#red ruby and diamond ring

[thejewelryhut]

Vintage Vibes with TheJewelryHut Designer Vintage Inspired Style Ruby and Diamonds Gold Ring

Love is in The Air. Rekindle your Romance with TheJewelryHut Designer Vintage Inspired Style 18 KT Yellow Gold Ring Adorned with One Genuine Oval Shape Red Ruby, 3.26 CTTW, and Surrounded by Several White Brilliant Round Shape Diamonds, 0.65 CTTW. Available in Ring Default Size 7.  Please contact me or Chat online to inquire about other ring sizes. This ring is ready to ship 5-7 Days.  A Certificate of Authenticity is also included.

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[star-stimz]

could you do a stim board of Taash from dragon age with teals and reds and fire and gold/jewel/treasure stuff 🫶🫶🫶🫶🥺🥺🥺🔥🔥🔥

TAASH STIMBOARD

||| w/ teal, red, fire + jewel stims! |||

1--2--3--4--5--6--7--8

[chasingrainbowsforever]

SusanB. ~ Simulated Diamond and Ruby Stackable Bands

[merrymoonjewelry]

Bright Red LAb Grown Ruby set with natural Diamond in Solid White Gold.

$675

[jewelryretouch]

jewelry retouching

Home Fast Jewelry - Fast Jewelry Retouching

Home - Jewelry Retouching

[nanivinsmoke]

❥ DADDY’S DEALINGS

patch!wolverine (logan) x fem!reader

summary ❥ dont fuck with him while he’s working. you knew that, but what happens when you try to fuck on him during work?

warnings: telekinetic reader & code name is diamond, mentions of blood, semi-public sex (in an empty casino), multiple orgasms, creampies, hair pulling, choking, spanking, teasing, rough sex

note: round two, enjoy! wc: 2.7k, m.list here

men in suits sat at the round poker table. laughing, smoking and having a grand ole time. it seemed like a regular poker night with friends, however it was not. all these men were successful businessmen, but one of them was tonight’s target.

and the two of you were here to uncover who that was. patch sat at the table, keeping a blank face while playing the game. however, he was really reading the room. trying to find one slip up so he could take whomever out.

and he couldn’t do it alone, that’s why you were here. you were the distraction, a man’s weakness was a beautiful woman and that you were. the ruby red spaghetti strapped dress clung to you like another set of skin, catching the eyes of the men in there when you walked in. the gleam of your jewelry blinded them, but the scent of your perfume as you passed by only made them want you even more.

you sat at the bar, ordering something light, not wanting anything to get you drunk, but enough to give you a little buzz. you turned in your and watched the game of poker progress, while glancing at patch.

he looked so good sitting there. muscles flexing each time he moved a chip, thick fingers covered in rings—which you wished were deep inside of you, splitting you open—and the eyepatch that was slapped across his face and covered one of his beautiful hazel eyes; still made him even more sexier than ever.

you couldn’t help but to press your thighs together, mind starting to cloud with lewd thoughts of him bottoming out inside of you. until you were snapped out of your daze by the bartender handing you your drink.

you sighed, sipping on the fruity drink you ordered and taking in your surroundings, hoping the target for tonight’s mission would fuck up and show themselves; so you could finally go home and have hot sweaty sex with patch.

however, as time passed, you realized you were going to be here for a while. the game still went on and nobody moved an inch, boring you to death. but, as you sipped on your third drink for the night, you were hornier than ever. you were dripping, aching for some attention and you were going to get it.

the mission was far from your mind as you got up from the bar and sashayed over to the table, standing between patch and another gentleman , before bending over—your cleavage catching the attention of the other man, while your presence gained the attention of your partner. “mind if i join in?” you asked and the stranger got up from his seat in a hurry.

“you can take my spot miss. im losing anyways,” you smiled and sat down, taking his spot and looking down at your cards. you could feel patch boring holes into your face, but you paid him no mind. you knew you weren’t supposed to interfere with his mission unless he wanted you to, but you didn’t care. you had your own mission to worry about.

“you look a little empty there, can i buy you a refill?” you asked him, leaning over to get in his personal space, so you could whisper in his ear. “ ‘m horny. take me home?”

he glared at you before throwing out one of his cards, “no. busy, working.” you whined and sat back in your chair, following suit and throwing out cards as well. you flagged down a waiter and ordered a margarita, telling him to keep it coming before trying to focus on the game in front of you.

however, the more you sat next to him the more aroused you became. it didn’t help that his cologne turned you on, you wanted to pounce on him right then and there. you slid your heeled foot next to his, teasing him by rubbing it against him—only for him to pull his away. he grunted in response, but never turning to look at you.

you weren’t going to give up either. using your powers, you made the waiter bringing your drink, trip causing him to crash into another waiter, making a big commotion; which distracted the other players. using this as an opportunity to speak to him again, you whispered in his ear—voice soft and sexy.

“please, fuck me. need you so bad” he could smell how bad you wanted him, the moment you sat down, but he didn’t have time for that right now. a new scent took over his nose and he glanced around the room, spotting an older man walking in the room; with two girls on each of his arms and two guards behind him. “they’re here. focus.”

by now the waiter had cleaned up his mess and came back with a fresh drink, handing it to you and apologizing for the first one. you sent him a smile before dismissing him, sipping on the cold drink—watching the new player join the game. he sat across from you and you flashed him a smile, immediately gaining his attention.

the male whispered to his guards, before one of them came over to you. “the gentleman over there wants to know if you could sit next to you and could he buy you another drink?” you glanced at him and he winked. smiling at him, you nodded your head and the guy made his way over; dismissing the women.

he sat next to you and you smiled, taking a look at every detail of his face. he was attractive and you couldn’t help smirk to yourself. you knew exactly how to get patch to pay attention towards you.

“what can I get you to drink?” he asked and you slightly turned towards him, putting out the last of your cards, losing the game. “scotch, on the rocks.”

he smiled in amusement, not many of the girls he came across liked dark liquors. “not good at poker?” you shook your head and he smiled, motioning for the dealer to bet him in. “i’ll teach a pretty lil thing like you how to play. name's richard, but you can call me, dick.”

“diamond,” you moved your chair closer to his, glancing over at patch an evil glint in your eyes. you were playing a dangerous game and you were ready for the consequences. as he taught you how to play, patch watched with a clench jaw. he wanted to rip the guys head off for even talking to you, but he knew what was at stake. all he needed was the guy to touch you and he’d take him out right then and there.

“got a boyfriend diamond?”

“complicated,” that slipped off your tongue too fast for patch’s liking, making him grunt loudly, gaining the attention of dick. “is there a problem?”

“focus on the game, bub.” dick chuckled and stared at patch, wondering who the hell he was. and before he could fix his mouth to say something, your drinks came; gaining his attention. you thanked the waiter and held up your glass, lipstick spreading when you smiled.

“you gonna teach me or what?” you got up from your seat, the frame of your body being outlined by your dress, made his breath get caught in his throat—eyes glued to every curve, watching as you sat down on his lap. the way you sat gave you full view of patch, who was seething. and when dick placed his hand on your hip, he had enough. he jumped up, claws unsheathing, sticking them into richard’s guards—their blood splattering against his white suit.

the people in the private casino scurried away in a hurry, trying to make sure they’re not next to get taking out. more of dick’s guards came running in, guns in their hands, ready to attack—until you appeared in front of them. “sorry boys, you’re not getting through.” you sent them flying into the other room, crashing against the slot machines; knocking them out cold. and for good measure, you picked one up and dropped it on them.

one’s that slipped past were slice up by patch, their bodies dropping at dick’s patent shoes. patch huffed, eyes glued onto richard’s.

“you fucking b—.” his head was sliced clean off, dropping next to the pile of bodies. the rugged man didn’t have time for monologues, he was pissed. pissed at you. the people that were still hiding in the room, peeked their heads out; hoping that it was safe, yet there were proven wrong by the feral looking man in front of them.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” his claws retracted and they all ran out, not trying to be the next person to piss him off. you tried sneaking out with them, only for him to grab you, slinking you over his shoulder. “baby! wait—fuck!” he said nothing and sent a hard smack to your ass, the vibration from it made the stinging sensation linger a little longer. oh you were in for it.

he slapped everything off of the poker table before propping you up on there, your hands and knees pressing into the plush green surface. he hiked your dress up to the middle of your back, grunting when he seen the wet spot in the middle of your black panties. with another powerful smack to your ass, you yelped out, only for him to grip your hair—pulling you towards his chest.

“like having that jerk feel up on you. he makes you wet?” his hand massaged your cheeks, easing the stinging sensation he caused. you whimpered and shook your head, “no baby—only you.”

he slapped both of your cheeks, the wet spot on your panties growing by the second as he took his frustrations out on you. it was one thing to try and sabotage the mission, he’d deal with that later, but to sit on another man’s lap in front of him? oh you deserved this punishment.

you were practically drooling, from both sets of lips, while he continued the torment on your ass—his hand prints now molded on your cheeks. he moved his hand from your hair and slid it down to your cunt, pressing two of his fingers against your clit; your slick immediately seeping through the fabric and onto his fingers.

he grunted and massaged his finger on your clit, eliciting whines from you. you backed your ass up in his palm, trying to add some more friction to your cunt, but he stopped you.

“ ‘m in charge here, doll.” you could hear the clinking of his belt buckle and it excited you. from the way he manhandle you and forced your back down, deepening your arch, you knew he was going to fuck you so good.

your panties were pulled down, exposing your bare—slick coated cunt to him and he let out a low groan. he took your panties and brought it up to his nose, smelling your arousal; his cock becoming stiff behind his boxers—before he reached around and placed them into your mouth.

your moans were muffled as you turned your head slightly to see him pull his underwear down, revealing his fat beer can shaped cock. he fisted his cock for a bit, globs of his precum coating his hand, before he pushed through your entrance; your juices coating his dick immediately.

he didn’t even need to prep you to take him, you were beyond soaked, making it easier for him to slide ride in—rubbing right against your spot. “fuck. gotta keep this pussy to myself.”

you moaned into your panties, while he gripped the side of your hips and began to pound your pussy, splitting you open with each stroke. your ass rippled against him and you struggled to throw it back on him, causing him to smack one of your plump cheeks.

“f-fuck me back…..atta girl,” you started to bounce back on him, the poker table shaking with each thrust. your eyes rolled back into your head, the pleasure so unspeakably intense. he knew exactly how to hit your spot with each thrust, which made your legs shake uncontrollably and an orgasm course through you prematurely.

he felt you clench around him and he stopped his movements, pulling out of you slowly; your bottom lip trembling as you turned to look at him. “did you just fucking cum?” you nodded and his eyes darkened. before you could even process what was happening, you were on your back with ankles pointing up to the ceiling.

the red dress that was hiked up was now on the bar not too far away from you both, and your soiled panties were finally removed from your mouth, allowing you to finally moan freely, as he plunged back into your sopping wet cunt.

he was abusing your cunt each time his cock pistoned in and out of you, cock bullying your walls, sending bolts of electricity towards your clit. you reached down and tried to rub the sensitive bud, but he slapped your hands away causing you to cry out. “nope. you wanted this dick, so that’s what you’re gonna get. got it?” you nodded your pretty little head, earning a powerful smack to your cunt—making you gush around him.

“words. i wanna hear it.”

“yes! yes! fuck—daddy. you’re so deep!” rough calloused hand found its way around your throat, turning you on even more. the look on his face, the way his cock filled you up and how he treated you like his fuck toy, had you wanting more.

the squelching sound that followed when he was balls deep inside of you, made that knot in your stomach become tighter. you were so close and with him twitching inside of you, you knew he was too.

with the help of your powers, you brought him closer to you. his white, blood stained blazer pressed against your breasts, adding some stimulation to your tender nipples; which helped speed up your orgasm. you whimpered, staring into his uncovered eye, cumming for the second time; without him.

specks of white blurred your vision as you came undone. the grip around his shaft, tightening with each thrust that hit your spot over and over again.

he was pissed. first you tried to ruin the mission and had some guy all over you, but now you came twice? oh he was more than pissed.

his grip around your neck loosened and he moved his hand up to your cheeks, gripping them; causing them to puff up in his hands. his stroke was faster and deeper, practically kissing your cervix—making you whine out.

“ ‘s too much! please daddy, can’t take it.” you were able to huff out, but he ignored your pleas, still treating you like a common slut.

“gonna breed this pussy. have you dripping cum for days when im done with you—let everyone know who owns this pussy.” he pounded deeper, his vision getting blurry and his stroke becoming sloppier; before he let go—emptying himself deep inside of you.

he let out a primal growl, sporadically twitching inside of you, before pulling out, globs of his cum slowly starting to pool out; until he plugged it back in with his fingers. you squirmed, but he held you down, making you take the extra pleasure—leading to squirting against his palm.

the wet gushy mess, combined with the previous fluids, stained the plush green fabric underneath you and the bottom of his blazer. patch removed his fingers and sucked your juices off, before he pulled his pants up and snapped his belt on. he pulled your panties back on and walked over to the bar to retrieve your dress, tossing it at you.

“get dressed. you’re punishment isn't over yet.”

[lilacgaby]

hear me out.. is he proposing or.. with kiri

HEARD LOUD N CLEAR OMG

is he proposing or did you overhear him call mina just to ask for your ring size?

is he proposing or did he drive you to the highest rated nail salon, get a pedicure done with you, and chose french tips with a gel flower on top for your hands?

is he proposing or did he also give you his black card to go dress shopping with your friends, all of them eyeing you knowingly as they helped you pick a perfect array of expensive, pure material dressed?

is he proposing or did he randomly ask you what places you want to travel to, and asked you to take time off?

is he proposing or did he rent out a giant private jet, with beds and everything for an overnight flight?

is he proposing or did he off-handedly mention that he'd went to visit your parents by himself one day, to talk to them about something important?

is he proposing or did he rent out a penthouse for the next week?

is he proposing or did he take you out on an expensive date, asking you to dress in your most favorite dress?

is he proposing or are your friends and close family being inside the restaurant just coincidence?

is he proposing or did he-- holy shit he's down on one knee.

as eijiro got down on one knee in front of you, he scratched his head and smiled softly, realizing that he got so nervous he forgot his whole speech he planned. so instead, he held out the dessert he'd ordered for you, that said 'marry me? pretty please?' in fancy cursive letters. you laughed and nodded, to which he sat the dessert on the table, and placing the ring, which had a huge red ruby in the middle of it and was surrounded by dozens of miniscule diamonds, onto your finger. you pulled him into a kiss, your first one as fiancés.

everyone came up to congratulate the two of you. you two were so happy and smiley, basking in the afterglow that was being dedicated to your one and only. <\3

this inspired me sooo much so like lmk if anyone wants ones with like shoto or izuku !!

[yandere-wishes]

which batboy does mittens have a crush on?

₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆

Oh, good question!! @fancyfeathers mentioned that Mittens should probably be the eldest of Selina's sidekicks. And is closest in age to Dick Grayson. Which opens up one of my fav tropes of "Childhood friends to lovers" (but make it yancore!!!)

He'd been so sweet once, little boy wonder swinging along the skyline. Pretty like a sunset, decked out in reds and yellows. You'd watch him from your perch atop the scrappers. Arms nervously ringing around a bagged-up bundle of jewels. Your mentor would scuff making comments about fruitless morals and pretty boys.

Kittens chase robins. It's the way the world goes around, just like how black cats chase bats.

You sneak behind him, punching on his back and rolling him around. Robin kicks your ribs out of instinct, aims for your stomach next with his knee. He only stops when his masked eyes meet yours, when he sees the sweet playful smile adorning your lips. This is a game...

It's always been a game.

At least to you...

You'd only learn, years later, that it had always been far too real to Dick.

Your siblings are better than you at the whole "cat burglar" thing. They creep through the shadows and glide through half-open windows. They steal rubies and diamonds and pearls. They leave little scratch marks and lipstick stains on the safes they rob. They spend the nights being chased by bats and birds. And then when the sun threatens to shine once more they steal kisses and love bites.

You'd always preferred the day. The monotone ease found only under the sun's gentle rays. You prefer to give instead of take, your youngest sister always said it was Nightwings fault for that. That the first robin had rubbed off too much on you.

You still keep an old photo of Dick in your apartment, a silly little photo of two kids, smiling with blood between their teeth and haphazard empty gums. Dick's nose is bleeding, you have a black eye.

You can't quite remember who took the photo.

Bruce or Selina.

It doesn't really matter.

Some things are far too deep-rooted. Crystallized in blood. You've long hung up your mask, and handed in your whip. You've renounced the ways of the cat, renounced the ways of a rogues. You spend your days inside a school, teaching the young of Gotham, watching how the trauma seeps in prematurely, coiling and embedding itself into the lady Gotham's children. Hurt them young so they learn to survive.

You feel so guilty...

It's hard to leave lineage rotting in its grave, hard to abandon and reject that which pumps through your veins. You still pick the locks, still, slip through shadows as if they were a second home, you're still more feline than human. More freak than normal.

Only this time you don't have your mentor or your sisters.

You don't have your claws or whip.

There's a security guard with a gun.

Pointed straight at you...

Dick Grayson, Robin, Nightwing. He'd been so sweet once. You're glad to see the saccharine hasn't washed off. The boy wonder stands in front of you, although you guess he isn't much of a boy anymore. His uniform is hard on your eyes, reality glitches, you see him dressed in his sunset colors. Reds and yellows, young and free. Dick offers you a sweet smile,

"Hey, it's been a while..."

"Yeah, it has."

Dick assures the security guard he'll handle you. Still, you don't miss the way his blue eyes burn holes into the other man's back. He opens the car door for you before getting behind the wheel. On the way, you try to reason with him. For old time's sake, you beg. "I really was just trying to get those kids some toys, but there's so many of them and the prices these days are-"

"I know," Dick says, his bright smile sends your heart a flutter. "It's alright, I'll take care of everything." You laugh leaning back, looking at his reflection through the mirror, that broken nose did end up healing nicely.

He doesn't take you to the station, instead he drives to his apartment. Deep down you knew he'd never hand you in, he couldn't, he'd spent his whole life watching that bat excuse the cat. He can't go against his training, he too can't abandon his heritage. He pulls you out of the car and into a tight embrace promising he'll keep you safe. And you hate how he feels all so utterly safe, how he smells like home and happiness. You hardly notice how hard he squeezes and how hungrily his lips hover above your pulse point.

Thus he spoke but you don't remember listening.

He spoke of finally having you again.

Of loving you again.

You only ever catch the odd word.

Utterly distracted by the delicate twinkle in his ocean eye.

It's hard to focus on the words when for the first time in a long long time you finally feel like your old self again.

High off nostalgia.

₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆

Okay, so all this being said there is an alternative.

@darkpeppermint had another idea, since Mittens is so different from the rest of her family, then she may not even fall for a batboy at all and just marry a sweet golden retriever farm boy...

And yet, despite the sweet fairytale twist they tried to propose. My sick and twisted brain heard the words "golden" and "farm boy" and immediately thought of PROFESSOR CRANE...

Maybe poor little Mittens ends up getting manipulated by the charming professor, Crane. Maybe they meet one day when she's taking her class on a field trip to Gotham U and ends up bumping into Jonathan.

There's just something so familiar about him. So nostalgic, he reminds her of home, of her family, of her childhood friends...he almost feels safe.

Welp Fancy, it finally happened we've become co-parents again.

Our children's list is Kachina and Mittens so far 🤣🤣 Let's see who gets adopted next lol.

[bunbun-mochi]

Jealousy II - Queen of Onychinus

Sylus x MC (Fluff and slightly smut, MDNI)

Warning: threatening of killing, swear words, very suggestive(MDNI)

Word Count:1360, no proofreading

Preview: Sylus isn't a man who's easily jealous. But if someone tries to get his wife's attention by giving her expensive jewelry, he feels unpleasant. His wife shows that she is only for her husband and no one else.

Sylus tapped on the arm of his chair impatiently. The auction was taking their sweet time to pull out anything interesting.

"2 million!"

"7 million!"

Sylus rolled his eyes, the current item, a small pink diamond engagement ring, on stage isn't even worth more than 5 million.

"12 million!"

"12 million! Going once! Going Twice" The auctioneer banged the gravel. "Sold to Mr. Mucker!"

Sylus checked his watch. He had been in this auction for nearly two hours and they had yet to showcase what he deemed interesting.

The lights on the stage switched. Another person walked toward the auctioneer and whispered into his ears. As soon that person left, the auctioneer spoke in the microphone. "We are suppose to have only two items left for auction. But we just received a news that there is another item being sold at this auction."

Sylus sat up straighter. A new item? It surely piqued his interest.

"We will be selling this item instead."

Someone walked onto the stage, placed a black box on the table. Then he slowly opened the box, reveling a black and red thigh jewelry. The jewelry sparkled under the light. It immediately caught the attention of the Onychinus leader.

"This jewelry contains one of the rarest gems in the world. It contains ruby, black diamond, and red diamond."

"2 million!" One immediately called out.

The auctioneer raised his hand, "This one start with 20 million."

"25 million!"

"30 million!"

Many bidders raised their number card, calling out their bids.

"75 million!" Hushed whispers around the auction room. Sylus immediately recognized this voice as Musker.

Sylus can imagine if his wife were to wear that around her thighs. He can already imagine his wife, on his bed, naked but with that jewel around her thighs. He wants to feel that jewel beside his head as he goes in between her legs, with her moaning his name. He wants to see that jewel sparkle as he pounds into her. He licked his lips and smirked. It'll look exquisite on her.

"Is there anyone else?" The auctioneer asked. "Going once!"

Sylus slightly moved his fingers and the catering man standing next to him immediately raised the bidding number card. The entire room echoed with the deep voice, "120 million."

The room falls silent. The auctioneer stammered, "O-One hundred twenty million! Is there anyone else?"

"128 million." Mucker countered.

Sylus narrowed his eyes. Someone dared to outbid him? "150 million."

"155 million."

Sylus smirked. This man clearly isn't qualified to bid. He only went slightly above his, trying to outbid his just by a mere million. Too bad for this man. Sylus is too excited to see what his wife's face would react to when he shows her this piece of jewelry.

"185 million." Some gasps were heard. This is the highest number anyone had bid tonight. Although a lot, it's simply pocket change for Sylus.

"186 million." The man bids again. Sylus clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"220 million." I dare you to outbid this. Sylus thought.

There was silence. Not one single one dared to outbid him. Sylus smiled to himself.

The auctioneer looked at the crowd in shock. "220 million! Going once! Going twice!" He then hit the gravel. "220 million to..." Then he hesitated, looking at his paper. "Going to... Mr. Skye!" Sylus smirked with that fake name.

The room buzzed with noise. Looking around the auction room, trying to see a glimpse of the so-called "Skye". Unbeknownst to them, Sylus was sitting on the third floor where the lights didn't reach. It's nearly impossible to see up here.

Sylus stood up and walked toward the door as the catering man that stood next to him walked toward the stage to receive the jewelry.

As he walked down the stairs, he heard two voices talking that were further down the stairs.

"That damn Skye!"

"Hush! You don't want him hearing you say that!"

"I don't give a shit. That son of a bitch. He stole that jewelry from me!"

"You don't need it."

"Yes, I do. Let me tell you, I found this woman. She is so beautiful. No amount of money or jewelry could ever compare to her beauty."

"I'm sure she'll be more happy with that pink diamond."

A sigh can be heard. "Yes, you're right."

Sylus smirked as he walked toward the party room. He picked up a champagne from the entrance, excited to see his wife. Then he stopped at his track.

His beloved wife is talking to another man. He isn't someone who's insecure that his wife would run off with someone else. But the fact that he immediately knew that man that his wife is talking to is that Mucker dumbass back in the auction room.

Mucker was talking to her while she is trying to back away from him, clearly uncomfortable. Sylus inwardly rolled his eyes. That Mucker boy really need to understand body language.

Then Mucker reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box.

Sylus widen his eyes in surprise. That son of a bitch. He's trying to give that ring to my wife!

He stride toward her but so many people were between him and his wife that he wasn't able to stop Mucker while Mucker knelt down on one knee. "Marry me please!"

The whole room hushed in excitement, waiting for her to reply. Sylus stopped, eyes glaring, ready to murder that man in front of everyone.

But the response Mucker got was a splash of champagne onto his face. "Get off your knees. I'm married." She answered. "I don't even know who you are. Leave me alone before I bury you alive."

"It's ok, I know you're just nervous! I got you a pink diamond! I payed 12 million for it!" Mucker plead, trying to grab onto her hand while she tries to swat his hand away.

"You better watch what you say and do! If you offend me one more time, I will tell my husband to kill you!" She threatened, pulling her arm away from him.

"C'mon doll," one of the bystanders said. "He brought an expensive ring for you."

MC raised her ring finger, containing two rings, one black and one red, to show to the bystander. "My husband got me this. Each of them costs significantly more than that lowly pink diamond." Then she looked over at Mucker. "My husband is rich, handsome, gentle, patient, respectful, and loyal. If you ever think I would ever lower my standards for you, you're dead wrong. Now, let go of me."

Sylus felt like he fell in love all over again. Seeing his wife standing up for him makes him very excited.

He smirked as he walked toward his wife. "Hello, dear." His deep voice rumbled.

His wife turned around and gasped. "Darling!" A rare pet name she used, just to show Mucker. "You're back already! How's the auction?"

Sylus smiled, "It's actually good. I got something-"

"Hey!" Mucker called out, cutting him off. "I know your voice! You're the one who stole the jewelry from me!"

Sylus clicked his tongue, "I'm pretty sure I got it fair and square. It's your problem when your wallet isn't big enough."

Mucker was fuming at this point. "I saw this woman first."

Sylus mockenly laughed, "I don't care. She chose me. We've been married for nearly an year. Now, excuse us."

Sylus wrapped his arms around his wife, "Let's go."

"What is the thing you got?" His wife asked.

Just as she finished asking, the catering man appeared, handing a velvet black box to Sylus. Sylus handed the box to his wife. "Open it, dear."

MC opened it, revealing the black and red thigh jewel. Sylus kissed the top of her head. "I'm expecting you to wear this tonight."

The whole room atmosphere turned awkward, as the two lovebirds expressed their love.

His wife's face turned red and nodded. Sylus laughed and led her toward the front door. He waved his hand at Luke and Kieran, giving them an order.

Get rid of Mucker.

Luke and Kieran slightly nodded and went straight to work. Sylus took MC home, very excited to see what his wife wearing absolutely nothing but that jewel around her thighs.

Should I write a continuous one, where they are doing to do's while MC is wearing that thigh jewelry?

dividers, templates, headers, and banners are from @uzmacchiato

[theshinazugawaslut]

𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑻𝑶𝑩𝑬𝑹 𝑫𝑨𝒀 #𝟐 — 💀🎃 "𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 & 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉" 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒊 𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 / 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒙

tw/cw: dubious consent, mentions of attempting suicide

Don't go, don't go, don't go, don't go.

It's the first thing you had learned as a young bumbling girl, back when you'd clutch onto your mother's cold hand tightly and ask in a high, squealing voice about the woods you had found out were strictly forbidden.

"Don't go in there," your mother had said in a hushed tone, "there are awful people in there; ones who will offer you ruby-red apples with the magick of eternity's youth, but you mustn't ever take them, my baby, and if you even manage to get away from the faeries and witches and wolves, then you will reach the ocean infested with all sorts of monsters. You don't wish to be eaten by a half-bird half-fish now, would you?"

So you'd always been wary of the forest, as a little girl to a lady, living a respectful life at the village.

You spent days embroidering satin gowns with arcipluvian birds and cutting sweetheart necklines with a healer's steady hand and stitching diamond-encrusted bodices into tulle skirts; all the uninteresting things that come with being a dressmaker's daughter.

Though tonight, you'd long abandoned the box of jewels and the slim needle that had become a tender muscle in your mind, left them by the melting candle on your bedside.

Your shoulders donned a blood-red cloak made of velvet, your gown glittering under the night sky; you'd stitched it yourself from the spare fabric of a rich woman who often visited your family's little shop in the village. It was a lovely thing and it was your most prized possession: the bodice was nice and fitted, ivory in colour with rose and aureate embellishments, low and tight so that the clear spheres of your breast were nipped with cold; you'd made your skirts wonderfully layered also — a swelling blood red silk underskirt covered with a sheer, glittering gold fabric, with two overskirts in damask patterns, sable and cream and sun-spun.

When you had sewn it, you'd left it hanging in your sparse wardrobe in hopes to wear it on your wedding day.

Now, all that was left was to wear it tonight and walk straight into death; the tangerine glow of the lantern held up in your dainty fingers, lighting the path to the angel of death.

You had never thought your mother would arrange your marriage to the worst man in the village. Your beauty was sought by every boy and man of the village, and you'd hoped your mother would match you to the sweet butcher's boy across the street.

Keigo, his name is; a boy with hair spun off golden sunflowers and eyes that glitter like topaz under moonshine, sharp as a hawk. He gave you candied cherries once, the tart fruit dipped in hardened sugar water, and he'd smiled so shyly after.

Instead, your mother betrothed you to Touya, the eldest son of the village chief. You had wanted to cry as the man's intense, electric-blue eyes blazed flames into your skin as your mother and his father discussed the engagement.

Everyone knew of Touya, the enigmatic eldest son covered in gnarly, mulberry scars and strange silver rings and snow-white hair, rumours circled like wisps of smoke that he had been set alight with fire by a witch as a young boy. Worse, rumours said that the young man dabbled in dark magic.

You wouldn't marry a man like that, which is why you'll die.

In the forest.

(Don't go.)

Your lantern only illuminates the trees in front of you, just a few steps away into certain death. Webs shimmer like meshed steel in front of you as you take a ginger step inside, the slow crunch of a leaf below your boots is the only indicator something exists inside.

Almost immediately inside the forest, something shifts.

You can't tell what it is but it's there.

Red.

Your eyes become deer-like, large and frightened, and you turn around, wanting to head back but you find that the path back... isn't there, just endless forbidden forest.

That can't be.

Something gets stuck in your throat from panic, like a globe of cloth that makes your throat dry.

You keep walking, your legs a lot heavier now, something akin to logs.

The world around you seems to shift, a sepulchre silence heavier than the cloak on your shoulders. The trees held the macabre stench of blood, speckles of fungied moss glistening like wet witch dust on its mottled bark; the branches twist toward the sky like dark, skeletal fingers, reaching for the stars that winked down from a velvet expanse.

The moon is hideous tonight.

A whispering breath, no, a breeze, shifts through the lines of the forest and your body. It sounds old, perhaps a little sad. It beckons you.

In the back of your head, you can hear the sound of children singing.

Ring-a, ring-a rosies-

There's a beat of a drum, somewhere deep in the darkness where your lantern's weak light can't reach. A drum, a drum- A beating heart.

a pocket full of-

Enchantment twists and coils around you like a serpent, why are your eyes so-?

posies!

The phantasmal gas becomes the damp breath of the forest.

Shadows dance at the corners of your vision.

Your senses begin to reel, ethereal and monstrous and real suddenly not all the same.

A tissue! A tissue!

Flickering shapes form and die behind the trees; those shapes try to reach hands towards you, scintillating and fading.

The sound of a child wailing echoes throughout the forest, haunting the glades, and pouring into some desolate space elsewhere.

When did you start crying? Why are you running?

Someone is trying to hush you, the sound a hollow echoing, more like the ballad of a crumbling cathedral, like fingers of shadow snuffing out the lights.

Why did you go?

Don't go.

We all-

Arthritic brambles catch on your dress for a moment, gnarled with age, snapping like bones as your boots slap through the sounds of the night.

Something spidery slips into your mind, nails sinking deep into the goo of your brain. The distorted image of your parents flashes before your eyes, the grotesque form of the sun-haired boy, the sweetness of electric-blue eyes.

Time loses meaning; minutes stretch into hours as you drift between consciousness and the realm of the lost. In this state, the boundaries of your existence waver like the edges of a dream, fraying like the gossamer threads in your gown.

Fall-

The night sky above transforms into a kaleidescope, the stars becoming blurs of light, something sinister flashing in front of your pupils instead.

In that one moment, you live hundreds of lifetimes, the beat of the drum getting louder, the singing even more so. You see it all: flowery childhoods and fantasies of a lover and children with his blue eyes and your tears at his funeral-

Down!

All you can do is shriek as you fall, dress dirtying.

It's silent again.

You look up and you freeze.

A deep pool of glittering, gemstone-blue expanding here, a stream behind it, most likely leading to the seas. It's stunning; glimmering like star gleam, burbling and thrumming like a child blowing bubbles into a cup. It lights up the rest of the forest around you, ripples reflecting across tree bark.

You reach out a hand just to touch, fingertips trembling just about to touch the surface.

A hand encloses around your wrist.

You don't have it in you to shriek a second time as blood-curdling eyes meet yours.

His eyes are red. Vivid, vibrant, violent.

He's simmering with cruel intent, volcanic and about erupt, but he's strangely calm, something hypnotic in his gaze and bluish hair falling in front of his ashy face.

The hand around your wrist is gentle. Thick, long fingers, and a broad, heavy palm; made to destroy, you don't doubt his touch is decaying.

He's half-submerged in water, the upper half of his body all sinewy muscle and the lower half... beneath the blue water, you think you see black swishing around; pulsating like a jellyfish.

"...A human," he murmurs with a heavy tongue, and you can see the gills flare . "So pretty."

Then everything about him changes, that eerie calmness you had caught before disappears as he smiles at the way your mind screams, your eyes bloodshot and terrified.

There;s something rotten in the way he quirks his lips up.

His teeth have the same glint as blood-drenched bones, like flesh ripped out of a body, like hot red swallowing you whole.

"Why are you here, little girl?" he asks, hissing through calcite.

The hand around your delicate wrist tightens.

Run.

Don't.

"I- I- I-" you stammer uselessly. "I- No, I-"

"Shh, 's okay." His other clawed hand comes to touch the plump of your cheek, talons gently tracing soothing patterns. "You don't have to... say a word."

His voice is sultry, soft... It's almost mesmerising.

The fingers on your wrist dance to the back of your hand as he traces the veins there, as if he wants to rip them out and sew himself a tail from them.

He entwines your hands together tenderly.

"Such hardworking hands," he coos, eyes taking in the sight of all the pricks from needling away at dresses. "You need to unwind." His eyes flicker to yours and he gives a half-smile half-smirk, almost genuine. "I can help with that."

His grin is lopsided, those red eyes glimmer, the incandescence of them illusory. "You want to...?"

Your vision becomes hazy, blurring like it did earlier, only this time it's much more relaxing. Like sleep spindles wrapping around your sore joints.

"You missed me, right? You came here all the way to see me, 'm honoured," he murmurs, mouth against your knuckles before pulling back just a little. Another flow. "You came here to see me, right?"

You can't remember now.

Why... did you...?

Why do you feel so disoriented?

"You're the sweetest, you know." The large, gentle hand on your cheek moves to the back of your head, sinking into your hair and bringing you closer to his mouth. You try and shake your head to fight away the warm haze. It's useless. "I've been feeling hungr- Lonely, for so long."

Both his hands cup your jaw now, thumbs caressing the lines he can find on you.

"You're lonely too, right...?" he murmurs and you find yourself nodding along, the gills on his neck flare. "It'd be nice if... you'd join me, here, in the waters." His voice is a whisper now, his mouth inching closer. "I bet you'd like it. My voice is prettier below as well, do you want to hear?"

You blink, frazzled.

The fingers on your face dig in a little harder.

"It'd be nice, you know, listening to beautiful songs with me," he says, "I just adore singing, especially at deaths, it's why everyone calls me Shigaraki. I bet you have a beautiful name, too."

But you don't say it, all you can hear is his name on repeat, like sea froth and foam on the red tip of your tongue.

"Beautiful girls like you deserve pleasure, you know...?" he whispers. "Do you want to...?"

You don't know why you nod.

But he kisses you. It's cold and his teeth gnash against yours, something in it is desperate as his claws make quick work of ruining your beloved dress.

Whatever he does, it keep the oxygen in your lung as he hauls you into the glowing pool that has become duller below it.

He's gorgeous in the water, in all his tentacled glory, and his eyes are burning red to keep the magick of remaining docile on you.

His lower half is the most bizarre thing you'd ever seen: blacker than squid ink at midnight, obsidian veins creeping up on abdomen and then his lower half splitting into eight meaty tentacles.

He grabs you by the throat this time, kissing you with his forked tongue, fangs nipping into the fat of your gasping bottom lip, the other hand holding your head.

You're entirely nude; soft legs floating in the water, virgin cunt exposed, the plump of your ass glimmering. He pulls back, grinning like a warping shadow as his hands touch your swollen breasts.

It all happens at once.

A slimy tentacle wraps around your leg, the other twinning the action, suckling onto your shins and knees and thighs, and he spreads you apart like a starfish, uncaring for how your hips almost shatter from the pressure.

Another tentacles winds itself like a gutless animal around your stomach and squeezes tight enough that all you'd eaten comes gurgling out in a cloud of yellow. The tentacle is large enough to sheathe around your tits, the suckers across the tentacles are like reverberating mouths on your nipples. Within seconds, your nipples are raw and bitten, expanding to twice their size obsenely.

Shigaraki grins as you let out a strangled moan before he shoves a bulky tentacle in your mouth causing your eyes to almost pop out your skull as it goes down into your thoat so that it almost explodes from expanding to fit the thing.

It's gorgeous how sweetly you let him thrust the throbbing tentacle in and out, even sweeter how you scream around it as he doubles down on your sugary pussy and ass.

It hurts so much you can't even feel it inside your stomach, the tentacle on your breasts moving up to squeeze at your throat.

Your stomach convulses from the gruesome size of him, hammering into your womb like a savage barbarian in a brothel. You catch sight of the merman through your tears; his eyes have rolled to the back of his head, mouth hanging open in a vulgar moan, and he was right, he does sound prettier under water.

Your blood is clear in the water as he fucks you, tentacles and sucker clamping and sucking and thrusting on the inside and out.

You're going to die like this, with this monster making you the prettiest human cumdump-

The flames of dark magic suddenly bleed into the waters, severing the tentacles of your captor, the spell breaking and you screech, watching as the monster flails about, blood gushing and staining the pool red as the cut tentacles float.

All you feel is unfamiliar hands holding onto you and swimming out of the waters.

The last thing you remember seeing is electric-blue eyes.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 3: Black Opal]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus, more in comments 🥰

💎 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💎

You dream that you are made of gemstones: fossilized, crystalized, eons spent beneath the earth, diamonds for bones, onyx glittering in the pupils of your eyes, crimson pebbles tumbling through your arteries, red beryl and rubies and cinnabar. Daemon is breaking you apart with a pickaxe, heaving swings and sweat dripping from his brow. He fills a wheelbarrow with jagged, gleaming pieces of you and carts them away to be cut and polished and sold. Then—in the settling dust, in the silence—the viola player comes to the empty space where you once were and kneels, collects specks of you until his palm is full of them, and stores your infinitesimal, shimmering echoes in the pockets of his trousers. Don’t worry, Petra, he is saying. I’ll put you back together. I won’t let you be lost.

You jolt awake as his hand is skimming over your hip. Then, still lying behind you, he grips you roughly and yanks you against him, shoving the hem of your nightgown up to your waist as he opens his robe, his large hands hurried and impatient.

“Yes,” you whisper into your pillows, a soft pliant surrender as golden sunlight streams in through gaps in the curtains. It’s been so long; it’s been ages down in the subterranean darkness. You are starving for this, even if you fear him, even if you hate him, even if Daemon does not try to satisfy you anymore. When you were first married he left you exhausted and breathless just to prove he could, to draw the stark blood-red line between his skill and yours. Now he withholds pleasure—something you find nearly impossible to give to yourself, perhaps five times in as many years—and takes you like this: unceremoniously, unpredictably, with rareness like a jewel’s. Yet still this taste of being desired is intoxicating, cigarette smoke in your lungs, sparkling champagne gulped until your face burns.

Daemon is panting, effort and urgency. You can feel him trying to push his way inside you; and then, when he is not yet hard enough, stroking himself with one hand, grinding himself against your warmth, your wetness, slick mineral hunger.

You moan pitifully: “Daemon, please…”

“Quiet,” he says, and when you look back at him his eyes are closed like he’s trying to imagine you are somebody else.

He is the only man who’s ever had me, and now I repulse him. What can that mean except that I am unworthy, incapable, broken?

Abruptly, Daemon shoves you away by your hips and exhales in a huff, rising from the bed.

You roll towards him and ask without venom, desperate to know: “Daemon…what am I doing wrong?”

“It’s not anything you’re doing,” he says as he ties his robe shut. His eyes are flinty, his words severe. “It’s just you.” Then he stalks out of the bedroom and you are alone.

You push yourself up on your palms and stare at your reflection in the oval-shaped mirror against the wall. Your hair is wild and your eyes forlorn. Your engagement ring, black opal from Australia, glistens on your left hand. There’s a mark on your throat—a gift from the point of Daemon’s dagger—that you’ll need to conceal. You are ashamed of yourself; you turn away.

It’s the morning of April 13th, and Titanic is 1,000 miles from Ireland.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are reclined in one of the pink-painted teak chairs on the Boat Deck and reading a copy of Henry VI, Part 3, which you borrowed from the ship’s small library. You’ve been thinking about the play ever since the viola player quoted it yesterday, here where he was not supposed to be loitering, making his oil paintings and spying on you. You are trying not to glance over at the lifeboats by the railing. You wish you didn’t know that there are far too few to hold all the passengers in the event of a cataclysm. The temperature of the water of the North Atlantic Ocean is below freezing.

“I heard you quarreled last night,” a voice says.

You look up to see Rhaenyra standing in the daylight, blue sky, white clouds, a chilly wind she guards against with a maroon shawl draped across her shoulders. Rhaenyra is dressed like a blood drop: deep gory red, gorgeous but horrible. Strings of rubies dangle from her ears. Strands of her long blonde hair—gradually turning from lemon quartz to a darker, sandier hue—have escaped from her pins and blow in the salt-lashed air.

Daemon told her? Daemon confided in her?

It is just one more humiliation, Daemon unburdening himself to his niece instead of his wife. And whatever version of events Rhaenyra heard, you’re sure it didn’t include him holding a blade to your throat. Reflexively, you touch your fingertips to the thin slice of a wound, covered by several layers of powder foundation and a choker necklace made of diamonds, pearls, and white gold. Your gown is an anemic cream color to match. “Oh?” is all you can think to say at first, inane, pathetic.

Rhaenyra sits down on the deckchair beside you and clasps her hands together, kneading them restlessly. “I believe you could have a contented marriage,” she says. “If only you would allow Daemon the freedom he requires.”

You close your book and scrutinize her with a hard glare. You have not asked for advice; you cannot trust anything she tells you. Rhaenyra will defend Daemon eternally, unflinchingly. They share more than blood. They share a defiance that scalds and singes. You are no dragon, you have never yearned for treasure, prominence, adventure, exceptionalism. You wanted to stay exactly where you belonged. “What sort of freedom?”

“The freedom to make his own way in the world,” Rhaenyra says. “To not be constrained by archaic traditions, or arbitrary bounds of morality, or overcaution, or��or…”

“The freedom to force me to leave my homeland? The freedom to take my child away from me?”

Rhaenyra is stunned. “He’s right here on the ship.”

“And your sons are back in England with the 9th Duke of Beaufort, yet I assure you that you are closer to them now than I’ve ever been to Draco.”

She cannot understand your vitriol. You have cracked the rose-colored spectacles she’s been gazing at the world through. “I’m trying to help you.”

“I have not sought your counsel.”

“Then I’m trying to help Daemon,” Rhaenyra says, flustered, struggling to remain composed. “He is not a young man anymore, and he doesn’t need discord in his own home on top of a transcontinental move and a demanding new position at Tiffany’s.” Her voice goes tender. “I know he does not wish to torment you. Daemon can be headstrong and proud, but he’s not a cruel man. And he’s been so kind while I’ve been mourning Sir Harwin Strong…”

“Kind,” you repeat dully. It is not a word many people associate with Daemon Targaryen.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra insists, as if daring you to contradict her. “Tremendously kind.”

And you notice something strange: one of the rings she is twisting on her fingers is a black opal, huge, rimmed by diamonds. It’s not a stone you can recall ever seeing her wearing before. Your eyes return to her face. Perhaps you have taken the wrong course of action. Perhaps you can appeal to her mercy, one parent to another. “Our quarrel was on the subject of my son. I wish to be a true mother to him.”

Rhaenyra rises to her feet, as if suddenly bored of this conversation. God, she’s so much like Daemon. “Then you will get further by being friends than enemies.” She inclines her head slightly, a dismissive little curtsy, then swishes off in her bloody dress. You watch her go, then open your white handbag to take out a cigarette and your holder. Then you remember you don’t have any way to light it and sigh in defeat, staring morosely at the unplentiful lifeboats.

Can I have one person who’s on my side? Just one?

As if you’ve called for him aloud, the viola player appears. He has added a black wool hat to his stolen regalia, pulled down low over his face. He glances after Rhaenyra as she disappears down the staircase that leads to the Promenade Deck—watchful, anxious—and then turns back to you.

The viola player says, his hands in the pockets of his coat: “You look like you could use a break from your part of the ship.”

You try to resist him, battling a playful half-smile that pulls at the edges of your lips, strings running beneath your skin like the rigging of a ship. “Where else would I go? To fraternize with the third-class degenerates?”

“Oh, we have all manner of degenerates for you to enjoy,” he replies, grinning. He props one shoe up on your deckchair. “The Greeks, the Italians, the Irish. I’m partial to the Irish myself.”

“Good for cheap, expendable labor? Good for dying beneath the railroad tracks?”

“Good for painting,” he says instead. He takes a small aluminum lighter from his coat pocket, flicks it to life, and holds it out to you. As you steady the lighter with one hand, you can feel that there is an engraving on the side of it. You cannot see what it is; as soon as your cigarette begins to smolder, the viola player snaps the lid shut and returns the lighter to his pocket.

You take a drag, peering up at him, thoughtful. “Are you extending an invitation of some sort?”

“I am,” he says, pleased that you’ve asked. “Think you can find your way to the Third-Class Dining Saloon? It’s all the way down on F-Deck. Every night after dinner there’s dancing and card games and…uh…” He gestures vaguely, flirtatiously. “Camaraderie for the lonesome.”

You chuckle. “I see. And do you have an Irish girl down there to entertain you?”

“Not yet. But I’m trying.”

You consider him as you smoke. The viola player waits, though he glances around uneasily, as if afraid his disguise will be seen through like a pane of unfogged glass. “F-Deck, you said?”

He nods. “In the middle of the ship, in between the two main staircases. Right next to the Turkish Baths.”

“Oh, good. I can ask Laenor for directions.”

“I can wait somewhere for you, if you want, and take you down there myself. But…” But people might see us.

“No, it’s better if I go alone,” you say. “When does the most wicked of the debauchery begin? 9 p.m.?”

“9 is sinful,” the viola player agrees. “10 is irredeemably villainous. And by 11 we’ve always begun the orgy, we’re very punctual, you could set your watch by it.”

You laugh, loud and freely, your cigarette holder tucked between your index and middle fingers. “Perhaps I’ll make an appearance this evening, Picasso.”

“I hope so. I’ll be looking for you.” Then he steps down off your pink deckchair and saunters off, soon out of sight, his black coat and hat vanishing into crowds of first-class men—heirs and tycoons and aristocrats and politicians—dressed the same way.

You try to return to your Shakespeare play (now Margaret of Anjou is declaring war on the Yorkists) but it’s no use; the viola player with all his knowing, crooked grins has filled your skull like water pouring into a sinking ship, and for a moment you have forgotten about Daemon, and Dagmar, and Rhaenyra, and this is a feeling one could get addicted to, a warm softness that polishes away barbed edges, a numb haze like too much cider or champagne.

The wind is getting stronger, and you haven’t brought a coat or a shawl. You wander back towards your staterooms—impatient for dinner, and for what will come afterwards—and on your way, down on the Promenade Deck, you find Dagmar sitting on a chair with Draco, bundled up in more than enough layers as his short white-blonde hair blows around chaotically. Dagmar is reading a book to him: Scandinavian, of course, The Ugly Duckling. She has a different voice that she uses for each character; her ancient face becomes bright and animated, as if she is draining the life from them like a vampire. Draco giggles as she reads, and you stop to watch them, standing alone on the deck and shivering in your ivory-pale dress.

Draco spots you, blinks a few times, then smiles and waves with his little hand. You can feel yourself smiling back. “Hi, Mam.”

“Hi,” you say, stepping closer. Dagmar’s blue eyes go frigid and sharp like ice. Her fingers that grip the book are knobby, gnarled, bestial. “Are you enjoying your story?”

“Yeah! The duck is so ugly everyone makes fun of him.” Draco is beaming as he announces this. You are unsure of how to respond.

“Well…maybe things will get better for him. Could I…” You point timidly at the book. “Could I finish the story, do you think? Could I read to you?”

Draco turns to Dagmar. “Can she?” he asks, and he sounds almost…hopeful.

“She doesn’t know how to do the voices,” Dagmar says curtly.

Draco frowns at you. “Do you know how to do the voices, Mam?”

“No,” you confess quietly. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry. But I could try to learn.”

“Maybe next time,” Dagmar says. She flips a page and resumes reading aloud. Then Draco is swept back up into the story, and you are forgotten, and you wait there for a while to see if he’ll notice you again before giving up and retreating back to your staterooms, a kicked dog, an unopened letter.

In the sitting room, Fern is bustling around straightening up and dusting. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” she says when you walk in, peering over one shoulder. “You look cold. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please, whenever you have a moment.” You drop down onto the sofa, distracted and low. Your gaze drifts to the taxidermied tiger head above the fireplace, dusk-colored gemstones glinting in its eye sockets. Why can’t I make Daemon love me? Why did he give Rhaenyra a black opal ring?

You can hear Fern heating water for tea. Abruptly and vividly, you remember how she wept when Rush dragged you away from Draco and Daemon summoned you to your bedroom to be punished.

“That must have frightened you last night,” you say, still looking at the dead tiger’s head. “I’m sorry you had to witness it.”

An uncomfortable pause. “It’s no trouble at all, ma’am.”

“I bet you wish you were somewhere else. Just like I do.”

“No, ma’am,” Fern says, startled. “Please don’t send me away. Not ever.”

You turn to look at her. She stares back wide-eyed from where she is pouring steaming water into bone china teacups patterned with blue flowers. “You want to work for Daemon? Despite everything?”

“Lord Targaryen is the best boss I’ve ever had,” Fern answers, and she appears to be genuine.

“Is he really?”

“He pays me what he said he would. Doesn’t yell too much. Doesn’t try to touch me. And besides…” Fern is smiling a little now as she brings you your tea. “I spend more time with you than anyone else.”

You are heartbroken for her—where must she have been for Daemon to be a sanctuary?—then move over to make room for her on the sofa. “Pour yourself a cup too, and sit down with me.”

“Oh no, ma’am, I couldn’t possibly. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I’m your boss when Daemon is gone. And I want someone to keep me company.”

“Well, alright,” Fern agrees bashfully, trying not to show how delighted she is. “I suppose five or ten minutes won’t hurt.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At dinner—sweet ham and fatty ribs of beef, green peas and mashed potatoes—Laenor is joined once again by his new Parisian friend Hugo. You ask Laenor the way to the Turkish Baths in case you decide to visit them tomorrow, and he heartily recommends the facilities, sharing a puckish simper with Hugo. You think of Rhaenyra’s three boys and their dark hair, and their pug-like noses, and the whispers that forever swirl around them in the shape of Harwin Strong, and despite all of this Rhaenyra will suffer no consequences: beloved by her father, emboldened by her uncle, cherished by her sons, enabled by a husband who does not crave her attention anyway. She has broken the rules, and you have done everything right, and yet Rhaenyra is the one glowing tonight as she laughs along to Daemon’s stories, her new black opal ring flashing on her hand, and you are all but forgotten as you drink too many glasses of champagne.

Your guests tonight are Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress Léontine Aubart, a French singer to entertain him while his wife is at home in New York City with their three daughters. Ben’s father made his fortune in mining and smelting, and so like Daemon he understands that one can rule the earth by pillaging what lies beneath it.

You swim up into the conversation from under a warm, numbing sea of amber champagne. Now Daemon is quoting English novelist George Eliot: “These gems have life in them: their colors speak, say what words fail of.”

“Hear hear!” Ben Guggenheim agrees, holding his drink aloft, not champagne but brandy. “Daemon, how old is your son now?”

“He’s four,” your husband replies with obvious fondness, and Rhaenyra seems to bristle. “And a complete terror, a tiny blonde Napoleon, he’ll take over the world someday…”

Beneath the table, you twist your own black opal ring on your wedding finger. You think of the night Daemon asked you to marry him—in the garden of Lough Cutra Castle, bats flapping in the twilight and long-eared owls hooting, not down on one knee but standing taller than you were, his green eyes glinting like the Connemara marble in your father’s quarry—and you wish you could go back and say no.

“Dagmar is a splendid governess, we are so fortunate to have her,” Daemon is telling his audience, and he always seems to have one. “She looked after me and Viserys when we were boys…I was her favorite, of course.” There is a dutiful chorus of chuckles. “She can be bit prickly with adults, but she is entirely devoted to children. She treats Draco like her own. I always wondered about her own family when I was young…I was petrified that one day she would take me aside and tell me that she had to go away and be with her own children now. Surely she had a life of her own out there somewhere. As it turns out, she had a drove of sons with her husband, four or five of them, and then the whole household was wiped out by scarlet fever. Everyone except Dagmar.”

“Oh, how dreadful,” Ben’s French mistress sighs, pressing a hand to her chest that glitters with a massive necklace of bruise-colored Tanzanite, worth a fortune. “But what a blessing for her to have found purpose again with the Targaryens, a lifeboat for her, I’m certain…”

A lifeboat indeed, you think dizzily. Dagmar climbs in and I am tossed out, sinking down into the cold, crushing, miles-deep darkness.

Ben Guggenheim is saying: “I spoke to Captain Smith today as I was taking the air on the Promenade Deck, and he informed me that the last of the boilers have been lit and we are full steam ahead towards New York Harbor. We might even arrive a day early! On the 16th instead of the 17th! Think of the headlines.”

This alarms you. One day less with the viola player? And you realize all at once how attached you’ve grown to him, and perhaps you are learning what it feels like to have a lifeboat too.

As Daemon’s party exits the First-Class Dining Saloon, chatting away carelessly, you tell your husband that you’ve been invited to the Reading and Writing Room to socialize with the other well-bred women of Titanic, and that you probably won’t return to your staterooms before midnight.

“Yes, yes, that’s fine, dear,” Daemon says, barely listening as he escorts Rhaenyra up the Grand Staircase. You linger for a while in the reception area—exchanging bland gossip with the Countess of Rothes and Madeleine Astor, so childlike and yet older than you were when you married Daemon—and then depart, not up the steps towards the Reading and Writing Room on A-Deck but down into the depths of the ship and through the Turkish Baths, closed for the evening and unattended.

You hear the Third-Class Dining Saloon long before you find the entrance and step inside, lively music and raucous laughter that echoes down white corridors. Through the doorway you find low ceilings, exposed support beams, and tables and chairs that have been pushed against the walls to make room for dancing. Men are toasting pints and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, women are giggling at their jokes and thieving sips of the men’s dark frothy Guinness. Standing on top of one of the tables is a quartet of strings and a man singing, not dressed in fussy black suits but in corduroy trousers and plain half-unbuttoned shirts, the air hot and painted with yellow-gold artificial light. The viola player is with them. He sees you and smiles, but he doesn’t set down his viola. He has to finish the song, of course. They are performing Whiskey In The Jar.

“I went into my chamber for to take a slumber

I dreamt of golden jewels and sure it was no wonder

For Jenny took my charges and filled them up with water

And sent for Captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter…”

You find a seat in a corner of the room and wait for the viola player to join you. You purposefully wore something rather plain to dinner—a pale pink gown, matching wool coat, and morganite jewelry—but still you are overdressed. The third-class passengers sitting nearby gape and ogle at you. You wave shyly as you shrug off your coat and hang it over the back of your chair. They bring you a pint of Guinness and, when you take it out of your rose-colored handbag, a burly middle-aged man lights your cigarette with a match. You fiddle with your cigarette holder for a moment, then put it away and smoke like the women here do: bare fingers, no niceties.

The viola player has abandoned his fellow musicians and plops down into the chair across from you, laying his instrument on the table. He grins, boyish and sly, like he has won a bet. You puff on your cigarette and act like you are here by pure coincidence. Oh, festivities down on F-Deck? Well of course everyone knows about that. Thought I’d swing by for a half hour or so, had nothing better to do.

“How are you?” the viola player asks, still smiling.

“Impatiently waiting for the orgy to start.”

He laughs and leans across the table, settling in. “Have you picked out a conquest yet?”

“Maybe one.” You exhale smoke and he watches you, intrigued, perhaps a little nervous to say the wrong thing. “How long have you been running from your family?”

“Five years.”

“That’s the same amount of time I’ve been married.”

“I know, I remember,” he says. “Enormous wedding at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin. Royalty were invited.”

You furrow your brow at him. “How do you know that?”

He shrugs, evasive. “I must have read about it in a newspaper or something.”

“And this is what you do now,” you say, drawing a circle of smoke in the air with your cigarette, meaning the Third-Class Dining Saloon, meaning the sort of people he’s chosen to spend his life with. “You make pennies by playing viola and selling your oil paintings.”

“Doesn’t take much to live on.”

“No?”

“Not the way I live. As long as I have something to eat and a bed to collapse into at night, I’m content.”

“You never get lonely?”

“Well I didn’t say the bed was empty.”

It was a joke, but you don’t laugh. You remember how Daemon pushed you away this morning, how ashamed he has made you of your lust, animal yearning smothered and ignored, an able body gone to waste.

The viola player realizes he’s made a mistake. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, are you…are you alright…?”

“What line of work is your family in?” you say instead.

“Uh…” He hesitates. “Land ownership.”

This is interesting. “Really? Do they have titles?”

“Um, no, nothing like that.” He shakes his head, his eyes darting around the room. “What about the distinguished Lord Targaryen?” the viola player asks, contempt in his voice. “There must be hereditary defects run amok in his lineage.”

“His older brother is a duke, as you know.” You put out your cigarette in a plain porcelain ash tray and take a slurp of your Guinness. It joins the champagne in your bloodstream, sloshing around until your thoughts are blurry and harmless. “But Viserys is…” You try to decide on the right words. “Daemon thinks he’s weak and indecisive. Maybe he’s right, I’m not sure, I’ve only met Viserys a few times.”

“Viserys stays in England,” the viola player says, sounding more like a statement than a question.

“Yes, with Rhaenyra and her family. They’re very close.”

“And what of Viserys’ other children?”

You cackle. “What other children?” Another joke; this time it’s the viola player who isn’t amused. “After many, many years of neglect in cold dreary England, Alicent Hightower removed herself to Manhattan and lives there in opulence with her father Otto, her loyal bodyguard Sir Criston Cole, and her four Targaryen-blonde offspring, the eldest of whom is poised to inherit the Dukedom of Beaufort, much to his uncle’s displeasure.”

“Aegon,” the viola player says softly.

“Daemon hates him.” Your voice is hushed like a conspiracy. “Idle, useless, cowardly, effortlessly receiving fame and riches that Daemon believes he has rightfully earned.”

“Hm.” The viola player is smiling faintly.

“So now Daemon will gust into New York City like a storm, and capture the fascination of the elites there, and—with his orderly, intact family and jewel-mining dynasty built by his own hands—he will humiliate Viserys in the most brutal way possible. He will prove that he was the more worthy brother, that he should have been born first.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think that he shouldn’t have been born at all.”

You both laugh, sad and cynical. He looks down at your hands where they rest on the table, perhaps at your black opal wedding ring. Then he motions to the room at large. “How does it compare to your usual dining accommodations?”

“Far less caviar and duchesses,” you say. “What do the third-class cabins look like?”

The viola player raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking to see my room?”

That’s not how you meant it; but now that he is teasing you with flushed cheeks and one of his crooked, toothy smiles, you aren’t sure you want to decline. No, no. You definitely don’t want to.

“It’s unoccupied at the moment.” The viola player nods to a group of men dancing on the other side of the rowdy dining saloon. “My roommates are presently trying to convince those lovely Russian girls to get pregnant with their bastard children.”

“What a tempting prospect! Who could resist?”

He waits for you to say more. You stall, fiddling with your rings, gazing nervously down at them. “Hey. Petra.”

You look up at the viola player. “Yeah?”

“Don’t fear. That is not my design. There are no bastard children in your immediate future.”

You chuckle and then stand, smoothing out the skirt of your gown with your fingertips and putting on your pink wool coat. “Alright, show me your cabin. As my only poor friend, it is your obligation to enlighten me.”

“Gladly,” he agrees; and as the two of you are weaving through the crowd of dancing passengers—Italian, Polish, Greek, Syrian, Russian, Chinese, Irish—the viola player takes your hand so you are not separated, and it feels so natural you don’t even think to resist him.

It is a long walk to the third-class cabins, located deep in the stern of the ship. You must pass through hallways reserved for other passengers, first-class, second-class, more worthy breeds of people. The viola player drops your hand as soon as he sees stewards flitting about with armfuls of linens and cups of tea, casting you puzzled looks.

“Ma’am?” some of them ask you. “Do you require any assistance? Can I escort you somewhere?”

But no, no, you politely demur, and follow after the man in green corduroy trousers and a half-unbuttoned white shirt, handknit green vest, messy blonde hair, no coat, no hat, a viola and its horsehair bow in his grasp. At last you reach stark corridors in which no stewards are darting around to ensure the passengers are comfortable, and he opens a door to reveal a tiny space, smaller than your bedroom: white-painted pine wood and pink linoleum floors, two bunkbeds, a single sink with a mirror mounted above it. You can hear the reverberation of the ship’s engines and feel their tremors through the walls.

This is awful. This is unendurable.

“Impressive, huh?” the viola player asks, perhaps a bit anxiously. He hopes he hasn’t horrified you.

“It would be just fine for rats. Humans, I’m not so sure.” You sit down on one of the bottom bunks to test the mattress. “What on earth is this full of? Straw?”

“Yes ma’am.” He’s standing by the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest, not displeased but not relaxed either.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “You can come over. I won’t scream and have you arrested or anything.”

He laughs. “What a relief.” He walks over to the bed—very slowly, as if expecting you to change your mind and tell him to stop—then sits down beside you as you peer around the cabin. His portfolio and easel are lying underneath the opposite bunk. On the paper clipped to the easel you can see a new painting: a woman too beautiful to be you smoking on the Boat Deck, wearing the same choker necklace of pearls, diamonds, and white gold that was clasped around your throat this afternoon. In the bottom right corner is the name he’s given you: Petra.

You turn to the viola player, bewildered. “Why do you keep painting me?”

He does not answer; instead, he tilts your head to the side to inspect the shadow of a gash on the side of your neck, a shallow gift from Daemon’s dagger, obscured by layers of powder but not erased. His murky blue eyes are haunted, his voice desperate. “I want to help you.”

“You can’t.”

He is watching you, his fingertips still resting weightlessly on the curve of your jaw. You imagine him painting your skin until all of you is covered: brushstrokes down your throat and over the bumps of your collarbones, lines tracing your spine and swirls on your belly, dabbing gingerly at the inside of your thigh.

“I wish you could,” you whisper; and then he kisses you, the roughness of his short beard, the softness of his lips, and you hope he doesn’t mind the bite of alcohol you’ve tainted yourself with to dull all the blades that have ever cut you: disappointment, terror, pain, despair. Now the ship is punctured and the water is rushing in, not freezing and a bottomless inky blue but warm, golden, effervescent like champagne in a crystalline flute, and Daemon has never touched you this way, gentle but burning, wanting you, needing you. Your palms are on his chest; your muscles and tendons and ligaments are opening for him; you are imagining being known by him, this stranger who sees you, this unremarkable man who is somehow so exceptional, who has dug you up from the gloomy depths of the earth and given you a once-in-a-millennium glimpse of the sun.

And then, with sudden torturous clarity: Daemon unable to get hard for you, Daemon shoving you away.

“No,” you gasp, breaking the kiss and shrinking from the viola player. Your voice is so quiet, so weak. “You won’t like me.”

He shakes his head. You’ve hurt him worse than dagger, you’ve aimed for the heart. “Who were you before all of this?”

Seventeen, in the garden with my books, drinking tea with my parents, daydreaming of legends and love. “I don’t even remember.”

“You can’t stay with him. It’s killing you.”

“You don’t understand,” you whimper, thinking of Draco.

“Look, I have to tell you something.”

You rise from the bed, headed for the door. “I can’t stay, I’m sorry—”

He leaps up and grabs your hand, not to bruise you or to scare you but to beg you to listen. He bursts out: “I’m a Targaryen.”

You stare blankly at him. “You play viola.”

“Yes,” he says. “And I’m also a Targaryen.”

“That’s not possible—”

“I’m Aegon,” he insists, pounding on his own chest. “I left my family in New York but I’m one of them, Alicent is my mother, Helaena is my sister, Aemond and Daeron are my brothers, I’m a Targaryen and I know what it’s like to run away and I can help you.”

“No, you can’t be—”

And then he rips his lighter from the pocket of his green corduroy pants and he presses it into your palm and you see what is etched into the side: the three-headed dragon, the crest of the Targaryens. You abruptly remember what Daemon said to him back in Galway: You look a bit familiar, boy. Have we met before? You study his hair and realize it is almost the same shade as Rhaenyra’s.

“You have to stay away from me,” you say, petrified, clutching his lighter. “Daemon hates you. He’ll kill you.”

“I’m not leaving you with him.”

“Aegon, I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

“When we dock in New York, I can help you escape.”

“No,” you sob, a miserable choked wail. “I can’t abandon Draco, and Daemon would never stop hunting me if I took him away.”

“Maybe you can’t save Draco, but you can still save yourself,” Aegon pleads, his eyes huge and glistening. “Maybe he’s a lost cause.”

“He’s four years old!” You tear your hand out of Aegon’s grasp and yank open the cabin door. He goes after you.

“Wait—”

“Do not follow me,” you command him, low and seething as you stand together in the doorway. “You endanger us both.”

“Let me help you,” he says; and they are the last words you hear before you vanish into the maze of hallways, running up the Grand Staircase, ignoring the stewards who offer you assistance, fleeing from the man who makes you want things you didn’t believe were possible.

Aegon, you think, still in disbelief, still clasping his lighter in your palm with such force your hand aches. His name is Aegon Targaryen.

You fly into your staterooms, through the sitting room, towards your bedroom where you can be alone with your longing and your horror, your tears and your treason. You don’t see anyone else. You don’t hear anything over your own ragged breathing and strangled sobs. You are at your bedroom door. Your fingers close around the knob.

The door leading out to the private promenade deck opens and Rush appears with a half-finished cigar in hand, looking shocked to see you. “No!” he shouts, but it’s too late, you’ve already opened the bedroom door. The blood that crashes into your face is scalding and a deep gory red like rubies. The bile rising in your throat is green like Connemara marble.

There on the same bed where this morning he shoved you away from him—revulsion, coldness, impotence you could not cure—Daemon is twisted up with Rhaenyra, passionate helpless moans, deep savage thrusts, her long citrine hair spilling over the sheets and his eyes turning murderous when they catch on you.

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[cassiefromhell]

Blings, Rings, & Other Things

Sukuna x Concubine!Reader

wc: 1.5k

warnings: mention of sex, nakedness

a/n: i tried my hand at sukuna. don’t squint too hard. as always, requests are open, pls send me things because I'll write anything and I'm bored

You need to ask Lord Sukuna for a new necklace.

You sit in front of your elegant mirror, lounging on the ornate carpet with all of your necklaces laid out in front of you. Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires. But no rubies.

How do you not own a single ruby necklace?

Your Lord gave you a stunning red dress for the ball tonight, one that flatters you in every way. But somehow, you have no necklace to match. And it’s crucial that you look impeccable, because an extremely politically important Lady and her full entourage arrived last night, and they will all be at the ball, too. Sukuna’s whole harem was invited, expected to dress to reflect on his power. Which consisted of you, since he had permanently dismissed all his other concubines months ago.

But you had no ruby necklaces.

You sigh, running a hand through your still-damp hair. Your dressers will be here soon, pampering you for the event ー maybe you could get one of them to grab you a ruby necklace from… somewhere. You weren’t sure where Lord Sukuna got all those exquisite things.

A soft knock comes on your door, and you straighten, quickly jumping to your feet. Your maids will kill you when they see that you’ve been sitting and pondering instead of finishing your hair. You place all your necklaces back where you had them laid out on the bureau, hurriedly arranging them nicely.

The knock comes again, just as you’re crossing your large room to get to your dressing room, where your silk robe is hung up. Because you were stupid enough to be sitting around naked, and now you’re definitely pissing off your personal staff with your tardiness.

“Just a moment, ladies,” you call out, taking the robe down. “Not clothed yet!”

“I don’t mind,” a purr of a voice says against your ear, familiar hands wrapping around your waist.

You flinch, practically flying off the ground, then slowly sink back into Sukuna’s gentle embrace, your bare back leaning against his outiftted chest. 

“By the Gods, you scared me,” you murmur, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “You’re so fast, I couldn’t hear you coming. I thought you were Izumi and Murasaki.”

“You called me ‘ladies,’ so I assumed so,” he hums.

Sukuna takes your chin between his index finger and thumb, gently tilting your head up to look at him properly. He gives you a tender kiss, something that’s so rare from Sukuna, with his… well, brutish persona. But he gives you that softness in this moment that you so crave, his tongue dancing with yours.

When he breaks the kiss, you open your eyes and gaze up at him. You chew your bottom lip. “Is something happening? You were supposed to be in a meeting with the Lady and her advisors until an hour before the ball, and it’s only just past noon…”

He releases you and takes one long stride backwards to lean against the wall. “I left early.”

“How come?” You ask, slipping your robe on and raising a brow. “Did something happen?”

“Yes.”

You narrow your eyes. You know Sukuna usually tries to keep you out of courtly matters; he says he doesn’t want you to carry the burden that he does. But right now, he’s being exceptionally quiet.

“Are you going to elaborate?” You turn and leave the dressing room, figuring you may as well finish drying your hair as you talk. At first you had assumed he had visited for sex before the long night ahead of you both, but the atmosphere has dimmed down quickly.

“The visiting Lady Taira and her advisors have come with a marriage proposition between myself and Lady Taira, organized by her cousin,” Sukuna replies, tone giving none of his emotions away.

Marriage!

You nearly trip and fall, but quickly recover, taking a sharp breath and continuing to your dresser. You refuse to let something so little bother you. After all, no matter how many fancy things he buys you, or nights he lets you stay in his bed instead of immediately sending you back to your chambers, or times he tested the words “I care for you,” when he thought you were asleep, you are merely a concubine. A woman to be kept pretty, to be called upon for sex or comfort or every once in a while, someone to complain to. You know this. And so, with an unshaking hand, you grasp a dry hair towel and watch him in the mirror.

“That’s a very good offer,” you hum, traitorous heart thrumming in your chest. “Lady Taira is said to be the loveliest lady of all. Your council has been trying to get you to marry for months now. She would be a nice candidate for you, I think.”

He scoffs, sitting on your bed. Your eyes meet in the mirror. “She is not the loveliest lady. Not even close.”

“Oh? Well, a marriage to her would surely be beneficial,” you turn to face him with now-dry hair. “When will you announce the engagement?”

“I did not accept the offer.”

You blink. And again. And again. A moment ago you thought your heart couldn’t pound any harder, and you thought wrong.

“Why?”

“Because my council isn’t the King of Curses. I am. I dictate who I want to marry, and it is not that Lady,” he crosses one set of arms over his chest, the other propped up behind him as he watches you. “However, I do feel that I need a Queen of Curses.”

“Ah,” you turn back around, getting a comb and raising it to your locks, starting to work out the tangles. “Still looking for candidates, then?”

I could be your wife and queen.

You shut down that thought immediately, and not a moment later your Lord speaks again.

“It could be you.”

You freeze.

“My lord,” you sigh, slowly lowering your combing hand. “Please, do not speak words you do not mean.”

“Don’t call me Lord.” 

He’s behind you in an instant, taking the comb out of your hand and picking you up, spinning you. After a flash of movement, you’re sitting up on the bureau, effectively raising you the multiple feet in height it takes for you to be eye level with him.

“You never call me Lord,” he frowns.

“I did once.”

“Yes, because Uraume was there and you’re terrified of them.”

“…That’s true.”

He leans in, speaking against your ear. His hand slides up your thigh. “It. Could. Be. You.”

Eyes widening, you swallow thickly. “…Why?”

He continues to talk against your ear, fingertips digging into your hip through your silk robe. “Because you are the only female that I enjoy the company of. That I have never once wanted to kill—”

“That’s not true.”

“What?”

“You wanted to kill me when I stole your kimono and wore it in front of all the other concubines, then they nearly killed me—”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“Continue on.”

He sighs, pulling his face back and holding your chin steady with a hand, staring you right in the eyes. “If I am to take a wife, it will be you. If you do not want the responsibility, then I remain wifeless, damn the council. If I want an heir, you will be the one to carry it. If I want a companion, you will be there. Do you understand?”

You nod slowly.

“Words,” he growls.

“I’ll be your wife,” you blurt.

He smirks. 

“On one condition,” you raise a finger, sticking it in front of his face. “I want a ring. No need for a big fancy proposal, but a nice, handpicked by you, pretty engagement ring. And we both have to wear wedding bands.”

He makes a face, nose scrunching.

You scowl, putting on your best mean voice — your attitude is the reason he likes you so much, anyway. “Oh, boo hoo, Mr. Curse King hates rings. You don’t have to wear it all the time. But we must own them.”

He narrows his eyes, then huffs. “Fine. Two out of seven days of the week.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Three, and every time we fuck.”

“I assumed that was already part of the deal, but yes, three.”

You bare your teeth. “Four out of seven or no wife.”

Sukuna leans forward, biting your bottom lip. “Fine. Four.”

“Then I’m your fiancée.”

“I’ll announce it tonight.”

And suddenly, it all feels so… real. This is actually happening. You’re marrying Sukuna.

With a squeal, you jump into his arms, wrapping your arms and legs around him. You kiss him, first his mouth, then his cheeks, then all across his neck.

“Gods, that’s enough,” he tries to push your face away, but he keeps holding you up in his embrace. 

You bite his hand gently, and then whisper into his ear. “Hello, Husband.”

“I did not anticipate you to be so excited about this, woman.”

“Say it.”

“Wife.”

want a part 2 of engagement sex and fiancee duties? request it (and anything else) in my asks

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul (here!), Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Riddle Rosehearts

Very traditional, but this is expected. He asks your closest of kin (a cat, to his horror) for permission to propose. Regardless of Grimm's answer, there is already a ring that's been purchased. This is merely formality

He comes up with an elaborate plan to execute the 'perfect' proposal. Riddle maps it all out and runs multiple drafts by his childhood friends. Everything must go perfectly - or else you might not accept. Is it likely that not presenting you with exactly 12 red roses with the spikes trimmed and arranged with 6 sprigs of baby's breath will be the reason you decline? Likely not. Will he chance it though? No.

Despite all his planning, he is a nervous wreak. Our red prince is great at masking it though. He plans an entire evening down to the last detail. You both go to a upscale restaurant that serves your favorite cuisine under the pretense that you're celebrating an amazing jab offer Riddle received the day prior. There's dinner, dancing, a romantic atmosphere, and delightful conversation (he prepared conversation topics in advance in case he felt nervous).

Oh look, there just so happens to be an outdoor garden to take an evening stroll through. Would you like to go?

Of course you would, and he asks you to wait outside as he visits the restroom. After you pass through the back door, a nearby waiter slips him the bouquet of twelve roses that he dropped off in the morning. He counts them, checks the stems, the ribbon holding them together, and with a relieved sigh he reaches into his pocket.

Riddle nestles the engagement ring within the core of the center rose, and for a moment his anxiety quells. He looks through the outside door's windowpane, and sees you patiently waiting for him while admiring the garden lights. The anxiety returns, but he's ready. With a knuckle-white grip on the flowers, he passes through the doors.

"My Rose...My apologies to have kept you waiting. There was a matter of great importance to attend to - pardon? No! Not that- ugh. I was not in the restroom! Only you would make such a childish remark on such an important day...No, do not apologize. I was not referring to my career. Perhaps these flowers will provide some clarity? I hope they are to you liking."

When you notice the ring, he gently takes it and gets down on one knee. Riddles heart rattles against his ribcage, and his the mask of calm falters. He holds out the ring with one hand, and the other lightly trembles as it reaches for yours.

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my spouse? I promise that you will be cared for dearly, and that I will work tirelessly to become a husband that you will be proud of. I swear this vow to you on the Rosehearts name."

{Riddle's ring is a mix of new and old. Tradition dictates a diamond for a wedding ring, but he knows better. Riddle wants you to think of him every time you see this ring, so he chooses to stray. Three rubies sit nested in diamonds. The color of his hair, which you love to poke fun of so much. It represents how he is willing to consistently change while still holding on to his core values, all so he can become a husband worthy of you}

Trey Clover

A simple man, and therefore takes a simple approach. The depth of his proposal lies in the timing. He does not know when he will be ready to commit, or how to tell if you are ready to as well.

Trey puts proposing off for the longest time. He acts in baby steps. The idea toys with him for months, until one day he convinces himself that he is ready. After that he slowly begins to look at rings, and think of ideas. He wants to be original, but would that overwhelm you? He would sooner die than do something tacky like a public proposal at a concert or event...but is that something you might want?

If there is one thing Trey is certain about, its that rejection would break him. He knows that your relationship would never be the same if he proposed too early, or if he managed to royally screw it up. He's not a fan of attention. This is awful. Oh Great Sevens it's a pressure that he never dreamed of having to undergo.

But if he doesn't propose...would you? Are you waiting for him? what if you're thought process is the same as his?

Completely out of character for Trey, he ends up proposing on impulse. He woke up one morning and saw the ring tucked away in his sock drawer. For the millionth time he had to face the "I should just do it," thoughts and decided to act on them

The day is new, neither of you had work, and a quick glance over his shoulder proves that you would be soundly sleeping for at least the next hour. So what's he do? Trey puts on his nicest casual clothes. Nothing formal, but also nothing that is sloppy. Then he marches downstairs and starts to make breakfast. He decides to prepare tarts, a reminiscence of your days as students and where you first met. As he arranges them on a platter, he places the ring inside one made with your favorite flavor. It peaks out just enough for anyone to notice, and with a huff Trey steps back to admire his work.

His hands are slightly clammy, and quickly moves to busy himself in fear he might chicken out. It helps for a time, until he hears your footsteps approach the kitchen, followed by a sleepy 'good morning' and arms wrapping around his torso

He steels himself, and turns over in your arms to kiss the top of your head. With a nervous laugh, Trey gestures to the platter of fruit tarts and smiles at how the sight of food causes you to perk up. Like clockwork, you reach for your favorite flavor and quickly notice the metal chunk inside

He reigns in panic as you dig the ring out and eye it with a quirked brow. A moment of silence passes before it clicks, and you whip to gawk at him with the largest bugeyes he has ever seen. Wordlessly, Trey takes the ring, wipes off any crumbs with his shirt, and takes your hands in his

"I'm sorry to spring this on you so early in the morning. It must be quite the wakeup call, huh? Haha...The truth is, I've wanted to give this to you for such a long time. I simply did not know how. I had a burst of courage this morning, and am honestly running on pure adrenaline. I love you...I want to spend our lives together. Will you marry me?"

{Trey's ring is a single pearl on a gold band. He feels that the ring should reflect it's wearer, and you are one of the most naturally beautiful people he has ever seen. There is beauty in simplicity - in seeing things as they are with no modifications. You do that for him, and he loves how your relationship is authentic}

Cater Diamond

Marriage? Huh. See, in the past that was a no-go. Very constricting and he didn't enjoy the idea of getting linked to someone in that regard. An s/o with no legal binding? Sure. It's just a title anyways, right? That kind of thing shouldn't matter in the long run.

Except it did end up being relevant, and now Cater wants to beat himself up because he explicitly told you once things were getting serious that he wasn't interested in marriage. You were fine with doing either and left the decision up to him. Very nice of you to be so nonchalant , and now he knows that marriage isn't 'off the table'. There is a chance.

A chance that requires him to both propose and take back his initial stance. Which is kind of humiliating. The take back part, not the proposal. Cater is confident that he can blow you away. He doesn't need shoddy internet advice, or to to do extensive research to be perfect. Nope. It's all in his noggin. He knows you like the back of his hand and therefore can concoct a speech to woo you easily.

So what comes first, the chicken or the egg? Does he try to casually tip you of that he's interested in getting married before trying to propose? No. That would be incredibly dull and ruin the element of surprise. Cater always hated those crappy half-baked romance films where the loser male lead is all 'oh honey I promise I will propose. Just give me time,' because hello???? You spoiled it??? Also don't make promises that you don't plan to keep, douchebag. How dull.

He decides that it's all or nothing. Cater spends an entire night online shopping for a ring. He already knows all of your sizes...don't ask how or why. Anyway, ordering is a cinche. Just ignore his eyebags the next day and his snappy attitude. He can't even whine about how tired he is because that would mean he has to say why he didn't sleep and -EUGH. He is torn between his two loves. Complaining for attention, and wooing you for attention. It's rough.

It comes in the mail, and after checking the package he decides to seal it back up again. It looks untouched thanks to his skills. Then, he sets up the living room to look like he is filming a video for his magicam. Specifically an unboxing video, and makes sure to let you know that it's from one of your favorite companies.

You take the bait, and he asks you to join him. Even if your camera shy, he insists that for just this one video you hop on. He might be a bit tricky and give you ideas about the product in the box (making sure to align them with a hobby or fandom that you're into). He sets the camera to record, plops down casually at your side, and hands you the box cutter. Go crazy.

Cater can't help but giggle when you open the box - just to pull out another small box. You eye it cautiously, now suspicious that this might be a prank. He urges you to open the box, and you do so while holding it at arms-length away from your face.

The ring's gem sparkles in the camera light, and he watches amused as you pull it closer. With a shaky hand, you take it out of the box and inspect it. With the way you side-eye him, Cater can tell that you're wondering if this situation is a cruel prank...

"Tada~~ You like? -- WAIT! Before you get upset just let me explain! There is no video. That was a lie, and I'm sorry for it. I surprised you good though, right?...ahem, uhm. I'm not pranking you. If you feel the same, then I want for us to get married! I know what I said before, and I take it back. The time we have spent together made me realize that I only felt that way - well, because I was unable to imagine liking someone enough to share my life. At least until I met you. So...do you want to marry me?"

{A diamond for a diamond. Diamonds are reflective. They glitter, and are clear. They are also viewed as the best choice for a ring, but in actuality they have are not. They're only considered perfect because of marketing. In actuality, they're quite the opposite. This same reasoning applies to Cater - and you understand. Yet, you still love him. The diamond represents himself, and the heart shape is to remind you how much you mean to him}

Deuce Spade

He may be young, but he is not stupid...alright. Deuce is not always stupid. Sometimes? Yes. He makes poor decisions and lets his emotions get the better of him.

This? Not a poor decision, and he will never EVER think twice about it. From the moment the idea entered Deuce's head, it was decided. HE would become your husband. Nothing would stop him.

It began during his final year at Night Raven College. Graduation approached, and everyone was excited. Everyone, except for one person. You. He didn't notice it at first, being too hung up over how he actually managed to do well in school. Get this, he even became Heartslabyul Drumhead after Riddle graduated! What an honor! His mother was proud of him, and he was proud of himself! He had career aspirations, plans to get a home back home, and even a lovely s/o to flaunt. Life was great.

What...do you mean? That you're not going back with him? The Queendom of Roses is such a beautiful place! He's certain that you'll love it and can become adjusted. Why do you want to stay at this academy? Was three years not enough?

Deuce has never gotten mad at you before. A little miffed, sure, but never frustrated. He didn't like it. Not these feelings, or how he failed to notice that you planned this from the start. He was so wrapped up in his own happiness, that he failed to see that you felt troubled over his assumptions. It stung. In a moment of weakness, he left you alone, scared that he might raise his voice at you.

He needed to think. Alone. Thankfully he moved past sharing a room with Ace when Deuce became Housewarden. His phone rang many times. Some calls from you, Ace, his mother...for once, Deuce didn't think her advice could help him. Not when he was so confused.

He thought over his dreams for after college. They were the same that he had since prior to enrolling. Nothing changed...except for you and the other unexpected friends he made along the way. It began to settle within him that the unpredicted parts were more important to him than what he initially planned. The image of him as a successful worker, on his own, and being successful were all hollow if they didn't include you. Deuce wasn't upset that you planned to stay at NRC, he was upset that you didn't plan to stay with him.

Or did you? He interpreted it as such in the moment, but he's not so sure. All Deuce knows is that you're his best friend and the love of his life. If you stay here without him, will that change? He doesn't want to find out.

The next day, he's determined. It's impulsive, this he knows. Yet it's what feels right in his heart and Deuce has always trusted his gut instinct. This choice is entirely on him. No one's advice to excuse it if you don't reciprocate, and yet he isn't afraid. He might not have a ring, or fancy offerings. All he has is his love to offer, and a willingness to work around any obstacle. The hurt from the night prior sill aches in his chest, but he has done difficult things before. The pain merely serves as a reminder for how he hurt you, and what his future might be like if he doesn't act.

He finds you before breakfast. When the first rays of sunshine peak over the horizon and the air is still moist with morning dew. You lingered in the hall of mirrors, specifically near the portal to Heartslabyul Hall. Your presence startled him, and he nearly headbutt you from the speed he was going through the portal. Were you...planning to visit him? His heart shuddered in a mix of guilt and happiness. Even after the way he behaved, you still cared.

Upon closer inspection, you appear just as disheveled as him. He must have caused you a great deal of worry...damn it. He can't even be mad at himself. Not with things as they are.

Before you have a chance to speak, he hushes you. Deuce's jaw sets in determination and he reaches into his uniform pocket. He pulls out a paper ring. One that children often give each other on the playground when playing family. He then gets down on one knee, and holds it out with both hands.

"I am sorry. I never intended to hurt you, or push my ambitions on to you. I simply love you more than anything else, and was afraid that you did not want to be together anymore. I was afraid...that being apart would take away what we have. I realize that I was wrong. I didn't see it happening, but being with you has caused me to develop dreams beyond what I initially planned. Nothing I imagine feels right, unless you are in the picture. I don't have a proper ring prepared just yet...but will you marry me? I promise that no matter where we are - for better or worse, I will make you happy. I swear it!

{Your initial ring is made out of his most recent homework assignment. It's frail, and one drop of water will break it. However, he meticulously folded it and it is the byproduct of many imperfect prototypes. The paper ring truly represents who Deuce is. It's rushed, fragile, and full of love}

{He chooses a vintage ring. With both of your initials engraved on the center, he hopes that this ring attests to a promise no matter where you both are. It's rose-gold, not as bright as pure gold but still beautiful. The mixed color represents the different worlds you both come from, as well as your melded life}

Ace Trappolla

Ace tends to get comfortable, and when that happens it is difficult to ignite change. However, he is also headstrong. More than many give him credit for. So once the problem is identified, it's only a matter of time until he does something about it. What he does isn't necessarily always the best solution, sure; however, when threatened he will indeed act.

Initially Ace did not plan to find love. For a long time, he rejected it and passed his feelings off as a small crush. You're attractive, he's a man, a lil of this and a lil of that - who wouldn't feel a little heart throb once in a while? It only became an issue when you became one of his best friends. It felt like he was betraying you with these thoughts. They became a problem.

His first solution was to repress them further. Like stated, he noticed a problem and so he acted. Was this the best choice? No. It ended in a dumpster-fire. Any time another student even remotely expressed interest in you, Ace felt threatened. He couldn't spend time at your side without indecent thoughts popping up. Not like 'that' (geez, get your mind out of the gutter people), but more so domestic. Ick. What was happening?!

He couldn't hold it in, and his confession will forever be known as a feels-dump that started with you sharing half of your grilled-cheese with him because he missed lunch.

Yeah. Humiliating. Ugh.

Now you're his partner, of a long time. A very, very, very long time. Years post graduation. You both have settled into life together, so why tack a title? It's not like those mean anything, right? Everything was perfect as is, and weddings are expensive. You never brought it up either, so why worry?

Well, those titles do mean things in the eyes of the law. Ace never thought to get documentation about emergency contacts and whatnot updated. So when hit his head and got a concussion when jogging? The hospital wouldn't let you in. Not until he woke up, which was the longest four hours of your life.

You didn't express how much it bothered you, but words weren't necessary. The muted panic that you tried to hold back was enough. He expected you to enter his room angry, but instead all he got was defeat. That sight alone hurt worse than the leg.

The event got Ace thinking about things he hadn't in a long time - like marriage. He got too comfortable after letting the thought go once. To him, you were already irreplicable. Years do that, and he's certain that you feel the same way about him. If his young self could see him now...pah, he was such a turd. All 'I don't need anyone,' and empty words to play tough-guy. Little did he know that the person he would need the most in life was only a dimension-hop away haha.

It's that simple, really. No panic or nervousness. Ace decided definitively that he was going to marry you, and it only took years of being an airhead to figure it out.

He spends the night in the hospital for surveillance, and the staff is kind enough to prove you with a cot to sleep on. He stubbornly drags it next to his bed, and once you're sleeping soundly he 3slips a bandage over your ring finger to take the measurement

He planned to go buy the ring instantly after being discharged, but you wouldn't leave his side. Nagging about bed-rest and taking it easy...ugh! He needs to do this thing! No, he can't tell you about it. It's a secret!.....ugh, fine. One more day. Just because he loves the attention.

The next morning after, he's excitedly going to the nearest jewelers. He doesn't have a particular ring in mind, but he's done some research! It's the idea behind the ring that's important anyways....alright. Maybe he'll call up Cater.

Ace does nothing extravagant. He sticks to comfort. You, him, both eating dinner while watching a movie on the TV that evening. He quickly scarfs down his meal within the first 10 minutes and runs to your shared room after ditching his dishes. Stashed in his wallet, he pulls put the ring and hides it in his palm.

Ace tries to be smooth. He dims the living room lights, and sits down closer to you than before. He moves to take your hand with the one holding the ring, and sneak it on to your finger.

It fails, obviously. Who wouldn't notice someone trying to shove a piece of metal on their finger? You pull away on instinct, and the ring falls between the couch cushions. He freaks out for a moment and sifts through them as you continue to eat between giggles. Only when he holds the ring up in triumph do you quiet down.

"Not so funny now, is it? - Nah, just kidding. It was pretty funny....although I wanted this to be a bit more romantic. Eh. It's fine. From the look on your face, I'm guessing that you know what this is?...Uhh. Yeah. I thought it was a good time, y'know? We've been together so long that I already do think of you as my partner. I think you feel the same? Feel free to jump in if not....but, yeah. I love you. A lot. I'd really like to make it official, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get the guts to ask. Will you marry me?"

{Tradition is for chumps. Ace wanted to get something fun and eye-catching. Many suggested otherwise, but this felt right. Your relationship has never been conventional and never will be. Hell, screw 'conventional,' because it's perfect as it is and so is this ring. He knows that this ring will draw your attention, and that's all he cares about}

End Note: None of the ring pictures are mine. I pulled them off of google images because - well, I had ideas and tried to find rings to match them. I write fanfic, not weld jewelry.

[fairlyang]

Kitty 🕷️

you've never had anyone able to stop you when doing crime, until now

w/c: 5K

pairing: miguel o’hara x blackcat!reader

tags: 18+ smut. stealing, getting caught, chasing, flirting, teasing, falling into temptation, exhibitionism, making out, fingering, blowjob, back blown out, choking, unprotected sex

notes: my fav fics bc I LOVE black cat she’s so hot and I learned sm about her when I was researching

The notorious Black Cat of New York, loved all things shiny, kicking ass, and using her seducing skills to the best of her ability when needed. Never exactly aiming to have turned out like her father but what can one do when kidnapped by Kingpin and are forcibly meant to be his Guinea pig?

Getting created to be a super soldier that was also a seductress? What else would this have led to?

On the bright side who else was able to rob banks and also be able to stop other criminals from doing so before she gets to hit them herself? None other than yourself, of course.

Obviously no one was able to stop the infamous Black Cat or retrieve all the things she'd steal. The cops were completely and utterly useless, slow and dumb. So you always got away and were able to profit off all the high end jewelry you'd steal.

You were going to hit up a jewelry store, to steal a few brand new diamonds for yourself. In your oh so casual Black Cat attire that consisted of a black spandex suit with the matching mask covering your eyes, along with the realistic long silver wig.

You were somewhat unrecognizable, but it wasn't like anyone from your personal life was gonna be robbing banks or jewelry stores. There'd be no reason for anyone in your life to see you when you were doing Black Cat activities.

And with no one to stop you, you were golden. Or were you?

I quickly turned off the security system in the jewelry store from the alley right next to it, I grabbed my bag of goodies and I hid my special tablet behind some trash before quickly going inside by the side door. It was vacant, as expected.

I went to the back of the store and look at the cases with the newest necklaces and rings embedded with shiny diamonds. I trail a finger along the glass and look down at the casing filled with only diamond rings.

I walked along the back of the store, looking at everything, the shiniest of rings and earrings until I spotted the most gorgeous necklace.

Filled with diamonds shaped like flower petals all along the neckline with a leaf shape hanging down with more diamonds around the shape, with a red ruby sitting perfectly right in the middle of it. My eyes flicker with admiration and want, I needed it.

I take my bag off from my shoulder and place it on the floor quickly opening it to grab something to open it. Then I stop and stand up walking to the back of the case and scoff. The key.

What kind of dumbasses leave the fucking key out?

I shrug and roll my eyes unlocking the little door and take the necklace out carefully. No alarm.

Odd but I'm not gonna question it.

I close the case and walk back to my bag and stuff it in one of its pockets then zip it up. I pick it up putting the strap back on my shoulder and walk around the store, stopping when something caught my eye.

I walk over to it and chuckle. How ironic... a gold necklace with a cat hanging out and yet another red ruby being held by it's little collar.

How could I not?

I grab a small tool with a pointy end and walk to the back of the counter. I kneel down and quickly unlock the little door and in just a few seconds it clicks open. I slide the door open and grab the necklace admiring the pretty ruby.

I stand up and grab a few other pieces then walk around the counter and back to my bag. I put them all in another pocket carefully then close it shut.

I wrap my bag around my shoulders and head towards the side door, not really wanting anything else. I open the door and close it quietly before making my way to pick up my tablet from where I left it.

Sure enough it was there and I quickly turned the security system back on before climbing on top of the roof.

I walk along the edge of the roof looking at the view, admiring all the buildings and the glowing moon right above them. I jumped off roof to roof for about half an hour, staring out, as I make my way home.

I was hopping off rooftops while admiring the moonlight and feeling the nice cold breeze. I was one block away from my apartment building when I heard a loud thump behind me. I quickly withdraw my claws and turn around, ready to pounce but I look up and see a huge man in front of me, in some kind of superhero suit? "And who might you be?" I ask, looking at the mysterious man up and down. Damn....

"That doesn't concern you." He snarls and I lift my hands up in fake defense.

"Okay sensitive-" I say and snicker.

"Shut up-"

"Okay well if it doesn't concern me then I'll just be on my way." I say and turn to walk away but his hand quickly grips my shoulder and turns me back around.

His hand then went to my back and some talons appeared out of his arms and he brought one up to my neck. I raised an eyebrow and chuckle, "ah so that's how this is gonna be...."

He's about to say something when I quickly shove him off me and lift my knee up to his crotch, hitting him hard, he groans and his grip on me loosened giving me a chance to quickly escape. I push him off me and make a run for it, jumping onto the next roof while he curses under his breath before I soon heard him land on the same rooftop, but I was about to jump to the next one already.

"Shit-" I curse under my breath and run as fast as I could and jump on the absolute last bit of every rooftop.

Suddenly I feel something wrap around my body, I look down, widening my eyes looking at some kind of red rope and the stranger pulling it making me step towards him. I groan and roll my eyes, "this isn't very nice y'know..."

"Good, it's not meant to be." He mutters walking to me and quickly grabs the straps of my bag, slipping it off my shoulders making me growl.

"Don't-"

"Cute, you think you can tell me what to do." He says, his tone cocky. The nerve.

I shut my eyes and slowly cut through a piece of the rope with my claws, I did it as slowly as I can to not alert him in anyway, let him have his little victory before I snatch my things back and go home. "So who are you?" I ask, annoyed and wanting to fill the silence.

He unzips my bag in front of me and takes out the flower petal diamond necklace first, I bite my lip and roll my eyes. Oh how badly I wanted to just claw my way out of this-

But no, not yet..

"Ah so the little cat likes diamonds huh?" He tuts making me smirk.

"Only girl's best friend." I say and pout, "and you're still gonna take 'em away from me?"

"'Course," he starts then grins, "don't think you can play me with your little games and antics, kitty I'm not gonna fall for it." He says looking at me sternly.

I smirk and shrug, "Every man has his own weak point."

He scoffs and shakes his head, "You're unbelievable."

"Unbelievably irresistible?" I say in a soft voice making him chuckle.

"You just don't stop do you?" He mutters and looks at what else is in my bag.

He pulls out my tablet and I bite my lip, cutting through another piece of rope. He holds it up to me and I just smile, "find anything you like?"

He shakes his head in disbelief and mutters something unintelligible and I just flutter my lashes at him, just gotta keep him distracted for as long as I can.

He's definitely not a cop, some kind of superhero? Like those corny movies? I shake my thoughts away and cut through another piece.

Just a few more and I'll be able to wiggle out...

"So stranger you're not gonna introduce yourself? Don't you have any manners?" I tease and smirk when he rolls his eyes.

He sighs and puts everything back where he found it, zipping every pocket and swings the straps over his shoulder. My eyes make their way to my bag but then land on his body. Jesus his biceps- broad shoulders- holy fuck the way he'd look so good on top-

"Spiderman." He says abruptly interrupting my thoughts.

"What?" I say and blink, confused.

"Names Spiderman." He says and I chuckle.

"I'm sorry-" I say and laugh, "like a tarantula spider?" I ask and he nods.

"What were you bit by a spider?" I joke and laugh.

He shakes his head and smirks through his mask. Hmm wonder what he looks like-

"I wasn't but others were." He says nonchalantly and I just raise an eyebrow.

"Okay... well that's... something." I say still confused and shrug.

My claws cut through another two pieces and I sigh, "well Spiderman, it was nice meeting you but I really gotta head home."

He raises an eyebrow at me and with a singular pull on the ropes they all fell to the floor, he looked at me mouth agape and shocked. "Would really love to stay and chat but I'm not really in the mood to seduce my way out tonight." I say casually and shrug.

I withdraw my own talons pointing it to his chest only lightly grazing his suit, and quickly take my bag off him and wrap it across my shoulder. I trace along his collarbone slowly while staring at his masked eyes, "but maybe we can do that in the future." I whisper giving him a wink, before quickly running to the edge and jump off the roof.

I landed on a set of stairs of the random apartment building we were on top of, I quickly hop off the side of them and slide down a pipe before sprinting down the alley and running towards my apartment.

I somehow made it without being followed, I made it to side of the building since it was on a corner. I unzipped my bag and took out a jacket before quickly putting it on and zipping it up. I take off my mask and stuff it in my pocket then grab my keys and go through the front door.

I walk towards the elevator and press the button and it immediately opens up. I walk in and press the button to my floor and it moves up. I sigh and lean against the wall, and not a single scratch on me.

It dinged and I quickly walk out and turn to the right, walking towards my apartment. I unlock the door, walking in and place the bag on the floor carefully before closing the door and putting the two locks on them. Another successful robbery.

And thus the Black Cat finally had someone worthy of being able to capture her. Sure it wasn't completely successful on Spiderman's behalf but it was the closest anyone has even gotten.

That robbery wasn't your first of almost getting caught, if anything it was the start of a long lasting game of cat and mouse.

Sometimes he'd go easy on you. Sometimes you wouldn't try so hard to escape. But every time, both of you would keep your interactions going for as long as you could, not getting enough of each other.

Both feeling the upmost attraction to one another but Spiderman doesn't want to fall into temptation while Black Cat continues to press on.

The thrill of it all being almost too much for both parties, but neither could help but want to continue this back and forth game.

Will Black Cat continue to press on or give up?

Will Spiderman stay strong or fall into his deepest desires?

"Spider! So glad you could make it tonight!" I say enthusiastically looking up at my new favorite person to stumble upon when I'm out stealing.

"Well I can't just let you steal more now can I, kitty?" He says looking down at me.

I bite my lip and can't help but admire his body again, like I do every time. just completely ignoring what he said. "You look good Spidey, have you been working out recently?" I ask as I place my bag down on the floor of the roof we were on.

"Maybe a bit." He says and gets off the edge of the roof and steps in front of me, still holding my gaze.

"Getting prettier kitty?" He says taking another step closer to me as I smile.

"Just for you." I whisper and quickly wrapping my arms behind his neck and lean up.

I felt his breath on my lips as I looked into his masked eyes, curiosity getting the best of me as I bring a hand to his neck and grabbing on the end of his mask slowly bringing it up. He instantly brings a hand up to stop me but I swat him away and only bring the mask above his lips.

Such pretty pink plump lips.

I let my thumb lightly graze his bottom lip, I feel it shake a little making me grin. "You could just give in y'know." I whisper and move my hand to go down and trail along his shoulder.

He chuckles and shakes his head, "you know I can't."

"But we both know you want to." I murmur and move my head to look at his neck.

I leave the smallest of soft and open-mouthed kisses I can give as I feel his breathing speed up and his hands going back to grip my waist. I go up and lightly nibble on his earlobe making him moan and tilt his head back. I pull away and go back down to his neck, leaving wet kisses along his warm skin before I find the perfect spot to suck on.

I suck gently on his skin then let my tongue graze against his skin then leave a kiss on the new bruise. He lets out a moan and I feel him grip my waist a bit harder making me giggle. "Can't even deny it, can you Spidey?" I tease and he shakes his head no.

I leave kisses all along his neck then up his throat and against his Adam's apple, I felt the vibration of a groan against my mouth making me shiver with pure excitement as I squeezed my thighs together. "You know I can't kitty." He purrs making me bite my lip.

I pull away from him and he brings a hand up from my waist and takes off the rest of his mask. I widen my eyes but before I could properly admire him, he smashed our lips together in a very hungry kiss.

I kiss him back with the same intensity, my hands going up to his hair as his went down to my waist, bringing me as close to him as possible. I tug on his hair making him groan so I slide my tongue in ready to explore every inch but I soon felt his tongue on mine.

I felt my breathing getting unsteady quickly and felt butterflies all over my skin as the kiss was growing more passionate. I let him slide his tongue into my mouth when I felt a hard smack against my ass making me moan. His movements become more frantic and fast, I felt both of his hands squeezing and spanking my ass making me whimper against his mouth.

He pulls away since we were both starting to lose our breath, I try to calm myself down as he continued smacking my ass, surely making it red under my spandex. "You're so pretty." He murmurs and moves his head down to kiss my neck gently.

I let out a shaky breath and feel my eyes flutter as I tilt my head back to give him more access. "So pretty." He murmurs against my skin making me moan and squeeze my thighs.

"I need you-" he purrs, moving his hand to my inner thigh.

"Then have me." I breathe out and he groans.

He reached for the zipper by my neck and slowly brings it down. It goes down my chest as he continues dragging it down and stops at my stomach. He looks up and moans as I take my arms out of the suit, revealing my bare tits to him. His hands immediately went to squeeze them not having a care in the world that we were out in public on a random roof of a building.

He squeezed them both at the same time then started pinching both nipples making me yelp because he did it too hard so fast, he muttered a quick apology before he goes down and takes turns sucking on each sensitive nub. My hands went up to his hair as his were pulling the rest of my suit down, "eager are we?" I tease before letting out a moan as he reached down to rub to my covered pussy.

"You can't blame me," he mutters then pulls away and going down to his knees, "it's not my fault you look this fucking good." He says leaving the smallest of kisses on my inner thighs.

I let out a shaky breath and move back to lean against a pole, he scoots forward and leaves a kiss right over my clothed clit. "Spider-"

He hums as his hands slide up and quickly brings my panties down. He gets them off my legs and spreads my legs, gently blowing air along my now exposed pussy. He moans as he brings two fingers and gently rubs along my folds, my slickness enveloping them. "God you're so fucking wet for me baby." He mutters under his breath and I feel my legs shake.

I nod and bite my lip, taking the sight below me in awe. He looked so fucking good.

"Might just have to take you like this baby..." he murmurs before his mouth finally makes contact with my pussy.

"Oh fuck-" I moan and bring my hand down to grip his curls.

He starts devouring it as if it were his last meal and with one finger teasing my entrance making me buck my hips around his face. "Please-" I whimper and slowly move my hips.

He moans against me making me let out a whine because of how delicious the vibration felt and I feel his finger slip in, and slowly make its way inside. My walls clenching against his finger as he quickly shoved it then back out and back in again.

He repeated this a few times and right when I was going to complain when he slowed down, he added another finger and actually started fucking me right.

The only thing being heard on the rooftop being my moans and the sounds that were coming from between my legs, everything else was silent. And thank god for that.

He pumps them inside at a faster pace and curls his fingers up making sure to hit that spot oh so perfectly. "Fuck- just like that Spider-" I moan out, leaning my head back.

"So fucking dirty-" he mumbles not stopping his pace.

"Huh letting me do this to you out in public kitty? Don't even care if we get caught? You like this don't you?" He murmurs and I bite my lip, nodding as he looks up at me.

"Look at me and tell me how much you love it." He demands, going deeper making me a moaning mess above him.

I look down and lock my gaze to his eyes, "I love it so much- fuck! F-feels so good." I whimper and lean back on to the pole.

"That's a good girl." He purrs and I feel myself clench against him, holy fuck- 

He then leans in and starts sucking on my clit hungrily as he continues fucking me. I move my hips against his face and clasp my hand over my mouth feeling my orgasm quickly approaching. "S-Spider-"

Instead of responding he adds a third finger, fucking me deeper as all my arousal spills out. My legs began shaking and I tried to pull away but he quickly wrapped his other arm around me making me stay still. I move my hand away from my mouth and just let out bundles of cries as my orgasm hits.

He slowed down and kept fucking me letting me ride out my high while leaving me absolutely breathless. My heart was beating fast and my breathing was hard, I was trying my hardest to calm myself down but it just felt so good.

He finally stopped moving his fingers and just let them deep inside me, only slowly pulling them out. He pulls away from my soaked clit and looks up at me with a smile, my juices glistening on his lips and dribbling down his chin.

I chuckle and give him a lazy smile as he finally pulls his fingers out, I instantly feel more of my juices come out and I squeeze my thighs together. Can't just leak all over this roof....

I finally feel my breathing being steady and widen at the sight of him sucking on his fingers, having a taste of me. I roll my eyes back and moan, he looked so fucking good.

He slips his fingers out and gets up from his knees, standing up in front of me, "You taste fucking amazing kitty." He groans and I immediately pull him in for a kiss.

He moans against my mouth as I get a taste of myself as well, surprisingly sweet. I let him slide his tongue into my mouth as I have a hand travel down to his hard bulge.

I lightly rub it as I kiss him back hungrily and only start stroking it when he moans in my mouth. I pull away and grin, lips trailing down his mouth, to his chin, jaw, then neck. I kiss around his neck then suck on the soft skin before licking it gently.

I continue stroking him through his suit and the moans escaping his lips were just so delicious to my ears while I kept leaving marks on his neck. "You gotta get rid of this suit Spider." I murmur and he moans in agreement.

He pulls away from me and taps the back of his neck and suddenly the bottom half of his suit disintegrated revealing his thick and long cock spring up against his stomach. I bite my lip and without a second thought drop down to my knees.

I immediately take hold of it and start licking the precum off the tip, making sure to get every last drop. I don't waste anymore time and take him into my mouth, trying to take as much of him as I can. Only able to take half at first and already gagging had me thinking of how this would be a tight fit.

He was going to make me feel so tight as if it were the first time all over again but maybe he'd fit to perfect and fuck me so good. I felt drool drip down my chin and I realized I was taking more of him now.

I pulled out and look up at him with innocent eyes before sticking my tongue out and slap the tip on it. He groans and takes hold of my ponytail, leading me back to taking him.

I moan as he takes control and slowly thrusts his hips into my face, making me more and more wet. I closed my eyes and moved my head as well now taking him all the way that his trimmed hairs lightly tickled my nose. "Just like that- fuck just like kitty." He moans out and thrusts again making me gag.

He pulled on my hair and made me go back to his tip then thrusted his hips forward, then back until he decided to just start fucking my face. I let it happen and just look up at him all teary eyed as my throat was getting fucked.

Suddenly he pulls away and grabs my arm making me stand up with him. He wipes the drool off the side of my cheeks and then flips me over and bends me making me take hold of the pole.

He makes me arch my back and stick my ass out when I feel him position himself to my entrance. He moved his tip up and down my folds even to my clit then down to my aching hole then needed to be filled up again.

As if hearing my thoughts he slowly pushed himself inside making me immediately clench against his tip and having us both moan. He already felt so big and he was only barely inside...

I took a deep breath in then let it out and he takes hold of my hips as I grip on to the pole tightly. He pushes himself in and I could only guess it was about halfway before he slammed the rest in. "Fuck!!!" I cry out and move my ass against him earning myself a hard smack.

"You're so fucking tight." He groans and rubs my skin as he pulls back then slams himself into me again.

I moan and lean my head against the pole as he slowly starts to fuck me. After a few slow thrusts and he notices I've gotten comfortable and use to his size he finally starts going faster.

I bit my lip hard really trying to stay as quiet as I can, almost feeling bad if we wake anyone up but also the thought going away immediately when I feel a hand against my throat. I breathe in and quickly regret it for obvious reasons even though his grip wasn't too tight.

He then forces my throat back, making me stand up straight as he fucks me harder. I roll my eyes back and against his hard chest, his hand still wrapped around my throat as I forcibly hold back moans as he pounds into me. "God this pussy feels so good." He moans making me breathe out and hold on to his arm wanting a release.

He groans and fucks me even harder, his grip on my throat now being slightly tighter. A combination of a mewl and a cry escape my lips making him chuckle as he brings his lips to my ear, gently nibbling on it.

His lips then went down to the side of my neck and his other hand around my waist. His hand then trailed down to my stomach and he pressed it above my belly button making me clench.

He lets out of my throat and I let out cries as he continues pressing on my stomach, it feeling unbearably strange but good. "Fuck!! Spider- fuck- feels s-so- g-good." I choke out and he grunts.

"You're taking me so well baby- fuck- feel that? Mmm feel how much you're taking right now?" He moans into my ear running a shiver down my spine.

He brings his hand down to my waist while the other stayed where he was buried deep inside me. I'd never felt this before and it just felt so good. Also had me noticing how I was able to take all of him at once.

"Please- fuck me harder- deeper please." I moan out and he groans.

He does just that and slams his hips into mine making me cry out and hold on to his arms. "Fuck-"

I felt the all too familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach as he continued ramming into me earning all kinds of noises leaving my mouth. "I'm so close-"

He holds onto me tighter and just this size difference alone might've thrown me over the edge if I really thought about it considering how huge he was compared to me.  "Let go baby. I wanna feel you cum around me." He murmurs and I nod.

With one final deep thrust my orgasm hit hard and i felt my legs almost give up but I was held tightly and didn't worry about falling. I felt my body shake as he shot his cum deep inside me and I could hear his moans in my ear.

I leaned my head against his chest and I felt his chin on top of my head, and I think he kissed it? I wasn't sure if I felt that right but I was too fucked out to question it.

He slowly pulls out and I could have swore I felt him twitch inside me as he was pulling out. Finally I felt his tip pop out and I instantly feel my pussy gush out all his cum. I chuckle and look down as it spills to the floor, guess it was gonna leak anyway...

"You took me so well kitty." He purrs into my ear and I grin turning my head to look at him.

"You fucked me so well spider," I murmur looking deeply into his eyes, "even better than I'd have ever imagined." I whisper and he crashes his lips onto mine.

I kiss back and turn my body to face him as his hands explore my body while mine go behind his neck. "We've gotten so this more often." I murmur against his mouth and he just nods.

"Absolutely." He mutters and smacks my ass.

[surielstea]

No one, But you

Based on this request.

Pairing: Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader feels as if she isn’t cultivated enough, Cass comforts her.

Warnings: Slight insecurities | mention of a pregnant reader | pure fluff

2.1k words

The cold wind nipped at my cheeks as I walked along the cobble stones of Velaris.

My mates hand intertwined with mine, the only thing heating me up. Cassian and I were doing some last minute shopping for solstice presents, he had four bags on his right arm and in his left, his fingers were busy being intertwined with mine, refusing to let me carry anything.

Amren is the only person we have yet to buy anything for, so we had one more stop at the jewelers before going home.

It wasn't often the General of the Night Court roamed Velaris so casually, especially not with me. It was rare I went out at all, but with Cassian? That was once in a year. I was a quiet person, liked to mind my business and hated being approached by strangers. So I typically left the house with Azriel or Amren, civilians knowing better than to talk to them. But Cassian, he was a seven foot tall beacon of light practically calling people to gawk at him, and they did.

I was young, only a century or so years old and had nothing on Cassian. He'd had enough stories to fill a library, all before I was even born. We mated nearly a decade ago but still, people were lost on who I was or what I was to any of the Inner Circle. Even if I liked to keep my peace it had some negative sides too; for example, every girl I've ever met thinks Cassian is single.

Which has become glaringly obvious now that I've become attentive to it. The cashier that bagged our gifts wouldn't peel her eyes off of him, even when he was talking to me.

At another store we bumped into a gorgeous female who Cassian supposedly bedded for a few nights in his twenties.

We walked along the streets and people straight up ogled at him, ignoring me at his side. I didn't want the attention, but it'd be nice if I was at least noticed.

Palace of Thread and Jewels sat on the bank of the Sidra that was frozen over this time of the year. Cassian reached out and opened the door for me, letting go of my hand as I entered the toasty shop.

Neve, a dear friend of Rhysand's, stood behind the display of gems and jewels, she was one of the only people outside the Inner Circle who knew of me and Cassian.

"Neve, afternoon." I smile at her. "Hello you two, shopping for Amren I presume?" Her glowing eyes flash with knowing and I shyly smile. "Have the rest of them already been here then?" I tilt my head and she nods. "I'm certain it's your group that keeps my shop in business." She claims and I shake my head with a small breathy chuckle. "Though we did just get a new collection in, the delivery men were just here I have yet to even unpack the items." She admits and my brows shoot up. "We'd like to see those." Cassian's arm slings over my shoulders. She gives both of us a smile before going into the back room.

I look at the display while I wait for her to return, peering down at a pair of tear drop ruby earrings that reminded me of Cassian's siphons. They matched the wedding ring on my left hand, I twisted it subconsciously, fiddling with the red gem. Cassian seems to notice, his eyes trailing to what I was staring at.

Neve returns in a flurry of shadows, carrying a long display shelf filled with large rocks and gems, placing it on the counter in front of us. I take in the collection, eyes glancing over every glimmering stone, freshly polished and gleaming like a star. Then I halt when coming across a black diamond bigger than my fist and most likely more expensive than an entire months’ paycheck. But this is the one.

Cassian seems to get the hint. "We'll take this one." He gestures to it, learning from last time not to touch. "Splendid." Neve smiles and plucks the gem up with a gloved hand before wrapping it and placing it in an ornate box. "Anything else?" She arches a brow. "That's it—" I begin. "Those ruby earrings as well." Cassian interrupts, pointing towards the jewelry I wanted. "Cass, it's too much." I shake my head with creased brows but he only waves me off and nods his head at Neve. She smiles and fetches those from the display, placing them in their own box with a delicate white bow tying it all together.

Cassian paid without so much as a blink while I grimaced in the background, the price far more than I had in mind— and if Cassian is buying me stunning earrings just because I looked at them, it made me wonder what he got me for solstice.

I had yet to tell him I'm pregnant, planning it all out so the last gift he opens tomorrow night will be a small pink pacifier. I was nearly a month in, barely even showing so Cassian hadn't noticed. We had been trying for a child for a few months now. I've had my scent glamoured and Madja told me last week we're having a girl, I was so excited I nearly told him, nearly came home and attacked him onto the floor with the amount of pure joy I was overwhelmed with.

But I maintained it, telling the shadow singer instead— who was the only person I knew could keep their mouth shut, the spy-master happened to be awfully good at guarding secrets. Lucien found out as well, somehow able to see through the glamour on me with his whirring golden eye.

We left the shop with a farewell to Neve and I wrapped my hands around his bicep as I look up at him with a bright smile. "You didn't have to do that." I say and he shakes his head. "It's all worth it for that smile." He hums, not watching where he's going as he mindlessly stares into my eyes. "Thank you—" My words are cut off by Cassian's head whipping up and pulling me back from a group of girls who were about to run into me. "Sorry ladies," He nods, flashing them a polite smile that could easily be mistaken for something else. "We don't mind." A blonde blushes as they pass by us, giggling amongst each other. "That was weird." Cassian mumbled as he continued our walk home, pulling me along.

Was he really so oblivious to not notice that every single one of those girls were prepared to open their legs right then and there for him? So blinded that he didn't even notice the way any of them looked at him?

Something like dejection overwhelmed me, perhaps Cassian should be with girls like that, girls who radiated pure joy and high energy, not someone's who's social life consisted of a close circle of friends and occasionally a shopkeeper.

Every girl I've met who used to have a thing with my mate has always been the sheer opposite of me. Perhaps that's what he preferred, just settled on me because we're cauldron willed, mates. Sometimes I thought that fate got it wrong. He was too good, too fun and upbeat, the life of the party. I couldn't be further away from the Generals type. He needed someone who has just as much experience as him, someone who loves to go out and dance until daylight— not someone who cuddles into bed with a book and a cup of tea.

His hand squeezes mine and he tears me from my thoughts, looking up at him confused. "Did you hear me?" He asks and I curse myself. "I'm sorry," I shake my head no. "Don't be sorry. I said, do you want to grab food or are you ready to go home?" He raises a brow and I swallow. Wondering what he truly wanted.

"Is it okay if we go home? I'm tired." I admit and he nods. "Of course sweetheart." He smiles down at me, I was foolish to think he'd ever want something I didn't, foolish to think he'd ever want someone other than me, but still, those thoughts lingered in the back of my mind at a constant.

Once arriving back to The House of Mist, food is already on the table. The residence seemingly knowing my growing cravings because every dish on that table held breakfast food. "Pancakes for dinner then?" Cassian hummed and I blinked, then shrugged.

I sat myself at the table as Cassian went to our bedroom to put down the gifts. I quickly thanked the magic House for the meal and it replied by placing a plate in front of me, eager to help me in any way it can.

I stack a tower of pancakes onto my plate, then nearly drowned it in maple syrup sourced from the Autumn Court. My mouth watered at the meal and Cassian returned, freshly changed into lounge clothes before sliding into the seat beside me, plating his own meal.

"I wonder what sort of crazy gift Mor will get me this year," Cassian thought absentmindedly and I shrugged, still a little down from my lingering thoughts— though the pancakes helped. "What's got you down, my sweet?" His knee nudges mine and I glance to him, his eyes searching my features for any clue as to what's wrong.

"It's hard to explain," I shake my head, looking back to my plate. "I've got time." He excuses and a sad smile tugs at my lips. "You're just very, experienced." I try to simplify but his brows crease, clearly confused. "Forget it." I mumble, picking up my plate and carrying it into the kitchen, he's quick to chase after me.

"Talk to me sweetheart," He pleads as I place my dish in the sink. "Please." His words seem to kill any doubt I have and I turn to him, looking up, and up, into his warm, hazel eyes. "It's just, when we were out shopping today you got approached by ten different females." I explain and he blinks.

"Which is fine, I know that's not your fault but— I don't know, they all seemed so exotic and fun. Seemed like the kind of person for you." I shrug and his gaze softens. "Oh my love," He sighs, hands going to mine, guiding my palms to his jaw. "There's only one person for me," He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"Mates or not, I truly believe you were made for me, and I for you." He hums. "And there's something so attractive about the fact that I'm the only male you've been with." He purrs and I roll my eyes with a flush. "But if you think for even a second you're not the one for me then you've been lied to." He rules, finally pressing a kiss to my lips.

"Opposites attract right?" He arches a brow and I shake my head with a soft giggle. "You're awfully nice to me." I say with a meek voice and he presses another kiss to my lips, his mouth slotting over mine and fitting me like a puzzle piece. I smile against the action and pull back with a wide grin. "There's my pretty girl," He whispers, hands on my cheeks as his thumb brushes over my bottom lip.

"Solstice is tomorrow." He reminds and I nod. "Did you get me something special?" He flutters his lashes. My hand subconsciously goes to my stomach. "Maybe," I say evasively, twirling out of his grasp and walking down the hall. He whined and wrapped his arms around me, his heavy body being dragged along with my movements down the hall.

He’s been trying to coerce what I got for him for days now. "You're relentless." I roll my eyes. "Just tell me." He groans and I shake my head. I've held out about being with a child for a month now, he'd have to wait one more day.

"Sorry Cass," I shake my head, leading him into our bedroom as he continues to drape himself over me. "Why don't you distract yourself by preparing for your annual snowball fight?" I offer and his arms snap away from me, scowling as I recall his losing streak.

"Maybe you'll win this year, General." I wink at him with a smirk and he grumbles a curse, flopping down onto our large bed then opening his arms for me. I smile and crawl into his embrace, allowing his large muscular arms to twine around my body as I pulled a book from my nightstand and opened to the page I was on.

Perhaps I didn’t need to be fun or exotic, maybe he liked the tranquility of all this. He pressed a reassuring kiss to arch of my neck, peering over my shoulder as he read along with me.

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