamir #the acolyte #the acolyte meta #qimir the acolyte #osha aniseya #my meta #long post

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duckiemimi · 1 year

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gojo in jjk 236

i’m not one to advocate for prying away creative control from a creator’s (mangaka’s) cramped, overworked hands, and i understand that with oftentimes fandoms get so big that the story warps itself into something out of the creator’s control, but i do know what a good character arc looks like (i’ve seen it in this very story before) and i do know what public pressure can do to a creative mind.

that being said, keeping gojo dormant for more than a hundred chapters, then unsealing him only for him to gain nothing from his long-drawn out fight with sukuna is insane. i was assuming we were building up stakes in his character arc! i didn’t think he’d die prematurely without resolution! how could he be given a meaningless death when it was all he and geto talked about at one point?

gojo could’ve been living proof that change is possible and that fate is breakable. he was born after multiple cycles of six eyes and limitless users, he was born a baby-shaped building block, jujutsu’s atlas with the world on his shoulders. alone and untouchable. but he changed because he met geto. he changed because he met shoko, because he met megumi and yuuta and yuuji and every single character that has loved and cared about him. love changed him. to be loved is to be changed, and to have him go without an ending line to, “this is just a personal theory, but love is the most twisted curse of them all,” is such a loss. it’s like a sentence without a full-stop, abruptly cut short with no continuation.

i initially thought that he’d be weakened by sukuna, but then his allies would come running to back him up—there is strength in solidarity! his true strength should’ve stemmed from solidarity and love! interdependence and connection should’ve been the peak of his character arc! why did we end up with nothing even after tens of chapters of him fighting for his life? why did every other character sit still instead of using their advantage in numbers?

but i do see where gege is headed. with gojo gone, the baton has been passed onto the next generation. there is no longer a biological “hierarchy” of power amongst the sorcerers (to an extent), and perhaps sukuna himself will falter because the balance of the universe was pulled from under their feet. besides love, jjk is also about generational second chances: sashisu and itakugifushi; toji and maki; geto and yuuji and yuuta; geto walking to tengen’s quarters alone, delivering riko almost hesitantly, and yuuji waking to tengen’s quarters with megumi, yuuta, choso, and yuki. silhouettes in the dark of the tunnels. hell, you could even count yaga as a teacher and gojo as a teacher. or yaga’s CT and how he gave a child another chance at life. yuuji’s multiple resurrections. kenjaku and tengen. i get it, i do—i understand what gege’s trying to do here, but i’m tired of him using these characters as plot devices instead of giving them the resolution they deserve. (especially for jjk’s cash cow…he deserved more than a rushed end.)

i do hope that that one theory about gojo only being able to die if his head is cut off is true. but even then, after all of the fake outs we’ve had to read, that would be a shitty cheap shot. i’ll try to have faith; even that is wavering.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk leaks #jjk 236 #gojo satoru #gojo #ugh this was so rushed #i’ll fix it later #i was gonna makes a long post and love and generational second chances but i need to process this leak first geez #putting that to the backburner ig

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tiredmamaissy · 1 year

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Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode II

Concurrent Tides

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff. Most illustrations are now on her patreon.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19) Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, profanity, age gap, aggressive rut cycle, heat cycle, dom/sub dynamics, jealousy/posessiveness, knotting, marking, scenting, praise kink, breeding kink, size difference, p in v, mating/bonding, multiple climaxes, creampie, ralak is a bit of a meanie in this, let me know if I forgot anything? Word Count: 10k Requested: Yes || No Author’s Note: the second special episode is finally here. sorry it took forever to get it out, but better late than never :') i hope you guys enjoy <3 theres another part to come after this one! 🤍 Synopsis: what happens if you and your new mates cycles sync?

<- Previous Next ->

——

“Only I knot you.”

That was the first time you’d ever seen Ralaks eyes shift in colour. That same night right after he pulled you out of his memory of his first rut. A beautiful, deep blue, glistening before your honey glazed orbs. It’s barely been a week since that night, yet it replays over and over. Day and night. How he looked at you with nothing but unadulterated greed, hardly catching his breath as he tried to steady his galloping heart. It was something deep-rooted and primal.

Something animalistic.

Since, you’ve longed to see him fully immersed in such a state. A state where self control and sexual desire no longer coexist. He’s always too concerned with you and what he thinks you can and cannot manage that he never allows himself to do what he truly wants. The level of restraint you feel through the bond is indescribable. A level you nor any other na’vi could conceivably attain. Regardless, most nights you find yourself fantasizing about this ‘lack of control’ right before bed.

Nights like tonight.

Where the stars shimmer so brightly that you need to draw the curtains, and the air is exceptionally cold and crisp that you need to huddle closely together for warmth. When your nose is buried so deep into his chest that there's no other choice for his scent to fill your lungs. And tonight he smells extraordinarily good. The salt of the sea mixed with leather hide. And oddly enough, he smells like… home. The forest and its greenery. It’s quite ironic but perhaps it’s Eywa’s way of saying that this man is truly yours. It's so comforting and right. Like a cup of hot tea on a stormy night, never failing to put you to sleep. A remedy that works in seconds — but not tonight.

Tonight you’re restless and he can sense it.

“What is it?” Ralak husks, shifting his position to hold you a little closer. “Cold?”

Truthfully, you’ve been feeling a little off. Your body has been restless and haunted. As if it could sense some sort of change of shift in the atmosphere. Or perhaps it was between the two of you. “No.” You mumble, lifting your head to look up at him. “Just can’t sleep.”

Ralaks ears twitch, a little surprised his typical soothing techniques aren’t working. He sits up quite quickly, bringing you up with him as he scoots back into frame of his bed. His brows lower when he ponders about what could be keeping you so on edge. He takes note of your flushed appearance and the minute changes in your eyes, they’re glowing a little brighter recently.

His brows jump when the realisation dawns on him.

Could it be? He knows it’s close but is it really already affecting you? How is that possible? And does that mean it will be even more severe this time around?

He had every intention to stay but perhaps it’ll be more difficult than he expected. He should really tell you, but he knows exactly how that would play out. You would get your way as per usual, it was hard for him to deny you of anything you wanted. A quick swish of your tail and it was yours. Ralak took pride in caring and providing for you. But not for this. This was just plain dangerous. And therefore he couldn’t allow you to figure it out. It’s ultimately safer that he keeps it to himself, at least until you’ve adjusted to him a little more. Your intimate moments together are very few in number after all.

“Why is that, tanhì?” He asks in a low, steady tone, fixing his mask of indifference tightly to his face.

You may be a slow learner, but you weren’t slow. You could sense that he wasn’t being all that transparent with you.

“I don’t know. Something feels off about you.” You say in an almost accusatory tone, finally sitting up to look him in the eye. He’s pale in the face and his breath becomes raggedy. “Tell me, Ralak.”

You watch as his pupils constrict, leaving nothing but a black dot in an open sea of blue. Within a matter of seconds, they deepen in colour and his eyelids flutter shut. He clears his throat, and waits a few seconds to open his eyes. They’re back to normal but you could’ve sworn they looked different. Just like they did a few nights ago.

“What just happened to your—” Your heart begins to race as you utter the words, only to be cut off by Ralaks hasty voice.

“Inland. Tomorrow morning. Overnight hunting trip.” He grinds them out as if it physically hurts to say the words. Anything to keep you from figuring it out.

What? Is he — lying to you?

This isn’t like him. He avoided trips inland at all costs. Anything to stay with his tanhí. He’d even go as far as faking an illness, despite rarely getting ill, to get out of accompanying Tonowari. Especially for overnight trips.

“And why did you not tell me earlier?” You manage to squeak out a closing throat, backing away to create a little distance.

He shakes his head as he blinks rapidly, staying put to allow as much space as you need. “I was hoping I did not need to go.” He utters, dropping his head to lock his gaze on your twiddling thumbs. His eyes trail up your dark blue frame, taking note of how your body is already almost trembling —already responding to him— all out of your control. He bows his head, hiding his face. “But it seems that I cannot get out of this one. I am sorry, my paysyul.”

For a fleeting moment, you really thought this was the beginning of something bad. Something deceitful. But, his words instantly bring you comfort, slowing your leaping heart and putting your mind at ease.

But the funny thing is that there was no lie.

There was really an overnight trip inland with Tonowari. One that Ralak arranged himself. Tonowari was especially taken aback by Ralaks suggestion of a hunting trip and immediately queried if he was alright, putting a firm hand on his forehead to determine if he had some sort of fever. But once Ralak explained himself, Tonowari was smiling and laughing, smacking a few blows on his back as a form of approval, teasing him yet again about ‘the love story between an Akula and an ilu’.

Your sigh brings Ralak out of his deep thought, chin leaving his chest to witness you sliding back into bed, turning on your side and backing up onto him. A smirk pulls at the his lips as he joins you, enveloping you in his warmth once more. A wave of relief washes over him as he rests his chin on the crown of your head. He’s thankful that you didn’t press any further. Otherwise, he would’ve had to reveal his best kept secret.

His upcoming rut.

——

The harsh thump of Ralaks heart rouses him to the sight of his mate clung to his chest. He admires your beauty, allowing his eyes to fall on your chest, watching closely as you breathe slowly. He gently pulls back the thin sheeting covering your body, exposing your puffy nipples to the cool morning air. When they stiffen into peaks, saliva pools in his mouth. At this point he would have looked away because of basic na’vi decency, but this morning is different.

He allows himself to stare. To take in every detail on your chest. To sear it into his memory so he can visualise you just like this as he relieves himself. Exposed before his eyes, supple skin glistening as the rays of sunlight reflect against your freckles, exposed, stiffened nipples, that act as the perfect bait to lure in a hungry predator.

Predator.

That’s what he’ll be in a matter of minutes. Nothing but a slave to his own urges and instincts. Ravenous. Insatiable. Voracious. With not even a sliver of self composure left to hold onto an ounce of rationality. He can already feel it creeping up on him, the hunger deep in his core turning him into the beast that he appears to be on the outside. It’s always been like this. A little too much. Too overwhelming.

Too aggressive.

And as the years passed it only worsened. Six unmated years. With no one but himself to make it through the tortuous few days. He just knows that he would be too rough with you. It’s his biggest fear, after all. To have no self control. To hurt the one thing he loves more than Eywa’s gift of life itself. He would sacrifice his own (life) if it meant to save yours.

He was hoping to endure it. Bite his tongue through it and be by your side. Perhaps take a long bath in the lake and crawl into bed after you’ve gone to sleep and relieve himself as quietly as he can. But now that it’s here in full bloom, he’s already having a hard time containing his urge to spread your legs and use you as his own personal fucktoy.

But you’re more than that to him.

And this is why he’s choosing to leave before you wake. Before he can no longer contain himself to just staring at your bare chest. Before he pulls the sheet down even further and parts your legs—already trembling from his leaking pheromones—and has a taste of his sweet, sweet tanhí. Rather, he uses his last shred of self composure to plant a firm kiss on your forehead before quickly gathering his gear and heading out the door.

Unbeknownst to him, you were awake the entire time.

You could feel his eyes bore into your tiny frame as the crisp morning air grazed past your nipples, just like you could feel the roughness of his kiss right above your brow. You wanted to open your eyes but the way his pheromones waft up your nose had you in a foggy trance. Your eyes burned under your eyelids and your body felt so heavy and hot.

You couldn’t help but think, is this his rut?

To be influenced by his cycle? You had felt it before. His first rut in the flashback, but it was nothing like this. Sure, it had you shivering and a little on edge but this was to another level. You could barely open your eyes, much less get out of bed. This entire time your body has been sending warning signals that its mate was peaking in his cycle — restlessness, clinginess, the nesting. You had unknowingly gathered enough fruits and grains to last you a few days. Even in this murky state of mind you finally manage to link the pieces of the puzzle together.

Listening to his footsteps as he walks out the marui, you muster up as much strength as you can to open your eyes. It’s blurry and honestly all just one blob. You could only make out a few colours trailing behind this gentle giant—green, blue and orange. All of which mix together and move like the aurora in the night sky. If one could see what a pheromone looks like, this would be it. When you finally get enough strength to part your chapped lips to mutter his name, the colours disappear as the marui flap closes behind him.

You really thought that once he left and the room aired out, that the influence of his pheromones on your body would lift as well. But you were wrong. Instead, the heaviness of your body grew tenfold, making it hard to breathe. It’s as if your lungs were filled to the brim with cold water, yet they burned as you squirmed around to fill them with air. The fire in your lungs quickly spread to your extremities, leaving your entire being in a sweltering inferno.

This feeling is familiar, yet foreign all at once. A desire so extreme it burns from within. The desire to be connected with your mate on all levels known to the na’vi. To satiate the itch of your empty, fertile womb by filling it with his seed.

Why did you have to get your heat now?

You call for Ralak a few times in your dazed state, only for you to be reminded by nothing but the crash of the waves that he’s gone. Soon the heavy rumble of the waves is drowned out by your whimpers and whines as you call for your mate to no avail. All you can manage to do in your feverish haze is kick off whatever cloth is stuck to your body, curl into a ball and rock to ease the unbearable sensation between your legs.

All until you hear a familiar, husky voice.

“I was doing some sessions with Ronal and—”

“R-Ralak?” You call out in relief, hoping your prayers have finally been answered. You roll onto your side and squint at the figure in the door frame.

“Uh. Not quite.” He quickly mutters under his breath, moving his forearm to shield his nose from your strong pheromones wafting his way. “Eywa—” He mumbles the great mothers name like a curse as he looks around the marui for your mate. “Where is Tak?”

Tak?

The more you squint your eyes, the more you’re able to make out who this figure standing in your doorway is. Your blurred vision clears just enough to reveal the unforgettable, brawny features of no other than Ka’ani.

“Ka’ani?” You say the name slowly, unsure if you should believe your eyes.

“Hah. What do you know…” Ka’ani scoffs, moving his arm from his face to lean in to get a better look at your condition. You’re panting yet shivering, glazed in your own sweat and slick. He smirks a little as he pulls back, spitting out the words, “…bitch in heat.”

“What are you... d-doing here? You should leave!” You try to shout, although it comes out more as a hoarse cry.

“Why should I? It looks like you need a hand.” Ka’ani jesters, physically extending his hand towards you as he wiggles his thickset fingers.

“Haa. I really don’t.” You pant, hugging your knees to your chest even tighter.

“You’re sitting in a puddle of your own sweat.” Ka’ani’s voice is harsh, yet laced with concern. “And whatever else is coming out of you.” His jaw clenches and unclenches as he looks away from you, seemingly out of — respect? He catches sight of the full bucket of fresh water at your bedside, along with empty drinking bowls.

Has she not been tended to all day? Not a sip to drink? Ka’ani thinks to himself, concerned as to why Tak’s mate would be alone, uncared for and in heat of all things.

You finally muster up the energy to tug the sodden sheet over your naked body and scoot back further to the frame of the bed. “Ralak said he will be back soon. You should leave if y-you want to live.” You lie, feeling a little threatened that a male na’vi has barged into your marui while you’re in heat.

“Yeah, I don’t believe that for a second, y/n. None of this makes sense.” Ka’ani speaks, taking a few steps towards you.

You shuffle even further back only for your back to make contact with the bed frame. A rush of fear surges through you. The type of fear that has your heart twisting behind your ribs. You cross your legs over one another, bunching up the sheet between them and beg with trembling lungs, “P-Please, Ka’ani. Don’t.”

Ka’ani stops dead in his tracks, seemingly offended by your assumption that he’d be approaching you to do something that the great mother herself would look down upon. Sure, he tracked your scent last time, but he was here atone exactly for that.

“Syor [relax]. I would never do such a thing.” He says through gritted teeth, storming towards the bedside and quickly pouring you a drink. “No matter how strong your scent is. Although, you don’t smell all that great now that you’re mated.” He chuckles lightly as he hands you the drink. Your eyes jump between him and the cup in his hand before you struggle to sit up. His hand instinctively reaches out to assist you, but you bat it away and continue to pull yourself up.

“Just — let me help you.” He snaps, supporting your back when you finally give in. “Drink.” He commands, plunking the cup in your hand, taking a step back and crossing his arms.

You gulp down the water greedily, finally quenching your thirst and hoping it will provide some level of relief to your febrile condition. You hum to yourself as the water makes its way down your throat, but groan when you feel no better. Meanwhile, Ka’ani takes in your state, feeling a twinge in his heart for you when he sees how you’ve been suffering. You look more than uncomfortable. You look like you’re in pain.

“You’ll be alright, y/n. Just tell me where he went and I’ll go fetch him.” He speaks in a more gentle tone, taking the empty cup from your hand.

“I-I don’t — haah. He said he went… He went inland to hunt.” You blubber out, feeling your body heat to a dangerous degree. It has you shaking as you ease yourself back into a more comfortable position.

Ka’ani shakes his head a bit, “Inland to hunt? Really? When his mate is in heat? Tak would never. The only time he’d ever do that is if he is also… in rut.” Ka’ani stalls on the last few words that slip off his tongue, tasting them in his mouth as the realization sets in. Ka’ani quickly fills the cup, sets it next to you and bolts to the door. Before he ducks under the flap of your Marui, he looks over his shoulder and reassures you.

“Sit tight, forest girl. I know exactly where he is.”

— —

It’s been a few hours since coming to his usual spot — the waterfall with the coldest water known to the reef people. It is Ralaks most private and intimate place aside from his humble abode. A place where only a select few people know about. He’s most drawn to the low temperature of the water, making it a perfect environment to endure the heat of his rut in.

Despite doing this for the past few years, each cycle gets a little more intense. And this one is certainly no exception.

Ralak sits underneath the overhang, right in the dip of the plunge pool, and allows the water to beat on his back. He’s maintained this position for the past few hours, only releasing himself when the pressure in his core grows too much. A pressure so immense it would have his body acting on its own accord — a wandering hand finding its way to his swollen cock.

Truth be told, he hated the feeling.

He hated feeling so out of control. To be nothing but a slave to his own primal impulses. He’d fight it as much as he could, just like he is now, until the sensation is just too intense to ignore. Until he’s grunting and squirming with a body so heated it has him grinding his teeth.

He quickly stands up, tilting his head back and covering his face from the stream of the water with his hands. At this point his cock is so swollen that it’s outright painful, throbbing and pulsing from the lack of attention. He thinks of you — your thin tail and tiny stature. The way you lay in bed this morning before he left. Naked and exposed before his eyes. Eywa, how he wishes you were here. How he could finally spend his rut with his mate, but he just knows it would be too much for you to handle.

The thoughts of you make this no easier, sending his hips thrusting into the air — the running water stimulating his thudding cockhead. He groans from the immense pleasure a little water brings him. He’s neglected himself so badly to the point that he feels like this could really make him cum. But how many times has he cum by now?

Once? Twice? Thrice?

He lost count after the fifth time, not that he was keeping track anyways. If anything he was downright denying himself the pleasure, and convincing himself that he remained in control. But fuck, the image of your delicate body —the possibility that he could break you if he weren’t careful— pushes him over the edge. Before he can stop himself, his hot cum is spilling from his slit all over the length of his cock and he’s unable to keep his noises at a minimum.

“Mmmph.” His deep growl rumbles, a hand grabbing a firm hold of his jumping cock.

He squeezes what’s left out of his slit, finally looking down to see the state of himself. It’s red and raw — spikes fully erect and balls drawn so close to his body they’re practically hiding behind his thick knot. He lets out a loud sigh.

Relief.

Finally, he leans back against the rocky wall and slides down into the plunge pool, immersing himself chest deep into the water. He lightly treads back to the bank and makes himself comfortable — allowing his head to rest and body to relax. He takes a few deep breaths and tunes into the burble of the waterfall.

All until he hears the click of a —

Ka’ani?

“Tik-Tak.” Ka’ani clicks melodically, cautiously approaching the giant submerged in the waterfall. Ralak doesn’t budge. He remains fixed in position, eyes shut, head and elbows resting on the edge of the river. His chest heaves harshly as he attempts to remain in this less than tranquil state. “Never thought I’d see the day Ralak leaves his mate in heat. To be soaking in a waterfall of all things.”

Perhaps Ralak heard wrong. Leaving his mate in heat? Ralak would know if his mate were in heat. He would sense it. Whatever rubbish he’s spewing out, Ralak doesn’t have the time, nor patience, for it.

“Skxawng, what are you on about? Leave me be.” Ralak huffs, wiping the sweat from his face with a quick hand movement.

“Just as I thought. You’re all hot and bothered too, aren’t you?” Ka’ani chuckles.

“Leave.” Ralak says angrily, his purplish-blue eyes finally snapping up to meet Ka’ani’s. “I have just calmed.”

Ka’ani’s brows knit together, offended and a little confused with himself for being upset from the way Ralak is shooing him away.

“Oh c’mon brother. All I’ve been told today is to leave!” Ka’ani’s hands fly up as he takes a step forward. “First your mate, and now you. Am I really that unwanted?”

Now he’s got Ralaks attention.

Ralak gets a whiff of your sweet, sweet pheromones on him. As if he’s been around his tanhì. Scenting his tanhì. Touching his tanhì. His primal urges devour him once more, eating away at him until nothing but a possessive beast remains. One of pure territorial instinct.

“What did you do?” Ralak growls through a clenched jaw as he jumps out the water and approaches Ka’ani. “Scenting my mate again?” His voice booms as it increases in volume, yet lowers in depth. “Answer me. Did you touch her?!”

“No!” Ka’ani blurts out, now taking a few steps back with his hands splayed out in front of him. “Is that what you both really think of me? This is the last I ever do some—”

Ralak remains silent, taking quick, calculated strides directly towards Ka’ani, who is now backing up into a tree. Once his back hits the scaly bark, Ralaks' balled fist slams into the trunk, barely an inch away from Ka’ani’s skull.

“Alright! Alright. I know what I did before. I-I’m sorry. I came looking for you to apologise for that but I found her in heat. Okay? I came here as soon as I realized.”

Unsure of whether or not to believe a word coming from this skxawng’s mouth, Ralak steps away from his prey, bloody knuckled and full of uncertainty. But the one thing he is certain about is the fact that he wants no other na’vi to find you if you really are in heat. With a huff of defeat, he pushes past Ka’ani and bolts for the shore.

——

The trek back to the marui is twice as quick. Your pheromones are thick and potent, affecting him even a few feet away from the marui door. And when he steps through the marui door, he’s completely inundated with the thick fog of your pheromones. He feels lost in himself, struggling not to succumb to his instincts. Struggling to regain control.

“Ma’ L-Lak?” You mewl shakily.

You can smell him, just like he can smell you. It only drives you further into your heat, your trembling body now shaking a little more. Sensing that your mate is in close proximity, your scent glands release more of your aphrodisiac to lure him in. In turn, this has its effects on your body — sending you into a submissive state where you feel too heavy to even lift a finger. You lay there, legs splayed out and glossy fingered.

You watch through blurred vision as the tall and thick silhouette quickly makes its way towards you. Ralak grabs and firmly holds your legs back as he leans in close, making the confirmation that his mate is indeed in heat. He lingers a little longer than he can control, taking everything in him to pull away and calm down — panting and out of breath.

“It is true.” He huffs, towering over your tiny, shivering frame. “In heat.” The two words drip off his tongue, much like the thick nectar dripping from your slit.

“Lak. Oh — lak. ’ts you.” You cry out in relief, clawing at his thigh to bring him back to you, “‘m so happy it’s you ‘nd not someone else.” His teeth grit as your hand grazes his thigh, but he remains fixed in place, unsure of his ability to keep his composure if he allows himself to give in to your touches.

What is he supposed to do now?

He didn’t think this far into his plan… for once in his life. Typically he’s quite calculated and certain of his next move but now — now he’s not sure how he’s going to deal with this. He just knew that he couldn’t leave you alone. Not for another man to find and claim you in the way that only he should. But he has to remain himself. For you. He swallows down his uncertainty before speaking.

“I should have stayed.” He looks down at the flushed, puffy flesh between your legs with a rapacious glint in his eye. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just p-please. It’s to-o much. T-Too hot. It aches, karyu.” Ralak winces when you groan the last few words, it’s almost painful to resist you at this point. You go to claw at this thigh once more, only for him to shift away. “No, don’t do that. Not right now. N-Need you so ba—”

“My rut came. This morning.” He’s quick to cut you off with a strained, yet monotonous voice, unable to peel his eyes away from your swollen cunt.

“I-I know.” You pant, earning a twitch of Ralaks brows. “‘nd t-that’s good. Ngh—that’s really good, I-I can help you too.” You mumble, sticking your hand between your legs to fondle with yourself. With the way he grimaces one side of his face, it seems as if he wants to look away, but can’t.

“No, tanhì. We spoke of this.” His accent is thick as he struggles to string the words together, “No control. Trying hard…” he inhales quickly, eyes plastered to the sight in front of him, “…not to lose it.”

At this point the haze of your heat has you lethargically shaking your head from side to side, mumbling whatever frustrated-fueled words that first come to you “…haven’t cum yet…”, you squirm around to find a position that allows your wandering fingers better access to your hole, “…need to cum.” You slur the words as you barely slip two fingers inside you and you quietly sob when they provide very little release.

“Ralak!” You cry loudly enough to at last lure his gaze up to yours, the night sea finally meeting the roaring flame. Your voice quiets down into a soft whimper, “Please. Just t-try. Please.”

A moment of silence passes where you and Ralak stare at one another, hearts pounding and chests heaving, understanding exactly how the other feels. The burning desire to come together. The resistance, yet the lack of control. The eternal flame within. The heat.

Ralak breaks eye contact to glance at your slender fingers working as hard as they can. He breathes a heavy sigh, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving you when he sees just how raw you are from being in heat all alone. He’s responsible for you even being in this bad of a state, isn’t he? Leaving you before sunrise with nothing but a kiss on the head. If anything that only made it more intense for you. He wants to — no, needs to care for you. It’s what every part of himself is urging him to do.

“The thought of another finding you… like this.” Ralak rasps as he closes in on you, “so vulnerable… it makes me — haah.” He cuts himself off with a shaky sigh and a clench to his jaw. Beads of sweat ball on his temples, slowly rolling down his angular jaw to eventually meet and drip from his chin onto your stomach. He looms over you, his hair flowing forward when he suddenly grabs and tugs at your wrist in one swift move, yanking your fingers out of you.

“Ss-ah!” You hiss with a wince, heart skipping a beat when you realise that he’s barely there anymore. “I-It makes you, what?” You ask quietly — nervously, even.

A bestial growl begins to rumble in his chest, causing a shiver to ripple through you—hardening your nipples into peaks within seconds. Jawbone fluttering from his reluctance to answer, he harshly cups your pussy with his hand, causing you to gasp. His sharp, intimidating stare locks with yours, brows tensing as he allows two, thickset fingers to slip down to your slickened opening. His growl fades into a single, drawn out word.

“Nìfmokx. [jealous]”

His admission slips past his lips just as his fingers sink into your aching core, leaving your mouth agape and hot tears spilling over your cheeks. Jealousy isn’t an emotion Ralak is used to feeling. Much less something he would subject you to experience with him. But you could see the raw emotion in his eyes, as they flicker from a dark blue to something even deeper. It’s the way his stare bores into your innermost being as he fills you up with his digits alone, telling you that you were his, and his only.

He hooks his fingers right into your gummy walls, holding his position as he moves his hand in an up and down motion at full tilt. The tips of his fingers repeatedly slam into your swelling sweet spot, coaxing out broken, filthy noises from your throat. He hums with pride, yet his face remains stone cold, minus the occasional twitch of his jawbone. He’s trying so hard to keep at a steady pace, and not to be too rough with your fragility.

“Oh f-fuck.” You curse under your breath, both hands grabbing a firm hold of his forearm. You’ve been unintentionally edging yourself all day that you’re already almost there. And no matter how hard you squeeze and claw at his now-veiny arm, he remains unmoving.

“Go on, then.” He huffs impatiently as he looks down at you, feeling your walls clamp down on his fingers. Your heels sink into the bed when you push your hips into the air, fingernails digging into his skin as you near your first release. You begin to whimper, bucking your hips to chase the feeling of relief. It’s right there. It’s so close; and you just need to allow it to wash through you. You tense up so badly your whole body shakes, sending your teeth chattering and your bottom lip quivering. You swear you can see the stars from the night sky litter your vision and feel your heavy lids flutter shut.

“Look at me.” Ralak demands in a sharp, gruff tone. Your glossy eyes shoot back up to his, and you start to sputter out whatever gibberish comes from your mouth — a few curses mixed with his name and your fathers’ mother-tongue. He continues to glare down at you with a rigid face, tensing his jaw as he wills himself to be gentle and patient with you. “Good. Now cum, little one.”

Your pathetic noises suddenly fade into a sweet, little cry. A cry of relief when your frustration washes away as you finally come undone on his fingers. The alleviation is so intense that it’s almost consuming; “T-Thank—” you collapse back down onto the bed, “—you. Thank you—haah, thank you karyu.” You pant repeatedly, his forearm ripping from your grip when he unexpectedly wrenches his fingers out of you. You squirm from the sudden emptiness, “Wait—”

“Do not thank.” He spits the accented words as he stumbles back to create some distance between the two of you. He pants as he attempts to recollect himself, his face of stone finally screwing into something of a grimace. “So…if another na’vi found you, would you thank him too? Hm?”

“Lak. I… N-No.” You stutter, unsure of what to even say.

“You are mine. My mate…” he growls through thinned lips, “My duty. Understand?”

“Yes.” You nod quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up. It arouses you to see him so jealous. So possessive. So assertive.

Ralak slams his eyes shut and gulps so hard it’s audible —visible even. You could see the bump in the column of his throat quickly undulate, his chest heaving harshly and his shoulders dramatically rising and falling with each breath he struggles to take. And for a while, there’s nothing but silence and his heavy breathing that you feel the overwhelming need to break it.

“Ralak.”

Your trembling, tiny voice snapping his head back up to you, once tightly closed eyes now flying open to reveal the most beautiful shade of mauve. They pierce into you like a spear through an unsuspecting prey, full of nothing but pure, unadulterated greed.

You never thought you’d see them again except in that vision. You get lost in them for a little, studying how the gold ring around his blown pupils still remains even in a sea of indigo.

You sense that he’s in the thick of his rut now and you need to relieve him soon, like he did for you. Or only Eywa knows what will happen. You allow yourself to finally take in the man before you in full, eyes trailing down his sweaty, muscular physique — perfectly carved v-lines and six fingered tattoo — until they land on his aching cock.

Oh, fuck. Is he bigger? You think, admiring his mushroomy head and erect spikes. It’s oozing and dripping, unable to keep still from how hard it’s pulsing. It’s at least an inch bigger than usual.

You look away to study his facial expression and by the way he’s looking at you, you can tell he’s waiting for your command, trying his hardest to prevent himself from pouncing on you and fucking you senseless right here and now. You’ve never seen him this way before. Straining so hard to keep himself in one position and struggling to keep his hands to himself.

“Ralak… More.” You spread your legs as wide as they can go, holding them apart by the bend of your knees, exposing yourself completely. His heavy lidded eyes widen almost as much as your legs, pointed ears flicking upwards in excitement when he sees you assume such a vulnerable and submissive position.

“Y/n.” He groans, voice thick with arousal and want and maybe a little desperation as he takes in the sweet sight of your still-pulsing and swollen clit poking out between your folds. “I am… losing control.”

Hearing your name fall from his lips in this way — this tone, instantaneously reignites the flame in your core. In seconds your slit is practically dripping, forming a pool of your slick underneath you. “Good.” You pant as you stare up into his slit-like pupils. You swallow quickly before mustering up the courage to invite the beast in. “Now…remind me who I belong to.”

How could he resist now?

With the way you’re talking and your pheromones so pungent that they fill his lungs to the brim with no space for any other option but to fall into the thick of his rut. Before you can formulate another thought in your foggy state, Ralak has your legs pinned back and is diving nose first into your cunt.

He wastes no time to have his fill of you, lapping up your juices so desperately your body moves from the force of his licks. He has been wanting to taste you ever since you made a mess on his fingers, fuck — ever since he got a whiff of your scent from outside his marui door, but denied himself the pleasure in the case he couldn’t stop himself from going any further. But now, all restraint and denial is now left out at that very door.

The flat of his tongue trails up your inner thigh and then back to your folds, tasting a mixture of the sweetness of your slick and the saltiness of your sweat. He groans when his tongue finally grazes past your clit, feeling it throb against his taste buds. He lingers there for a while, swirling and sucking on you until he unlatches to come up for a quick breath of air.

“Fucking ftxìlor [delicious].” He gasps out a curse, shoving your legs even further back to have seconds of his meal.

It becomes evident that he’s doing this for himself. Because if he were doing this solely for you, he would have made you cum by now. He’s eating you out as if he’s been starved for weeks, sucking and popping off your clit just to lap up the sweet, sticky nectar seeping from your hole just to coat his tongue.

He’s nowhere near as quiet as he usually is, grunting and groaning as he swallows your juices. His fingernails dig into your thighs as he tries to keep himself from being too rough with your tiny, dainty body. But, his attempts prove to be futile once you feel your hips lift off the ground from his grip tightening around your thighs. You stare at the sight of your mate between your legs, crinkling his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut as he can’t stop himself from indulging in his urges.

“Fuck me!” You let out a frustrated moan, your heat having you so on edge you need to cum again.

His eyes fly open, and within moments he’s tucked under your hips, pelvises flush together as he rests his throbbing, neglected cock between your folds. His tip touches your belly button with ease, beads of precum oozing out of his slit one after the next.

“This is what you want, yes?” He bucks his hips into you, the tip of his cock smearing his slick all over your deep blue skin.

“Fuck, yes.” You whisper shakily, chin meeting your chest to look at the masterpiece he’s painting on you. “I want my mates cock.”

He only responds with a rough growl, flipping you over and pushing you onto your stomach.

“Oh shit.” You mutter under your breath, a little afraid of what you’ve gotten yourself into. But you trust Ralak.

You know that even in rut he would never hurt you. Not intentionally, at least. Of course this is not to say that he would be gentle —you expect that anything but.

With a firm hand to your upper back, his body is pressed against yours and his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He breathes in deeply through his nose, holding it in his lungs, and then letting out a hot, shaky breath against your skin, finally allowing himself to really take in your scent.

He almost becomes drunk off it— at least it feels that way for him. Your scent has him feeling like he’s downed two full bottles of fermented fruit with no chasers in between and he simply can’t get enough of it.

Hand moving swiftly from your back to your head, he pins your face to the bed as he trails his tongue along your jawbone to the nape of your neck. He lingers a little longer than he can help, suckling on and grazing his pointed canines against the skin. It sends shivers down your spine until your tail curls into the air and back arches in complete submission. You push back into him, feeling his hardened length pressed between the swell of your ass and base of your tail.

Fuck, you just want it inside you already.

“Lifting your tail for me, hm?” He huffs, puckering his lips against your skin and suckling tenderly. You can feel the emptiness creep back in, and that maddening itch deep in your womb. You moan softly, like a low hum under your breath, which only riles him up more. He feels like he wants to make you his all over again.

To mate with you.

To mark you as his in every way so that no other man would even dare look your way. Without warning, Ralak pushes up off you, his sinewy arms caging you in with one hand binding your wrists and the other keeping your head pinned to the bed. His legs hold yours down, his knees locking your ankles in place.

“You belong to me.” He growls next to your ear, his hand abruptly leaving your head to reach for the base of his skull for his kuru. With a quick tug, he brings it over his shoulder and pops it into his mouth to hold with his teeth. He reaches for your kuru that lies innocently in the dip of your back, and brings it towards his mouth.

A wave of anxiety washes over you when the image of Ka’ani finding you earlier in your own mess flashes before you. You can’t help but wonder if he would see that if he made tsaheylu right now. Imagine how he’d react when he realizes Ka’ani saw you naked and covered in slick? Your body squirmed at the mere thought, only making Ralak tighten his grip on you.

“Wait!” Is all you could blubber out before you feel the connection —the bond. Your eyes bulge when you feel him surge through you, two minds becoming one. It takes you by surprise, he’s never one to hastily or unexpectedly make tsaheylu with you. But tonight he makes the bond as if you were a tsurak to be tamed.

What he sees next drives him further into his territorial urges — your interaction with Ka’ani. The way Ka’ani barged into his home. How he saw your naked, vulnerable body. The fear that you felt when another man invaded your space. When he helped you. Innocently touched you.

“He touched you.” He says between pants, a mixture of emotions washing over him all at once. But the sharp pang of your heat transferring through tsaheylu has him entirely succumbing to his own urges and carnal instincts.

He’s simply not there.

His hips start bucking uncontrollably and his cock is poking and prodding at your puffy folds. The crown of his cock jabs at your clit a few times before finally parting your folds and with a quick snap of his hips he’s probing your entrance.

It stings when his swollen cockhead breaks past the resistance of your tightness, and he can’t help but lay hold of your hip and hiss from how tiny you feel. This is the first he’s ever had his cock stuffed inside a pussy during his rut. The feeling is all-consuming and he unapologetically yearns for more.

Hips snapping back, he pops his cockhead out of you only to shove it back in again. And again. And again until he’s repeatedly using your tight, little hole as nothing more than a fucktoy for his own self pleasure.

He leans back to take in the hazy sight, admiring the way your hole stretches perfectly to accommodate the sheer thickness of his cock. And when he sees the mushroomy part of his head slowly emerge he can’t help the way his hips stutter just to sink it back inside you.

It’s torturous, not having all of him inside you when that’s what your body is pining for most. He’s so much bigger than normal and you know that this is an itch that only he can scratch. “God—” You whine the foreign word, “—just fuck me already!”

“Agh. Quiet.” He lets out an irritated grunt, both hands flying to your hips to shove you down onto his cock — a loud, audible smack permeating the air when your sticky pelvises collide.

It almost overpowers the hoarse yet piercing cry that escapes your quivering lips. You’re so tender that the sudden stretch is too intense and with no time to adjust to his size you find yourself shuddering like you did after he took your innocence —your virginity.

His head dips back in ecstasy just when his tip kisses your cervix, his eyes screwed shut as he tries not to spray his seed inside your womb right now. His fingers sink into your skin, surely leaving bruises behind that will last for weeks.

“Hngh — woman.” He groans longingly, dropping his head forward and opening his ineberated eyes to witness how your cunt is sucking in every single inch of his cock with glee.

He grinds himself inside you, tugging at your hips and pushing against the resistance as if he were trying to stuff more of his cock inside you. Your high-pitched shrill fades out into a pathetic little whimper, your wobbly elbows and knees struggling to keep you up.

It’s all too much and your fucked out mind goes blank. You can’t even process how your body is submitting to its owner and his rough touches, opening itself up to be bred already. You sense what’s coming next. Your back bows, elbows and knees burying into the softness of the bed as you try to ground yourself for Ralak to use you for his own relief.

He does exactly that— hunching over you and shuffling his knees closer so he can gain more leverage to fuck into your slippery cunt. He puts all his weight on you, his fingernails almost piercing your skin when he begins rutting into you like his life depends on it.

He sets a merciless pace right off the bat, pounding into you as if he were angry with you. He huffs and puffs from trying to catch his breath but fails because he can’t stop himself from humping at you. His body won’t let him, not until he’s ensured you're full with his seed and will bear his child.

Hands quickly leaving your hips, he grabs your wrists, binding them together once more and the other grips your kuru and yanks it back. Your neck is exposed and your mouth hangs agape as you’re given no other choice but to take the jackhammering of your life. He’s never fucked you so hard or fast and perhaps it’s the haze of your heat but you just want more of him.

“F-Fuck. FuckFuckFuckmeFuckme— yes!” You beg deliriously, pushing yourself back onto him. You can feel the way his cock is bulging from your lower stomach, but you couldn’t care less because you just want it even deeper inside you. Fuck, it hurts even but it feels so good that you can’t stop begging for more. “Deeper — oh, yesyesyes!”

Ralaks groans become drawn out and he’s burying his hot face into the crook of your neck as his pulsing tip bullies its way past your cervix. It’s like white hot pleasure surging through your entire being and it has you so lightheaded you may actually pass out before he’s finished with you.

His cock heats up inside your cunt, becoming so veiny you could practically feel each vein press against your gummy, slimy walls. He’s now panting open mouthed against your throat, his tongue darting out to lick your skin. He shoves your head down so he can access the back of your neck—a hot spot for your pheromones— and grazes his canines against you. Every fiber of his being is urging him to sink them into your skin and see if you taste as good as you smell. His fangs throb in his mouth at the mere thought, his hot saliva dripping off their length and down your neck.

You’re so overwhelmed and overstimulated that you can’t form a coherent thought much less process the fact that you’re quickly nearing your climax. It’s as if you’ve surrendered all control over your body to him and he’s dictating what happens next. Your pussy walls tighten around him so much it aches and he outright whimpers.

“Sst-ah.” He pulls away from your neck and slams his eyes shut, grimacing from the way your cunt is gripping his cock. At this point you’re so on edge that you’re just pinching him, locking him inside you and almost cutting off his blood supply. It’s more than painful for him, and he becomes peeved that you won’t ease up.

Irritated, he aggressively slams himself into you so that you stop with your pathetic little pinching, but all that does is tip you over the edge. Next thing you know your cunt is helplessly fluttering around his cock and your pussy juices are trickling down your thighs.

“Mmm-fuck I’m cumming!” You moan the words so quickly they jumble together, “Cu-cumming! Cumming!”

You throbbing around him has his eyes rolling into the back of his head but the more your body convulses underneath him the more he grows frustrated with you. How could such a little thing put on such a big performance? Why won’t you just stay still?

So he thrusts. And thrusts. And thrusts.

Taming you in the only way his body knows how. Fucking into you without mercy or sympathy. He lets out a hiss, the first he’s ever directed your way, and tightens his grip. “Keep…” He pulls out of you until only the tip is left inside, “...still.” Ralak’s deep voice rumbles next to your ear as he slams every inch cock into your cunt, the mere force of his thrust almost knocking you onto your stomach. You let out a broken whimper, coming down from your high and already feeling the coil in your stomach wind and heat up again.

“Haa—‘nna…make you swell.” He groans the fragmented sentence like a dying man, grinding so deeply inside you that his swollen balls rub against your puffed up clit. Your bruised cervix feels so good against his cock as he uses it to massage the most sensitive part of his tip.

Experiencing nothing but absolute rapture, Ralaks head slumps into the crook of your neck, where he’s flooded by your scent. He only grinds harder. And harder, until he’s panting like a viperwolf against your skin.

“Fuck — please…” You beg through a shaky whisper, trying to free your hands from his undying grip, “I j-ust c-came.”

He’s just so fucking big and deep that he’s touching parts of you that have never touched before, and he’s only getting more aggressive the more you push away his advances. Right now, you’re just a squirming, noisy bitch in heat that needs to be put in her place. To surrender and submit. And the pheromones wafting up his nostrils only drive him further into his bestial urges to claim you as his.

His teeth and gums throb in his mouth once more when the urge to mark you as his becomes indubitable. Much like the urge to keep you still enough to make you into a vessel for his seed. He indulges himself, yanking your head back to expose the bend of your shoulder. He hovers open mouthed over your flawless skin and gives you a kitten lick before ruthlessly marking you.

Your eyes bulge and pupils constrict into nothing but dots when you feel his lengthy fangs plunge into your flesh. The wail evading your throat is deafening and only gets higher when you feel your shoulder set ablaze. His jaw locks into place and he holds you still as he incessantly claims you as his in more ways than just marking. Your eyes start to water and your body stiffens when you feel it.

He’s bulging inside you.

Stretching you out until your shoulder isn’t the only part of you on fire. You lash around, clawing at whatever’s in your way until your nails are dull but the more you move the more it burns. “Y-You’re getting bigger inside me!” You release a high pitched squeal, your elbows and knees finally collapsing under you. Now all his weight is on top of you, pinning you flat to the bed with nowhere for you to go. He begins groaning low and deep, drawing it out until it turns into a depraved growl. It feels as if he’s swelling inside you, as if he were doubling in size. As if he were — oh fuck.

“You’re — you’re knotting me, lak!” You yell when you come to the realisation. It feels like there’s two of him inside you, stretching you to unfathomable lengths. Despite your continuous attempts to get him to let up, he continues to bulge inside you. “You’re knotting me.” You repeat the words in a weakened, croaky voice of defeat, finally giving in and accepting your fate.

Riding out his high, his hips stutter out of his control — a familiar sensation now flooding your core. A rush of warmth inside you. It’s his hot seed pumping inside you, his cock thumping with each spurt. He groans and moans until you’re so overloaded with his cum it begins to drip down your thighs and mix with yours.

He unlatches from your shoulder, lapping at the wound to prevent it from bleeding too badly. He plants a few rough kisses on the double crescent shaped mark and works them up to the lobe of your ear. He’s panting and sweating and he can feel the fog lifting now that he’s had his release. “‘m sorry.” He mumbles between wet kisses, now trailing them back down to the fresh wound to lap at it some more. “‘m sorry.”

“Ralak, I-I” You stutter, overloaded with all these new sensations. It’s burning worse than a hellfire wasp sting but at the same time it’s everything your body hungers for. “Haah.. it-it hurts” You whimper quietly, looking behind you to see the most inebriated eyes you’ve ever seen on this man’s face stare back at you. He releases his pheromones to help your body calm down and feel less pain, ultimately scenting you all together.

“Mawey.” Ralak huffs, trying his hardest to stay still now that he’s quickly coming to the realisation that he’s knotted and marked you in one go. “Doing… so well, tahnì.” He tries to praise you but truthfully he’s still in and out of it, dazing off when he feels the occasional throb of your walls.

“Am I? Am I helping you too, lak?” You ask in a surprisingly optimistic tone, proud that you were able to do what you were told was unmanageable. He musters out a nod, grunting as he finishes emptying himself in your womb.

Feeling some level of sense and rationality, you ask him a question that’s been on your mind. “I’m going to get pregnant, aren’t I?”

“Mm.” He hums, nodding his head as he nuzzles himself into the dip of your shoulder, inhaling your seeping scent.

“Is that what you w-want?” Your breath hitches as you flinch from his cheek resting on your shoulder.

“Mm.” Another grunt, followed by an unexpected, fervid thrust — his body answering your question on his behalf by ensuring every last drop of his essence is inside your fertile womb.

You focus on steadying your breathing now that you’ve gotten your answer.

“Irayo, muntxate [thank you, wife].” He says weakly, finally rolling you both onto your sides for some much needed rest. You chuckle. A weak one, but a chuckle nonetheless, and repeat his own words back to him.

“Do not thank.” You say with a smile, getting yourself as comfortable as you can for the long night ahead.

——

2K notes · View notes

lovesickeros · 1 year

Text

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #imposter au #focalors #furina #neuvillete #a family can be a dragon an archon and his 300 other children who reverse adopted him #u date him its a package deal sorry #u now have like 300 children g-dspeed #also tagged spoilers on neuvi's part bc its kinda a spoiler??? sort of #also this can be read as platonic or romantic on neuvi's part #can u tell i like focalors btw :)#also gonna be swapping between focalors/furina bc SOMEONE sent me a theory and it sent me spiraling im gonna be ill #u know who u r and ur days r numbered #can be read as romantic between reader & neuvi but only bc i know focalors rubs it in his face she found the actual creator first #anyway can u tell focalors is my fav pt2 i wont shut up abt her its terminal atp #focalors..................#anyway *doesnt post fr months. randomly drops a 2k word fic. leaves and doesnt elaborate*#starts out v serious ends v silly #wrote this in one sitting im gonna go pass out now gn

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kurophiliac · 12 days

Text

Hello, It's Plato. I am making this post to provide additional context on the accusations for those who do not use Twitter. As you saw from @bezierballad 's apology, the screenshots were all faked. But there's more proof I wanted to add that they did not include. I'm sure many of you have already heard this on Twitter, so my apologies for the repetition. These are just the main points I want to get out.

Zex, the creator of the screenshots, has been caught in several lies.

According to the time stamps in the fake screenshots, it would have been impossible for the messages to have come from the server where they claimed the conversation took place. Charlie left in 2023, Zex joined in 2024, and the screenshots were all marked "today." They also can't be old screenshots because Zex and Charlie were not on the server at the same time.

When asked to provide message IDs, Zex said that they had already left the server (where they claimed to have obtained the screenshots from). However, as of right now, they are still on the server. They will be promptly removed once a moderator wakes up.

Charlie and I's nicknames from the screenshots are not nicknames or pfps we ever had in the server they supposedly came from. These nicknames were exclusive to a 7-person group chat. The only reason Zex knew of them was because of a screenshot I posted a month or two ago. It would have been much more believable if they had used our actual usernames.

(Edit) Something I forgot to add- when Zex was questioned about how they got onto the server, they said they pretended to be a proshipper and DMd me for the link to the server where they took the screenshots. However, I haven't been active in that server lately, and I never sent anyone any server links within the past 6 months.

How were the screenshots faked?

There are two likely scenarios. One being that they were generated by a bot. There are *many* services out there that will generate fake discord texts. OR they used an alt account or friend to "roleplay" Charlie and I thirsting over Charlie's non-existent 5yo cousin. Which is infinitely worse.

So, who really is Zex, and what was their motive?

The easiest explanation regarding motive is just that they wanted to make proshippers look bad. This is pretty typical anti behavior. Charlie and I could have been selected at "random" as we are two bigger sebaciel accounts. But there might actually be more to it.

Now, from this point forward, we are stepping outside the realm of fact and inside the realm of educated guesses. There exists a person who has serious grudges against me, Charlie, and Bezier. Only one person who we are aware of. This individual is a proshipper with a history of going undercover as an anti to stir up trouble and a history of faking screenshots to make antis look bad.

This person was also in the server where the original confession/accusation was made.

They had deleted their account prior to the confession. Zex is actually a new account that only joined the anti server (where the confession was made) yesterday. They basically came into the server just to make this accusation. Pretty suspicious. It's likely that Zex, in an attempt to ruin Charlie and I's reputation as revenge for us ruining theirs, created these screenshots. As seen in the posts by Bezier, Zex asked them to make a post because they didn't want to deal with the repercussions. Zex knows these screenshots are fake, and they also know that people will eventually figure it out. So, if their attempt to frame us didn't work, at least they'd be able to ruin Beziers reputation. Or perhaps even all three, if people were more divided and hadn't come to a consensus. Please keep in mind that there is no evidence that the individual with the grudge and history of faked screenshots and causing drama is actually Zex. However, it is seeming more and more likely.

Anyway. This has been a very tiring day. I am grateful to Bezier for taking down the OP and writing an apology. And as for Zex- I will likely be taking legal action against them.

#sebaciel #proship #black butler #anti proship

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absurdthirst · 3 days

Text

The Future of Rome {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.6k

Warnings: Mentions of orgies, whores, cuckolding, voyeurism, oral sex (male and female receiving), cream pie, breeding, mentions of feeding kink, vaginal sex, pregnancy, betrayal, conspiracy, murder

Comments: When Caracalla is unable to father a child on you, his empress, he enlists General Marcus Acacius to be his proxy between your thighs. Needing his general's seed in his efforts to father the next ruler of Rome.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you watch as your husband, Emperor Caracalla of Rome, paces in the large room, screaming and shouting like an overgrown child. At times, it feels like that is what he is, a child. A man child who controls the largest empire in the world, alongside his brother Geta. The two of them engaged in squabbles that would have all of the citizens of Rome demanding new leadership if they knew of them. “You must carry a child!” He hisses, turning and glaring at you as if you are at fault for the monthly flow of blood that comes between your thighs like clockwork. “How have you not been bred yet? I fill you nearly every week.” His eyes narrow and he stops his stride to turn towards you. “Are you doing something? Taking some tonic to prevent a child from growing?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Of course I would not.” You tell him. “It is my duty to provide you with an heir. Before Geta.” You know your husband wishes to best his brother by having a child before he does. “You are still fucking your concubines.” You remind him. “None of them have fallen pregnant with your bastard. Perhaps your seed is bad.” You could be risking his wrath by telling him what no hippocrates would, but he has never sired one bastard and he indulges in orgies and women all the time. You have no love for the husband you had been forced to marry by your father in return for Rome not destroying your homelands.

Caracalla’s eyes grow wide and he hisses, striding over to you and you brace yourself as he hits you across the face with the back of his hand. You gasp and he looms over you, “you dare to insult me like that, uxor? I am divine. Ordained by the gods and you are? Some whore daughter of a King who wilted under the glory of the Roman army. You are fortunate I chose you to be Empress. An honor I bestow upon you and you have the gall to question my seed.” He rants but he knows you could be true. He longs to have an heir before his brother and even if he fucks you every day, you still bleed. He has never fathered a bastard. You cup your cheek, keeping your head down and he sighs, “we must seek a solution.” He declares, frowning as he considers his options to ensure he beats his brother to the heir.

You bite your lip to keep from crying, knowing that tears would only incense the man you are married to even more. Caracalla does not like to see you cry, even if he is cruel and cutting. When he punishes you for any perceived slight. Tears are a sign of weakness in his eyes and he will not have you shed them in his presence. “What solution would you have?” You know he cannot seek out a healer, the risk of rumor would be too great. Any kind of whisper about this would make its way back to Geta.

He paces in front of the balcony, the linens flowing in the breeze. “I need an heir who will be strong, a fighter. I need a boy. I need you to give birth to the next heir. We need to ensure that you get pregnant as soon as possible.” He murmurs, speaking his mind and he finally turns to you. “We need to have someone else get you pregnant. We need - General Marcis Acacius.” He declares, eyes wide.

You frown, trying to recall what the man looks like. He has been away from Rome for nearly two years, since just after you had married Caracalla. “He looks nothing like you.” You point out.

“I don’t need him to look like me. I need a boy and he’s a strong fighter. He will give our child the characteristics he needs to lead Rome and her army.” He declares, “you will fuck him when he returns.” He orders and you swallow harshly, knowing you will struggle to have relations with a man that isn’t your husband but you have no choice but to do as he demands.

“I will gift you to him to fuck.” He continues on, a wild and honestly frightening smile splitting his face. “It will be an honor, for fighting so valiantly for Rome.” He isn’t talking to you, but rather plotting out what will happen. You can’t quite recall what Marcus Acacius looks like, but you hope that he will be quick to cum like Caracalla, or at least his seed will take root quickly.

****

Marcus looks up at the marbled entrance as he arrives at the palace to meet the Emperors and tell them about his success in person. He’s sent messengers but he must tell them of his accomplishments rather than be allowed to return to his home to relax. He sighs as he adjusts the white and gold tunic and armor that suffocates him. It’s for display, not ideal for battle, and he knows the Emperors will have a feast planned soon after his report and he’s expected to be on display. He scratches his cheek as he is escorted through the halls until he arrives in the grand hall where the Emperors are waiting. He strides to stand before them and bows his head, “Rome is in your hands.” He vows, “we have conquered Africa.” He announces, “for you and for Rome.”

Dressed in snowy white silk and gold, you are sitting off to the side, ignored by your husband and brother as they had waited for the general’s approach. You had heard the crowds outside the palace, the roars echoing dimly and you sat up slightly from the chaise when the doors had opened. Finding a much different man than you had expected walking confidently towards them. He’s older than you remembered, but his gray hair is still pleasant as it mixes with his darker locks. He’s handsome, not the sharp nosed beauty of your fair husband, but darker, broader. His nose is curved and his eyes are the color of night from where you sit. You want to see them up close. He’s large, larger than Caracalla and you wonder if you are the whore some have whispered you must be, for you want to see what this man would be like inside you.

Caracalla cannot let his brother know his plan. No one can know. Geta greets Marcus who bows his head and his dark eyes flick over to you for a moment. When you arrived at the palace you were reluctant to marry Caracalla. He remembers hearing the rumors of your attempts to escape, and the way Caracalla treats you from guards that he served with. He clenches his jaw, standing up straight and the Emperors sing his praises so he offers them polite smiles. He’s sick of war. He’s tired of fighting an endless battle for more land when the Roman Empire is struggling. People cannot eat. Men are dying. It’s an endless grab for power and the Emperors are not fighting for it themselves. “Tonight, we feast in your honor.” Geta declares, clapping Marcus on the back and he follows the Emperors to the head table where he will sit while the court and the senate celebrate his success.

When his eyes land on yours, a shiver races through your body. This is a man who has seen death. Dealt out harsh punishments and narrowly survived. He’s much more rugged, raw. So different from your spoiled and foppish husband. He should be a leader for Rome, rather than a man who has never seen war. You are ignored, so you undrape yourself from your seat and slowly stroll into the hall to join the festivities.

Marcus notices you as you sit down beside your husband and he’s taken back by how beautiful you are but he also sees the sadness in your eyes. The lifeless stare across the room tells him you’re lonely while your husband guzzles wine and cheers for the victory he played no physical part in. He does as is expected, eating and drinking his fill but he thinks about the starvation he witnessed, the poverty that the empire has caused from taxing too much and forcing more war on its people. “We shall acquire whores to pleasure you, General.” Geta insists, “you will be serviced until you feel rewarded for your victory for Rome.” The court cheers and Caracalla then leans in towards you, “return to your room. I want you ready to take the general.” He commands, whispering in your ear.

You don’t sigh, nodding and leaning in to kiss his cheek for show before you stand up and walk out of the room without looking back. Knowing the Emperor, he will want you nude and wearing some of the jewels that had been sent back to Rome as tribute. You have already been bathed and perfumed by your servants in anticipation of your husband fucking you tonight, but Caracalla always demands privacy in the wing of the palace you live in. His oddity will work in his favor for concealing who is planting his seed in your belly tonight.

Marcus is ready to head home when Caracalla whispers in his ear, “I wish to speak privately.” Marcus frowns as he pulls back to look into the manic eyes of the emperor and he knows he can never deny him. He nods and stands with the emperor. He bows to Geta even though the other emperor is busy with his tongue down a whore’s throat as the festivities begin. Caracalla dismisses his guards with a wave of his hand and he guides Marcus through the halls until he enters his private chambers. Marcus is anxious, wondering if the emperor is going to kill him even though the idea is laughable. He’s been a man of luxury. Only carrying a sword for show and never for battle. The emperor still doesn’t speak as he strides over to the doors and he opens them to display you on the bed naked and draped in jewels, a nervous look on your face. “What is the meaning of this?” Marcus demands, confused and wanting to leave to retire to his villa. Not to play games.

“I tried to imagine what kind of reward a man of your talents would enjoy.” Caracalla hums as he smirks victoriously. You are a gorgeous creature and he knows that the man will have no problem mounting you. “Whores are too boring, they have had too many men, been soiled by their pleasures.” He takes Marcus’s shoulders and turns him back towards you and the bed. “But an Empress’s cunt? She’s only had one other cock. She’s practically pure and it’s tight.” He chuckles. “My brother gives you a common whore to fuck, I give you a royal cunt.” Again, it’s a competition between the brothers and he’s determined to best Geta.

Marcus’s eyes widen at the Emperor’s offer and he looks over at you. His cock twitches under his tunic at the way you’re on display for him, but he wonders if this is some kind of test from the emperor. He swallows harshly and looks back at Caracalla. “You honor me but I am - I am satisfied with whores. I do not want to sully the empress with my - with my body. She is divine and deserves to be fucked by a man like you, a man chosen by the gods.”

You lift a brow, wondering what the Emperor will say to that. Would he admit that he has been unsuccessful in breeding you? That there is something wrong with him? Or will he blame it on you? There is no telling with Caracalla. You shift to your knees, spread apart on the bed so he can get a good look at your body.

Marcus’s cock twitches again, hardening as your breasts bounce and he swallows harshly, averting his eyes once again. “I don’t - I don’t understand.” Marcus admits, knowing that only the emperor can fuck the empress to get her with child. “I want you to fuck my uxor and I want to watch.” Caracalla confesses, “and I want you to spill your seed inside of her.”

His eyes slide over your body again and you can see the way his cock is starting to lift the fabric of his tunic. Your nipples are hardening because you are enticing this war-hardened general. “The emperor is very generous.” You tell Marcus, sliding a hand up to cup one tit. “He has never been one to share and yet he wishes to honor his general.” You don’t mention why he would want such a thing. “Do you not like cunt?” You ask, wondering if he might prefer the boys in the bath houses. You have heard rumors of some senators who often prefer the company of men than their wives. Perhaps the general is one of them.

Marcus shakes his head, “no. I- I do. It’s just -” He looks at Caracalla, “you’re the empress and I cannot - the heir cannot be from anyone but the emperor.” Marcus reasons and Caracalla reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, “you have to understand, General, I am asking you to fill up my wife. We have been unsuccessful in our venture to have an heir and I must beat my brother to it. I wish for you to spill your seed inside my empress…regardless of the consequences.” He declares and Marcus’s eyes widen slightly as he understands what is being asked of him.

You can see that Marcus Acacius is not a foolish man, he understands the danger he has found himself in. He cannot deny the Emperor, and he could never speak of it. “Maritus.” You murmur softly, bringing his attention back to you. “Tell the general what kind of son you wish to have.”

Caracalla senses Marcus’s panic and he smirks, “I want a warrior son. Someone who will be strong and fight for Rome, to protect our line.” He says even though he knows the child would not be his blood. “The name. My name must continue through him. I want a gladiator and you possess those traits. I wish for my son to have them. Do you wish to fill my beautiful wife with your seed and produce the next heir to the Roman Empire?” He asks even though he knows no one says no to the emperor.

You can see that Marcus is torn. He can’t say no, just like you could not run away from him when he had decided to take you as his empress. “He is handsome.” You coo. “Strong. He will put a son you will be proud of in my belly.” You tell your husband. “While enjoying himself by having an empress spread her thighs for him.”

Marcus knows he can’t refuse. He must fuck you and you’re a beautiful woman but he prays to the gods that the emperor doesn’t change his mind and punish you or him after the act is complete. “As my emperor wishes.” He nods and Caracalla claps, “excellent. My uxor will strip you. I wish to watch the act.” He says, spinning to make his way to the chair in the corner. Marcus is shocked that the man wants to watch but he doesn’t deny him, knowing that could be his head. He nods and walks over to the bed, waiting for your move.

Sliding off the bed, you stand straight, unashamed of your nudity. You might have only had Caracalla as a lover, but he often wanted you nude to just gaze upon you while you were together. You reach for the golden laurel on his head and remove it gently. “Tonight we will see if your prowess in battle is matched by your vigor in bed.” You smile at him, wanting to make sure he doesn’t change his mind. “If your cock truly is as big as your sword.” You giggle. “Some of the women you have fucked talk.”

Marcus’s cock is hardening with your words and your touch. You are one of the most beautiful women in the empire, if not the most, and Marcus is not immune to your beauty. You set his laurel down and Caracalla takes his place in the corner of the room. He flusters at his reputation and wonders what you will think of him. If he lives up to the rumors.

You try to forget your husband is watching, concentrating on the man in front of you. The gold wrist cuffs come off and you wonder if he would prefer the unadorned look. Rather than being weighed down by the ostentatious trappings of his role. You know you would rather live simply. “Relax, General.” You hum quietly. “The emperor has taught me how to please him. Hopefully I will please you as well.”

Marcus is nervous, anxious, and every emotion a man can be when he’s being used for his seed and watched as he pleasures the wife of one of the most powerful men in the empire. He keeps his hands by his sides until you reach for the hem of his tunic. He’s ashamedly hard, unable to be anything but when you are in front of him. You smell delicious and he knows he’d be diving into your cunt if you came to his home without your status and stature.

Biting your lip, you lift the tunic to reveal his hard cock and you moan softly. “Step back, let me look.” Caracalla demands and you turn to the side to show the emperor his cock. “He is very well endowed.” Your husband smirks. “Good. I would hate for my son to have a less than impressive cock.” He is very proud of his own, even if he is not as thick as Marcus. You reach down and brush your finger over the length as you pull the tunic over his head.

He hisses when your fingers brush his length and you smirk, tossing his tunic aside. Caracalla often indulges in men when he is in the throes of an orgy and he is impressed by the general. His shoulders are broad and muscular. Strong arms. Tapered waist and a full head of hair, albeit graying, even in his ripe age. This is the man who could sire him a son who would be legendary in Rome. “Kiss him.” Caracalla demands, wanting to be in control even if it is not his seed securing his lineage.

You lick your lips, leaning in and press your lips to the slightly chapped ones of the general. You sense his hesitation, knowing that he is unsure of the motives behind this. Instead of pulling back, you press your breasts against his chest, feeling the light hairs covering his skin tickle you.

His fingers flex and Caracalla chuckles, “you can touch her, General.” There’s the permission Marcus needs. His hands slide along your back, pulling you even closer and one hand slides up your body to cup your cheek, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His tongue finds yours and you squeak, unused to such aggressive kissing. Caracalla likes softer especially when he’s wanting the opposite of his lovers or orgies.

Your husband hums, reaching for his wine with one hand and reaching down to squeeze his cock with the other. If it would not potentially ruin the chances of you conceiving a child, he would join you. See how Marcus kisses. Instead, he takes pleasure in knowing that the most powerful general in his army is following his orders even off the battlefield.

Marcus groans into your mouth, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass while he grips the back of your neck. He’s relieved that he sought the company of a whore before arriving back in Rome. He would embarrass himself if he were pent up. He loves the way your fingers tangle in his hair and he is glad to see the empress is not shy about taking what she wants.

The emperor very rarely lets you do what you wish, so this is a new experience for you and you are greedy for it. “Get on your knees.” The order comes from behind you and makes you pull away. Aware that Caracalla will still try to dictate the way you are fucked. “Let the general see you on your knees before him and feel your mouth around his cock.”

Marcus inhales sharply as he watches you sink to your knees in front of him. His sandals are still on his feet while his cock throbs from arousal. Your eyes are sultry as you look up at him, looking like Venus herself. He swallows and hisses softly when you wrap your fingers around his cock.

You squeeze him gently, feeling him throb in your hand and you roll back the foreskin. You have pleasured your husband like this countless times and he claims you are good at it, so hopefully you don’t disappoint the general. Leaning forward, you press your tongue flat against the tip and then curl it around the head as you take him into your mouth. The general has bathed, so he tastes clean and musky.

His fingers flex by his side as you take him into your mouth. He groans quietly but Caracalla shakes his head, "I want to hear how my empress is making you feel." He demands and Marcus nods, groaning louder when you take him deeper into your mouth. "Fuck." He curses, his hand finding your cheek as he looks down at you.

You hum at his rough praise, feeling the way his hips slightly rock, like he wants to take control and fuck your mouth. Taking him deeper, you moan when the first spurt of his salty seed hits your tongue, a little treat to tell you he is enjoying it.

His eyes flutter closed as he loses himself in the feel of your mouth around his cock. He can tell you’re not as experienced as the whores he has had but you are enthusiastic and he fucking loves that. “Open your eyes, Acacius.” Caracalla orders, wanting to see the pleasure on the man’s face.

You take him deep right as he opens his eyes and they widen in shock as he chokes out a sound that goes straight to your cunt. Pleased that you can make a man as strong and fierce as the general choke on his own breath. You start to bob your head quickly, wanting to hear more and to see his face screw up in pleasure.

Marcus groans, his chin resting on his chest as he watches you take his cock. “Fuck.” He grunts as your hands rest on his thighs as you take his cock in your mouth. His stomach clenches and he moans, shaking his head. “I am - I’m going to- shit. Stop.” He pleads, his cock twitching in your mouth.

You are surprised that he is already about to cum, but maybe he has been without the pleasure of a woman for too long. You pull off his cock, panting yourself as you wipe your chin. Your cunt is dripping and you are eager to see if his cock scrubs against your walls the way you hope he does. Despite your initial reservations about having sex with someone else, you now find yourself looking forward to fucking this man

He is shocked how quickly you worked him up but perhaps it’s because this is not a whore he’s paid for. You are the most coveted woman in the empire, a prize to your husband, and you’re on your knees for him. Caracalla smirks at the look on the general’s face. He looks worked up and the emperor smirks, “you need to spill inside her. Uxor, lay down on the bed and spread your legs for the general. Let him see how wet you get sucking a cock.”

You shift to your feet and turn around. Your eyes slide to your husband and you see that he is turned on, his own cock tenting his tunic. Laying down, you spread your legs. Bending your knees you run your hands down to spread the lips of your sex for him to see. “Soaked.” You moan softly.

Marcus’s eyes darken as he takes in the sight of your wet cunt. You’re dripping and he loves it. He reaches down to squeeze his cock as he shuffles closer. Caracalla smirks at the look on the general’s face. “You can fuck her, Acacius. You have the emperor’s blessing. Fill her with your seed and create the next emperor of Rome.” He demands and Marcus shifts to kneel on the bed. His free hand slides up your thigh until he’s pushing two thick digits into your dripping cunt.

Your eyes flutter closed on a loud moan, feeling the way his fingers stretch you out. His hands are rough, the skin scraping so deliciously inside you and making your legs shift and shake around his hips. This man will be so different from the only other man you have had sex with, you know that instinctively and for a split second, you pray to the gods that it will take more than one time for him to successfully fill you with his seed.

He pumps his fingers, loving how wet you are around them, and he groans when you squeeze his digits. He wants you to cum like this. His thumb against your clit, he curls his fingers while your emperor watches you. His fingers squeeze his cock through his tunic while Marcus strokes his cock with his fist.

Your body responds to the sure, deep pumps of his fingers into your cunt. “Gods.” You whimper, watching as his dark, intense eyes watch his fingers move inside you. Completely focused on making you feel blissful before he mounts you. You won’t say that your husband hasn’t pleasured you, but it’s always been a byproduct of his own, rather than his complete goal. “It feels so good. His fingers are magical.”

Caracalla smirks as he watches your back arch and you moan as Marcus pumps his fingers into you. The room is filled with a squelch as you take what he gives you. “That’s it, Empress.” He coos, pressing his thumb harder against your clit.

You pant out your first name. “Call me by my name when you are inside me.” You order breathlessly, wanting to hear him say your name. Turning your head, you look to your husband behind you, seeing that he is actually enjoying watching you like this. You know he has attended many orgies and probably watched many people have sex, but his eyes are alight with glee, watching this general touch you.

Marcus watches you as you take his fingers and groans at the way you are fluttering around his digits. He says your name as a demand, wanting you to fall apart for him before he fucks you full of his seed. Caracalla watches and smirks, his cock now pulled out so he can slowly jerk himself at the sight in front of him.

Whimpering quietly, your body starts to react. Toes curling and thighs shaking as your cunt clenches down around his thick fingers. “Marcus!” Your gasp of his name is loud, almost surprised as the intense pleasure rips through you, his fingers pressing against something wonderful inside you.

He groans, cock twitching in his hand as you soak his digits and Caracalla chuckles, “she loves your fingers, General.” Marcus smirks and works you through it, pulling his fingers out after you start to whine. “You want me to fuck you, Empress?” He asks, smirking as he jerks his cock against your pelvis.

You moan, nodding as you try to roll your hips down. He looks confident now, like the general you know he must be on the battlefield. “I do, General. Fuck me full.”

He nods, shifting to position his cock at your entrance, swiping it through your folds as he groans softly when he notches himself at your entrance and starts to push inside you with a soft groan of your name. You’re so tight and hot, his eyes flutter closed at the way you feel around him.

He’s thick. Thicker than Caracalla, stretching you more than his fingers did and pulling a long, wanton moan from your chest. You are taking another man. Having his cock inside you and you hear your husband groan as he watches. He sounds almost envious, but you can only care about the way Marcus fills you right now. “Fuck.” You whine when his hips are flush and his cock is pushed deep and kissing your womb. “Your cock is made by the gods.” You praise breathlessly.

Marcus looks down at you, his chest heaving at the way you are taking his cock and he shifts to his forearms so he can hover over you. Your legs lift to wrap around his hips and his face hovers near yours. “You’re so tight.” He hisses and Caracalla smirks, “I told you. She’s like a virgin.” He declares as he squeezes his cock in his hand, working himself as Marcus starts to move inside you.

That first thrust is a sharp snap of his hips. Making you scream and your nails dig into his biceps. Marcus freezes, fearing that he had made an error, but your thighs tighten. “More, move general.” You demand, wanting to see if he can make you scream like that again.

He loves the way you command him, reminding him of your status. He relaxes now that he knows he didn’t hurt you and he rocks his hips, pushing deep into you. “Empress. Scream for me.” He growls, leaning in to kiss your neck since he doesn’t know if kissing is permissible. His hips rock forward as he pushes against your cervix.

You moan softly, knowing that he will make you scream if he moves like this inside you. “Kiss him.” Caracalla orders, giving permission and you quickly turn your head to press your lips to Marcus's as his head comes up. He rocks into you steadily, your fingers tracing over the scars on his back and side as he fucks you. Mapping the wars that he has fought and the times he has survived to experience this moment. “So deep.” You whimper.

He is lost in the feel of your hot cunt around his cock. Your body takes everything he gives you. His hips slap against your ass and he shifts his weight onto one arm so he can grab your thigh, pushing it back towards your stomach as he sinks impossibly deeper into you. His tongue sliding against yours to swallow your moan.

You don’t even think about Caracalla, although you hear the sound of him stroking his cock. Too taken by the way that Marcus fucks you. He’s rougher, harder than your husband and his pace makes your walls flutter around his cock every time he drills into you. It’s so wicked, forbidden and the people of Rome would be horrified if they knew that their Empress was being fucked like a common whore, but you love it.

He groans into your mouth as you grip his shoulders and he rocks harder into you, wanting to feel you cum around him. His hand slides up your thigh until he’s rubbing your clit. He may have had many whores but he’s always prided himself on ensuring they were pleasured too. “Empress.” He groans against your chin, “want you to cum for me.”

You whine into his mouth when he comes back to kiss you. Rocking up against his fingers as you try to get as close as possible to him. One hand slides down to his ass, feeling it flex as he pumps into you. “Yes. Yes.” You chant, eyes closed in bliss.

Marcus grunts as he grinds into you, his fingers rubbing your clit faster as he wants you to cum for him. He kisses along your neck and Caracalla is invisible to him as he focuses completely on you. “Cum for me.” He demands and you cry into his mouth as you fall apart for him.

It’s good, better than any pleasure Caracalla has ever given you but you can never admit that. Your body trembles under his as your walls spasm around him. Making him groan as you gasp out his name. “Marcus!” You feel how you soak his cock and the sounds it makes as he fucks you through it.

He loves the way you squeeze him and he hisses your name, rocking into you. He knows he should hold off, make you fall apart again but he is wound up by the circumstances. “Fill her up, Acacius.” Caracalla demands and Marcus buries his face in your neck as he thrusts a half dozen more times until he’s pushing deep and filling you up with hot spurts of cum.

The hot splash of his seed makes you whine, eyes closed as you feel him ride out his pleasure, cock pulsing inside you. He doesn’t pull out of you immediately and you enjoy his weight on top of you. He is heavier, broader than your husband and you like feeling like you are at his mercy. The sweat slick skin of his back slides under your fingers and you stroke it and you sigh in bliss.

Marcus shifts to take his weight off you and he swallows harshly. He hasn’t cum that hard since he was with his wife. He kisses your neck without Caracalla seeing it and your emperor stands, cock in his hand, to stand at the foot of the bed. “Pull out of her. I want to see your seed drip out of her.” He demands and Marcus shifts to pull out of you. He lays beside you and Caracalla stands there, eyes dark as he takes in the sight of your dripping cunt.

You can’t really tell what your husband is thinking, his eyes wide and slightly manic. He’s not upset, that much you can tell. “What do you think, maritus?” You ask softly.

He smirks, jerking his cock as he kneels on the bed. “I want to cover you in my seed.” He says as he watches you while you lay on the bed, chest heaving.

You don’t dare look over at Marcus, keeping your eyes on your husband as he starts to buck into his hand. You can tell he’s already close from the groans. “Cover me.” You urge him, spreading your thighs wider. “Coat me and we will pray to the gods that they will give you a strong child.”

Caracalla doesn’t hesitate as he starts to cover you. Hot drops of his seed hitting your skin and covering your cunt that is still creamy from Marcus’s cum. “That’s it. It’s - our warrior.” He groans as he works himself empty of every drop while Marcus relaxes beside you.

You reach down and swipe your fingers through his seed and bring it up to your mouth. He loves when you taste him and he finally milks the last drops out of his cock as you moan softly, licking your digits clean.

Caracalla smirks, “perfect. Fucking perfect. You will be with child before we know it.” He says as he looks over at Marcus, “I want you here to fill her up every day until she’s with child.” He demands, “you will remain here in our quarters. No one will question you because we have no guards inside.”

You are surprised by the Emperor’s order, but you don’t question it. “Will you be present every time, or do you want him to fill me as often as possible?” You ask, looking over at the general to see what he thinks.

Marcus knows he cannot say no. He nods and shifts to sit up on the bed. “I shall do as my emperor desires.” He promises and Caracalla smirks, “you’ll fill her up every single day until it takes.” He demands and Marcus bows his head. “I will let you two decide the times. I cannot afford to spend too much time here and I don’t want people to get suspicious.”

“Of course, maritus.” You shift to your knees and press your lips to your husband’s briefly and he huffs before pushing you back down to the bed. “You must lay there.” He tells you. “Lift your hips so his seed isn’t wasted.”

Marcus reaches for his tunic, suddenly feeling awkward as he redresses while you lay down and keep your hips tilted. He possibly just got the empress pregnant and no one can ever know. The senate would have him killed for his treason, Geta certainly would. Caracalla tucks himself away and strides over to clap Marcus on the back. “I’ll show you to your rooms and we will have your things brought to the palace.” Marcus nods, letting the emperor guide him through the halls until he’s in an ornate room. “You have one job now, General. Fuck my uxor and fill her until it takes.” Caracalla says, his eyes a little manic. Marcus nods and watches the emperor leave. He looks around and sighs, wondering what he’s gotten himself into.

You lay with your hips for an hour. Bored and replaying your encounter with Marcus as Caracalla’s cum dries on your skin. He’s a better lover than your husband and you are ashamed of it, but you are looking forward to having him in your bed again.

Marcus looks around the room, unsure of what to do or say as he comes to the realization that his dream of enjoying time alone in his villa is long gone. He’s under the thumb of the emperor now and he must do as he says otherwise he will face execution.

****

The next afternoon, you find Marcus on the balcony, appearing deep in thought. “I am not disturbing you, am I General?” You ask softly, waiting by the pillar for him to acknowledge you. You wonder what he thinks about this, about being commanded to fill you with his child.

Marcus turns to look at you, reminded of how beautiful you are as the sun shines on your face. “Good day, Empress. You’re not disturbing me.” He promises, “are you well?” He asks, wanting to make sure he hasn’t harmed you.

“I am.” You smile as you walk out onto the balcony and look at the gardens below. “Sore, in a very good way.” You assure him, glancing over at him before looking back out at the neatly manicured hedges and plants. “I hope that you do not feed trapped here.” You murmur softly. “I am sure you are used to doing what you wish when you wish it.”

Marcus looks down at the olive trees and sighs, his hands wringing together. “You and I both know we have no choice but to follow the orders of the Emperor. I did not imagine returning from war to engage in the breeding of the empress. You are a beautiful woman and if you were not the uxor of Caracalla, I would be thanking the gods for letting me be in your bed, but the circumstances are…unusual. As long as you have need of me, I’m at your service.” He assures you, “it is not a task to fuck you but I worry for the day the emperor changes his mind.”

“Caracalla cannot have anyone know about his bad seed.” You murmur quietly. “Especially not Geta. He will not change his mind, but…..” you look around and lower your voice. “I do not trust that he might get rid of you once I have given birth to a son.”

Marcus turns to look at you again, “I would not be surprised but I’d rather have that issue several moons from now instead of being killed for not following orders. It will not be a hard task to put a child in you but you must tell me if you do not wish to take me.” He insists, “I do not want to fuck an unwilling woman.”

You snort, turning to look out at the gardens so he doesn’t see your embarrassment. “He would have my tongue cut out for admitting this, but you are better.” You admit softly. “I spent an hour with my hips tilted towards the gods, replaying what you had just done to me, imagining it happening again and again.”

Marcus turns to look at you, eyebrows raised, and he cannot deny that his cock twitches while his chest puffs with pride. “Is that so? Do you wish for us to…repeat the event soon to ensure the next emperor of Rome? I must admit that I have had many women, most of them whores, but no one has made me cum as hard as you did.”

That makes you straighten, pleased by the notion that you can bring this general to his knees. Making his core quiver in pleasure despite your lack of experience with partners. You bite your lip and turn towards him. “Perhaps we should retire and make sure that we have enough energy for our next session?” You ask, your fingers sliding along the smooth marble edge of the balcony to touch his hand. “The emperor was most insistent that you fill me often. I believe that we should obey his orders.”

Marcus smirks, seeing the eager look in your eyes, and he leans closer. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the emperor. Shall we convene in your quarters or mine?” He asks, his eyes dropping down to your lips. You’re forbidden to everyone except Caracalla and now…him. It’s intoxicating especially when you tell him he’s better. Even if it’s just to float his ego.

“Yours.” You decide, wondering if it will be acceptable to him. “Unless you need to leave again as soon as it’s done?” You ask, hoping that he would not want you to leave. You spend a lot of time by yourself and you are curious to hear about his campaigns and the places he has seen.

He glances back over the gardens, “I am here to fulfill an order from the emperor and I wish to do it to the best of my ability. Let us retire to my quarters and you are welcome to remain as long as you please.” He promises and he wants to speak to you about your former kingdom, your father, and the army who took you from your home to deliver you to the Emperor.

Nodding, you feel that same odd sense of giddiness that had overcome you last night. A forbiddenness that has been temporarily allowed, even ordained by the gods. A taste of normalcy, where you can pretend that you are not an Empress. Nothing but a woman that this handsome, virile man wants. “Call me by my name.” You ask, almost as a plea.

His eyes meet yours and he licks his lips as he says your name. He loves the smile you give him in return and his hand brushes yours, “lead the way, empress.” He demands, saying your name again when you narrow your eyes at him.

“Do you prefer to be called by your rank or your name?” You ask softly, turning away from the balcony and walking back inside with him towards his chamber.

“You can call me by my name.” He says, following you as you walk through the hallway to his newly assigned quarters. It’s more than anything he’s ever had before. Even in his beautiful villa. He follows you inside and shuts the door behind you, “you are exquisite.” He declares when you turn to look at him.

“Do you claim those words for every whore you fuck?” You ask curiously, tilting your head as you smile at him, showing him that you are teasing. “Or do you save that for the special ones?”

Marcus shakes his head, “there’s usually no words when I have a whore in my quarters. I like to speak with my actions. Not my words.” He confesses, stepping over to you. He reaches up to cup your cheeks, “you truly are Venus herself.” He murmurs, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours.

“You are handsome.” You admit breathlessly. “Strong, fierce. Like Apollo.” Your hands run up the soft white tunic he is wearing. “I thought so last night when you were inside me. Riding me hard and yet-“ your lips brush against his. “Your lips were tender.”

His cock twitches at the soft contact of your lips and he can’t help it. He grabs the back of your neck and drags you closer to him, tilting his head so he can press his lips to yours. You’re so soft against him, pliable as his other hand grips your waist.

He’s so dominant, in control. You can tell this is a man who is used to being in charge, taking what he needs to take. You don’t resist, pressing yourself against his hard body, letting the kiss deepen as you open your mouth and let out a soft moan.

His tongue slides against yours and he groans you relinquish power to him. You’re so eager to please. He wants to taste you though, all of you. His mouth pulls away from yours so he can kiss along your jaw down to your neck, and he starts walking you backwards towards his bed.

You let him guide you, willing to do whatever he wants. Although it’s easy to see that he wants your dress off when his fingers reach for the ornate pin on your shoulder that keeps the material up. You wonder if it will be different this time since Caracalla isn’t watching.

He pulls on the pin and your robes fall to the marbled floor, exposing you to the cool breeze and he pushes you back onto the bed, loving the way your tits bounce as you fall backwards. He wants to taste you so he grabs your waist, lifting you higher up the bed, and he pushes your thighs apart, wasting no time before he dives in to slide his tongue through your folds.

You gasp in surprise, eyes widening as you lurch up. It’s not that you’ve never had this kind of attention, but that it’s rare. Caracalla prefers to have your mouth on him. Your fingers tangle into his hair and you moan loudly when he flicks his tongue over your clit.

He groans at the tangy taste of your arousal. His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes them apart so he can slide his tongue against your clit. “Fuck.” He curses when he pulls back for a moment, spreading you with his thumbs so he can suck your clit into his mouth.

You whine his name, closing your eyes. “Marcus.” Your hips roll up until he throws one arm over your waist to pin you down. Holding you in place while he does wonderful things to your cunt with his tongue.

He laps at your cunt, wanting to hear you fall apart for him. There’s no rush for this. Caracalla isn’t watching and you are alone with the general. He approaches your cunt like a battlefield, using the best method to make you fall apart for him. He laps at your clit, his fingers digging into your thigh as he pushes it towards your stomach with a groan.

You pull your thighs back like he wants, reaching down and holding them so he can lick as deep as he wants into you. Moaning out his name again as he continues to feast on your cunt like a man who has been given his last meal besides an execution.

He groans into your flesh, loving the way you open yourself up for him, and he slides his tongue as deep as he can go, loving the tang of your arousal and the way you moan his name.

He groans in your flesh, vibrating it deep into your core and it makes you clench around his tongue. Pushing your hips down against his face, you want to grind into it. To ride his tongue. You’ve heard of such things, witnessed some of the orgies when you had been spying on your husband’s parties after you had been sent off to bed. “Marcus, oh fuck. I- it’s so good.”

He loves hearing your cry of pleasure and his nose presses against your clit. His hand on your hips slides up to squeeze your breast, wanting you to cry out his name again. At this moment, he doesn’t care about anyone hearing your cries even though the Emperor wants this to be your dirty secret. He groans and pinches your nipple, wanting you to fall apart again.

You shiver, your legs tremble as you climb closer to your peak. Feeling your body start to buck again as he pinches your nipple again. “Cum for me and I’ll fuck you.” He rasps out, pulling away from your cunt long enough to order you to cum before he dives back into it. Throwing you over the edge with another swipe of his tongue, your cunt starts to gush in pleasure as you clench around nothing.

He laps up every drop you offer. Like elixir, he greedily sucks at your folds and your clit, working you through your orgasm as his fingers grip your body to keep you in place until you push his head away, overstimulated. He’s aching, hard and pressing into the bed.

“Gods.” You pant, pushing to your elbows and looking down at him. “You are good at that.” You reach down and grab his shoulder to drag him up. “Kiss me.” You beg, not caring that your juices are on his mouth. “Then I want you to fuck me.”

He cannot deny you anything. Shifting onto his knees, his cock tenting his tunic as he leans down to press his lips to yours. He shifts his weight to push against you and he hisses when you reach for the hem of his tunic to pull it over his head, breaking the kiss.

“You are gorgeous.” You whisper, reaching down and wrapping your fingers around his cock. “Do you like to fuck away the heat of battle when you come back to your tent?” You ask curiously. “Do you prefer a softer touch then to counteract the violence of earlier?”

He groans, looking down at your soft hand around his cock, “it depends. Mostly it’s rough, fuck away the adrenaline.” He says and leans in to kiss along your jaw as he holds his weight over you. “Gods, you are - let me inside you.” He pleads, needing to feel your hot cunt again.

You spread your thighs wider, lifting a leg to hook onto the side of his hip. “Fuck me.” You order him, surprised that he had even asked permission.

You release his cock and he grips himself, pumping his length a few times, squeezing as he positions himself at your dripping entrance. He slowly pushes into you, wanting to feel how hot and wet you are as he gives you inch after inch of his cock.

It’s slower than last night. As if he is savoring every inch as he pushes inside you. You don’t rush him, enjoying the way his cock scrubs against your walls slowly, breaking you open and making your cunt fit him inside. Holding onto his shoulders, you encourage him with your sounds, moaning in pleasure and caressing his skin as he pauses halfway inside you.

He surges forward to press his lips to yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he pushes the rest of the way inside you. His cock twitches once he presses against your cervix, groaning at how you’re gripping him. His hand caresses your side as he slides his hand up to your breast.

His grip on your flesh is possessive, sure. Taking more liberties now that your husband is not directing his movements. “I’m yours now.” You murmur softly in encouragement. “Touch me. Explore me. Use me how you want.”

He knows you’re not his, can never be his, but you are in this moment, and he’s greedy. He groans, kissing along your neck, and he ducks his head down to take your nipple into his mouth. He bites down, sucking on the hardened nub, and he loves how you cry out at his touch.

You love your breasts being played with. Caracalla has a feeding obsession, wishing that you produced milk, but hopefully soon you will be able to. You wonder if Marcus would want to taste milk from your breasts.

He groans at the way your hand tangles in his hair and he starts to move inside you. “Fuck. You feel so good.” He murmurs against your sternum, turning his head to take your other nipple into his mouth.

You whimper his name, letting him rock you closer to pleasure as he suckles at your breast. “Fuck, you- I can’t describe it.” You admit breathlessly. “You are like a god.”

He chuckles, his breath washing over you, and he grabs your thigh, “you’re a goddess. Fucking - fuck. You’re Venus. I am merely here to worship you.” He declares, his voice is raspy.

It’s intimate, so intimate that it makes your eyes wet with yearning. He feels like he is speaking to your soul, even if it is just the moment. You aren’t used to such soft words and you turn your head to press kisses to his broad shoulder, not wanting him to see you choked up.

He shouldn’t feel like this, like this is right where he should be. You belong to Caracalla and he should still mourn his wife, but the way you take his cock has him groaning your name into your neck as he tries to conceal the way you’re making him feel.

Your body responds to him so easily, making every roll of his hips push you higher. The pants and moans grow steadier every time he pushes deep and the inhale of anticipation when he draws back. The rhythm is one that neither one of you questions, each pushing towards pleasure together. “Fuck.”

He wants you to cum for him, needs to hear and feel it. He grabs your other thigh, pushing it back towards your stomach so you are folded over. He groans your name, kissing along your jaw to press his lips to yours. He slides his tongue into your mouth and drops his hips to grind his pelvis against yours.

Your moan is sealed into your mouth with his lips, or maybe it’s absorbed by him. All you know is that your nails dig into his shoulders as he works himself deep into your cunt. Pressing harder and harder with every roll of his hips. “Oh gods!”

Your cry into his mouth makes him smile against your chin, rocking into you a little faster as you clamp down on his cock. His pelvis and balls are soaked with your release and he hisses when you squeeze him like a vice. “Fuck.” He grunts, eyes closing as he works you through it. He pulls out when you relax beneath him and he rolls over, your body on top of his. “Ride me, empress. I want you to take another wave of pleasure from my body.” He demands, smacking your ass.

Eyes wide, you sit up, your hands on his chest. “I’ve never- never been in charge before.” You admit, even though you would love to do such a thing. “I- help me?” You ask, grinding down on his length and wanting him inside you again.

He suppresses his chuckle at your wide, uncertain eyes, but he loves how you look on top of him and the fact that you haven’t done this before. He reaches down to grip his cock, telling you to lift up. You shift to lift up and he positions his cock so you can sink back down onto him. “Rock your hips.” He commands, wanting to help you ride him.

He feels different from this angle. Bigger. His cock pressing against different parts of your walls and you gasp in pleasure when you roll back down on him. “Gods.” Your eyes close and you lean back, enjoying the way his cock stretches you this way. “You feel even bigger. Like you are right here.” Your hand covers your stomach. “You are in my womb.”

“I will be. I will fill you until it takes.” He promises, his hands gripping your hips. He helps you start to rock and you moan, your mouth falling open and he loves the way your tits bounce as you start to get a rhythm together.

It’s so different, being in charge. If you slow down or grind down harder, Marcus groans and twitches inside you. Like he’s enjoying you using him. Your body moves eagerly, loving the sounds he makes as he digs his fingers into your hips. “Gods, your cock is made for my cunt.”

“That’s it, empress. Take what you want from me. Use me.” He demands, his hand slapping your ass while the other grips your waist. He watches you take your pleasure and he loves the way your chest heaves when you get the angle just right.

You squeal when he slaps your ass again, clenching down around him. He is so commanding, even when he is under you and yet he lets you control him. If you pulled off his cock right now, you know he would let you. It’s freedom, and you’re breathless when you collapse onto his chest to press your lips to his.

He groans, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to keep you close, his tongue sliding against yours. He loves the way you rock back onto him and he wants you to make yourself cum. He needs you to cum again for him.

You lean into the kiss. Continuing to work yourself on his cock. Whining softly when your cunt starts to pulse until you are locking down around him with a cry into his mouth.

He groans when you cum for him again, soaking him, and he wraps his arms around you. He hisses your name and starts to thrust up into you. He can’t hold off any longer as he works himself towards your orgasm. He pushes deep into you, his cock twitching inside you as he starts to paint your walls with his cum.

You turn and press kisses to his jawline and moans softly. “That feels so good.” You murmur, resting your head against his shoulder and feel him riding out his high.

He pants as he closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. He’s never felt like this before. Like his soul is leaving his body. He caresses your spine, fingers lazily trailing along your skin as he breathes you in.

“Can I stay like this?” You ask softly, content to lay just like you are if he will let you. You reason that having his cock still stuffed inside you is even better than tilting your hips up. “Am I too heavy?”

He shakes his head, “no, not too heavy. You can stay like this.” He says softly, closing his eyes as he enjoys the weight of you on top of him. He feels tired, his eyes still closed as his cock softens inside you.

You don’t realize you fell asleep until you wake up. Still on top of him with his arms secured around you. Holding you in place as he breathes softly underneath you. He’s still sleeping, making you softly turn your head up and watch him. He’s beautiful when he sleeps and you hope that the child you have looks like him.

Marcus wakes up when he feels your stare and he offers you a soft smile, “wore me out.” His chuckles vibrate through you and he sighs, glancing over at the balcony to see the sun is setting. “The Emperor will be wanting your presence.” He says softly, “we must clean up and I’ll leave you to your peace.”

“The emperor is attending a feast tonight.” You hum, knowing that you should probably keep your distance from the general when you are not letting him fill you. “I will be presented and then expected to leave before the festivities begin.” You snort. “There will be an orgy.”

Marcus snorts, “I never understood the appeal.” He confesses, “I like connection. Even with the whores I bedded, I felt connected to them even if only for the night.” He admits before he bites his lip, “do you like your life here or do you miss your home?”

“I miss home.” You want to hope that he will not tell the emperor. He doesn’t like when you admit somewhere else might be better than Rome. “I don’t have many people who will talk to me. Or spend time with me. I’m lonely.” You sigh. “Only to be seen and to bear the emperor's children.” Your father had sent you to marry the younger brother in order to preserve peace for your realm.

Marcus sighs, “I’m sure you do. I miss my village. When I was a boy, my father was killed in war and my mother struggled to survive, to feed us. As soon as I was able, I left to join the army. I wanted to send coin back to my mother but by the time I returned home, she was dead.” He murmurs, brow furrowed because he hasn’t thought about this for so long. “I threw myself into the fight until I met my wife. She was the daughter of a noble and I never imagined I’d be able to ask for her hand, so I fought hard to rise in the ranks until I could ask her father for his blessing. When we married, I was so happy, and she became with child. Then the day of our son’s birth…she died. So did he.” He’s lost in the agony of the memory, swallowing harshly as he tightens his grip on you.

You sigh softly and reach up to caress his cheek. Even though their deaths weren’t recent, you can see the despair on his face. “My prayers to the gods that they are peaceful together in death.” You murmur softly. “You gave yourself to the army and to Rome after that.” You know what it feels like to have nothing to live for, you feel like a prisoner with a decorative chain around your neck. Leaning in, you press your lips to his in a kiss meant to comfort.

He sighs into the kiss, cupping your cheek as he kisses you softly. “And now I give myself to her Empress.” He murmurs, “I shall fetch us some wine.” He says and you nod, shifting off him and he moves off the bed so he can get you a cup of wine.

He moves easily in his own skin, unashamed by his nudity and the body he possesses. He is not as firm as he might have been in his youth, but there is a leanness to him still that makes the broadness of his shoulders and bulk of his muscles incredibly appealing. There is a strength in his frame that Caracalla could never possess. “Do you mind?” You ask softly. “Knowing that your child will be claimed by Rome?”

He pours the wine as he contemplates his answer, “I have no choice. Even if it is not my wish, I cannot say no. As for the child…I am a general. I will die in battle and I would wish for my child to be taken care of. I know this child will be taken care of to the fullest extent.” He confesses, “I can die in peace.”

It’s wise, pragmatic even, but you still feel a sudden wave of sadness thinking about this man falling in battle. “Then I must learn all I can about you.” You murmur softly, smiling when he walks back over and hands the cup to you. “So I can tell him stories about a man that he should admire.”

Marcus offers you a soft smile, appreciating you wanting to tell your child about him. “He can never know that Caracalla is not his father.” Marcus reminds you, “he must be the rightful heir. But if you wish to tell him about your friend, I am willing to share myself with you.” He offers, “but you must tell me more about his mother,”

“That sounds fair.” You smile and take a sip of the wine as you lounge in his bed, completely nude. This is the most relaxed you have been since you have been sent to Rome and you know it is because of him, “I will tell you everything.” You promise.

****

Marcus groans as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him again as sweat glistens on his skin. He grunts, jaw clenched as he rocks into you from behind, his hips hitting your ass so the only noise in the room is slapping skin. He's been fucking you for two months now, spending nearly every night in your bed. Caracalla has entertained himself with his whores and orgies, leaving Marcus to make you scream his name every night.

You collapse down to your elbows, face on the cool sheets as he fucks you through the spasms of pleasure. “Amor, cum for me.” You beg, losing yourself to the moment and slipping up. Calling him an endearment you have kept inside you for weeks now. You spend all day, everyday with Marcus. Falling in love with the general and wishing that you were free to be with him. You feel as if he cares for you, but that just might be the sex that he enjoys.

Your words send him over the edge and he pushes deep as he cums, painting your walls for the umpteenth time. You missed your bleed last month but no one announced a pregnancy, wanting to be sure that you are with child. Marcus is reluctant to have it declared, knowing that his duty will be done and he will be sent away back to his villa, away from you. You are unlike any woman he's ever known. Strong, smart, beautiful, and you are lonely. He senses how isolated you are so he has spent a lot of time with you, discussing his battles, your battles - different in their methods but no less weary - and he has fallen for you. You are not his though, you belong to Caracalla and if he even dared to think about you being his, he would be killed.

Whining in pleasure as he fills you, your legs slide out from under you. Bringing you down to the bed and knowing that he will follow you. You love how close the two of you are, how he loves to touch you and keep touching you. You catch your breath and start to giggle softly, feeling him twitch when your walls clench around him in the aftershocks. “I love how you feel inside me.” You hum, lazy now that your body has been used and satisfied equally.

Marcus follows you, keeping his weight off of you just in case you are with child, and he kisses along your back. “You take me so well.” He murmurs, resting his forehead on your lower neck as he hovers over you. “Do you think…do you think you are with child?”

“I should not say this, but I hope I am not.” You sigh softly. “I have become accustomed to you in my bed and between my thighs. I do not want to give such a pleasure up.”

Marcus pulls out of you and shifts to lay down beside you, “perhaps…perhaps we can continue this. Ask the Emperor if he will allow us to copulate until the babe is born. He may allow us to continue in each other’s company, saying it’s to ensure the baby’s health.” He ponders, reaching out to cup your cheek, “I do not wish to give you up just yet.”

“I do not want to give you up either.” You confess softly, leaning into his touch. “You have become important to me. I….care for you.” It’s dangerous to admit, but you have to tell him that much at least. “I will ask the emperor to continue spending time with you.” You promise.

Marcus knows the request could be easily denied but he wants to continue spending time with you. He nods, shifting to pull you into his chest, burying his nose in your neck. He's gotten lazy, not wanting to train when he could be spending time with you.

****

“Congratulations, empress.” The Hippocrates you had called to the suite beams at you as he packs away his tools and tinctures. “The emperor will be pleased and the empire will drink to the health of your child.” You cover your womb protectively and wonder how Caracalla will take the news. Even though he had demanded this, he could always have a different view now that it is done. “Thank you.”

Caracalla is beaming when you tell him the news, pleased that his plan has worked and he can tell his brother that his child will be the next in line. “If it’s a son.” Geta hums and Caracalla nods, “it will be. A strong boy.” He celebrates by holding a party and you are alone, needing “to rest and protect the baby” in your quarters when Marcus enters, his brow furrowed. “What is the occasion for the orgy?” He asks, not having heard the news yet as he was training with his men all day.

When Marcus comes in, you rush over to him, flinging yourself into his arms and pressing your lips to his. Now truly able to celebrate the baby since his father has come home. “I am carrying your child.” You whisper softly, “your child. Not Caracalla’s.” You bite your lip and reach down to cover your womb. “I do not feel as if this child is his. It belongs to the man I love.”

Marcus’s eyes widen at the news and he pulls back to look down at your hand on your stomach. “Our child.” He murmurs in awe, unable to believe it’s happened despite him spending every night in your bed. He grabs the back of your neck, dragging you to his lips, and he pulls back after several moments to declare “I love you.”

You close your eyes in relief, letting out a small sob. “I love you too, Marcus.” You whisper softly. “In another life, we would be together.” You hate that you are the empress, that you are Caracalla’s wife and not his. “I wish we could change our fate.”

Marcus nods, “me too.” He cups your cheeks and sighs, “I love you, amor.” He murmurs and kisses your forehead, “for now, let us enjoy our time together before I am sent away. Let me worship the mother of my child.” He declares, shifting to kneel down in front of you.

“I will talk to the emperor.” You hadn’t had a chance to talk with him in private before he was rushing off to plan a feast and orgy to celebrate ‘his’ virility. Reaching down, you run your fingers through his dark curls and pray to the gods your babe has those same locks.

Marcus lifts your tunic, exposing your body to his hungry gaze, and he leans in to kiss your lower stomach as you bunch your tunic up under your breasts. His hands caress the back of your legs as he kisses down to your mound, burying his nose in the curls at the apex of your thighs. “Want to taste you.” He murmurs against your skin, shifting so he can slide his tongue through your folds.

Marcus is very talented with his tongue. He has proven that over the past months and you moan in pleasure. He lifts a leg onto his shoulder and you feel so exposed. Like a god being serviced by a mere mortal. He makes everything good. “Marcus.” You pant, closing your eyes briefly before you look down at him on his knees. Wanting to memorize this moment in fear that you might not have it again.

He groans at the tangy taste of your arousal, sliding his tongue through your folds and lapping at your clit like he’s worshiping Venus. He wants to savor every second of being with you before he’s sent away. It could be any second Caracalla decides his job is complete and sends him back to his villa.

His hands hold you in place, keeping you upright while he takes his time to lick through your folds and making you moan his name loudly.

He squeezes your ass just as the doors open and Caracalla strides in, dressed in his robes and taking a moment from the party. “Ah, Acacius. You are taking care of the Empress. Well done on ensuring I have an heir.” Caracalla watches as Marcus doesn’t stop, his tongue lapping at you. “I heard that fucking during pregnancy ensures a boy. I want a son. You will remain here in the palace to make sure I have an heir.” He declares, his cock twitching at the way you moan and Marcus sucks on your clit.

Your eyes find your husband, his face filled with pride and lust. “Yes.” You agree quickly, since it’s exactly what you want. “You need a son, my emperor.” You moan. “He will keep filling me, making sure you get what you need. A strong son.” You bite your lip. “He has served his emperor well and will continue to do so.”

Marcus loves your praise, continuing to ignore Caracalla’s presence as he works you towards your orgasm. He wants to be greedy, to have you like this for as long as he can before he has to leave you. “Keep pleasuring her, Acacius.” Caracalla orders and spins in his heel, wanting to enjoy his evening at the party celebrating his heir. “Keep her cumming.” He shouts back before he shuts the door and leaves you and Marcus together.

You push his head away as soon as the door slams shut and you drop to your knees. Needing to kiss Marcus now that you know that he’s not going to be sent away.

Marcus whines into your mouth in protest but he can't deny you. He cups your cheek and deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as his other hand grabs your ass to pull you against him, his cock hard under his tunic.

You kiss deeply, thoroughly. Panting into his mouth and gasping for air when you break apart. “I love you.” You moan. “I need you inside me. Here, now.”

He grabs your thighs, lifting you so you are hovering over him as he kneels on the floor. "Take my cock and put me inside you." He demands, holding your weight over his body.

You fumble with his tunic, reaching underneath and pumping his cock before you line him up with your cunt. Moaning when he slowly lowers you down on him. “Fuck, amor.” You whimper, feeling him like it’s the first time all over again. You feel like you’re more sensitive but it just might be from the emotional turmoil.

Marcus inhales deeply when you sink down on him, engulfing him in your wet, hot cunt. "Fuck." He pants against your jaw as you grip his shoulders when he's fully inside you. "I love you." He murmurs against your skin, wanting you to know how he feels.

Your arms are around his shoulders, fingers tangling into his hair as he holds you up in his thighs. “I love you.” You promise him, knowing that even if your body belongs to Caracalla, your heart belongs to him. “You are my one love. Forever.”

“Fuck. I love you. Never thought - never imagined I could ever feel like this again. Fuck, I want you to - to take all of me and cum again.” He demands, starting to work you on his cock.

You moan in agreement, letting him take charge and control your pleasure. He’s so good at it. There’s only been a handful of times you’ve not cum on his cock and that was only because he was so worked up he came too quickly. However he had made sure he had pleasured you with his fingers and tongue afterwards.

He rocks you on his cock, wanting you to soak his cock again, and he grips your thighs. “Fuck, te amo, amor.” He rasps, leaning in to press his lips to your neck, tasting the sweat and salt of your skin.

Your eyes water and you wish for a split second that Caracalla was dead and you could celebrate your love. Holding him close, your walls are already trembling around his cock as he rocks up into you. “Yes.” You moan, loving when he uses his mother’s tongue.

He is lost in the feel of you, his cock twitching inside you as he rocks into you. He imagines for a brief moment, a life where he can be with you. A life together with your child. It's not possible though. The Emperor would have him killed, could still have him killed, and it's a dangerous game that Marcus has gotten involved in.

Your toes push off on marble floors, helping you bounce on his cock and you could stay just like this with him forever. You want to stay like this. “I love you. You are my love, my amor.” You moan in his ear. “I would be Marcus Acacius’s wife.”

Your words are treason but they make his cock twitch inside you, closer to his orgasm. He groans your name, pressing his lips to yours as he rocks a little faster, needing to feel you clamp down on his cock. “You’d be mine. I’d die for you.” He promises, “mine. Mine. Mine.” He growls against your lips.

You both are vowing things to each other that would have you both killed, but you don’t care. His next thrust pushes you over the edge and you cry out into his mouth as your walls soak him in hot waves of your pleasure.

His hand finds your ass, rocking you as you shudder through your orgasm, and he groans, thrusting a few more times before he falls apart. “Fuck. Fuck. Empress.” He pants, cock throbbing as he paints your walls, his hands squeezing you closer to him.

You cling to him, both relieved that he is going to stay beside you for the foreseeable future and desperate to never have him leave you at all. “You are perfect.” You kiss his neck gently, stroking his back over his tunic that he couldn’t be bothered to take off. Both of you are still dressed, but the moment had been perfect regardless.

He snorts, knowing he’s not perfect, but he wants you and he is going to protect you and the baby until his last breath. Caracalla wants him to stay and that is the best thing he can wish for right now. “Let’s get you cleaned up and settled. You need to rest for the baby.” He reminds you and helps you shift off his cock.

Grinning, you look down at him as he climbs to his feet. “You are going to be overprotective from now on?” You ask, already aware of the answer. He will be protective, he will take care of you. You are already in love with the baby in your belly and you feel like he is the same way.

****

"Fuck, amor." Marcus groans as you rock on top of him. Your bump pressing against his stomach as he rests his back on the wall while you ride his cock. Your knees dig into the bed beneath and his hands cup your sensitive breasts. He's been in your bedchamber for the past six months and he falls more in love with you with each passing day. It will surely kill him to leave you when he is ordered to return to war, but he will go. You can never be his. Caracalla will never permit a divorce and he will be killed for treason. He must go after the babe is born.

Caracalla hadn’t spent more than an hour a week with you, carousing and spending every night having an orgy. He claims he is excited for his child, but he only brings you out to brag about his soon to be born son before he leaves you in Marcus’s care. You are scared, because you know how precarious a position you are in. But you can only survive.

"That's it. Take what you want from me. It's yours. I'm yours." He vows, his dark eyes watching you as you bounce on his cock. Your belly is round and heavy with his child. It's something he never imagined having again after he lost his wife. He's addicted to you and he doesn't know how he's going to leave after the baby is born.

“Marcus.” You moan, leaning back and knowing that he will make sure you are comfortable and safe. “My general, my warrior.” You have been thinking about something dangerous, but you can’t think about it when he’s deep inside you. “I love you.”

He caresses your hips, leaning in to take a sensitive nipple between his lips, and he suckles lightly. He has gotten too comfortable being away from the battles the Emperors send him into, but right now, he doesn’t want to die like that. He wants to spend the rest of his life with you at this moment, no one else but you and him. His hand slides across your hip to find your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves to push you over the edge.

Carrying his baby has made you so sensitive to his touch that it only takes a few strokes of his thumb before you cry out. Your body shaking and your hips grinding down while your cunt locks down around his cock and your juices coat him.

He hisses your name as you clamp down around him, his eyes fluttering shut for a few moments as he lets you ride your high, until he’s squeezing your hips and thrusting up into you.

“Cum for me.” You beg softly, burying your face into the side of his neck so you can breathe him in. “I want to feel you inside me. Carry you with me even more.”

He groans, rocking up into you with a hiss as he gets closer to his orgasm. “Fuck. Gonna - fuck. Shit. Empress.” He moans your name as he pushes deep inside your pulsing cunt and he falls apart, painting your walls with his seed as he clenches his eyes shut.

You hum quietly, stroking his neck as he catches his breath. Feeling the baby move slightly and biting your lip. “We need to use your favor in the Senate.” You lean close and whisper the treasonous words into his ear. “Stage a coup. Revolt.” You pull back and look into his eyes seriously. “Kill the emperors.”

Marcus inhales sharply, his head turning so he can look into your eyes to see if you are testing him or if you’re serious. When he sees your eyes, he knows you’re serious and he swallows harshly, “it won’t be easy. Trying to convince the senate without the emperors finding out.” He admits quietly, “and they could find out and kill me.”

“Set the meetings.” You had thought long and hard about it. “I will convince them, I will do the talking. If our plot is found out, Caracalla could not immediately put me to death. Geta would discover the child is not truly his and he will never allow that.” You caress his cheek. “I wish to have you installed to rule as proctor for ‘his’ child.” You know the senate could never find out that the child isn’t Caracalla’s but no one but you and Marcus know this truth besides your husband.

Marcus caresses your spine, knowing that you could risk everything you’ve created, your life, your child, it’s all on the line. “Amor…” He murmurs and you cup his cheek, “I will never be allowed to be my own person. I will never be allowed to love you freely unless you do this.” You tell him and he nods, swallowing harshly, “I’ll get it organized.” He promises, “we will see it done.”

“Thank you, my love.” You lean in and press your lips to his. “I fear for our child raised under Caracalla’s direction.” Even if you are the mother, the fact that the baby would be proclaimed the emperor’s heir would mean he would be guided by your childish and evil husband. “I want him to grow up to be like his father.”

Marcus caresses your cheek, knowing there is no choice. If he looks back, he knows that he had to make this choice at some point. He never truly wanted to let you or his child go. The next morning, he dresses for court and decides to start with the hardest senator to convince, Brutus. A man who struggled to watch the Emperors rule but had loyalty to Rome. Marcus approaches him under the guise of talk of war, and Brutus nods, wandering off into a quiet corner of the senate to speak. “I fear we cannot speak in these quarters. Come to my villa, we can speak freely.” Marcus says and Brutus nods, unaware that you will be meeting with the men.

You pace, nervous about what you should say, would say. This is the most dangerous undertaking you have ever attempted. Not even trying to run away from your fate was as dangerous as this. You are trying to change your fate. The senators could be allies, or they could stab you in the back.

Brutus enters the room with Marcus, his head held high but his eyes widen when he sees the Empress standing there, her bump protruding beneath her tunic. “Empress.” He greets you, bowing his head.

“Brutus.” You greet him cautiously, but with a gracious smile on your face as you rub the swell of your stomach, bringing his eyes down to the baby. You will leverage the child in your womb. For your freedom, and perhaps Rome’s as well. “I trust you are well?” You ask kindly. “Please sit. The wine has been especially good lately.” It’s been watered down for your use, but you nod to Marcus to pour the senator a cup. “I hope you do not mind the subterfuge, I needed to speak with you and did not wish to summon you myself.”

Marcus pours the cup of wine and hands it to Brutus who nods, thanking Marcus, before his attention turns back to you. "I trust you are well, that the future Emperor is well?" He asks, and you nod in response, "he is lively. Due any day now." You declare and Marcus clears his throat, "the heir is the reason why we called you here.”

You wait for Brutus to turn back to you curiously, setting his cup down. You take a deep breath and caress your stomach. “It is no secret that unrest in Rome is at an all time high.” You murmur softly. “People are starving and while General Acacious has not been sent off on another expensive and bloody campaign, he will be soon.” You pause and sigh. “I fear for the future of Rome, of my son’s legacy that he will inherit.”

Brutus looks at Marcus who stands there, spine straight and steely eyed as your treasonous words are aired. Brutus could go tell the Emperors and you would be killed as soon as the babe is born, Marcus would be hanged the next day. However, Brutus doesn't run off. He nods, setting his cup down, "it is true that the empire is on a precipice. It could be the fall of Rome or her glory continues. The Emperors are driven by lust and greed. Their actions are selfish and make the lowest Roman anxious for change. We will fall if we allow the Emperors to continue down this path."

“There is another solution.” You suggest, rubbing your stomach again. “In my belly lies the next emperor of Rome. Ready to be guided by wise and cautious men.” Your eyes slide over to Marcus briefly. “Men who know the true cost of war and would be able to teach our emperor those lessons without it harming Rome’s people.” You look back at Brutus. “Men such as our senators, you, nurturing a leader that will take Rome to an even greater height.”

Brutus frowns, looking over at Marcus, knowing that the man who will assist in raising the young Emperor will be him. "And how would we remove our problem?" Brutus asks, eyebrows raised.

"I say we speak to the senators...establish a coup. My husband and brother-in-law would never see it coming." You say and Brutus takes a gulp of his wine before he says, "I will start speaking to the senators tomorrow."

“I hope that we can count on your discretion.” You add, pushing out of your seat and moving over to the senator. “We are on the cusp of change.” You murmur softly. “If it is the ruin of Rome or the brightness of her future, I leave that to your hands.”

Brutus nods, "if this gets out, it will be death for us all. We won't risk it." The senator promises and he looks over at Marcus, "you shall be the one who the senate turns to?" He asks and Marcus nods, making Brutus smile. "very well. I will do what needs to be done."

You nod to the senator when he leaves, Marcus walking out with him and you start to pace. Wondering if you have just signed your death papers or if you will be successful.

****

The senate is abuzz with chatter until Caracalla and Geta enter the chamber. The senators stand straighter and Marcus stands there, dressed in his official robes with the golden laurel wreath shining. He looks regal and the Emperors slosh wine across the marble floor as they greet the senators with wide grins. Brutus looks over at his fellow senators, his hand resting on his dagger. "Emperors." He greets them, walking towards them, and his eyes meet Marcus's for a moment. "The senate and I have been in discussions about the future of Rome." He declares and Geta hums, "and what a wonderful future it will be."

Marcus sighs, "we aren't so sure. Romans are starving, you tax them more and more every day to fund your wars and your lavish lifestyle." Marcus declares and Caracalla spins around, his eyes narrowed at the accusations, "you dare to spit these treasonous words?" He demands and Marcus shakes his head, "you are draining Rome dry. Her empire will be no more." He says louder and the senators nod while Brutus steps forward, "your leadership has driven Rome to the edge and we want to save our empire before it falls." Brutus declares and he steps up behind Geta while Marcus moves towards Caracalla. It happens in a flash, the daggers pulled out and embedded in the lower backs of the Emperors who cry out, cups of wine falling to the floor. The other senators rush forward, daggers in their hands as they each take a turn stabbing the emperors until blood runs along the marbled floors.

Your cry from your chamber is loud and pained, servants rushing and whispering through the halls. The Hippocrates has been summoned and the labor seems to be quick. The new heir to the throne of Rome is insistent on being born today. It takes your mind off of your worries. Your waters had broken almost as soon as Marcus had left to join the senators. You know that they had planned to kill your husband and his brother today, but the pains had taken over all thoughts so you had not been able to fret over the hours as they passed.

Blood covers the floor of the senate as Caracalla and Geta lay dead, blood pouring from their mouths. It turns out they betrayed a lot of senators, made promises they couldn’t keep. The senators didn’t take a lot of convincing to remove them from power. “It is done.” Brutus declares, “a new emperor shall be born any moment but we need someone in the interim. An emperor who will represent us, save Rome and her people from ruin. I nominate General Marcus Acacius.” Brutus declares and Marcus’s eyes widen. He didn’t expect to be nominated, feeling that Brutus would want to take control. “I second that nomination.” Drusus announces and one by one, the senate declares Marcus to be the next emperor. The General is speechless, knowing he could easily be taken down like Caracalla and Geta, but this means he gets to have you. “I accept. I will serve as Emperor for all, we will make Rome prosperous and safe.” He promises as a servant rushes in to announce, “the empress is in labor.” Marcus’s eyes widen and he rushes from the senate, running through the marbled halls in his mission to get to you. He doesn’t care that men shouldn’t be in the birthing room as he pushes through and stumbles to your bedside. “Amor. I’m here, I’m here.” He promises, blood still on his hands as he reaches for yours.

“Is it done?” You gasp out, scared for a brief moment that Marcus had been injured, but he would not have been able to come to your side if the plot had been foiled. “It is.” He murmurs, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. You don’t even care that the servants can see, that the rumors will spread across Rome of your relationship with the General. He ignores the Hippocrates’s complaints about him being there as another pain rips through you and you scream, fingers crushing his own hand until the pain passes and you are panting for air. Your child is safe. Boy or girl, they will be free of your husband’s influence. “We need-” you gasp. “A ruler until the baby is older.”

"The senate has voted. They have chosen me to be Emperor until the child is old enough." He confesses, "I did not want to become Emperor but I want to save Rome and her people from destitution." He admits just as another pain causes you to grip his hand.

Your hiss is low and almost animalistic, the pains feeling like you are being ripped in two, but you know that it is natural. Surprised that the senate had voted for Marcus, you can’t help but be pleased by that outcome. It would ensure that you do not have to be apart. He will have a large role in raising your child together. “The babe is coming.” The Hippocrates tells you from between your legs, frowning at Marcus as he looks down to see the head. “You must push, empress. As hard as you can.”

Marcus is suddenly taken back to the moment when his wife was laboring and after the silence that lingered in the air when the boy was born sleeping, he remembers his wife's cry of agony until she started convulsing. His grip on your hand tightens as his heart pounds, terrified that he is going to lose you in the same way.

Gritting your teeth, nodding as you sit up and start to scream as you bear down as hard as you can. Sweat is pouring off of you and for a moment, you want to give up and tell them that you cannot do it. The pressure on your hand makes you look up. Seeing the horror on Marcus’s face, you know that he is scared for you. For the baby. Closing your eyes, you push again, feeling the pressure suddenly release and hearing the Hippocrates exclaim happily, “a boy!”

Marcus is shaking when he hears the babe cry out and he knows he's alive. He looks at you, wanting to see if you are okay as the hippocrates cradles the crying baby who has a mop of black hair.

You hear the hushed whispers, but you don’t care. You don’t care if all of Rome knows that the baby that will one day be Emperor is Marcus’s. The Hippocrates cleans the baby up while the servants start to massage your stomach, making you wince in pain but it’s all forgotten when the babe is placed into your arms. Making you cry happy tears as you kiss his head softly.

Marcus stares down at the babe in your arms, his cries echoing in the room, and Marcus falls instantly in love. His son. He will never allow harm to come to the boy, and he will claim him as his. He is Emperor now, he can do as he wishes in regards to his personal life. He wishes to marry you and claim the child as his. “I love you.” Marcus declares, uncaring of anyone else in the room, and he leans in to kiss the forehead of the crying baby. “My son.” He whispers, wanting him to know how much he already adores him.

You beam as you look at Marcus and your son. The future is far brighter now that your love has done the impossible. He and the senate have toppled the emperors and restored order without needless bloodshed. “I love you too.” You promise, leaning forward and kissing him boldly. “Both of us do, my emperor.”

****

Marcus wraps his arm around your waist, the golden laurel on his head matches yours as you stand on the balcony. “Do you, Maximis Acacius, vow to dedicate your life to the Roman Empire and her people?” Brutus asks, his hair now greying like Marcus’s. “I do.” Maximus vows, his head nodding. Marcus is proud of his son who he has trained to be the emperor. He claimed him as his son after he was sworn in as emperor and the empire celebrated having a new emperor with a son to take over. Since that day, you and Marcus have had 3 more children who stand beside you, proud of their brother who is taking his rightful place.

You look out over the crowd, a smile on your face bright and proud. You have been incredibly lucky, Marcus has been a wonderful emperor. Rome has flourished under his care and now he willingly turns the reins over to Maximus like he had planned when he was born. “I love you.” You murmur as the crowd roars in celebration of the new emperor.

Marcus turns to look at you, older but no less beautiful. You are his world - you and the children. He leans in to nudge his nose against yours, “I love you.” He promises, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. His entire world has changed thanks to Caracalla’s mad idea to have another man conceive the heir to Rome. In the end, Marcus is the one who won with his son as emperor and the empress as his uxor.

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