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justatypicalwizard · 25 days ago

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Silk dance | Jayce

Aracne Jayce x Zaun seamstress reader

Jayce and reader have history before the Arcane plot. This story follows the second season of Arcane but loosely.

A complimentary piece to my previous story Up and Under. I was asked whether I would make a part two to it. I will rather not but I got the idea that there may be a little bit more to unpack amidst the pages of the story.

,,So, how’s it going with the girl?” Rhythmic buzzing of energy filled the air in the laboratory with a lulling symphony played by tiny machines. In the near silence Jayce Talis scribbling in his notebook posed as the only off-key element as he switched between the messy pages and a cogwheel on his workstation. Sky’s voice ruptured the melody of focus.

Jayce looked up, his eyes wide and lips slightly agape, as if the woman in the room spoke another language, one he didn’t quite understand. Sky was not looking at him, rather wiping off an oily stain from the counter. Her movement was steady, up and down, up and down, like she calculated every step she took in life.

,,I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Of course Jayce knew what she meant. At times when he was alone the man beat himself over the fact that you were near him so often. He was aware how some might view this vicinity. On the other hand, he’s a grown man, he may do as he wishes and it’s only the shortsightedness of others that makes them full of prejudice. It’s not like every high-ranked man has to have an affair with a Zaunite woman working for him.

“She’s here often.” Up and down, up and down. The counter was already clean.

“You’re here often too.”

“I work here.”

“She’s also working.”

“How so?”

“I hired her. She’s a seamstress and a designer.”

“How many fittings does one need?”

“She’s somewhat of a visioner too, like me. You should never rush your work, Sky.”

“And because of that there is a need for nearly daily meetings?”

“Sky, are you suggesting something?” Jayce turned his full body towards the woman. She finally left the counter alone, dropping the cleaning cloth on its polished surface.

“I’m sorry sir, it was very inappropriate of me.” Her shoulders slouched and she was avoiding his gaze like fire. “I’m just worried. it’s either people whispering and spreading gossip or you going to the undercity. It’s dangerous.”

“If inventors cared about whispering and gossip, there would be no progress in the world.” Jayce turned back to the cogwheel, picking it up and spinning it around in his fingers, trying to convince himself that the whole conversation was about progress and not -

Sky whispered something in the lines of that’s not what I meant but both of them decided to let the topic evaporate. A moment of silence spread between them, pushing the two even further away. If Jayce wouldn’t be so hard in his head he might have felt Sky’s gaze on his back, her pleading, longing look. Yet, he didn’t, because that’s simply who Jayce Talis was - a master in avoiding what he didn’t want to face.

“I’ll take my leave.” Sky’s voice once again rifled through the steady silence that rose to discomfort. The energy buzzing in the air felt like tension. Jayce just wanted this to end, to get back into a good mood before -

“Is anyone here?” A new, third voice entered tonight's opera.

Bad timing sweetheart. Jayce thought to himself and froze upon realising how caringly he just called you in his head. Due to that he missed the bite that Sky put on her own, tightly knit, lips.

The man turned around finally, taking in the whole of the scene. It was a true comedy-drama. Sky’s face was a mixture of disbelief and irritation while your eyes were filled with sparkles, clutching the sewing supplies and admiring the scenery around you. Jayce was right when he said you two were somehow similar, the same buzzing inside your veins when you had an idea, the same eagerness and urgency to put your hands to work. The same, slightly, crazed look when focused and the same hope for a better future.

Despite how heartless it was for anyone who could look upon the situation from outside, at that moment Jayce simply couldn’t look away from your smiling face. And he smiled back. Sky was already gone, only a quiet creak of the doors reminding she was there in the first place.

,,Should I - um.'’ you weren't sure what to say, it felt like your presence interrupted. Jayce was quick to ease the misunderstanding.

,,It's nothing. Be my guest.” He gestured for a seat next to one of the spacious counters. Grabbing a cloth scattered near his cog he whipped his hands and started undoing the buttons keeping his shirtcuffs tight.

With a smile and a shrug you began to unpack your supplies. A yellow measuring tape, pins, very sharp scissors and a variation of fabrics Jayce allowed you to buy samples of. There weren't many restrictions when it came to quality nor price. You rarely had a chance to get ahold of so many exquisite materials.

,,So.” He started eying the roll of samples you placed along the counter.

,,So?’’’ You mimicked like a little parrot.

,,Which one do you recommend?” Jayce picked up the scraps, examining the small squares as if he knew what made one another different.

,,Oh, it depends on what you're looking for.” He was just about to ask you for details but your knowing smile kept him silent. With panience unlike him, the man listened as you opened up the world of textile for him. ,,From the ones I selected silk will present itself as the most luxurious. It's soft, shiny under light, liquid like in nature but also cold.” Jayce watched you thumb the material, handing it over to him. On the peripheries the square was indeed colder but in the centre, where you held it, the silk remembered your touch. He thought that you must be warm yourself. ,,Linen is less sparkly, more manly one could say, but it has a certain unruly feel to it if you ask me. It reminds me of nature.” Manly. Jayce liked how the word danced on your lips. ,,And of course cotton is a safe option, comfortable, trustworthy and good-looking. There are also different colours in the pallette -”

Your lips were producing a number of words, some about the tones that these different variants of white may bring forward from his skin, something about how he should consider the shirt in reference to other parts of the tuxedo, and some other things. It was a long day for Jayce, he felt the tiredness and stress weigh his shoulders down when he shimmied out of his current jacket and shirt, sitting on the stool in only his undershirt. It was hard for him to focus when it was so late in the evening, the stars popping in the night sky, his mind slowly shutting down from the all-day-long struggle, your hands roaming his forearms. If he wasn't a gentleman he would close his eyes and ask you for a massage. He laughed to himself absentmindedly.

,,What's so funny?” You asked, putting hands on your hips. ,,Don't tell me you're one of the people who say they don't see different shades.”

,,Oh no, no. I definitely see a lot of colours.” Like the red of your lips and the tint of your cheeks and the tone of your hair that I thought about last night.

It was improper of him, he only proved Sky's stereotypes further. Yet, was it criminal to feel a little something for a person that smiles at you so gracefully, someone that shares your ideas at heart, another being that makes you feel comfortable. It won't hurt anyone if Jayce daydreams a bit about anything different than hextech.

,,-chandeliers.” Your voice rang in his ears, reminding him that the object of his tricky attraction was standing in front of him.

,,Once more.” With a smile he erased your slight irritation.

,,You asked me which one I recommend. While I like cotton for its usefulness I believe a ball requires something more… sophisticated. Silk will look fantastic in the lights of the chandeliers.” You repeated, giving him the evils.

,,Silk it is then. Do you think it will suit me on the dancefloor?” Jayce stood up abruptly. ,,You said you're good at imagining designs, at mapping them in your head. Then come and tell me will it suit me on the dancefloor?” He raised his hands as if to waltz. Just a little bit of flirt won't kill anyone.

With a laugh you walked around him trying to portray the seams and shapes of the soon-to-be shirt.

“I can definitely see you in something enhancing the back, something simple, with details to be left shocking.”

,,Details such as…”

,,Such as an interesting collar and buttoning at the front. Something here.” You said and pointed at his chest.

,,Mhm''. He murmured, grasping your hands, tugging you delicately where he wanted you, as if you were dancing.

,,I ope you own any accessories because an outfit without them is as good as going out naked.”

,,Naked you say.”

You stopped your slow swirling and looked at each other. In that moment Jayce Talis wished that the ball never began, that he was stuck in this moment of preparation, that he had an excuse to ask you over, that he never had to think about all the things that put your worlds apart and made this impossible. In the morning he will look Sky in the eye and feel a ting of shame, he will walk past other residents of Piltover and turn a deaf ear to their whispering, he will push himself to the limit with his work. All of this will be his payment for the moment of weakness, for allowing himself to hold you in his arms and whisper into your ear sweet little nothings.

#jayce talis x reader #jayce x reader #jayce x #jayce x you #jayce talis x you #jayce talis x y/n #jayce talis #arcane jayce #arcane

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silkjade · 8 months ago

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OF GOSSAMER THREADS

wriothesley x reader ⤀ synopsis: all this for a new set of clothes, wriothesley never imagined he’d be this sensitive while having his measurements taken… and so you offer a way to help him relax ⤀ cw: fem!reader, pet names (princess + girl), blowjob / oral (m. receiving), deepthroating, little bit of dacryphilia + corruption — mdni || ꒰ 2.5k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: finally the fic version of this little thing i posted, that has actually been in my drafts for months

“Don’t tell me the duke’s never had his measurements taken before.” Your eyes flicker up from beneath thick lashes, a brow raised at the peculiarity of the situation: Wriothesley, the infamous warden who just about radiates confidence, stiff at the prospect of a simple fitting.

��Unfortunately, there aren't many special occasions that call for your services here at Palais Meropide.”

You hum in agreement, nonchalantly giving him a sharp tap tap to his toned bicep, as you circle around him, ducking out of his line of sight. he's right of course; the fortress doesn't often call for the services of a seamstress such as yourself, but it seems even its great duke must adhere to the rules of society events, whenever his nation so demands.

“Arms up,” you instruct, when he fails to respond to your simple gesture.

From behind, he feels the bite of cold air run through his self for the first time in a long while, as he flinches from the way your fingers dance like ice at the bared nape of his neck. Your tape measure stretches down the length of his spine until a perfectly manicured nail marks a hatch into the fabric ruler, pressing just the slightest bit into the dip at his back. He arches away from your touch, all but jolting in response.

It isn't you, per say, nor is it the process itself, but rather that dangerous combination of both. How you're so casually intimate with your ministrations, walking the line between close and closer, with nowhere else to stray. Touching him in places he had never imagined would be sensitive, and doing so without ever batting an eye.

Of course, as an employee of Chioriya Boutique, it's nothing new to you — nor is it anything out of the ordinary to the men and women you dress over at the court of Fontaine. But you cannot help but find amusement in how this rugged wolf of a man squirms beneath the lightest of touches.

Wriothesley stretches, rolling his shoulders to alleviate the unfamiliar soreness in his arms. Boxing, fighting—all of that he can do, easily and proficiently—yet his arms have never felt heavier than they do now, as he holds them out, so as not to obstruct your path. A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but you refocus onto the matter at hand, trading your tape for a pen as you quickly jot down the length of his back. Cute, you think.

He almost breathes a sigh of relief when you finally allow him to rest his arms, that is, until he sees you down on your knees, near-hugging his frame in order to grasp the measure of his hips.

“I've always heard the duke was a skilled boxer — didn't think this little session would be enough to do you in,” you say, in an attempt to lighten the mood, because it'd be near impossible to get accurate measurements the way he's tensing up all his muscles.

You glance up to check his reaction when he doesn't respond. Not that he isn't listening, but it's difficult to focus, difficult to breathe, when the sweet scent of your perfume—marcotte, he notes—sends him into overdrive, his brain directing all his senses to congregate at his crotch.

“Hey, relax,” you remind him, but his mind as already decided to wander astray. How can it not when you look up at him with those eyes, large and wide, and how he'd like to see them brimming with tears, perhaps with his cock in your—

He forcibly drags the thought out of his head, setting an iron foot down as he shakes away the apnea, exhaling with a low puff to his breath, and a light tint to his cheeks. “It's a bit easier said than done.”

He laughs it off, yet despite his smart remarks, Wriothesley clears his throat as if his voice hadn't near cracked at how your knuckles had brushed against the inside of his thigh while you were garnering its circumference; your phantom touch sending shivers to his skin, even through the fibers of his clothes. You hear him swallow down a grunt, and from the corner of your eye, you see the real issue now.

“Would it be easier if I helped with... this?” Manicured nails graze across the fabric covering his crotch, cheekily avoiding the obvious outline of his cock.

Wriothesley lets out a small chuckle, wondering if he's perhaps hallucinating at this stroke of luck? Fate? Whatever it is, who was he to deny what's come knocking at his door, especially as you're already taking steps to smooth back any loose hair from your face. He backs into his own desk and sits at the edge before gesturing with a wave of his hand and a lilt to his voice.

“By all means... ” so you undo the buckles at his belt — his pants and briefs quickly following suit, as you tug both remaining garments down, one after the other, before greeting his bulbous tip with a quick kiss hello.

Your thumb glosses over his slit, collecting beads of pre, as you run long strokes up and down his shaft. Strained, Wriothesley exhales through gritted teeth; you can feel him pulsing in your hands, throbbing with need. Your touch is searing — it burns like ice, crawling up his veins until his scattered thoughts are frozen in place, stuck on the ever persisting need to buck forward.

“Easy there, Your Grace,” you tease, heat accompanying your tongue with every lave around the underside of his cock. From his thick base to his leaking tip, the flat of your tongue traverses a wet path along the upward curve, before finally, you take him in the warm engulf of your mouth.

Wriothesley stifles a breath, tossing his head back as he leans into his desk, exhaling a soft grunt at the way you suckle on just his tip, tongue swirling as you wrap the head in a sweet caress, and take him just a little deeper. From your peripherals, you easily catch on to how his grip tightens around the edge of his desk — a reluctant companion to the slight, yet ever present tremble in his hips, daring him to break at the growing pleasure between his legs.

Sucking in your cheeks, you hollow them in until there’s nothing left to feel except the angry pulse of his cock in the wet maw of your mouth. You drag your lips slowy—tantalizingly so—off his cock, as if imprinting the feel of his veins onto your tongue, savoring the taste of his arousal before suctioning off with a nasty pop.

The air is immediately striking, an onslaught of sudden cold that sends his wet cock twitching in impatience. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were toying with him, but a single glance down only confirms the duke’s suspicions in that you absolutely are. Because oh how you so sweetly bat your doe eyes, looking up at him with anything but innocence, as delicate strands of saliva still connect your lips to his leaking cockhead, snapping as you force yourself to hold back the haughty little smile threatening to appear at how you’ve left the man equally flushed in face and cock.

Carefully, you rub along his slit until your fingers are curled around his girth, pumping his fat cock in a mix of spit and pre, kissing down his length while your free hand presses against his sensitive hipbone, your breath tickling his skin, as you take one of his balls in your mouth, suckling as if it were the sweetest of confections.

He grunts, bucking into your fist. Duke Wriothesley who has never had his measurements taken. Duke Wriothesley who perhaps has never been teased as so. Duke Wriothesley whose hand snakes its way to your chin, and with a slight jerk, tilts your gaze to the ice in his half-hearted glare.

“Hey,” he chides, “enough of that.” But his air of authority is tainted by the rasp in his voice, undermined by his own traitorous eyes that drift to the residue surrounding your lips. Oh, how terribly he'd like to see such a pretty, pristine thing tainted and stained by his touch... and so he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, dipping into the wet heat of your mouth, and subconsciously guiding you back onto his cock.

Any resolve left in the duke crumbles as you part those sinful lips, throat opening as you attempt to swallow him whole, and he sucks in a sharp breath, head thrown back as his fist races to smother his groans, teeth clinging to the skin of his knuckles.

You nurse his cock just a little bit deeper with every bob of your head, your palms—still slick with spit—pumping the length of all you cannot fit. His impressive size no doubt adds to the weight, your jaw falling slack just to fit his girth, but you persist, tongue swirling and painting and lapping up sloppy strokes all around. He rocks his hips, irregular and shallow, but it nonetheless has tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. you quickly blink them away, opting to refocus on holding down your gag reflex, rubbing your thighs together as a distraction and nurturing your own wetness that accumulates in between.

A moan rises from the back of your throat, the vibrations pulsing and weaving around him like silk threads, cocooning him in a pleasure that you can so clearly feel from the way he throbs on your tongue, which so desperately tries to maneuver around his shaft until he caves to the tightness — too warm, too welcoming, for him to resist any further.

And so by no will of his own, his hips jerk.

The impact makes you choke, convulsing around him as the force of his thrust sneaks him a little further down your throat. Spittle leaks from the corners of your mouth while you do your best to swallow all you can, but the sting of tears immediately returns to haunt your visage, this time successfully leaving a number of streaky trails in its wake.

You send him a weak half-glare, but Wriothesley only stutters out a weak apology before his sharp eyes are drawn to the subtle movement of your hips and thighs, and of how your knees readjust in search of any friction that might serve as an alleviant to the cock knocking at the back of your throat. Even so, the whine vibrating around his cock begs for attention back to your pretty face.

Beneath gossamer lashes, your eyes glisten with the promise of more tears; playful embers now vaporized by the saturated lull of lust, that he hates to admit thrills him. You, who had arrived at the fortress like an overworld princess; so prim and pretty, with the heels of your shoes click-clacking throughout his metal abode. Your fashionable attire, so perfectly ironed and flouncing along with every step…

But where is your composure now, as you kneel before him, with his dick in your mouth?

He smoothes a hand along the top of your head before stopping at the crown. You can feel the tangible twitch of his cockhead, and you whimper in nervous anticipation, because you already know what's to come.

“You can take more than that,” he rasps, challenging you, all the while tilting your head down just a little further. “Almost there, princess... relax. Just a little more...”

His sweet words loosen your nerves, opening your throat to the realization that somehow, you must have relinquished control over to the duke, handing him the reigns as you let him pull you down, down over that last stretch of his length, bit by bit until the tip of your nose finally presses into the thatch of dark curls at his hilt. You flutter and squeeze around him, drool trickling down your chin as you splutter and gag.

And gracious as he is, Wriothesley grants you a moment to breathe, through your nose, of course, if the large hand still weighing atop your head was any indication. He stretches a thumb over, gently brushing away a piece of hair fallen loose onto your face.

You really are so pretty — resting parallel to his balls, looking up at him with dew on your lashes and water in your eyes, lips pooling with spit at where you’re stretched around his base. he pulls out a little, throbbing with the desire to fuck and ruin… but slowly, he grinds himself back in, tapping the back of your sputtering throat every time he runs a pass along the palate of your tongue.

Wriothesley throws his head back, groaning loud and raw through his teeth. You feel so good; so hot it makes his blood run cold, so tight it has him coming undone. and he’s so close. You can both feel it.

You moan again, despite the struggle to do so while his tip remains busy fucking your throat. Behind his thighs, you dig your fingers into his bare flesh, bobbing along, hugging him even closer because after all, it was you who had offered to help with his problem, and it’ll be you who sees him through to the end.

“Dirty girl,” he breathes, wholly impressed at how you take him like a sleeve, rolling along with his movements, and leaving him to shudder so close to completion. His face twists with pleasure, fingers tightening in your hair when he feels that pleasantly familiar barrage of tremors bubbling from your throat.

The wet sound of skin and spit rings in your ears. Dirty. Yes, that’s exactly what this was. To think you’ve never felt so sloppy and messy, gagging on cock, much less one like his… and yet… you think you love this. That, or you must be dizzy off delirium because his words have heat rushing to your cheeks and your cunt, stifling another choked moan that reverberates through the entirety of his shaft.

When he cums, he cums in your mouth, spilling in spurts with no restraint — and you swallow as best you can, as much as you can, really. Still, he continues to rock his softening cock 'til the end of this high, savoring the last remnants of your sweet lips before you slowly pull off.

That first breath of real air is sweet, even amidst the iron-tainted walls of Meropide, though you're apt to remember that even too harsh a breath would send your battered throat into a fit of coughs. You slump down to your heels, panting softly, entirely too aware of your current predicament, as you run a thumb across the tip of your chin, slimy with your combined fluids. It's sloppy, dirty, and oh how you're forced to swallow your own spit, when your clit pulses in rebellion.

Above you, Wriothesley chuckles, kneeling down to your level, yet still broad enough for his back to cover the dim light of his office, tall enough that he must tilt your head to catch those lovely eyes in his wolfish gaze again. He pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wipes the mess from your lips until you're prim and pretty and perfect, ready to be unravelled once again.

“Shall I return the favor?”

notes2: my first (and probably last) time writing a blowjob so i hope it was ok lolz this is so embarrassing so i’m posting n fleeing anywayz tysm for reading as always, and reblogs+feedback are very much appreciated ♡

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin thirsts #wriothesley x you #genshin x you

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spatialwave · 8 months ago

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“𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓪 𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼𝓮, 𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓸𝔂”

pairing: pre-war cooper howard x fem!reader word count: 938 summary: you’re cooper’s favourite cowgirl. warnings: mdni! smut, porn w plot, affair/cheating, riding, cooper loves the view ;) notes: two posts within 12 hours?? i am addicted 🫣

you’d met cooper on a film set working as a seamstress, your skilled hands sewing and tailoring the clothing he wore on the big screen. the two of you grew close as the weeks and months passed by, especially when his career took a turn for the worst when he started filming advertisements for vault-tec. it was unfortunate to watch him as his energy depleted, each day looking worse for wear as his passion vanished.

gossip spread like wildfire, and you’d learned from a few girls in the makeup pertinent about his life at home and how he and his wife were going through a tough spot—a divorce. you couldn’t imagine the heartbreak.

you were careful to bring up barb in conversation, the pain in his eyes taking forefront anytime her name was mentioned, but acting like it was no issue.

you were there for him as much as you could be, taking him for a hot cup of coffee once in a while in an attempt to bring some cheer into his life. to be a friend of cooper howard was a title you held near and dear to your heart, you hadn’t expected for it to get any farther than it did.

it all started one night when you two met for drinks—gin, whiskey, martinis and everything in between. it only took three drinks for cooper to spill his guts about barb. how she wasn’t who he thought she was, and that it was destroying their family.

he didn’t go into the gritty details, but you believed him and you were there for him. what was only a polite, reassuring touch on his shoulder had ignited a flame in both of you, eyes connecting when you shared the same thought.

an hour later you found yourself on your bed, with cooper’s tongue pressed against your wet arousal and your fingers tugging on his dark, greying hair. it became a regular occurrence, but you kept telling yourself that this was okay. it was okay because he was going through a divorce.

even if they were technically still married… even if he was still living at home with barb and his daughter, still wearing his wedding ring. this was okay.

right?

“oh my god—“ you cried out, your legs spread open as your lover fucked you with his face buried into your neck. he peppered you with hundreds of kisses, biting and leaving the faintest of marks along your soft skin, “don’t stop, coop, fuck me,” you whined into his ear, your eyes closed while your fingernails scratched down his back.

he moaned against your skin as his cock stretched you with each forward snap of his hips. he was tired, sweat beading on his forehead—he didn’t have the endurance like he used to, but he had an easy fix.

cooper pushed himself back until he was settled on his knees, pulling out of you as his thick cock sprung up and gave you quite the view. you let out a whiny, pitiful sound at the emptiness as you clenched around nothing like a needy young thing. the older man could stay like this forever, happily watching his lover begging and pleading to be fucked by him until you were filled up with his cum—a sight for sore eyes.

just before you could protest his actions and ask him to keep fucking you dumb, he wrapped an arm under your waist and moved to rest on his back with you straddling him. your knees dug into the plush comforter, palms flattening onto cooper’s bare chest.

your voice cracked as you shuddered out a moan, the overbearing fullness of his cock pushing deep inside your slick cunt. his calloused hands were tight on your hips as he guided your movements, wanting to see you fuck yourself on him.

“look at me,” cooper drawled, that disgustingly beautiful smirk on his lips, “what a pretty cowgirl. you look so good ridin’ me like that,” he murmured, thumb now circling over your clit as you started grinding your hips against his to get the friction you craved.

obediently, you forced your eyes open to look into cooper’s hazel orbs and lifted your hands away from his chest to settle on weight on his hips. you gave him the perfect view, able to watch as you rolled your hips forward and seeing how your perky tits bounced. his eyes glazed over as his mouth opened, a heady moan falling from his lips as you rode him with the practiced movements you’d learned from the handfuls of nights shared together.

“am i your favourite cowgirl?” you asked, pouting your lips and moaning while his thumb rubbed slow, calculated movements along your clit. you both had slowed your movements, taking in the raw intimacy and pleasure you shared. savouring every last bit of it because neither of you ever wanted it to end.

“don’t be coy with me, baby,” he answered quietly, reaching his free hand to touch your breast, giving a firm squeeze, then rolling your nipple between his fingers, “you know the answer.”

mewling, you closed your eyes tight when he pinched your puffy, hard nipple and a sharp pain shot through your nerves before settling into a sick, twisted feeling of pleasure.

“keep, ridin’,” he whispered, voice raspy, “c’mon, doll, i know you want to cum on my cock.”

you nodded pitifully, trying your best to will your thighs to keep bouncing on him, even as you ached.

cooper watched you with a lazy grin, keeping his thumb right where you needed it until you came with a loud cry—loving every goddamn second.

#cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #walton goggins #fallout fic #fallout prime fic #cooper howard fic #the ghoul fic #wordsbyspatial

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mochinek0 · 11 months ago

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In Sickness and in Health

"Damian, I need you to work with the new student on this project." his history teacher stated.

"What new student?" the young Wayne questioned.

'There's no one new here. Has he finally lost it?'

"Stay after class, please." they replied.

Damian simply nodded.

'At least if the new person is all in his head, I can work by myself.'

"The new student isn't here today as she's sick. They're also a transfer student." The teacher spoke, "Here is her address."

"You want me to go there and become ill?" Damian speculated.

"Not at all, Mr. Wayne. All I am asking is that you, at least, speak to her about the project." the teacher sighed, "She'll know better than anyone how long she'll be absent. Get her to write a note saying, I don't know, she gives you full control on the project or something. I'll deal with it from there."

"I can do that." Damian accepted.

'At least I can still work by myself.'

Damian looked down at the address in his hand an then back at the seamstress shop. Confused, the young Wayne entered the store and looked around for someone his own age.

"Can I help you?" asked an elderly lady.

"I was given this address for a classmate of mine." Damian explained, "I believe they mixed it up. Excuse me."

"Are you looking for Marinette?" they questioned.

'Marinette? Is that her name? Not American; he did mention they were a transfer student.'

"Yes." he answered, still unsure.

"Go through the blue curtain in the far back." the lady smiled, "There's a set of stairs that will take you to the apartment above the store."

Damian nodded and went to the back of the store. There was blue cloth hung up on a shower rod that parted slightly.

'A door would be better suited.'

Damian walked up the stairs to the second story and found single door. He raised his hand and knocked on the door. The door opened and he was shocked. There in the doorway was a girl with blue hair, up to his chest. She was wearing what seemed to be pajamas, had a blanket draped over her shoulders, a face mask, and a cooling cloth attached to her forehead.

'She is obviously seriously ill. How did she open the door? Why didn’t anyone else open it for her?'

"Who are you?" she questioned, hoarsely.

"Damian Wayne." he declared, "I was told to talk to you about a history project for school."

She moved away from the door and went stright to the kitchen.

"Sit anywhere you want. I haven't sat in the living room in three days. I'd offer you a beverage, but I don't want to get you sick and asking you to get it yourself, seems rude." the girl spoke.

'Polite; unexpected.'

"What are you doing?" Damian questioned, as he watched her stir a pot.

"Making soup for the week." Marinette answered.

"So, I should not expect you to return this week." he suggested.

"I usually eat soup when I'm sick and for the following days, to keep my immune system cleansed." she explained, "So, history? Leave me the details and I'll work on it."

"Mr. Hayes suggested you could write a note putting me in charge." Damian spoke.

"I can work, Damian." Mari remarked, "I don't need you coddling me because I'm sick."

'Coddle! I-The last thing I would do is….coddle her!'

Damian snapped, "I am giving you a way out! Get your rest and I will do it completely!"

"I'm on bedrest and as you can see, I'm functional." she growled back.

Marinette began to cough heavidly, enough to make her grip the kitchen counter. Damian watched as her breaths became labored, as if she had trouble inhaling.

'She calls this functional?'

Marinette grabbed a mug and poured hot water from a near by kettle. Damian watched as she spooned a small amount of tea leaves into a container and place it in the mug.

'Peppermint? She should try lemon, ginger, something citrus.'

"When are your parents getting back?" Damian asked, not moving from the doorway.

"I'm emancipated." she smiled.

'She's by herself?'

Damian looked around and noticed a small table with one chair. The living room had enough to seat up to three guests. There was also one door to the left, behind the living room.

"Leave the form and an email or something so I can send you my portion." Marinette called out, "If you don't like it, I can work in my room and you can work from out here."

Damian took out a pen and quickly wrote down his email at the top of the paper.

"I'll be back, tomorrow." he stated, leaving the apartment.

'Why is she so stubborn? She needs to rest. The simplest solution would be for her to rest this week while I work alone. What is she trying to accomplish?'

The moment she opened the door, Damian stared at Marinette annoyed. She had showed recently, but her hair was still wet. At the very least, she was wearing different clothes.

He scowled, "Where is the bathroom?"

"Oh, in my room, on your left." Marinette pointed out.

'Guess he really needed to go.'

Damian came back with a towel and threw it over her head, without notice. He quickly began to rub her head to get the moisture out.

"You're going to get worse with you hair looking like a wet mop." Damian stated, "Dry it completely."

Marinette remained silent and still. Damian stopped his movements.

"Marinette?" he asked, moving to face her.

'Shit!'

Marinette's eyes were wide and she was practially hyperventilating. She was clenching and unclenching her hands.

'She does not handle physical contact well. Is she going to be okay at school?'

Damian kneeled in front of her and showed his hands were raised in front of him.

"My apologies." Damian whispered, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Damian reached out and dragged his bag, next to the couch. He pulled out a small cylinder.

"I brought you some tea leaves. Citrus help you recover from illness." he began, "I don't believe peppermint will work." as he handed her the container.

Marinette took it and looked at it. She opened it and sniffed the tea leaves. There was lemon, cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. There was some other stuff she couldn't make out.

"You......made this?" Marinette questioned.

'Why would he give this to me?'

Damian remained silent, but nodded. He didn't think she would noticed he took his time to make her something.

"I make my own teas." he replied.

Mari smiled, "Thank you."

Damian watched as her expression softened. She got up from her seat, letting the towel fall from her head, and quickly began to get things ready to brew the tea. Once it was finished brewing, she took a sip.

"It’s delicious, Damian!" Mari smiled, happily, "Maybe I should go to you for all of my teas."

Before he could respond, Marinette took her tea and went into her room. Damian picked up his things and saw she had gotten comfortable in her bed with her laptop on a tray.

"Were we not working over there?" he questioned.

"I don't want to get you sick." Marinette replied, "Besides, there's only one chair. I'll just email you-"

Damian left the room and returned with the chair from her kitchen table.

"I don't get sick, easily." Damian declared, setting the chair down a few feet from her bed, "h quicker we finish this, the more you can rest."

Marinette worked silently, sipping on the tea Damian had brought her. After an hour, Damian packed up his thing, declaring he'd return the next day.

This time, when Marinette opened the door, he could tell she was moving much more sluggish.

'She got worse! She's pushing herself for me. Damn her stubbornness!'

Damian quickly picked her up in his arms.

"You're-" she began.

"If I get sick, I will blame you later." Damian claimed.

"Sorry." Mari whispered.

Damian placed her back in her bed. He quickly rushed to the bathroom in search of a first aid kit or at least, a thermometer. Once he found it, he brought it back and held it out. Mairnette looked at it, in dissapointment.

"Use it." he demanded.

Marinette shoved it in her mouth and waited. The quick beeping notified them both something was wrong. Mari took it out of her mouth n tried to hide it. Damian was able to grab it with ease.

'102.5'

"I'm fine." Marinette declared.

"You are far from fine." Damian stated.

Damian took the thermometer to the bathroom and washed it, as well as his hands. When he returned, he found Marinette fast asleep. He found a cooling pad near by and placed it on her head. Damian remember a small cloth by the sink and wet it. He quickly cooled off her arms, her neck, and her legs, before covering her up. Damian took out a sticky note and wrote down his number.

Marinette woke up to the room being dark.

"Damian?" she called out.

She grabbed her phone and saw it was close to two in the morning. She set her phone down and felt a paper.

'Sticky note?'

She turned on the flashlight on her phone and looked at the note: Call me if you worsen-Damian.

'Aw. He's really sweet. I feel so bad for falling asleep on him.'

Marinette stood up and made her way to the bathroom. She grabbed the thermometer from the medicine cabinet and took her temperature. It read 99.2; it was the best it had been all week. She washed the thermometer and took some medicine. After, she made more of Damian's tea.

'Gonna need it.'

Damian arrived back from patrol to find an email from Mari.

'I thought I told her to call me if she got worse, not email me!'

He opened it in a panic and found it was her completed work for the assignment. Damian looked at the time. It was now three in the morning and she had sent it thirty minutes ago. He grabbed his phone and opened his contacts. Then, he froze.

'I don’t have her number! Fuck!'

Damian went over the next day and was surprised to see her more active. Marinette had answered the door happily and was dressed in white tank top, pink shorts, and slippers. She wasn't even using a blanket to keep herself warm.

"Damian!" She smiled, "Hey, did you get my email?"

"I did." he answered.

"Is everything okay?" Mari asked, "I didn't think I'd see you today."

"Why did you send it so late or early, I should say." Damain questioned.

"It was when I woke up." Marinette answered, "I'm sorry for falling asleep on you. I decided it was best to work on it, while I had a clear head. I'm feeling a lot better, so I should be able to see you at school tomorrow. I'm sure it was all thanks to your tea."

Damian nodded and held out his phone for her to grab. Marinette looked at it confused, but took it.

"I planned on yelling at you, for being up so late, but I didn't have you number." the young Wayne stated.

Marinette giggled, "And I should give it to you, why?"

Damian remained silent. He didn't think she would refuse to give her number to him.

"In case we are paired up again." he quickly spoke.

Mari added her contact information and handed it back.

"Sick Girl?" he questioned.

"So you know it's me." Mari answered.

He hated how right she was. It was likely that if she had entered her name, he would have forgotten it in a week and deleted it.

"Do you want to come in or was that all?" she asked.

"That was all." he said and quickly left.

Marinette closed the door an giggled.

'He's like a stray cat that came to say hi.'

Damian sat in class and kept his eyes on the door. Marinette hadn't walked in, yet, and it was almost time for the bell to ring.

'Is she still sick? Did her fever come back? I should have called her this morning to make sure she was feeling fine.'

The bell rang breaking him from his thoughts and then, she rushed in.

'Marinette.'

"Late." their teacher declared, "I will forgive you, this time, since you have been sick, Miss Duapin-Cheng."

Marinette nodded her head. It was finally time for history class and it was so different to see her in uniform. Damian could admit he more use to seeing her in pajamas or shorts, with her blanket curled around her. He was even use to her falling asleep, but some how the uniform felt less personal. He hated it. Damian watched carefully over Marinette. He had to make sure she was completely better. Her damn stubbornness left him worried about her pretending to feel better for his sake. Then, he saw it; the tense smile on her face. She was surrounded by their peers. It reminded him of the smiles his brothers' gave at parties. Damian walked over and grabbed her wrist.

"We need to talk about the project since you have been absent." he declared.

"Oh, okay." Marinette answered, as he pulled her away from everyone else.

"He could have been nicer."

"It's Wayne. When is he ever nice?"

"Lucky bitch."

"I can’t believe she was his partner."

"He probably did it himself, already."

"Yeah. He's just gonna give her a copy and put her name on it."

"I can’t believe he touched her."

"True."

"Better than him yelling at us to move or scram, again."

Marinette frowned as she heard what they said about Damian. That wasn't the Damian she knew.

"Thank you." Marinette whispered, once they were far enough.

Damian looked at her questioningly.

"For rescuing me." she answered.

"You appeared uncomfortable." the young Wayne spoke, " I was uncertain how you would react if one of them touched you. I understand if I made you uncomfortable, as well. My apologies for forcing you. Next time, tell them to leave."

"I'm not good at dealing with people; not anymore." Mari declared, "Besides, they should forget about me soon. I'm still 'new' in their eyes. I'm not trying to gain anything by talking to them. I don’t want to get to know them."

"I thought you weren't coming." Damian spoke, changing the subject.

"Huh?" she asked, confused, "I told you I was coming today."

"You were late." he growled.

"Oh." Marinette winced, "Uh….I have a feeling I will be in detention a lot."

Damian stopped and turned to her, waiting for an explanation.

"I have always been late to school, even when it was across from my house." she stated.

Damian sighed, "I'll pick you up in the mornings."

"No!" she cried out.

"Why?" he demanded, "Is that an issue? I have been to your place before, have I not?"

"I'm not a morning person." Mari replied, looking down.

He sighed again, "My brother isn't either, unless he has had coffee. I can bring you some." making a mental note to steal Tim's coffee in the morning from now on.

"Really?" Mari questioned, perking up.

"You better, at least, be dressed." Damian retorted.

"Pajamas count as being dressed, right?" she squeaked.

Damian glared at her, "Why would you still be in pajamas?"

"I'm not a morning person!" Marinette glared back, "I work late and-"

"The shop keeps you that busy?" he questioned.

"Oh." Marinette spoke, "No. I help in the shop sometimes, but that's not my job. I do commissions. She asks me to help some times, but she's going to let me use the sewing machine for free until I can buy one."

"How….long do your commissions take?" he sighed.

"Depends who it's for. If it's for my uncle, I tend to work three weeks straight. It also depends on the pay and timeline. If he called me right now and asked for something in six months, I wouldn't worry unless things began to pile up. It could also be one of my aunties."

'What the fuck is with her family? No wonder why she is emancipated! I can't believe they would work her that hard.'

"You're moving into the manor." Damian declared, "I'll even get you a new sewing machine."

"I am not!" she cried out, "I barely know you! All I know is you name and you make tea!"

"At this rate, I'll have to get you dressed and drag you to school!" Damian cried back.

"Who the fuck made you my babysitter?" Marinette shouted.

"Someone should be." he huffed, "You obviously need someone to take care of you. I don’t see why it shouldn't be me!"

Marinette squeaked and turned red. Realizing what he said, so did Damian.

The teacher watched as Damian took Marinette aside to talk. He was well aware that their assignment had been turned in three days ago. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was the closest he had ever seen Damian be comfortable around anyone. He also was aware of Marinette's past school and being bullied.

'I knew getting them to talk would be a good thing.'

DAMINETTE TAGLIST: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

TAGLIST: @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog

#daminette #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damian wayne #marinette dupain cheng #marinette in gotham #bullied marinette #emancipated marinette #sick marinette #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #history project #matchmaking teacher #maribat #damian worried #grumpy damian #mochinek0

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itsabouttimex2 · 1 month ago

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Eclipse Kings

Part Three: Wild Dawn

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: You Are Here)

(Extra One)

For almost all his life, Sun Wukong had never really known “want”, not for more than the few moments it took to decide he was going to pursue some fleeting and new desire.

The land itself seemed to conspire to his favor- he was borne to a thriving mountain of surplus and luxury, sparkling stream racing down each hill, bountiful orchards with boughs so heavy they dipper near to the earth. Even the horizon was generous, spanning sunrises to color his every lavish breakfast and hosting a banner of glittering stars to lull him to sleep.

He wanted for nothing, because when the world would not bend to his whims, he simply bent it himself- to the end result of power, luxury, and adoration.

His life was fraught with the inevitable turning of blades, stuffed full of motion, conflict, and inevitable triumph. His troop grew by the year, Flower Fruit Mountain knew nothing of suffering, and his treasury was brimming with relics.

A demon crowned eternal king of a flourishing mountain, untouchable and immovable.

What more could a monkey want?

Company, as it turned out. The varied little simians scattered all through the trees and bushes of his mountain were wonderful, of course- he cherished them all like his own children, and doted on each and every one of the little menaces.

But he still wanted more.

—-——————————————————————

“That, little mortal, is when I joined my Sworn Brotherhood!”

The Great Sage Equal to Heaven smiles warmly at his recited memories, claws lightly sifting through a large collection of traditional clothing.

“We were going to lead a siege on that stuck-up realm of Celestials, but my darling moonbeam had an even better idea- why not start our own kingdoms? Instead of teaching those stuffy old fools how to respect us, we could just show them up and take all their little worshipping mortals away!”

You don’t say a word in turn, still bundled up in a fluffy towel, sitting on the nearest chair, idly watching through blank eyes. Since you hadn’t been willing to walk or respond, Wukong had scooped you up with a sigh and hurried off to his and Macaque’s shared changing room, given permission to pick out some old clothes of theirs to give you.

“Of course, all of the stuff that was supposed to be boring was, uh… a total mess. Y’know, like deciding on territories, drawing borders, figuring out taxes—ugh. Mortals do not like taxes. Sure like ‘em better than being eaten by demons, though.” He chuckles at his own words, shaking his head as if to dismiss the unpleasant memories of bureaucracy. Wukong pulls out a black ceremonial robe embroidered with purple thread and holds it up against you, squinting as if he’s considering how it might look.

“…no. My sweet moon wouldn’t like you wearing this.”

“…s’it “too nice” for me?”

“…you mortals really aren’t the best with self-esteem, are you? No, little villager- it’s because he wore something like this when we were married. After that, he started commissioning seamstresses to make him more clothes like that robe… the actual thing is framed in a glass box over our bed. I don’t understand why Mac wanted that, but I can’t ever say no to him…”

Wukong’s voice trails off, tone softening as his gaze drifted to the ceiling. A smile plays on his lips, barely restrained, as he’s replaying his dearest memory of Macaque on repeat. You shift uncomfortably, unsure how to respond, the weight of his affection for his moonlit partner pressing against the silence.

He breaks it himself, but only after walking across the room and popping open lacquered wood chest, breaking the preserving sigil printed across it .

“You know,” says the king, his claws tapping the gleaming pauldron of gold within, “I wore this when we got married.”

He turns to the side, catches the fact that you’ve perked up even a little, and continues.

“It was the nicest thing I owned at the time- most of my outfits were skinned animals and stolen rags. This is something my brothers had given me, so it was the nicest thing I had that wasn’t my staff.”

Wukong’s fingers linger on the golden armor, tone rich with an ancient nostalgia. “I wasn’t one for fancy clothes back then- still coming around to it now- but I was even worse with it back then. I wanted to go in my tiger skirt and my old boots! But my brothers? Oh, they insisted: “You’re getting married- you can’t just show up looking like a bandit on your wedding day!” So they gave me this, and a nice red robe with a ton of silly characters embroidered into it- it’s framed right next to my mate’s robe, now.”

Say something. You need to say something. You can’t just mumble and mutter if you want to stay in a king’s good graces, can you?

“…do you… remember your vows?”

He perks with a smile, intrigued by the random question, entirely missing how dangerously close you are to cracking.

“Well, if that’s want you want to know, how about I tell you about the whole ceremony? Here, I’ll lay out how it went…”

——————————————————————

Macaque shuffles in place for a moment, old meekness returning to him- his hands twitch, and the notes smoothly inked onto the sleeve of his silk robe catch in the light, drawing his aureate eyes downwards. The crowd all around is nervous mortals and drunk demons, dressed in red or black or gold, held at peace mostly by his eager “brothers”. On Azure’s lap and shoulders are several children, more interested in his blade and snout than the ceremony. He’s smiling, more at ease than any other here.

The others for the most part are doing alright. Peng is preoccupied with their drink, casually allowing themselves to be marveled at by a blacksmith and a jeweler- though neither are allowed to touch, both mortals are fervently etching the gilded designs into their paper scrolls. The avian flaps those glimmering wings on occasion, causing streaks of light to flash over the modest venue, catching across the polished tiles.

Yellowtusk sits on a carved stone chair, marking the attendants in a neat ledger, made oversized to fit his hands. Several troops of Long-Tailed and Crab-Eating Macaques play on his trunk and tusks, their little fingers deftly taking hold in the cracks of his thick skin to ascend it. They don’t ever distract him for more than a few seconds, even when the youngest cubs forget their manners and start chirping in his ears.

The largest of their Brotherhood stands at attention in the doorway, toying with the straps of his battle axe. His face is painted with a rarely seen apprehension, looking back and forth over the room on occasion. Sometimes his gaze stills on a veil-shrouded woman with painted lips, and then he smiles for a moment.

The Demon Bull King is not nearly as subtle of a man as he thinks.

Not that it matters- when, for all that (which is very much) his Sworn Brothers know he’s courting a Celestial Maiden, they’ve chosen to keep an oath of silence on the matter.

(“He’s our big guy,” as Wukong had put it during one meeting months ago. “And we want that goofball to be happy.”)

(All of them- even Peng- had toasted to that notion, in the general direction of the bull’s empty chair.)

The mortals are safe. His brothers are content. He can do this.

Once more the dried notes on his sleeve catch Macaque’s attention, snapping him from the venue and to his golden love.

One last time he goes over them, dedicating those practiced words to memory.

He takes a breath, and turns to the audience.

“My mate-to-be is… molten gold, kissed by the rising sun. Beautiful is a shallow word to describe him- he is a masterpiece, a divine work of art carved by the heavens themselves. His eyes hold the all the world’s fire within them, blazing with the brilliance of a thousand sunsets. His laughter is a hymn to freedom itself, a melody I pray to hear every day for the rest of my life. When I look at him, I don’t just see a king, but the very heart of my existence, the axis upon which my world turns. He is my sun, my storm, my sanctuary, my everything.”

Several of the softer mortals are touched by his speech, lifting their cotton sleeves to the very corners of their eyes. Others only lightly clap, still uncomfortable at being called to the union.

Macaque does not have time to look away from before Wukong’s ginger-furred paws clasp onto his shoulders, holding tight.

There are no notes, no hours of reciting, no time spent with helpful Sworn Brothers to listen and offer advice, no matter how snarky- Sun Wukong simply turns from the crowd and offers himself.

“Macaque… I love you. I want you to be my mate forever. Until the sun goes dark.” Wukong's tail flicks behind him, expression softening with a rare blush. "Because... you're part of my story, bud. You’ve always been a part of it. And I'm tired of pretending like I can write the rest of it without you. Be mine forever and let’s be mates.”

The world is blurry, at least to Macaque. Nine and a half seconds prior he had thought there’d be some disappointment to push through, delivered an insincere joke or a vow written by another’s hand.

But there was only been Sun Wukong, love of his life, smiling at him.

“I will be your mate,” he chokes out, “forever. Until the sun goes dark.”

——————————————————————

“We’ve never been apart since then,” he purrs, dragging one claw over a hanfu the color of a sky on a gentle morning, toying with the white sash to untie it. “Not even for a day.”

Before you have a chance to respond, he plucks up the garment and holds it out to you. The size difference between him and the outfit is comical, and you wonder why these two demon kings have it in the first place.

“This should fit you, bud! Here, let’s get that towel off-“

You scream.

It’s not particularly loud or long, or even desperate- but it’s a scream all the same.

Worse still for yourself, you take this hysteric moment to lay on some shaky remand.

“NO! No more! Just stop touching me! I don’t- I d-don’t like it! You’re- you’re twice my size and you keep- you and him are always getting in my face and- a-and putting your hands on me, and I- I’m am so, so sick of it! I am not an o-object! I am a person! I am a person! I-“

“Quiet. Now.”

Wukong’s golden eyes narrow as he stands there, the weight of his presence pressing down on the room like a thundercloud ready to burst. His tail flicks sharply, but his voice remains measured.

…there are tears rolling down your eyes now, lost in the fluffy expanse of the towel around your body, sopping uselessly away as the king takes two footsteps to your form, frowning.

Not that it does anything to settle the rapid beat of your heart, crushed by the newly oppressive atmosphere.

“…you’re scared. I understand that. And maybe my moonbeam and I, we’ve been a little too hands on. That’s on us. But this my pagoda, and I did not build it by hand so that a little guest could yell at me. You know that you’re not a prisoner here. The doors aren’t locked, and there aren’t guards stationed outside them… now. I’ll let you get dressed- alone- and then you can eat. And…

“And no more touching without your permission. Okay?”

“…m’sorry. F-for yelling.”

“…I’m not mad,” he lies, one hand shifting to condescendingly pat you on the head. “I forget- my brothers, and my mate, too- we yaoguai just aren’t the same as mortals. You little things are scared too easily, and break so quickly.”

Something about hearing that is humiliating, but you don’t dare argue with him. Instead, you hunch your shoulders and cling to the towel, sniveling down at the floor.

Wukong’s frown softens the longer he watches you cry, all the sharpest edges of his irritation melting away into something closer to pity.

“I’ll leave it here. Call if you get lost looking for the kitchen.”

His words are painfully curt, and then the king is gone, golden beads and silk robes swishing behind him with each step.

You were never close, and only ever tangentially in the “good graces” of these kings. It’s not like you’ve shattered some precious bond.

But you still feel bad.

You wouldn’t, not usually. But as you unwrap the towel and begin to dress yourself in the lovely hanfu left draped over the chair nearest to you, the aches and pains of yesterday’s chase down the mountain weigh on you, just as MK’s new identity and newer happiness strike a deep point of insecurity- that you simply weren’t good enough to take care of him.

You weren’t good enough to provide for him anymore.

You wanted to believe you were more than them- strong enough to survive on your own, to fight your way through the world with MK in tow. But the truth was harder to face: Sun Wukong and the Six-Eared Macaque were meteoric gods, and you were just a mortal caught in the tides of their myth.

And where MK was thriving in this ecliptic chaos, you instead were already cracking under pressure after only a day spent before the kings.

…there’s a lovely silk pouch, dyed the color of new lavender blooms, hanging from the hanfu- you only notice it after tying the sash into a decent bow. The soft texture grounds your tumultuous thoughts, and a powerful aroma steadily drifts from within.

You fiddle with the tie and open the sash, revealing a dried bundle of orange blossoms tightly tied together, each stem marked with a glittering mystic sigil- 提高.

Whatever scent they would’ve had already was amplified by the marking, causing a heavy flow of fresh floral scent to ooze from the little purse.

You lift it and take a deep breath from the bag, allowing the veil of citrus aroma to utterly cloud your mind, providing it a much needed fog to rest under.

The soothing haze is slow to fade, even after you’ve pulled away and sealed the bag, but eventually you are left with only your steadied thoughts in the ornate chamber, amongst fine silks and polished wood, treasures of centuries past hung casually about It’s beautiful—almost too much so.

A reminder that this world of theirs is not the same of yours.

But you would not stop trying to survive in it.

You couldn’t.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #Yandere Father #MK #Azure Lion #Peng #Yellowtusk #Demon Bull King #Shadowpeach #Eclipse Kings #Not The Beloved #2K

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alterationshopusa · 1 year ago

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imagines--galore · 9 months ago

Note

Hello!

could I get number 13 on the prompt list with Edmund Pevensie?

Summary: He was a King. You were no Royal. You were his friend, as he was yours. And despite the fact the people kept saying there was something more, you denied it. For a King could never love a commoner. Could he? Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. A/N: Yay! First request for Edmund!

"Really, Your Majesty! This is just too much!" You said, running your hand over the fabric of the dress the youngest Queen of Narnia had forced you to put on.

"It is not." The Queen stated with the stubbornness of a teenager, which she was. "And how many times I've told you to call me Lucy."

"Multiple times, Your Majesty." You responded with a cheeky grin, prompting Lucy to roll her eyes in a rather un-queenly manner.

Luch walked up to straighten the thin satin belt that rested around your waist. The dress truly was a work of art. Made of a material that you were sure cost more then the wages you received, it was soft and delicate to the touch. Not to mention the work down the front of the dress seemed to sparkle in a way that made you feel like a princess. And the color? A grey that almost appeared silver. A rather unusual color but somehow familiar.

You were sure you had seen that color before, just not sure where.

"The seamstress made a few mistakes with the measurements, and I don't want it to sit in the back of my wardrobe. It is simply too stunning to never see the light of day." You let out a small hum of agreement as you allowed yourself a moment of admiration. The mirror in front of you showed a figure dressed in a gown that was surely out of a fairy tale.

Then again, you had seen grander and more beautiful gowns, and the one you wore was rather simple in comparison. But in your eyes, it was perfect. You twisted where you stood, hoping to catch a glimpse of the details that adorned the back. Lucy smiled at your obvious admiration.

"Maybe if you wore it to the ball next week, Edmund will finally notice you."

The words jolted you out of your little haze of admiration.

Turning your gaze towards the now smiling Queen, you blinked. "Notice me?" You asked, though you knew the answer before it came. Had heard it one too many times from so many people and creatures you knew.

"As in confess that he loves you, just as much as you love him." You blinked. The effect of her words were immediate as a blush turned your cheeks a bright red. The sight of which had Lucy smiling even wider.

"I-I do-don-" You were cut off by Queen Susan, who had been sitting at a nearby writing table and going over the final preparations for the Winter Ball.

"Lucy, you mustn't assume such things, it is rather rude." Her younger sister pursed her lips in a stubborn line. "Though I must admit Y/n." The Gentle Queen continued, now looking towards you. "Edmund does seem to show more affection towards you then he does anyone. Even us."

Annoyance had being told off forgotten, Lucy chimed in. "And we're his siblings!"

You shook your head as you reached behind you to undo the dress, anything to occupy her hands and hide her face lest the two Queens see the blush on your cheeks. "Your Majesties are mistaken. King Edmund and I are simply friends. And even that is a miracle given how I'm a simply maid and he is a King."

Lucy frowned. "And what does that matter? Love should not have anything to do with it." Having stepped out of the gorgeous gown and into your everyday clothes, you shook your head. "No, but that is it, Your Majesty." Your words sounded unconvincing, even to your own ears. "I am not in love with your brother."

A lie.

————————–

You were in love with King Edmund.

Had been in love with him since the moment you had seen him.

Of course, you hadn't realized it then. Had not picked up on the fact that perhaps your heart raced because he was so near. How your heart leaped in your chest when he smiled at you. Or even how everything just seemed a little more magical when he was around.

You had met him by chance. Having finished your duties for the day, you had chosen to go down to the beach and collect some shells. You already had quite the collection but you always found new beautiful pieces to add to your collection. You had just straightened up from picking a rather pretty pink shell when the sound of an approaching horse had you looking to your left.

There he was, sitting atop a horse, with no saddle or rein, no entourage or crown adorning his forehead to show his status. The speed at which he rode his horse had you stepping back before he was even near you.

For reasons known only to Aslan, he came to a halt as he neared you. You had returned to your little expedition and was already digging through a small patch of sand where you had spied a star shaped shell. The sight of it had a bright smile forming on your lips, your eyes alight with joy at such a small, insignificant yet beautiful creation.

And Edmund had felt his heart clench at the sight of your sweet smile. A strange urgency bubbled in his chest. One he had never known before. One that compelled him to dismount from his horse and approach you. Though he stood a good few feet away as he watched you straighten and place the shell in your basket.

It was then that you became aware of him. You stood there as well, your basket tucked at the side.

He had stopped at the sight of you. And the both of you had simply looked at each other.

It was rather strange looking at a complete stranger in the eye. Normally you kept your head down and went about your work. But there was just something about him that had you meeting his gaze.

Him in his simple breeches, shirt and shoes, black hair swept away from his forehead, blowing gently in the salty air. Eyes alight with a light that you would see for months to come whenever you would run into him.

He knew it was not proper to stare, but he could not help himself.

You in your simple dress, with the hem wet from the waves that kept tickling your bare toes. The braid you kept your hair in, hardly able to keep the strands in place given how hard the wind was blowing. Your cheeks were flushed from being out in the sun for so long.

And yet Edmund had never seen a more prettier sight in all of Narnia.

Slowly, you smiled at him in a friendly manner. "Is there something that you needed?" You asked.

He shook his head. "I apologize for disturbing you on your outing My Lady, I was just curious why a young maiden would venture so far away from Cair. Assuming, you are from there." He quickly added, not wanting to make any false assumptions.

Giving a small nod, you confirmed his suspicions. "Yes, I'm from Cair. I work as a maid there." The both of you glanced down the length of the beach to where the castle shone brightly in the light of the slowly setting sun. "You're a little far out aren't you?" He asked with a smile to which you gave a sheepish one in return.

"To tell you the truth, I love to collect shells." You held up your basket to show the small collection you had gathered in the hour you had been at the beach. "And there aren't quite that many close to the castle, so I have to venture a little further ahead."

Meeting his eyes once more, you allowed yourself to admire how handsome he was. Surely he was a lord or something of the sort. Perhaps a visiting noble from Archenland? Edmund's line of sight shifted to the setting sun just behind you.

"May I escort you back to Cair? It is near sunset and the tide will be coming in." He offered, not wanting to leave your presence just yet. You glanced over your shoulder as well, before turning to give him a nod. "That would be appreciated thank you." You paused. "I do not believe you told me your name."

Edmund's smile faltered a little. He knew if he told you his name you would recognize him. Clearing his throat he decided on a little white lie. Or rather half-truth. "My name is Ed. And may I ask you for your name, My Lady?" You waved a hand in a dismissive manner. "I am hardly a Lady, but you may call me Y/n, Ed." It was a rather strange name, but then who was she to say anything.

With the horse following after the both of you at a slow pace, you and Ed began the walk back to the castle.

————————–

It took you longer then normal to return to the castle. Probably because the both of you were so lost in your conversation. You hardly noticed when his horse actually bypassed you and reached the back entrance of the castle by himself. You didn't care that you were late.

It wasn't everyday you met someone you could talk to like you were with Ed. It was strange. You wanted to tell him everything. And for someone who was very private with their thoughts, this was a huge surprise.

And you weren't the only one doing the talking. Edmund had always felt a little alone, even in his family. Before going to war, his father had been the only one to understand him. After coming to Narnia his siblings had begun to understand him too, but it just wasn't the same.

But then here you were. Someone he had just met, and he had never felt so understood in all his life. It was a little scary, how you were so inquisitive and were able to pick up on cues and read between the lines of every word that came out of him. You were sharp, clever and smart.

Yes, he knew all three words were synonymous, but he didn't care. They described you perfectly.

"Well I should head back inside." You finally said, once there was a brief lull in the conversation. You really didn't want to, but you had to get to sleep so you could work the next day. Ed gave a small nod. And was it your imagination, or did he look a little disappointed as well.

"I had a lovely time talking to you." You admitted with a bright smile. "And I shall be surely on the lookout for the book you mentioned. Perhaps I may find it in the local library." You had begun to climb up the stairs leading towards the backdoor. He would have to enter from the other side where the stables were.

Edmund continued to look at you as you ascended the stairs. You walked backwards so you could look at him even as you departed. Suddenly, he realized he didn't want you to leave. A burst of courage, one that would make his younger sister proud, had him bounding up a couple of stairs, reaching out and taking your hand in his.

A startled gasp left your lips as you looked down at him. He was still a few steps away, but even that distance felt intimate.

"Will I see you again?" He asked. The young King had no idea where this new side of him was coming from. He had always preferred solitude, and he was sure that the moment he left your presence he would revert back to his old self.

But for now, he would act on every impulse he could.

Just so he could be in your company again in the future.

You stopped short, a surprised look crossing your features as you blinked at him. Your gaze dropped from his face, to the hand that gripped yours. And though you were cautious around people you just met, something in you reassured you. Had you believing that you could trust him.

So you nodded, and the smile that lit up the entirety of his face was one that stayed with you till the next time you met.

————————–

It didn't take long for you to become aware of Ed, or rather King Edmund's true status. And though it did shock and embarrass you, not being able to recognize one of the Monarchs of your beloved country, the only thing that changed in your friendship were the titles. You began to call him Your Majesty, or King Edmund, whatever the situation asked for. And him, out of spite and knowing how much you hated it, called you My Lady.

Everything else stayed the same.

Your friendship. Your ability to know what was bothering one another. The fact that the both of you knew when the other was going through a hard time. He with his duties as a King, and you with your own problems.

The whole castle slowly became aware of your friendship, especially when Edmund would seek you out and would speak to you about the most recent book the both of you had read. He, like you, was an avid reader. Any book would do really.

Sometimes you would stop in the middle of your task, and simply stand with the King in the middle of the hallway, as the both of you discussed some new scientific theory being proposed by some cranky old centaur.

Other times you would burst into his study, frantically gesturing as you let out your frustrations concerning a character in whatever adventurous tale you were reading. He would put aside his work and just listen to you with that knowing smirk on his face.

Once he had let you rant for nearly ten minutes before handing you the second book and saying that hadn't been the ending. You had once thrown a book at his head for that.

He'd learned to not test you when it came to books after that.

Still, over the months your friendship had grown stronger. You had even gotten to know his siblings. And while you were friends with them as well, the level of intimacy you shared with Edmund, was one you could never reach with anyone else.

It was not surprising when the residents of Cair Paravel began to assume that the King of Narnia was courting a simple maid.

And though no one ever said it outright, everyone thought the same.

————————–

The Winter Ball was a grand affair.

Since the defeat of the White Witch Queen Susan had taken every step to ensure that the Winter Ball was the grandest of celebrations. Not only because it was Christmas but because she wanted to wipe away any negative memories the Narnians had when it came to winter.

As a half-dryad, partial to spring and summer, even you could not help enjoying the festivities.

But from afar.

You were keeping to the shadows, hiding in an alcove that overlooked the beach you and Edmund had walked along for hours at a time. Queen Lucy had gotten what she wanted. You attending the Ball. She'd actually dragged her brother into the conversation. And when he had asked if you were going to attend, you knew you were trapped.

He had looked so hopeful that all you could do was say yes.

You never could say no to him. A weakness he exploited sometimes when it came to getting away from Cair Paravel, during work hours, and just wandering around in the Woods or walking along the beach. Your Supervisor knew of your getaways, but since you had always been an efficient worker, she never complained.

At the moment, you were dressed in the same dress Lucy had given you, with your hair in an elegant braid, adorned with flowers you had picked from garden earlier that day.

You wore a necklace with the gown, a piece of jewelry that had been gifted to you by a certain King. Your fingers lifted to the gorgeous piece, lightly tracing the outline of the necklace, a small smile pulling at your lips as your mind wandered to the one who had gifted it to you.

"Lady Y/n?"

Speaking of which.

You spun on your heel, having forgotten that there was a side entrance to the alcove you were hiding in.

"King Edmund." You responded with a quick curtsy. You smiled at him as you straightened up. Silence followed, one where your smile slowly faltered, and your cheeks to grow red under his unwavering gaze. You adjusted the skirts of your dress nervously as you cleared your throat.

"Queen Lucy was gracious enough to lend me the dress, though I insist in returning it once I am done attending the Ball." You said as a way to start the conversation.

It was then, when your eyes dropped to his chest, that you suddenly realized why the color of your dress had been so familiar.

Every Monarch had their color. For King Peter, it was gold and blue. For Queen Susan it was two different shades of blue. For Queen Lucy it was red and blue. And for King Edmund, it was silver and blue.

The exact shade of the dress you currently wore.

If it didn't mean treason, you would surely kill Queen Lucy for playing such a hand.

"You look beautiful." His words prompted you to meet his gaze, which still hadn't left your face. Skin flushing, you reached up to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Th-thank you. You look good too. Did your sister threaten you into coming in proper attire?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "She said she would lock me out of the library if I wasn't dressed right." You couldn't help but giggle at his expression.

"May I ask, why you're not out there, dancing?" He asked, moving to stand next to you so that the both of you could look out at the various dancing pairs. You shrugged. "I prefer the company of a select few." He nudged you playfully with his elbow. "I hope I'm included in that list."

You hummed in contemplation. "I believe you are number three. After your sisters." You responded, to which he pressed a hand over his heart. "Your words wound my My Lady. How shall I ever survive your cruel intentions."

This was what you loved liked about Edmund. He was always ready with a joke of some sort. It was rather refreshing, to have a friend who made one laugh.

A comfortable silence settled between the both of you, as you stood there and just watched everyone dance and enjoy themselves.

"Do you remember that day when I found out you were a King?" You suddenly spoke up, your gaze just as soft as your voice as the memory of that day rose to the front of your mind.

Edmund chuckled beside you. "Oh yes, I remember. I was talking to Peter about something, and you saw me." You nodded. "And I came over and ask how close of a friendship you shared with him because you punched him on the shoulder."

Turning your head slightly, you looked at him out of the corner of your eyes. "You decided to have some fun, saying you were quite close. And when I asked how close, you said he was your brother."

Edmund couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing, while you blushed furiously at the remembrance of your embarrassment in that moment. "Your expression was hilarious." He said once he paused for breath. "And then you said but that would make me King. Though I was rather offended you knew that Peter was King."

You scowled at his grinning face. "Thats because I had seen him give a speech in public before. It is hardly my fault that you barely leave your library or your office to go out and meet people."

He made a face. "Now why would I want to do that?" You rolled your eyes at him. "One would think as King, you would prefer to at least show yourself in public sometimes." You reprimanded, prompting Edmund to point a finger at you. "Did Susan tell you to say that? She's always going on and on about how I should spend some time with people so that I don't forget how to talk."

A teasing smile pulled at your lips as you flicked his finger away with your own. "Well she's not wrong. I love reading books just as much as you do, but at least I go out and talk to people."

Edmund rolled his eyes. "I talk plenty. At least with the people who matter." As he said that, his gaze flicked towards you and you smiled, reaching out to loosely loop your arm through his. "I am truly honored to be one of those people."

He smiled, his fingers intertwining with the hand that wrapped around his arm.

"You have no idea how much."

So saying, he brought up the hand he held, and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand. And since you'd forgone gloves for the night, you could feel the press of his warm lips against your skin.

Your heart beat rapidly against your chest, and you were sure your cheeks were a permanent shade of pink with how much you were blushing.

Suddenly his eyes lit up, as if he had just remembered something.

And he had.

"I almost forgot! I went down to the beach a few days ago." So saying he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a rather pretty shell. "I found this while I was down there, thought you might like it."

With your free hand you took the shell, examining the pretty colors that nature had painted it with. It was truly beautiful. But that wasn't what you were focusing on.

He'd been at the beach for his own purpose, whatever it had been. But he had thought of you. You were on his mind when he saw the shell. You were who he remembered when he picked it up knowing you would like it.

How could he be so sweet and kind at the same time?

And how, oh how could you not fall in love with him if he were to keep showing you such sweet gestures?

The sight of the shell, and the aftereffects of the conversation you had just had with him, was what compelled you to do what you did next.

It was a simple maneuver really. One that required you to push yourself up on your toes, and tilt you head forward a little bit.

A simple series of movements.

And yet the outcome of it had Edmund's eyes widening as he felt the result of your gesture against his mouth. But it didn't stop there. His entire body stiffened for a brief moment, before he relaxed and tilted his head a little to better return the gesture. The hand that was not gripping yours, came up to rest the tips of his fingers under your chin.

Slowly you pulled back, your eyes opening so you could look at him. He was smiling. He was smiling at you so tenderly that you were sure your heart wouldn't be able to recover from the beauty of it.

Of him.

And his eyes. You actually had to look away because of how intense they were, as if he could see to the very inner most corner of your heart.

The fingers on your chin pressed lightly against your skin, coaxing you to turn your head back.

Edmund couldn't help it. He couldn't help himself and not look at you. He had to look at you.

You with your kind smile and gorgeous eyes. The way your hair would dance in the breeze and your whole face would light up when you talked about something you were passionate about.

Finally, after a few moments of simply looking at one another, he spoke. "You know there have been rumors going around. Rumors saying that I'm courting you."

You pursed your lips to suppress a smile. "I've heard about them, and I don't understand how people would think that." Even as you said it, you couldn't help but smile, knowing exactly why people would think that. He grinned as well, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

"Well how about, we add wood to that fire and play a little game by giving them a little hint every now and then?" He asked, his eyes alight with that spark he got whenever he was thinking of some clever plan that would outwit anyone involved.

Luckily for Edmund, you shared his love of deception and pranks, so you smiled. "I think I would enjoy that."

He laughed softly, before leaning down to press his lips to yours in a brief kiss.

"Though I want you to know, that whatever hint or gesture I may show you, they come from my heart and hold true." He whispered against your lips, prompting you to nod.

"As will mine."

Suffice to say, the next morning, when Edmund kissed you in the open courtyard where a lot of creatures had gathered to clean up after the Ball the night before, the entire castle buzzed with gossip and speculation.

Though one thing was for sure.

In Mrs Beaver's words, the both of you were truly meant to be.

#edmund pevensie x reader #edmund x reader #edmund pevensie x y/n #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #the chronicles of narnia the lion the witch and the wardrobe #prince caspian #voyage of the dawn treader

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kakushino · 1 year ago

Text

First... or Fourth?

Uzui Tengen x AFAB! Reader

You're returning from a years-long undercover mission, which forced you to leave your new husband at the time, Tengen. However, there is a surprise waiting for you...

Tags: angst, betrayal, mild gore, self-worth issues, body worship, emotional smut, dom-leaning bottom reader Word count: 7,9k

Masterlist | Part 2

Just a few more miles, just a few more…

You were on your way back from an undercover mission - one that had been given as a punishment for your actions ‘against’ your Clan. It took years to complete, and you will never be the same again. But, you were looking forward to seeing the one person who could heal your soul.

Uzui Tengen.

Your husband.

One you had to leave nearly immediately after marrying.

He had been waiting for you for years all alone, or at least you hoped he had been waiting for you. You promised each other to always come back, alive and intact.

Your mind wandered. Would he be the same height, or taller? Did he keep his hair short? Did he still wear the gold arm braces? Did he still live in the mansion he bought for the two of you? Was he alive? Was he waiting for you? Did he-

No. You pushed the feelings of doubt aside. Tengen would be waiting for you in your estate. He would give you that smile you loved so much, welcome you home. You would both cry in happiness. Oh, how you ached to be in his arms again. You two would cuddle for a whole day and a half, content to bask in each other.

But first, you needed to get presentable. The old inn that used to be in a nearby town got replaced with a newer one. At this time, any would do, as long as you could bathe, eat, sleep, and buy new clothes, not necessarily in that order.

The old set of clothes you put aside before your mission was too big on your much thinner frame. You stared at yourself in a mirror in the lobby on your way to shop. Maybe a haircut was in order too, but you could handle that yourself with a trusty kunai.

You tried not to dwell on your experiences from the past few years lest you not sleep that night. A makeover would do well for you.

The town wasn’t big, and finding the seamstress took no time at all. One look at your figure had the old woman bringing out three pre-made kimono sets. “I’m sorry dear. I don’t think there are any others that would fit you,” she told you.

You sighed quietly. That was fine. You could always order some later. For now, one would do. Of the three, only one seemed to be presentable for your flashy husband. “The yellow one please.” Though the pattern was very simple - vertical stripes - the color was very vibrant and eye-catching. The seamstress gave you a bright red obi, perhaps understanding your desire for more color.

Walking out of the shop, you felt like a new person. It was near sunset, time passed quickly while you were gossiping with the old woman. She’d given you the much desired haircut as well, dry and choppy hair strands falling like autumn leaves.

You would see your love tomorrow. Your heart swelled with affection. Butterflies took up space in your stomach.

You couldn’t wait.

Something was wrong. Something was so, so wrong. There, in front of you. Your husband - was he? - with three women - very busty women - smiling at them with your smile, the special one, the one you cherished so much.

What’s going on?

“Tengen?” you breathed out with a barely-there high pitched whine. His eyes - beautiful, loving, staring at those women - snapped in your direction. Of course he heard. He’d always had the best hearing of all people you knew- used to know.

He looked like he was seeing a ghost, a phantom of the past. Your heart was clogging up your throat, threatening to be thrown up. You keened in pain. Tengen with three beautiful busty women… Has he not waited? Does he not love me anymore?

“[Name]?” you imagined he said it out loud, but he might have only mouthed it. You were too far apart. You with your plain kimono, hair much shorter, standing alone on a dusty road and him with his flamboyance and his three women.

You wanted to run, you wanted to scream, you wanted to fight, you wanted to scratch him, scar him, you wanted to cause a scene, dig a grave and lay in it. A war went on inside you - your brain and your heart in a battle to the death, a last stand. Was this how it felt to have your heart ripped out? To have your mind unravel? Every day you thought of Tengen - Tengen, Tengen, Tengen - of the moments spent together under blooming sakuras, of the whispered promises to break away and start over, to ditch the miserable life of a shinobi-

In a flash, he stood scarcely a foot from you. The Uzui Tengen of your memories used to be slightly shorter, his hair was longer now, and he appeared even stronger than before, flashier than ever, if possible. He glowed with the happiness of a good life, a happy life. (Happy wife, happy life, he used to say. How true was it now?) The expression he wore was one of disbelief, his huge hands outstretched as if to touch you, slap your wrist, tear out your heart, crush your trachea, break you-

“Lord Tengen, who is this?”

The moment was broken. You flinched and took a quick step back, skimming the figures of the three women. Kunoichi, without a doubt.

A horrible feeling crawled up your spine, one you tried to push back because he wouldn’t… would he? You promised each other to break away from the system, to deny everything you were taught and live a good life together.

Has he gone back to shinobi life? Gone back on the promises? Taken more wives? Taken other wives?

Your husband ignored the inquiry, and instead whispered, “I thought you died,” in a horrified whisper, his eyes wide with disbelief, too shiny to be normal, as if he were holding back tears. “I thought you were dead.” A strangled sound left his throat and he grabbed your wrists, pulling you into a rough embrace. Heart now falling back to its rightful place in relief, you hugged your man back.

His perfume had changed but the natural musk underneath stayed the same, and you clung to that faint comfort, the familiarity. You clung to his sturdy frame, how he still towered over you, how safe you felt in his arms for the precious moment. You felt warm for the first time in years. Tears gathered at your lashes, and fell, and soaked through his clothing, the clothing that smelled like him and home.

“Lord Tengen?”

The moment broke again, and this time you refused to ignore the elephant on the road behind Tengen. Or rather, the three elephants. You took one, two, three stumbling steps back.

“Who are these women, Tengen?” you asked, voice thick and trembling. The wild emotional ride you were on was taking its toll on you. Your eyes flitted between him and the three.

Tengen’s smile was a bit wobbly, something you had never seen in your life. Was he that surprised to see you? Or did he know you wouldn’t like hearing what he would tell you? Who are these women and why are they with my husband?

“[Name]-” his voice broke, he cleared his throat. “[Name], these are my wives - Suma, Hinatsuru, and Makio.”

And with just one word - wives wives WIVES - he shattered your heart. You vaguely heard him introduce you with just your name.

“Forever? You promise?”

“I promise. Just me and you against the world, precious.”

It was while you were walking with all four of them to spend the night that your mind started truly racing.

Your mother used to say nothing hurts more than being hurt by the person you never thought would hurt you. You used to scoff and disregard her wisdom. You were re-evaluating your stance on that.

Fight or flight response warred inside you as you were led to your estate, the estate Tengen bought to share with you as his wife, not with-

Why was he acting as if nothing about this situation was wrong? As if he hadn’t made the careful foundation of your sanity crumble quicker than a house of cards in the breeze?

You stopped right inside the property. You needed to gain control over yourself. You shoved your feelings into your stomach, acid filling your mouth. Your belly ached, from hunger and from stress. You felt as if you were reaching the edge of the void - the void being insanity. One step and you would plunge, spiral downward with no sight of the end.

“Tengen?” you murmured, “Can I talk to you alone, please?” You refused to look anywhere but him, refused to look for what changed and what remained of your- his- their estate.

Throughout the walk to their home, he kept looking at you - for you; tilting his head - listening to your heartbeat. Now he looked torn, glancing at the opened entrance. In the end, he nodded, closed the door and you both stood there, staring at each other.

In the back of your mind, you realized the reason behind his actions, you compartmentalized and understood, but you wanted to hear it, you wanted to know- “Why?”

The question hung in the air like a demented ornament to a festival lantern, except it was set on fire- everything was on fire-

“Precious-” Your heart throbbed in your chest at the nickname. “- please, you were gone.” His voice broke into a low whine and it ached to hear him in such distress. Suddenly, it was as if everything started spilling out. “I never thought it would take that long- I waited and waited and fucking waited and I got no word, no letter, no nothing- I thought- I thought-”

His breath came out in pants as he stepped closer, his arms reaching for you, gripping your shoulders.

“I thought you didn’t-” A high pitched keen left him, unable to say it for the second time that day, the very thought making his heart ache. It brought tears to your eyes as you choked down a sob. “Please-”

Tengen fell to his knees in front of you and the sight of his desperation destroyed what little defences you had. By instinct, you hugged him to your chest, his height allowing him to rest his head against your breast, listening to your heart beat steadily. You started crying, your sobs intertwining with his panting. “Shhh, I’m here, I'm right here, baby…” It wasn’t long before his own choked sobs joined the symphony of grief and emotional release. “I’m here, I’m fine, we’re fine, we’re alive and- and-”

“I thought I lost you, precious. Each day was torture, you were my missing piece, you are my missing piece. Thank you - thank you for returning- for coming back to me,” he choked out thickly. “Oh lord, what have I done? You fought for your life every day and I- I fucking married Suma, Hina and Makio. Fuck-”

You were weak to his words, to his warmth and his scent. You were weak to the way he hugged you, the way he gasped for breath and the way his tears made your yukata wet.

“You deserve better - a better husband. You deserve someone who would wait for you, not me- I- I don’t deserve you anymore; but fucking hell will I try again. Please, let me try again. I will spend the rest of my life on my knees in front of you if you just give me just this one chance-” Tengen nearly wailed into your chest, his voice trembling, devastated, as if a dam broke down and the flood of his emotions couldn’t be stopped, decimating barriers and safety measures against such a catastrophe. More tears soaked your yukata, his hands grasping at your clothes desperately, a drowning person clawing for air.

And you weren’t immune.

You cried right along with him, rocking you both back and forth underneath the slowly setting sun, the warm golden hue washing over you in a stark contrast to the turmoil between, around and inside of you two.

As you reeled from the onslaught of pent-up emotions, you felt his chest heaving quicker and quicker, rapidly getting into the unhealthy pace, so familiar to you by now - he was hyperventilating.

“Tengen, baby, look at me-” you rasped out, trying to get him to let go of his impossibly tight grip on you. You heard the sound of fabric tearing. “Baby, c’mon, look. at. me.”

He wasn’t easing his strength. Fuck.

You tugged at his ponytail, gently, then rougher, then as harsh as you dared, his headband slipping askew from it. “Tengen! Let go!”

He gasped for air, staring at you as if you were a saint or an angel stepped down from Heaven and a death god about to pull him to Hell all at once. His face was flushed, lashes dewy, cheeks puffy from crying. It was the most terrified, the most pathetic you've ever seen him.

But was he really pathetic? You were his wife, who left on a mission, who kept away for years and years, who hadn’t written a letter to him once, who wasn't with him when his last brother died, who just returned and wrecked his new life like a typhoon.

"Tengen, breathe."

Perhaps it was you who did not deserve to come back, to disrupt his new relationships and drive a wedge into a scabbed-over wound, making it bleed all over again.

More of your tears fell as you attempted to smile, though it came out more like a grimace most likely. "Breathe slowly, mkay? I'm here. You can hear my heartbeat, can’t you? Match my breathing. Can you do that for me?"

His breathing gradually deepened and his eyes lost the hazy look.

"I'm Uzui [Name], your wife, we're at the house you bought with your money when we were fourteen. It's Friday, sundown. Are you with me, Tengen?" you asked softly.

Tengen blinked a few times, looking up at you. “[Name]...” Your hand was still clutching his hair tightly, the slight pain grounding him further. He wanted to say Please baby, take me back, hug me, kiss me, fuck me- “You can let go now,” he said instead. The yearning he felt for you was quickly buried underneath a thick blanket of shinobi training, analyzing the situation.

“Sorry.” As if burned, you quickly released him.

You stared at each other for a long moment in silence, perhaps realizing the complexity of the situation you were in. You wanted to be back with him, and he wanted to be back with you, but you both perceived his new wives as a sort of betrayal, whether by infidelity or values you stood by.

For the first time, Tengen looked at you, really looked.

There were dark eye bags underneath your puffy eyes, betraying your lack of sleep, deep set stress lines marred your pretty face. There was a new scar at the corner of your lips, so small it almost went unnoticed. Your hair was much shorter than it used to be, but the disheveled state was caused by the wind, not necessarily by neglect. Though, he could pick up some not quite right strands, cut by an amateur hand. Would you let him fix it? Would you even let him get close with something sharp? Would you trust him? What had happened to you?

You were thinner, the colorful yukata hiding your figure only little to his observant eyes. He stared, analyzed and wondered - what else is that plain cotton yukata hiding?

What really went down in that God-forsaken mission?

You giggled nervously, as Tengen took his time to unwrap your clothes like a present. He had a joyful grin on his face, just as nervous yet better at hiding it.

“Hey, hey, it’s not fair that only I am naked, you know?” Using a grappling move he himself taught you, you quickly reversed your positions, him laying down on the futon and you straddling his hips. He gave you a wide-eyed look, face flushed at your display of skill. His hands cradled your hips, his fingerless gloves scratching your skin slightly.

You gave him a quick peck on his lips and then focused on unraveling his top. As flashy as always, it was a complicated thing, making you grow frustrated quickly. With a growl, you reached into his thigh holster and took out a kunai, slashing his shirt open.

“Hey! That’s my favorite!” he protested with a pout, not really mad. You were already kissing your way down his exposed chest, playfully biting at his nipple. His breath hitched.

“It was your favorite. I’m your new favorite now,” you grinned in triumph as he rolled his eyes, giving you a gentle slap on your ass. The material of his gloves gave you a slightly burning feeling as he caressed the quickly reddening spot.

You sat up in his lap and took his left hand in yours, quickly stripping him of his glove. His right hand was bare before you knew it, but something drew your attention.

Tengen had a beauty mark near the pulse point. Guided by instinct or fate, your lips pressed against it, his heartbeat quickening beneath them. You made eye contact. His magenta eyes could have hearts in them; such a lovestruck look was novel on him. It warmed you from the inside that he let you so close to his vulnerable point - his wrist so breakable; his hand would have been useless if you just twisted with the right amount of pressure; if you decided to bite him and make him bleed out.

It was getting too serious for you, too deep. The entire moment was already making you feel too vulnerable, it being your first time. To break the moment, one of your hands went to his side to tickle him. Tengen noticed, and was quicker.

Both of you dissolved into a gasping laughing pair of teenagers, for once feeling your age.

The yukata he gave you was silk. Your calloused hands hadn’t felt such a material for a long time - years, in fact. The fabric had a pattern of a turtle-shell in golden hues of autumn intertwined with faded green and red details. You recognized it faintly, but couldn’t place where you saw it.

Slipping it on felt like Heaven, like laying down into fluffy clouds if you could reach them - and you were so tired, you wanted to lay down in them. Yet you couldn’t, it was just the morning and your stomach grumbled in hunger, reminding you the last time you ate was yesterday morning.

The three new- other wives had left early in the morning. You heard their teary good-byes to Tengen from your room’s opened window, the mission they were being sent on apparently dangerous. Promises to write letters were exchanged, the women well-versed in what Tengen expected of them for such a task.

Return to me alive, in one piece. If your life is at risk, abandon the mission and come back home.

Was your disappearance the reason he cared for each as such?

You pondered on things past, present and future as you crept into the kitchen. Thankfully, every room remained as it used to be. The room you slept in was actually supposed to be your own lounge room, where Tengen would not enter, where you could keep your privacy and spend time alone. He had his own, or at least used to have one. With three other occupants, it was hard to guess if he kept it or gave it away to one of them.

There was a breakfast ready for you already, a lone spread for one at the head of the table. You stared at it and tried to imagine how it would look with all of them. Did Tengen sit at the head or did he sit in between his wives? Did they all sit differently each time?

Could you handle being the fourth wife?

You didn’t know. The idea seemed unfathomable yesterday.

You hid in your room the whole day after eating. The sun was setting slowly, creating a warm hue in your little burrow.

The dream you had had during the night brought a bone-deep ache for what was - what used to be. You felt exhausted from all the thinking; you were almost certain you could accept the new-wives situation, but it entirely depended on their attitude and personalities as well as Tengen’s approach to this whole scenario.

A knock interrupted the sound of silence you slowly came to enjoy that day. “[Name]?” came Tengen’s muffled voice. “Are you there?”

For a moment, you were tempted to remain silent, though you knew he knew you were in there. He could hear your hitched breath when he knocked, your heart beating, your clothes rustling.

In the end, you resisted and said, “Come in.”

He opened the sliding door slowly, revealing his hunched over frame. It was surprising to see the normally confident man in such disposition, even despite the chaos of the past twenty four hours.

Tengen stood at the threshold of your space, not really looking at you, instead staring at your collarbone, which stood out sharper than it used to. “May I-?” He still asked for permission to enter. Your heart swelled with affection, nearly cracking in half from the overwhelming strength of your feelings.

“You may come in, yes,” you told him, sitting up on the futon you laid on before he came. “What brings you here?”

He took a hesitant step forward, then another and another until he knelt at your side a respectful distance away from you. “I want to- no, I need to know, what has happened to you?”

You freeze, breath stuttering at his question. Your hands clutched at the blanket covering your legs.

Tengen knew he hit a sensitive spot and he didn’t want to press you further but this was a matter of utmost importance to him - he had to know what happened to you so he could help you, fix the ache and make it right. It was for both - for you and for him.

“Show me, precious, please,” he whispered hoarsely. “Show me what’s hiding under your shield, under that yukata, please…” His voice broke as he bowed his head humbly.

Your head buzzed with thoughts, mental barriers rising and crumbling at the speed of light, incessant battle between hope and desolation. In the end, all you could do was empty your head, shove your emotions down to your stomach and show him all of yourself - let him be the judge and executioner of your future.

You slowly got up to your knees and loosened your obi with the resignation of a soldier walking to frontlines.

The yukata he gave you was silk. For the first time in a long time, sliding a cloth off your body didn’t send fire down your nerves from the pain. Inch by inch, familiar and unfamiliar parts of you were revealed to his intense stare.

You knew what he saw. Hideous scars and disfigured flesh. And compared to his new wives? You were nothing. It was a harsh reminder of the chasm of worth between you and the three.

The yukata slipped all the way down and you had the urge to cover yourself again.

“Oh, precious…”

Tengen’s voice sounded muffled to you as you focused on a wall decoration behind his form, your mind blocking out its stressor. There was a kakejiku, a hanging scroll, with a blood-red cherry tree and black flower petals. It sparked a memory deep in your mind, but you couldn’t figure out what it was. There were exactly eight roots but only one branch, and the inversion of the usual colors was so strange.

“-ious? Precious, please answer me-”

You snapped out of it and exhaled, the sound closer to a death rattle than a breath. “What-?”

He was much closer than before, looking you in the eyes rather than staring at your body. His hands were outstretched as if he wanted to hold you but he wasn’t touching you.

Your focus snapped back like a badly tied rope under pressure. Body. Scars. Mission. Tengen.

Tengen, Tengen, Tengen.

“Precious, please, tell me-”

The half-feral look in his eyes broke you, cracked you open. “I was stretched too thin… I didn’t know what-” You stopped yourself before you started spilling everything. Despite it being over, you couldn’t disclose what exactly happened, it was too ingrained inside of you - a kunoichi from birth. “I was losing my sight of the end… I wished for it to end, I wished to go home, to you.”

“You’re home, I’m here. Please, let me in, precious. Please.”

“... I was losing my mind,” the admission was hushed. Even the nature outside seemed to quieten down for you. “I thought of ending it.”

‘-of ending myself’ went unspoken, but Tengen heard it, loud and clear. His heart thundered in his chest, drowning out all else than your breathing, your heartbeat.

“Can I touch you?”

You turned to him, staring at his hands as if they were knives.

“Can I touch just your hands then?” The tremor of his voice betrayed the way he felt. He offered his own to you, palms up and relaxed, as if giving an offering to something divine, way more than you yourself were. “Please.”

Hesitantly, and oh so slowly, you reached out to him. You hovered your hands above his for a moment, watching to see if he would grab you. When he didn’t, you made contact. His body seemed to run much hotter than before, warming your cold skin. There were more calluses - different ones than before.

The feeling of his warm palms against yours sent shivers down your spine. You looked him in the eyes, both of you nearly holding your breath as the moment lingered.

His hands - so huge compared to yours - slid up your arms oh so slowly. His left hand encountered a jagged piece of flesh first. He froze. Taking a deep breath, Tengen shuffled to your right side. On the back of your shoulder reaching halfway down your arm was a burn scar, ugly and twisted, you knew. Phantom pain throbbed in the skin.

He leaned down. A feather light kiss was placed upon the start of the scar, then another an inch above it, his hot breath and soft lips making it feel better. There was nothing else you could focus on other than his gentle kisses being laid all over the rough flesh.

Every touch of his lips against your skin felt like absolution, like validation, like worship. But that couldn't be right - you deserved no absolution, no worship. You deserved to rot, you should have never come here, to him. You should have realized he'd have a life already, a new wife or three and- and-

His searing hot palms trailed over your shoulder blades, gentle, almost not there. You glanced over your shoulder; he’d closed his eyes, perhaps respecting your privacy despite touching you so intimately, reaching deep into the hurt of your body and soul, soothing you.

His touch brushed down your back, large palms encompassing the entirety of it as he went down, over your panties to-

His breath hitched. Your heart seemed to stop. His thumbs reached the first scar of your thighs, the first of many many many carved into your thighs and calves, each one deliberate, each as ugly as the previous, meant to hurt and humiliate. These were not battle scars. Only one thing could cause this.

You could still hear the cracks, loud like thunder and burning furrows into your skin, tearing the flesh asunder.

And then there was a kiss.

Your thighs quivered and gave out, arms colliding harshly with the ground, a shock of pain that made you cry out, tears finally spilling down your cheeks.

"[Name]!"

You fell over onto your forearms, cradling your head in your hands as you started to sob. The tatami dug into your skin, distracting you from the emotional turmoil. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine- This. Is. Nothing.” You panted and shivered but started to calm down bit by bit.

Two warm hands were touching your hips lightly, a reassuring skin contact, not moving, just there.

“I’m fine now,” you breathed out shakily.

The hands trembled and the next kiss on your thigh was wet. His hot breath washed over your skin. You were suddenly too sensitive.

His lips made contact with each scar, again and again he kissed away the memories and the pain.

Wet droplets fell onto your calves, one by one, soothing over your heated skin. The sensation made your tears come faster, staining the tatami floors as you shook all over.

You could not believe how he made you feel so loved, cherished, with such a simple gesture as kissing your scars. Tengen, your husband, your one and only, the reason you came out of that mission alive and with your limbs intact.

“Pl-please-” You didn’t know what you were begging for but he gave it to you either way. His lips were more trailing over the skin than kissing by then, his tongue darting out to lick at the tears he left on your calves.

His palms moved up your body gently once he’d kissed the bone-deep ache away, rough palms so soft over your bottom, spine, shoulder blades - the burn scar - and only then did you notice he knelt at your side. You were still hunched over, blind to everything but your sense of touch and hearing his voice.

Tengen whispered, “Precious… Get up- for me? Please.”

Your limbs were shaky like a newborn foal as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position. Eyes teary, only a Tengen-shaped blob was clear to you. “‘m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You heard more than saw him kneel in front of you, his fingers gentle as he wiped away your tears. “Never apologize.”

His own face was slightly puffy from crying, and wasn’t that an unflashy sight? The great shinobi Tengen, kneeling over your nearly naked form, jaw clenched, crying nearly as much as you, a wild look in his eyes, feral with grief.

You saw that look in his eyes once before, when his brothers…

His hands trembled when he cradled your cheeks, his breath shaky when he kissed your forehead. “You’re so brave, so strong… I’m glad you’re back, that you’re here, with me. I now realize this, before you came back… my world was in black and white. When I saw you on the street yesterday, it was as if you were the only thing in color. You brought color back into my life,” he admitted in a choked whisper. “I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Rain started to pelt the roof outside the room, distant thunder echoing faintly.

“I’ll always love you, scars and all. This is my promise, now and forever, precious, til death do us part.”

Your thoughts tangled in messy knots, your brain telling you one thing and Tengen telling you the other. You had no chance to even begin searching for the start or the end of the whole disarray that was your mindscape.

A long exhale from the man in front of you drew your attention. His gentle palms continued their journey down your body, caressing down your neck, chest, torso…

Tengen stopped- stopped moving his hands, stopped breathing. Smooth flesh caught his notice, way too smooth. Wild eyes looked down. Bright red and shiny, half torn, half precise cut scar spanning the length of your stomach. His fingertips traced it softly, yet it still sent shockwaves of pain down your nerves.

You flinched-

He made a sound of distress.

- your mind bringing forth the memory before you could focus on anything else.

You realized what you had to do in that second. It couldn’t stay inside.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” Your hand fumbled with the only kunai you kept poison-free and pointed it to the sluggishly bleeding wound, panting heavily. “It’s okay, it’s okay, [Name]. Your hands are the steadiest of the family. You skinned fugu fish for Tengen regularly. This is nothing.”

This is nothing.

The tip of the knife was buried deep underneath the skin.

This is nothing.

The kunai pressed into your belly and you made a quick and precise cut, widening the stab wound.

This is Nothing.

You dropped the kunai and the fingers of your dominant hand delved inside the opening.

This Is Nothing.

Tears fell down your cheeks at the nauseating and painful feeling, trying to focus on the feeling on your fingertips instead.

This Is NOTHING.

You found the shrapnel. It embedded itself into your finger as you pulled it out.

THIS IS NOTHING.

You vomited.

“-ame]? [Name]! You’re with me, with Uzui Tengen. You’re in my- our estate. It’s night time, Saturday. [Name], can you hear me? Please, answer me, precious. I can’t- can’t-”

The mission madness receded, the fog in your mind clearing up. You were panting heavily, sweating as if you had a fever. “Ten- gen-”

“I’m here, I’m right here, precious. What did I do wrong? What did I do? Say the word and I’ll fix it- please-”

“S-stop-” you tried to focus on something other than his frantic energy.

His hands, so warm, holding your waist lightly. His thumbs, so gentle, caressing the skin in circles. His scent, so home, calming you down.

Tengen’s presence tethered you back to Earth.

“Don’t talk,” you choked out. You had to focus.

What could you see? Tengen, tatami mats, silk yukata, futon, the hanging scroll.

What could you hear? Your heavy breathing, rain, Tengen’s soft breaths, your pounding heart.

What could you feel? The cold air, the tatami mats, Tengen’s warmth.

“Okay, okay,” you breathed out softly. The tight downward spiral winding in your chest released slowly. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In, and out.

“You don’t have to tell me anything- I’m so so sorry. What can I-? Is there anything I can-?”

You took his hands in yours and squeezed tightly twice. Are you okay? He squeezed back once. Yes.

“Breathe… I’m fine now.” His breathing cadence was very close to hyperventilating. Guilt crept up your spine. You’d brought the Great Shinobi Tengen, your husband, to his knees twice in just as many days. You should suffer for such a crime for Ten Thousand Years.

“You’re not fine, precious. You’re far from- But you’re here with me, I will make it be fine. Give me a chance-”

The air was practically saturated with emotion, tension and everything between Hell and Heaven imaginable. You clutched each other’s hands with desperation. You kept eye contact - an uncontrollable typhoon holding its breath in anticipation, before it unleashed its full power.

He kissed you with the hunger of a starving dog. It was clear he was fighting with himself, alternating erratically between devouring you and feather-light kisses so tender it made your toes curl. He bit you and soothed the bite, he caressed you and lapped at you. It was dizzying.

You were just as thirsty for him though, positively parched for his kisses, his affection, his taste and his love. You savored every second of it, as if you would die should you separate but for a millisecond.

“I burn for you,” he breathed against your lips, diving in once more.

You remembered the times when he ate you out for his pleasure, how he nearly got off of it more than you did. But today, this time, you wouldn’t be able to handle such vulnerability, your emotions too raw from… whatever that was a few minutes ago - validation? Worship?

At the same time you needed him, needed the closeness sex brought to you both. And the same need drove you to break the kiss and push him onto his back as you straddled his hips. He let you, surrendering to you completely despite your feeble strength compared to his. You made quick work of his obi and pulled his yukata open.

An amused huff left you when you saw he had no underwear. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”

Tengen blushed in embarrassment. “Maybe…” he muttered.

You smirked a little, “Impossible man.”

“Your impossible man, always yours.” He gave you a soft look, a smile gracing his handsome features. His arms remained relaxed, not reaching to pull down your underwear at all, content to be the perfect pillow princess.

That was fine, you wanted to set the pace anyway.

With a quick movement, your panties were off. You ground against his quickly-hardening member, your slick quickly covering him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he took a deep breath through his nose, eyes lidded.

Before he could stop you, you were lining him up to your entrance, going right for his cock like an overly eager virgin. The stretch burned like nothing else. You had to take your time, bullying more and more with quick shallow thrusts onto him. You kept going despite the pain for if you stopped, you wouldn’t be able to continue.

“You’re doing amazing, precious,” he ground out, doing his best not to slam you down onto his length. It’s been too long for you, and really, he should have prepared you, but you were so impatient you couldn’t last a second longer without him inside.

When you bottomed out, you sighed in relief, staying seated and cockwarming your husband for the first time in years. You hadn’t even noticed you started to weep quietly until Tengen’s thumbs wiped your tears away.

Something drew your attention though.

There was a small beauty mark near the heel of his right palm, right by his pulse point. Eyes focused on only that mark, your hand grasped his wrist gently and pulled it closer to your lips. You kissed the beauty mark, a feather-light brush of your lips, his heartbeat jumping at the action.

His eyes held yours prisoner when you looked up. The soft look he was giving you nearly made you tear up again, feeling too vulnerable. Instead of that, you rolled your hips.

The reaction was immediate, his head fell back, mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ at the spasm of your muscles. The movement stirred your guts uncomfortably, telling you you weren’t adjusted to him filling you up again yet.

“Fuuuhck-” he groaned. His hands gripped your hips in a tight hold, almost bruising. Tengen seemed to have realized what he was doing a moment later and let up, just holding you gently. “Ngh- you’re making me crazy, love.”

His cock kept twitching inside of you, and it had to be hard to hold back on fucking up into you. Well, you guessed this would be his punishment for all the crying you did today. You already knew you’d have a headache tomorrow.

“Can I-” his hesitant words drew your attention to him again, “can I touch you, please?” Tengen was biting his lip, his eyes practically filled with desperation.

You paused - and nodded.

One of his hands trailed down to your clit, circling it with his thumb gently. By this point, your slick reached it, so the caresses were smooth and pleasurable. He stared at where the two of you connected intently as if he was trying to memorize the sight.

Each little brush of his finger, you relaxed around his length more and more and one slow touch in particular made your hips jerk from the sudden pleasure. Your breath hitched in your throat and you closed your eyes.

“You were made for me,” Tengen murmured, not stopping his work. He had an urge, a need to worship you, to make you feel good, make you feel so good that you would never think of leaving him. You would never leave, you would stay right where you are, forever content to warm his cock inside your plush pussy, letting him be the sole reason for your life. He wanted that, craved it even - making you stay and be his wife again. But- “I don't deserve this, don't deserve you.”

When your eyes finally opened again, they were filled with unshed tears. “I love you, I never stopped loving you,” you choked out. Saying those words felt like absolution. Previously unnoticed heavy weight fell off your shoulders and you reached for both of his hands - stopping his slow motions on your clit - with your own, intertwining them in an intimate hold.

“Then make me yours again, please, please take me. I need it, I need you,” he told you in a hushed whisper, a flush taking over his face as he studied your figure above him.

You reveled in his attention, savored it, starting a slow pace, using your connected hands for support. “Mhm~” The drag of his thick cock against your sensitive walls felt amazing. You’d nearly forgotten how good it felt to have him inside of you, how good it felt to be linked together like this - two pieces of puzzle completing the whole picture.

“There- chase your pleasure-” he whimpered as you rolled your hips every time you bottomed out, desperate for more friction. “Use me, my body, my cock, whatever you need, precious."

You tried to find the right angle, the one that made you scream back when you were younger. “I’ve missed you so much-” your breath hitched in your throat when his tip hit just right inside of you and you closed your eyes. You let out a breathy Fuck when you repeated the action, your pussy spasming around him. Every sensation seemed heightened. You couldn’t get enough.

Now that you’ve hit your stride, your pace went from slow and sensual to quick and sloppy. Tengen offered all the support with his steady hands as you needed. The whole act was so familiar, yet new in so many ways. His breathing pattern was different while he was balls-deep in you; yours was too - your body was long ways from your top form when you were a teenager, but he seemed to be stronger than ever.

He appeared to be as lost in the pleasure as you were starting to be. “You look so beautiful- ngh- bouncing on my cock-!” he ground out between clenched teeth. “You’re so tight.”

His hips bucked up on accident, making you cry out. A coil was winding inside of you; you were balancing on the precipice of your first orgasm in what seemed like forever, sensitive to every small shift of your connected bodies. The anticipation of what was coming kept you going despite the burn in your thighs.

Tengen’s hands clenched yours tighter. You peeked at him with half-lidded eyes, still chasing your release urgently.

His mouth hung open, nearly drooling, chest heaving with soft pants; eyes clenched shut, brows furrowed, his entire expression as if he were in pain instead of rearranging your guts - as if he were the one who was getting his insides rearranged. A bright blush on his face was just a highlight of the whole picture.

The sight just hurled you closer to the edge with the speed of sound. Your pussy clung to his cock impossibly tight.

“Fuck- You’re close, I can feel it-” he said in a strained voice, almost wheezing. His eyes opened, tears falling from the intensity of his pleasure.

The thickly-wound knot snapped.

Your mouth fell open, agape. A loud stuttered moan echoed in the room, much more high-pitched than you thought yourself capable of. Tengen whimpered underneath you as you clutched his hands with a death-grip.

“There you go. You’re so beautiful…”

Your ears rang, his voice a muffled background noise. Your hips jerked involuntarily with another shock of pleasure, squeezing around him again. “Fu- precious - hah - you milk my cock just as good as I remember…”

You slowly came down from your high, drained. Your thighs trembled despite sitting your whole weight on his lap. Sweat ran down your back, your ribs and your hair stuck to your face yet you could care less when you looked your love in the eyes with a new clarity in your mind.

He always made you feel amazing - in bed and out of it. You would give this new form of marriage a chance. Once the three wives returned from their mission, you would give them a chance. All this, just for Tengen.

“Can I…?” The question was hesitant, and your heart swelled with affection for this man, for your husband. He was so gentle with you, as if you would break like glass if handled improperly.

“Use me for your pleasure, Tengen,” you smiled warmly.

“Oh lord-” His eyes nearly rolled back into his skull when you gave him permission so sweetly.

He grabbed you by your waist, lifting you a little, pace sloppy and so wet each thrust came with a loud squelch as he fucked up into you roughly.

“I- won’t- last-” his thrusts stuttered very quickly in his frantic race to finish fast. Poor Tengen must have been about to cum when you had your release, yet he held back to not overwhelm you. “Fuck!”

“Don’t hold back, give it to me. Cum, Tengen.”

“Oh god- Yes. Yes-” The sound he emitted was an unholy guttural moan, his whole body shook, tears gathering at his lash line. He pressed harshly against your cervix, spurts of cum painting your inner walls white and filling you to the brim.

You caught your breath slowly. “There is no god up here…”

Tengen grinned lazily at you and panted out, “... other than- Me. You- hah - you remembered.”

He kept rutting into you with very slow thrusts, shallow yet so deep, as if he wanted to force more of his cum inside. His cock kept twitching and his thighs shook, the muscles of his abdomen jumping and rolling underneath his skin.

His semen leaked out around him mixed with your juices. Only when pleasure turned into pain of overstimulation did he stop. “You make me dizzy. You’ve always made me so dizzy…” He pulled you down to him, your head against his chest and his arms encircling you in a blanket of safety and warmth.

You melted in his embrace, breathing in his scent combined with yours. The smell of sex was heady, and would have sent you both into another quick rut before your mission. Neither of you moved though, you kept his cock and cum warm and he kept your body warm, a perfect harmony of two lovers.

“We should clean up soon,” Tengen whispered, making no move to get up.

“I don’t want to go anywhere. I just want to stay here, in your arms…” Your words had a double meaning. Your husband was your soul’s mate, and as such, he picked up on both, understanding your meaning in between.

“Then stay, don't go.” Instead of moving you, he reached for the blanket and threw it over both of you. “I’m so lucky I have you back… The luckiest… I feel like I could fly. You bring Heaven down to me, precious,” he murmured, stroking your back gently.

The simple gesture brought back so many memories, though foggy as they may be. You decided that it wasn’t such a bad thing. You could look back once in a while, but you needed to go forward and rebuild what was broken. And you had the best helper for that - after all, who was stronger than the Great Shinobi Tengen.

“I love you, Uzui Tengen.”

The idea of a first wife coming home to three more has been living rent-free in my mind for months. I'm making it your problem.

There might be part 2 but only after my brain recuperates from this entire work.

Part 2

#desi writing #uzui tengen x reader #uzui tengen #tengen x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #smut #angst #KNY fic #demon slayer fic #kakushino

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sukunas-wife · 11 months ago

Note

can you do something about sukuna when a curse hits him and he ends up turning into a little baby and the reader will have to take care of her husband and son because they are both identical 😸

Please 😭😭 It’s terrible now that Yuji is the same height as his daddy he couldn’t be more ecstatic about being able to swing on him only to learn Ryomen can very much still use his Domain Expansion 🥹 I don’t know why it got sad out of now where that unwanted child comments been haunting me all week 😭🤍

“Oh Ryomen…” you couldn’t help but stare sympathetically at your husband who was now just over 3 feet drowning in his clothes. Yuji was right there hugging his neck, “We’re the same height daddy now we can play!”

You wanted to tell Yuji not to see how Sukuna was trembling with teary eyes, the anger being too much for his little body. You wanted to coo at him but you felt so bad seeing him so small, finally you turned to your lady in waiting who was bowing on the floor in front of your little boys. “Lord Sukuna forgive I’m so sorry forgive me please I had no intention of doing this forgive me forgive me forgive me I beg for your mercy-“ she was cut off when a gash was sliced across her face, it wasn’t enough to kill her but enough to mark her as incompetent. You had to look away, his little chubby face was tilted back with an aggravated look his eyes were looking down on her. Yuji was still hugging and rubbing his face against his “daddy’s' ' shoulder. You almost thought he deserved a brother.

There you were picking him up to keep him from killing your lady in waiting. You expected him to kick and throw a tantrum instead he turned in your arms burying his face in your shoulder holding on tight to your robes. Yuji was pouting when he handed you his dads oversized robe that you tried to use to cover him up. He laid there sniffling, you could feel the heat of his face and the occasional tear.

“Aww is my little prince crying.” You could help but take his face in your hand and kiss all over his face. He wasn’t like Yuji who would start laughing and perk up, he put his hand on your lips stopping you while staring you down. You stared at each other until your fake bit his chubby fingers and he cracked a small smile. “Cmon Yuji, we need some of your clothes.”

Yuji perked up, taking your hand and looking up at his dad. He wanted to play but he guessed his dad can’t just run around naked. You were doing your best to dress Sukuna but this is how it went.

“Let’s see what we have,” you pulled out white pants and a white shirt, “No.”

“This?” It was a robe Yuji would wear in the summer, “No.”

“What about these?” You pulled out a fancy little set Yuji wore in one of your family portraits, “Nuh uh”

“Oh oh! What about this one daddy!” You watched Yuji jump out of the Chester of clothes, it was a costume he asked you to ask one of your ladies in waiting who was a good seamstress to make. It was Ryomen’s Iconic white robe, blue belt and scarf. It had matching socks also, this is what Sukuna got excited about. He took it from Yuji, not hesitating to strip from his oversized coat and into his new smaller robes. “Perfect.”

You saw him standing on the bed next to Yuji, Yuji looked so excited and you looked away. “I don’t need another, I don't need another, I don't need another.”

“Woman!” You turned back to Sukuna. His small voice was nowhere near as demanding or authoritative. You saw Yuji slide off the bed and run off, “I am hungry.” You cleared your throat, “right, let’s get you something to eat .” You looked around “Yuji baby are hungry?” “Nooo!” His voice was shaky, “‘m looking for something i'll eat later!” You watched as bent over half hanging in the drawer of clothes. “Are you sure?” “Mhmm!” “Alright, we’ll be in the kitchen if you get hungry okay?” He nodded “ookaay mommy” Sukuna slid off the bed and you couldn’t help but take his little hand, you looked at Yuji missing the look of shock on Ryomen’s face. You only looked back when you felt his little hand squeeze yours tighter. Your soft smile when you looked down at him. He wanted to rip his hand away and cross his arms over his chest, he’s not weak and he doesn’t need a hand to hold. He snapped his head away and you felt how his hand was shaky while he held on tight. “What’s wrong Ryomen?” He didn’t look at you, but you could see the red on his face, the little gloss over his eyes, you thought to yourself, ‘he’s probably never held someone’s hand. He was the cursed unwanted wretch of a child..’

You spent the next hour treating him like a complete child, the baby talk, sitting him on the counter and squishing his little cheeks even if he threatened to bite you, you never did. The way you’d hug him and kiss his cheeks and forehead. Letting him eat off the spoon while you cooked, he didn’t give you the cute little reactions Yuji did but his little puffed out cheeks and puts squeezed your heart. There you stood in front of him, he was sitting on the counter with an almost empty bowl. You watched him slurp the last of his noodles and awed at his little smile when he looked up at you. You could help but take his face in your hands and kiss his forehead, “My little baby boy.” He put his bowl down when you hugged him and did his best to hug you, his face on your chest, you let your chin rest on his head. “I love you Ryo.” He didn’t make a sound. You ran your hand up and down his back, “you okay baby?” He just hummed.

“Daddy!” You pulled away and broke into a big smile when you saw Yuji standing in the door. “Awww Yu.” You couldn’t help but coo over him. He was dressed exactly like Ryomen, and even had a poorly drawn mark on his forehead. You sat Yuji down to eat listening to him explain how he looked for the costume because he knew he had more than one and now he and daddy could play the King of Curses game he had just made up. Sukuna was standing by your side pulling on your sleeve while Yuji was stuffing his face quickly. You saw him, you genuinely saw him as a child in that instance. He didn’t have any marks on face or wrists. He looked naked, you had to stifle your laugh when he mumbled something you didn’t catch. “Daddy needs a mark too!” Was all Yuji said pointing at his own forehead. After Yuji finished eating you sat them both in front of your vanity, cleaning off their faces and taking a black pigment to draw the little mark Ryomen usually had on his forehead on both of them. They were almost identical twins except for the fact Yuji’s light brown eyes were innocent compared to Sukuna’s red eyes that now held a look of mischief.

before you knew it they were off. Both of them were running out into the garden racing to see who would get there first. It was a competition of who was better now. Still you trailed behind, calling your ladies in waiting to accompany you.

It was chaos, they tore up flowers, left muddy patches in the grass, their white robes were filthy at the bottoms and the pigments on their foreheads were running from sweating. Sukuna tackled Yuji and they tumbled into the koi pond, they were laughing and soaking wet, slipping while they tried to climb out. It was cute how they crawled out and laid on the grass. Your boys, laughing and kicking their legs, it made you awe. There was no doubt in your mind Ryomen didn’t get to experience this kind of fun from the very very faint and little details he’d given you of his past.

——————

It’s been a week, you woke up this morning sore and tired. Sukuna was half lying into your chest drooling and snoring, Yuji was laying backwards, he was spread out a foot pressed into your cheek the other on the pillow, one of his hands was spread out the other loosely holding Ryomens hand.

You tried to move, Yuji sat up slowly, not moving his foot from your face. You tried to sit up and Ryomen whined shaking his head back and forth protesting your sitting up. Still you held him in your lap as he clung to you with one hand, Yuji tried to wiggle into your lap hugging your other side. “‘’M sleepy” the weight of your mini husband and son drug you back down to the bed. You caved and fell back asleep pulling both of them into your sides.

You woke up screaming, jumping up in panic, running out the room ready to grab your kids just to find them tripping and tying up eunuchs to draw on their faces. They were squatting around a poor eunuch's face. Yuji was covering his smile with his little fists, and Sukuna was on his knees and one hand, the other drawing on his face, his tongue stuck out in concentration. You had to breathe and your lady in waiting ran up to you, “Lady y/n are you alright?! You ran out in just your intimate robes.” You sighed your heart beating in your throat “Yes, I just heard screaming so I was panicked.” It was scary, their heads snapped to look at you like wolves. They heard you and it was over, they were running over to you and you felt intimidated which led to you running back to your room being chased by Ryomen and Yuji.

“No! Stop, stop! No!” Your cries were in vain when they managed to take you down after entering your room. Laid out on the floor Sukuna sat on your butt leaning back into your back like a lounge, you groaned lifting your head to find Yuji squatting in front of you. “Mornin mommy.” You rested your cheek against your folded arms ��Good Morning baby.”

——————-

It was another week, you were sitting on a stool in the bathroom robes pushed back, Ryomen was sitting between your legs on a smaller stool while you scrubbed him down. Yuji was splashing in the water, his skin tinted red from being scrubbed down also. Sukuna was angry, pouting with his fists pushed into his knees. “Ryo if you didn’t wanna be scrubbed then you shouldn’t have chased that skunk! Now both of you stink. And look at this!” You ran a hand through his hair little grains of dirt could be felt, “you still have sand in your hair.” He huffed before he crossed his arms over his chest, puffing out his cheeks. “M not stinky woman! It’s called manly musk!” You laughed “Manly musk, the only thing manly about you right now is your name Ryomen.” He yelped when you poured water over him, side eyeing you before you told him to go soak in the fragrant bath. The smell lingered on their clothes. You had them Burned and the handmaid's were quick to make new ones before they finished soaking.

——————

It was the start of the third week, you wanted your oversized husband back. You were tired of waking up to someone in your ribs and a foot in your face. The two had become so similar you ended up saying the wrong name three or four times before you got it right. The robes and painted marks didn’t help either. But here you were reclining on the front steps of the temple watching them one more time. Sukuna felt it before you saw him, Kenjaku was coming.

“What do you want!” He was bratty and snapping at him when he was in sight.

“Oh, I didn’t know the king of curses had another son. An exact replica I would say too.” Kenjaku picked him up by the scruff of his robes, Sukuna was kicking and wiggling before Yuji ran over “Let him go!” And started beating the man’s legs. Kenjaku shook Sukuna, “hey Kid is Ryomen Sukuna home or isn’t he?” “M not answering you.”

Kenjaku’s eye twitched “Why not?” “Because your brain is freaky! Who needs to open their heads, freak!” Yuji screamed, still swinging on Kenjaku’s leg. Kenjaku tried to lightly push Yuji back and that’s when Sukuna smacked his hands together, “DOMAIN EXPANSION”

It was unstable, he was Ryomen Sukuna, but his cursed energy was the same as a child’s.

You heard the chime and drip. Everything in you lit up and you started running, what the hell was happening Yuji, Ryo please please don’t do anything stupid.

“Ah shit-“ Kenjaku was quick to make his disappearance at the scene when he heard your steps.

“Ryomen!” You took a deep breath “Yuji!” You could feel the residuals of another person.

“What happened!?” You were kneeling in front of Sukuna, hands on his shoulders with a panicked look. He was okay, that was until you heard sniffles and crying. You snapped around Yuji was sitting on the floor with a gash across his crying. You let Sukuna go and ran over to Yuji picking him up. “Shh shh shh, it’s okay let me see.” You tried to pull his hands away from his face. There were cuts across his nose and across one of his eyebrows. “come here Yu.” You sat on the ground pulling him into your lap even when he resisted while crying. Placing your hand carefully on his face cupping his cheek you started to use your reverse cursed technique to heal cuts.

You watched as they closed and slowly started to heal over. You didn’t notice how Sukuna looked scared, for once the king of curses looked vulnerable. When you were done with Yuji, what were you going to do to him? Were you going to abuse him the way his parents had? Would you treat him like a wretch, an unwanted curse. Would you scream at him and raise your hand at him? “…Yuji…” his voice was so small when he tried to get closer. You turned to him, you saw those teary eyes and you were confused, when you licites your hand to try and pull him closer he flinched away. “What’s wrong Ryo?” He watched you put your hand down on Yuji who stopped crying. He looked down, shaking his head, before Yuji spoke up “m Okay it wasn’t too bad.”

Both of you saw how Sukuna’s eyes looked up but he wouldn’t lift his face. You nodded with your head, “Come here Ryo.” He slowly walked over hands behind his back before standing next to you still not looking you in the eye. “You okay?” Your hand came up to touch his back and he just stood there, Yuji was still sitting in your lap looking up at his dad. You watched those little tears drip off his chin, before you pulled him down into your side hugging him, “Don’t cry Sukuna, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t mean to hurt Yuji.” Yuji crawled over trying to hug him also, “‘ts okay.”

You did your best to hold both of them, rubbing their heads with your hands as they held onto you. Taking turns in kissing their heads and rubbing their backs. Sukuna still hadn’t said anything, “m sorry.” His voice was shaky and you squeezed him harder, “oh Ryomen.” You sat there holding both of them until One of them fell asleep. Yuji walked beside you while you carried his mini dad, this was the only time you’d ever be able to carry him without his soul crushing weight. Yuji ran off to his room. When you made it inside, you took Sukuna to your shared room, laying him on the bed. Brushing his hair back carefully, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, “I love you Ryo, none of this was your fault, you shouldn’t have to carry burdens that aren’t yours.” Pulling the blanket over him you sat down, you saw his eyes barely open before he fell asleep again.

——————-

“Y/n…” it was the soft call of your name that woke you up.

Yuji was sitting in your lap holding on to you. You back was stiff and your neck popped when you tried to stretch.

“Hm,” you didn’t bother trying to open your eyes. “Woman,” you sat up trying to rub your eyes and not let your sleeping Yuji fall, “Ryomen?” There he was in his full frontal glory that made you do a double take before looking up at him, “Where’s your clothes???”

He ignored your question, taking your face in one of his hands, he leaned in closer and you were going to kiss him until he ghosted your lips and pressed a rare soft kiss to your forehead, “There is no doubt you are a fine mother.”

Squishy: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007

@cyder-puff

Perm: @sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez

@simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @dolliira @ilovemybabies378

Broken🥹: @cyder-puff @simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @dolliira @ilovemybabies378

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thelov3lybookworm · 9 months ago

Text

Not a bad decision

Summary: Dresses are stressful.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: A short lil blurb like thing which was supposed to be posted during @/starfallweek, but i decided the other fics were better, so you get this now

(also i feel like i wrote this when i was sleepy even though i did not because this fic's writing feels a lil different from all my other ones 🤷🏻‍♀️)

well well guess who forgot to name the fic. IT WAS MEEEEE

anyways, Enjoy!

Dresses were not something Y/n was interested in, that much would be clear to anything with a pulse and a brain.

They were something everyone around Y/n was interested in though, and she felt like a rabbit among deers as Feyre gushed about the new seamstress the high lady had hired with her sisters and Mor.

"Oh mother, I am telling you Mor, she makes the most wonderful dresses. The dress I wore last week that you loved? She made it."

Y/n tuned them out, or tried to anyway. They were too loud, so loud that even the mother would have begged them to shut up.

"Y/n?"

Y/n blinked, glancing up from where she was sharpening her daggers to keep them ready for if she had to go to a mission in the near future.

"Yes?"

"Elain asked you what you were going to be wearing to the party." Mor told her, a knowing gleam in her eye.

"Oh." Y/n straightened, clearing her throat as she tried to think of an excuse to what she knew was coming. "Um, I think I'll be getting some new leathers, maybe a new shirt-"

"A shirt?" Nesta questioned, her eyes incredulous.

"Uh yes?" Y/n's cheeks were blazing, and she understood why it was shocking to the newer additions in the Inner circle like Nesta and Elain as they had only recently been made fae, and even then it had been rare for the to attend family parties.

"Y/n hasn't worn dresses in centuries." Mor explained, making Y/n deflate a little in relief.

"But why?"

"That, I don't know."

Y/n rolled her eyes at that. "Wearing a dress is not convenient. I can't fight in it."

And she looked weird in them. She never thought herself beautiful enough to look good or even begin to compare to the other beautiful females, so she never tried to wear anything other than her trusty leathers.

Nesta gave Y/n a look, and having become very close with Nesta to the point where Y/n had even started to consider her a sister, Y/n knew that look meant no good.

"No one is going to try to rip out your throat at a high lord's party you know."

Y/n smiled at Nesta, playing coy as Feyre announced that the seamstress had arrived and was waiting for them in the sitting room. "You never know Nesta, you never know."

"You are wearing a dress for this party. I won't take no for an answer."

Y/n's eyes widened when she realised Nesta was not bluffing. "I- I can't-"

"You will." Nesta muttered, her sentence ending in Y/n's cry of shock as Nesta grabbed Y/n's arm and dragged her over to where the other ladies had disappeared into the sitting rom.

Mother help me.

Nesta knew about Y/n's harmless little crush on Azriel. Of course she did. She knew everything.

She also insisted that this crush was not harmless, giving some stupid reason how Y/n was getting shyer and more concerned about what Azriel thought about her, leading to her becoming more secluded.

Y/n did not believe Nesta's wild accusations though. She was sure this little infatuation would go away with time, even if it hadn't in the past three hundred years.

"Y/n, are you coming or should I arrange your funeral?"

Y/n rolled her eyes at Nesta's absurd statement as she began walking towards the door.

"And why would you do that?"

Y/n found Nesta glaring at her when she opened her bedroom door.

"Because it sure seems like you were taking your time dying in there."

Y/n laughed, but the sound was short lived as her previous insecurities came rushing back as she glanced down at what she was wearing. She was so scared of how weird she would look she hadn't even glanced in a mirror, and now felt like it was a bad idea to be completely unaware of how she looked because now, she wished to die.

Maybe Nesta should arrange a funeral.

"How do I look?" Y/n questioned, and by the soft look on Nesta's face, Y/n knew her concerns were clear in her voice.

"If I were Azriel, I would kill myself if I wasn't the one removing that dress tonight, I'm just saying." Nesta muttered, shrugging. Y/n gaped at her.

"What- I- I don't even know what to think-"

"Good then. Stop thinking and just enjoy the party. You're already late. All the guests have arrived, and starfall is about to begin soon. We need to hurry."

Y/n nodded, and with a last skeptical look at her dress, she hurried after Nesta.

Starfall was considered a sacred night, and more so in Velaris. Plus add to that the extra and huge show off that was Rhys. The party was bound to be extravagant.

And sure enough, when Y/n stepped into the main ball room where everyone was gathered, drinking and chatting and dancing, Y/n's eyes widened in amazement. It should not have been a shock, considering Y/n had been attending these parties as part of the inner circle for the past three centuries. But this was a party thrown by Rhys, and he had an unbeatable streak of always shocking Y/n with his over the top arrangemens.

"Y/n!" Came the whining voice of Cassian, and Y/n turned to find him running towards where Nesta and Y/n stood, his head turned to look at someone behind him.

Y/n smiled. "What happened?"

At that, Cassian turned to look at the two females, an adorable pout on his lips. "Azriel is not being very nice-"

Cassian's eyes were fixed on Y/n, wide and shocked. She blinked at him, glancing down at herself, doubt again creeping in before she made herself meet his eyes.

"Cass?" Nesta mumbled, a self satisfied smirk on her face.

He blinked, glancing at Nesta for a moment before turning back to Y/n. "You- you look good."

Blood rushed to Y/n's cheeks at that. "Thank you."

He nodded, his eyes running down her frame quickly before he seemed to remember what he came here for. "Azriel. He's fighting with me."

Y/n blinked. "Fighting? For what?"

"I begged him to drink with me, and he said no. And then he was being mean and not nice at all."

Y/n laughed, patting his shoulder. "I'll take care of him, don't worry."

He seemed satisfied. "He is right next to the refreshments table."

Y/n nodded uncertainly, then went off to find Azriel.

She found him exactly where Cassian had said she would, and she walked up to him with a deep breath.

"I heard you were bullying Cassian."

He turned to meet her eyes, then froze. Y/n had to stifle the urge to cover herself somehow with the way he was studying her form. He himself looked ravishing, clad in a tight shirt and a coat.

To get some semblance of control back, she snapped her fingers in front of his unfairly handsome ace, and he startled.

That in turn startled Y/n.

She, a mere fae, had managed to startle the spymaster of night court? This was certainly new.

"I- what? Did you say something?"

He... was he... blushing?

No why would he blush?

Was he?

"I heard you were bullying Cassian?"

His brows furrowed. "I haven't seen him since this morning though."

Y/n blinked, then whipped around to glare at where Cassian and Nesta were standing, off in a dark, secluded corner, and giggling among themselves.

Y/n folded her arms across her chest, feeling betrayed, but before she could think more about that, Azriel's voice broke her focus.

"Um, Y/n? Will you- can I have a dance?"

Y/n stared at his nervously shifting form, speechless. "You- you want to dance... with me?"

He nodded, his confidence seeming to increase as he extended his hand, his gaze boring deep into Y/n's eyes. So deep it seemed to touch her soul.

Blushing, she slid her hand into his scarred one, and, in a burst of boldness, ran her thumb over the back of his hand. The move seemed to shock him, but still, he led her to the dance floor, his back straight, wings high.

As she followed behind him, she could not help but glance around in search of Nesta, a wide smile on her face when her best friend gave her a thumbs up.

Maybe this was a good idea after all.

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @eve175 @starsinyourseyes @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady @lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @gardenofrunar

Azriel Taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings @azrielsmate3 @celestialend @stqrgirlies-blog @tele86 @bakananya @xyzmeh @st4r-girl-official @caraaaaugh @nacho-nat @allllium

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel fic #acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfic #acotar fluff #acotar series #acotar writing #mating bond #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #acotar headcanon #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel x you

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peakyswritings · 3 months ago

Text

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

PART XI

Summary: the situation complicates further as Tommy’s stay in Sicily nears its end. It’s time for conversations, and things that have been buried for too long are brought to the light.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, references to past attempted assault, harassment, violence, angst, English is not my first language. This chapter is 18+, smut (I’m still not used to writing it but here we go). This is set between season 1 and 2.

Like in some previous chapters, some conversations are supposed to be in Italian but for obvious reasons I kept them in English.

A/N: sorry this is really long. I hope it makes up for the wait!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dividers credits

Tommy’s proposal to Agnese had brought quite the hustle in the Ferrante’s property. A stream of relatives and friends had been coming to congratulate the new couple in the past few days, and people continuously came and went to make the arrangements for the wedding - or simply pry in the family business. And with the engagement party being held that night, it was impossible for Nina to step out of the house without bumping into some caterer or seamstress or, if she was particularly unlucky, some cantankerous old aunt who would stray away from her as if she were the Devil incarnated.

Her mood, which was already dark to begin with, had considerably worsened, forcing her to withdraw into isolation to avoid all possible conflict. She was easily irritated, she couldn’t stand her mother’s complaints, her father’s deceitfulness, her brothers’ haughtiness, and she couldn’t help herself from talking back or snapping when something bothered her. She could tell they were fed up with her insolence, that she was treading on thin ice, but she drew a twisted satisfaction from getting on their nerves. It was the only way she had to get back at them for the hell they were putting her through. Her role in the family, the impossibility of being something more than she was expected to be, the threat of a forced marriage with Stefano that was becoming less of a prospect and more of a certainty with each day that passed. And now that. Having to watch as the marriage between Tommy and Agnese took form, pretending with her cousin she was genuinely happy for her.

It was tearing her apart from the inside. At this point, Nina couldn’t wait for them to get married, so that Tommy would leave her house, her country, and set her free from the deep ache she felt every time he was near. It would be difficult, at first, but in time she’d forget about him, about the way he made her heart race, about how safe she felt in his arms.

“I’m going over to aunt Rita,” her mother hastily walked into the kitchen, holding a sewing box in her hands. “I’m helping her embroider the bedsheets for the trousseau.”

“Mhm.” Nina merely raised her eyes from the book she was pretending to read. Hearing about bedsheets and trousseaus was the last thing she needed in that moment, especially if it had to become yet another excuse to reproach her for not having the intention to get married anytime soon.

All of a sudden the book was soon snatched from her hands. When she raised her gaze, her mother was looking at her with a stern look on her face.

“Your friend has been invited to the party,” she said bitterly, as though the matter was somehow her daughter’s fault.

Nina’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach. It didn’t take a genius to understand who said friend was.

“The whole Spinietta family has been invited,” Maria went on, slamming the book on the table.

She swallowed harshly, the implications of that gesture rapidly sinking in. “Are you serious?”

“I warned you,” her mother pointed a finger at her. “If you had listened to me, maybe it would’ve been Angelo, not him.”

Nina rolled her eyes. Again with her friend’s son. What did she want, to put a death sentence on the poor man? She grabbed the cup of tea that had grown cold in front of her, and got up to pour its content in the sink.

“Did I tell you he’s a teacher?” Maria started again. “I bet he acts all intellectual just like you.”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll intellectualise away from me. Unless he wants to get on the Spiniettas’ bad side, that is. Or dad’s.” She started to aggressively scrub the cup, taking out her anger on the fragile item. “And who says he’d be interested in me anyway?”

Her mother looked at her as if a second nose had grown on her face. Despite her unusual behaviour, Nina carried herself well, looked nice, had an education that most girls could only dream of. Her Italian was outstandingly clean, almost devoid of dialectal influences, and clear. Her brain worked incessantly, she had complex thoughts, and it was often difficult to keep up with her. Not to mention how she managed to give even men twice her age a hard time with the sole power of her words.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Maybe he’d find me ugly,” Nina shrugged, “or stupid.”

“You’re my daughter, you can’t be ugly or stupid.”

Nina let out a sigh, drying her hands on a towel. There was no point in arguing. In those situations, it was better to let her mum vent until she got tired of talking with a stone wall and gave up.

Maria dropped the sewing box on the table with a thud. Once she had her daughter’s attention back in her, she started speaking again, a grave expression on her face. “I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in. If your father says yes to Stefano, then he won’t be able to say no anymore,” she said lowly. “You need to act before he says yes.”

“He can’t force me.”

If her father really decided to go through with it, she’d drop the bomb on him that she wasn’t a virgin anymore. Maybe she could do it in front of Stefano, for the pleasure of watching his smug grin disappear from his face. Would she be irremediably deemed as a whore? Yes. Would she bring shame upon her whole family? Absolutely. It would still be better than being Spinietta’s wife.

“You can’t change my mind on this, mum,” she concluded in a tone that didn’t leave any room for discussion.

Her didn’t mother didn’t reply, but the disapproval was clear on her face.

“You know what?” Maria picked up the box from the table again and put it under her arm with a nervous gesture. “I don’t care. Do what you want,” she said sharply, leaving the kitchen.

As soon as she heard the front door closing, Nina exhaled deeply. That was another issue she’d have to deal with, apparently. She wasn’t sure her mother would give up so easily, and she was scared she’d try to act behind her back like her father was.

Her father. Her blood boiled in her veins as her mind went back to the reason why the argument she had just gotten out of had started in the first place. It was time to talk to him, to make it clear that she would never accept to marry that bastard, that she didn’t need time to decide cause she had already made up her mind. The sooner they had that conversation, the sooner all that would end. Hopefully.

Animated by a fiery resolution, Nina strode through the house with large, quick steps. She didn’t pay attention to her brothers, who were heading to the kitchen to have breakfast, nor to Tommy, who was waiting in the large hallway for her father to let him in, and was now looking at her with a puzzled look on his face.

She stormed in her father office, slamming the door behind her. He raised his head from the papers he was signing, looking at her questioningly, but not without a hint of reproach for bursting into his private room without even knocking.

“What does this mean?” Her voice came out more high-pitched than she intended. She stopped in front of the dark wooden desk, forcing him to pay attention to her.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Her father leaned back in his chair, rolling his cigar between his fingers, keeping his oblivious facade. A new wave of rage ran through Nina, but she was careful to contain it. “You invited the Spinietta family to the engagement party,” she explained through gritted teeth.

Unimpressed by her accusations, he stubbed out his cigar, then folded is hands on his lap. “The Spiniettas are close friends of ours,” he said calmly.

“Right,” she let out a humourless laugh. “You became pretty close over the last month.”

“Business is growing.”

“Ah,” she nodded, raising her eyebrows. “Business.”

Her father clenched his jaw, and from the way his shoulders had stiffened she could tell he knew exactly where the conversation was going. And that he didn’t like her mocking tone.

“Is there a problem, Nina?”

“You tell me. Is there something going on that could be a problem for me?”

She wanted to hear it from him. She wanted him to admit it out loud. She was tired of being treated like she was crazy, like she was imagining things. She wanted honesty.

Vincenzo pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as if hit by a sudden headache. “I need to talk to Mr Shelby, can we-”

“You’re talking to me,” Nina said firmly, raising her voice.

Her father straightened his back, leaning with his elbows on the wooden surface in front of him. He fixed his gaze on her, his features hardening with austerity. “Mind how you speak to me, I’m your father,” he warned her.

“So I should stay quiet while you make decisions about my life,” she spat out. The way he was trying to impose his authority on her just because he had no arguments to defend himself made her stomach churn.

“I’m not making decisions.”

“You are,” she slammed a hand on the the desk. “Do you really think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Her father reached his hand out, keeping his voice still low. “Calm down.”

“I will not calm down!”

Ferrante took a deep breath, raising from his chair to properly speak to his daughter. If there was one thing he didn’t tolerate, it was disrespect, but getting angry wouldn’t work, not now, at least. It would only make Nina more stubborn. If he wanted her to listen to him, he needed to get his point across nicely.

“What do you want to do with your life?” he asked her, apparently changing the subject.

Nina furrowed her brows, taken aback by his question. She could sense he was trying to direct the conversation somewhere, and she was quick to pull herself together.

“I want to study,” she said steadily.

“You’ve finished school,” he countered.

“There’s university.”

“Women don’t go to university.”

Nina squinted her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Then I want to work.”

“Poor women need to work. Do you want to ruin your hands in a factory?”

A glimpse of irony flashed across his face. Once again, his purpose seemed to be to make her feel stupid, or naive, like she had no idea how the world worked. The thing was, he was right, to some extent. Nina had little experience, she didn’t know everything. But there were things she knew, things she didn’t like, and she wasn’t going to accept them just because that was how life was.

Vincenzo walked around his desk to approach her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, his expression softening. “I’m only worried about you,” he said. “About what your life will be like if you go on like this.”

“It’s my life, dad,” she whispered, feeling the tears well up in her eyes against her will. “Maybe you’re right, and I’m ruining myself with my own hands. But the choice is mine to make.”

Despite everything, she thought she could make him understand. There had to be a way to get through him, to make him see, she didn’t want to ruin the bond they had always had. Because she would make her own decisions either way, and she wished for him to support her. She needed him to support her.

“You’re my daughter. I can’t stand back and watch you do that to yourself,” he shook her slightly. “Let go of these fantasies, Nina. Real life is something else.”

Of course. How stupid of her to imagine that he could even try to understand. She shrugged his hands off, forcing back her tears. “You’re wrong.”

Her father nodded to himself, taking a step back. “We’ll see,” he simply said. “As for Stefano, I told you already. The choice is up to you, I’m not forcing you to do anything,” he reassured her, but his condescending tone had the opposite effect.

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, but that son of a bitch is always around.”

“Language.”

Nina scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. He didn’t see the point. He didn’t want to see the point. He only cared about business, about power. Why was she wasting her time?

She made her way towards the door, but she stopped in her tracks when her hand grabbed the handle. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke again, but she didn’t around to look at him.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Tommy watched as Nina strode out of Ferrante’s study with a face like thunder. He had heard the screams, but he hadn’t been able to make out what the fuss was about, the long sequence of Italian sentences unfamiliar to him.

Those kinds of arguments had happened frequently, over the last three days. Nina had become unmanageable - not that she had ever been the manageable type. But she had gotten worse. If someone so much as glanced at her the wrong way or said one word too many, she’d turn it into an excuse to fight. She was sensitive, and snappish, and she seemed to have lost the ability to put on her mask of coolness and indifference. As a way to heal his wounded ego, which still burned from the things she had said to him, he told himself it was a good thing she had rejected him. If she had the gall to talk back to her father like that, there was no doubt she’d act even worse with her husband, and he had enough headaches already. And for sure, he would’ve never wanted to be at the receiving hand of her temper.

Nina stopped in front of him, recollecting herself, and Tommy couldn’t not notice she radiated the same frigidity as when they had met for the first time. “My father wants to see you, Mr Shelby,” she said coldly.

Ah, now she called him Mr Shelby. As if she hadn’t been whimpering his name in his ear a few nights before.

“I think we’re way past the formalities, sweetheart.”

His remark was enough to make her falter. She blinked up at him, shocked by his bluntness.

“Way past,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“Will you lower your voice?” she hissed, taking a look around to make sure no one was near.

Tommy held back a smirk at her flustered state. Her usual frown had deepened, and a tinge of red had crept up her cheeks. Had the situation between them been different, he would’ve gladly went on. He had to remind himself he wasn’t in the position to tease her anymore. Nina had said it very clearly, she didn’t care about him. What had happened between them had been a mistake, she regretted it. She regretted him.

Then why were her eyes telling a different story?

Nina huffed, tucking a rebel strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s waiting for you,” she murmured.

Her arm brushed against his as she walked past him, sending a spark of electricity through his whole body. Leaving him wondering when he had gotten to the point where the slightest contact threatened to make his self-control crumble.

Nina examined her figure in the mirror, a niggling uneasiness taking over her. She wasn’t used to doll herself up like that. She had put on a beautiful dress for the occasion, done her makeup, managed to tame her long hair, and she had half-hoped she would be happy with the result once she was done. However, in her silk dress, in her makeup, with her hair away from her face, Nina felt like a fraud. Ridiculous, even.

She had always been the ugly duckling of the brood. When her cousins had started to bloom into beautiful women, she was still all elbows and knees, drawing the petty comments of her aunts, poorly hidden behind harmless jokes. She remembered all too well the embarrassment she felt every time they pointed out her flat chest, joking about how if she cut her hair she could be mistaken for a boy. She was ashamed to admit that even though she wasn’t that gawky kid anymore, those words had stuck with her. She tried to convince herself she didn’t care about being pretty, that her mind was her primary concern, but the truth was, sometimes she wanted to feel pretty.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just pretend, she told herself, straightening her back. It was a little exercise she had trained herself to do over the years. Head high, impassive face, don’t let them get to you, act like you know exactly what you want, walk like you know exactly where you’re going. It worked, most of the times. Maybe if she pretended long enough one day she’d be able to convince herself as well.

Once ready, she crossed the upstairs floor of the house, reaching the separate corridor in which her parents’ bedroom was located. Her mother was standing in front of a full-length mirror, fixing some pins in her hair. Nina leaned against the doorframe, and allowed herself to stay in her company for a while.

Out of the comfortable clothes she used to wear, out of the kitchen, out of the restraints of her role as a wife and a mother doomed to annihilate herself, she looked years younger. The dress she was wearing was modest, elegant, and the dark blue shade perfectly complimented her complexion. The shadow of a rare genuine smile grew on her face as she put on her pearl earrings, mixed with an emotion Nina couldn’t quite recognise. She could almost swear there were tears in her eyes. Nina realised she didn’t even remember the last time she had seen her mother taking care of her appearance like that, and that finally having the chance to do it must be a source of melancholy as well as joy. Was that what a life dedicated to the care of a whole family had done to her? Had she forgotten herself to that degree?

“What are you looking at?” Maria asked gruffly, glancing at her daughter through the mirror.

How sweet. Nina pursed her lips to hide a sly grin, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Nothing.”

Her mother frowned, smoothing down her dress, then she turned around to face her. She looked at the ground for a moment, then back at Nina, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “How do I look?”

A pang of sorrow spread in Nina’s chest at the thought that her mother might feel anything else but beautiful. “Stunning, mum,” she said truthfully.

“Is this too much?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s perfect.”

The older woman turned to the mirror again, her features softening. “Go downstairs, tell your father I’m almost ready.”

Reluctantly, Nina mustered up the courage to get out of her hiding, mechanical step after mechanical step, like a man facing the gallows. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to feel her relatives’ judgmental stares on her. She didn’t want to see Stefano. She didn’t want to watch Tommy and Agnese be officially presented as a couple. Husband and wife. It made her feel sick. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw Tommy standing on top of the staircase, checking the time on his pocket watch, handsome in his formal attire.

His head shot up upon hearing the sound of her footsteps, and for a while it felt like the whole world had stopped turning just for him to have that moment. That moment to look at her, to take in the sight of her in her long, light blue dress that enhanced her tanned skin; with her ebony hair pinned up, exposing her delicate neck and cleavage, instead of hiding her as usual.

“You…” Tommy’s breath hitched in his throat, his mouth dry. You’re beautiful.

He didn’t dare say it.

“Hi,” Nina murmured, fidgeting with her own fingers. She had no idea of what to do or say. Standing there and staring at him like an idiot was clearly not an option, so she decided to approach the stairs. But one look at the long series of steps was enough for her to understand that there was no way she could descend it in her heels without making a fool of herself. Had she been alone, she would’ve gripped the railing like her life depended on it and ungracefully stomped her way down.

As if he had read her mind, Tommy offered her his arm without uttering a single word. He limited himself to peering at her, his gaze indecipherable, intense. Nina accepted his help, trying not to think about how natural it felt to have her hand in the crook of his elbow as they climbed down the stairs. Her legs were shaking, probably not because of the shoes, and she just hoped she wouldn’t trip over her feet and ruinously fall on her face. When she walked down the last step, she realised she had been holding her breath the whole time.

“Thank you,” she whispered, letting go of his arm.

Tommy nodded, taking a step back.

He needed a drink - or possibly two or three - to give him the strength to get through the night. Now more than ever he felt like he was putting handcuffs around his wrists rather than a ring on his finger. He had been telling himself that everything was going reasonably well, that following the plan which had been made over a month before was the best thing to do. He was going to marry the woman they had chosen for him, a beautiful woman, who would make him look good. Agnese was sweet, and gentle. She would take care of the house, of him, give him children. He would have a good life with her. She would bring him peace, turn his house into a safe place away from the wickedness of his business.

Nina would’ve brought him the storm. With her, a life of confrontation, of compromise, maybe even conflict would’ve awaited him. He would’ve had to answer to her, to accept her sharp edges and the sides of her that weren’t easy to deal with.

No, he was lying to himself. Confrontation, compromise, conflict had been his daily bread since he was a kid. His restless nature had never cared for peace. His skin was thick enough not to get cut on her edges. And pain had never scared him anyway. But that didn’t matter. The wedding would be in two weeks, then he would leave that place behind. Leave Nina behind. He’d forget about her like he had forgotten about Grace. He had done it once, he could do it again. Even if he’d prefer to rip his heart out of his chest.

For the engagement party, Agnese’s family had chosen to celebrate in the garden that surrounded the two houses. Everything had been planned with the outmost care: there were tables, flowers, candles, waiters balancing trays of champagne, musicians playing mesmerising tunes. A whole team of chefs had been hired for the delicious dinner. Nina had been pleased to find out that she wouldn’t have to share the table with Stefano, this time, who had sat with his family and other guests far away from her. Nevertheless, she had barely touched her food. Her stomach was still twisted from the events of the day. Now she was standing aside, watching as some couples gathered to dance. Including Tommy and Agnese.

They were both beautiful. Exceptionally so. Agnese was radiant in her ivory dress, she glowed with the happiness of a girl who was about to see all her dreams come true. Tommy held her in his arms with great gentleness as they swayed to the rhythm, and despite the vicious bites of jealousy, Nina was unable to look away. He’d fall in love with Agnese, of that she was sure. Her cousin was stunning, and sweet, and caring, all things Nina was not. Tommy would fall in love with Agnese and realise how blind he had been for ever setting his eyes on someone like her.

A tall figure came to stand by her side, and she was engulfed by the smell of a strong cologne mixed with cigar smoke. The man exuded an aura of power, dominance, along with a calm that was nothing more than a cover for something far more dangerous, unpredictable. Vito Spinietta. Her body tensed, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. Sending him a sideways glance, she was met with his calculating gaze. He was inspecting her, assessing her, searching for any weak point as though he could read into her.

“Good evening,” he said, not taking his eyes off her.

“Good evening.”

A heavy silence followed. Nina wasn’t a fool, she was aware that if Stefano’s brother had taken the trouble to go speak to her it wasn’t to make small talk. The heir to the Spinietta empire was too practical a man to waste his time on pleasantries, and certainly wasn’t there for the pleasure of her company.

“I know there’s no point beating around the bush with you,” he said, confirming her suspicions. “So I’ll be direct. I’m here on behalf of my brother.”

Nina tilted her head in amusement. Had it really become a family matter? Had a no on her part caused such commotion?

“Stefano’s a good guy,” he announced solemnly. “It’s just that sometimes he acts the wrong way.”

Nina had to hold back a dismissive laugh at his statement. A good guy. It was almost as pathetic as the excuse he had made up for his behaviour.

“What am I supposed to do with this information?”

“He cares about you.”

“So you’ve taken it upon yourself to play Cupid,” she said bitterly, with a little edge of sarcasm, earning herself a stern look. “It doesn’t suit you,” she shook her head, mocking him behind an expression that was meant to feign innocent honesty.

Vito raised his chin, reacting with silence to her insolent replies. “It would be good to unite the families, considering the circumstances,” he said instead. “And a rejection could be seen as…” he paused, searching her face. “An offence.”

His words had Nina knitting her eyebrows in a frown. He had pronounced them in an ambiguous, vague way, but she hadn’t missed the gloomy undertone. “Is this a threat?”

“What do you take me for?” he asked, clearly just pretending to be offended. “I’d never threaten a woman.”

He was playing the card of the man of honour. As if he and his brother hadn’t done even worse to the girls of the town. She had to say something now. Too long had she let Stefano scare her, she wouldn’t make the same mistake with Vito. The Spiniettas weren’t the only ones who got power, she came from a tough family as well, and she would no longer forget who she was.

“Listen,” she started, turning to properly look at him. “I’m not scared of you, or your brother, or your threats.”

Vito clenched his jaw, his mouth twisting into a grimace.

Nina took a step towards him, further decreasing the already short distance between them. “You two think you can do as you please because I am a woman?” she narrowed her eyes. “Think again. Cause one word from me and you’ll see your whole organisation fall around your ears.”

“Is this a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

Nina wanted to see his mask slip. She wanted him to reveal himself, like Stefano had revealed himself not so long ago, when he had put his hands on her in her own house. She wanted him to give her a reason to draw her knife on him, there, in front of everyone. But Vito wasn’t Stefano. It would take a lot more to make him lose his composure.

Vito took a step back, observing her. He could see why his brother was so adamant on having her. Stefano had always loved a good challenge. He didn’t want someone obedient by nature, someone who would listen to his every command. He wanted someone difficult, someone he could take his time to bend. Or break. It would’ve taken way more than a few slaps to break that one.

Their conversation came to an end when Stefano walked up to Nina, holding out his hand to her. “Wanna dance?”

Nina took a look around. Her situation hadn’t gone unnoticed: most of the guests had been peering at her and Vito, trying to figure out what was going on, and now that Stefano had entered the picture, they were sending them subtle glances, waiting to see if Nina would’ve accepted his invitation. Her first instinct was to say no, but leaving him there in front of everyone would cause quite the stir, and surely take the attention away from the new couple. That was Agnese’s night, and she didn’t have the right to ruin it for her. Not after what she had already done. So she placed her hand in his, and unwillingly let him lead her to the dance floor.

His hand was light on her waist as he lead the dance, yet that contact felt heavy, violent. It made her skin crawl. She focused on the ground behind his shoulders, trying to ignore the weight of people’s stares on them. She was afraid to raise her head and find out Tommy was watching too.

It didn’t take her long to detach herself from her surroundings. She didn’t hear the music, she didn’t see the couples dancing around them, she was only uncomfortably aware of Stefano’s proximity, of the heat of his body, of the burning marks his hands seemed to leave into her flesh. He had the predatory eyes of a raptor as he scrutinised the uncovered parts of her body, taking on the appearance of a beast waiting for the right moment to bite.

“I love you, Nina,” he whispered in her ear, his tone pleading. “I want to make you happy. I want to give you everything.”

Nina could read it on his face. He did think he loved her, he was truly convinced that his sick obsession was love. It’s wasn’t merely a matter of wounded ego, he was sincerely hurt in his own, twisted way. And that was something that could potentially make him even more dangerous. A shiver ran down her spine, but she forced herself not to shy away, and she let him speak without interrupting him.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes with you, and I want to fix them. Let me make it right.” His arm tightened around her as he brought her even closer. “I can be good to you.” There was desperation now in his voice. Nina tried to put some distance between them, but he didn’t let her. “I can be good to you, and you can be good to me. I’ll teach you how to be good to me.” His fingers curled around her hand in a painful grip. “Think about what we could be together. Say yes.”

Nina squeezed her eyes, overwhelmed by his insistent touch, his urgent words; disgusted by the image of them living in the same house that had forced itself into her mind; repulsed by his eagerness to mould her.

The music ended, bringing them back to reality. Nina was relieved to be able to pull away from Stefano, whose grip had finally loosened. He was out of his mind if he thought she could ever forget what he had done to her. A wave of rage ran through her, but she was careful not to let it show. Straightening her back, she looked him dead in the eyes, and just one word left her mouth.

“No.”

Stefano’s face fell, disappointment and anger battling in his irises, and his fist clenched by his side. However, Nina didn’t stay there to wait for a reaction. She turned on her heels and walked away from him, from the dance floor, from the crowd of nosy guests. Her inner turmoil grew with every step, and her state of panic was such that she didn’t even realise she had entered her house. With an irritated huff, she hastily fumbled with her impractical shoes and left them at the entrance, then sought refuge in her bedroom.

She took some deep breaths, rubbing her face. It felt like the more she tried to fix things, the more she made them worse, and there was no way out of that endless cycle. What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to act? Who was she supposed to beg to drag her out of that situation? Because it was becoming clearer and clearer that she wouldn’t be able to make it by herself. When had things taken that turn? Had there been a mistake, a single, fateful mistake she had made that had caused all of that? Or was it someone else’s fault? Or was it no one’s fault?

Too many questions, not enough answers. Racking her brains to find a pattern, to put order to the events was useless. They were too tangled, too intricate. It hadn’t started when she had made love with Tommy, nor when he had kissed her, nor when he had appeared in her life. It hadn’t even started when she had pointed a knife at Stefano’s throat, nor when she had let him get close to her all those years ago at school. Had it started, perhaps, when she had insisted on studying? Was it her punishment for wanting more than she could have? More questions, still no answers. The worst thing was, she couldn’t see a way out.

There was a soft knocking on the open door, and when Nina turned around Tommy was there. He looked exhausted, as if the evening had drained him of all his energy. It was unusual to see him like that, he wasn’t the kind of man who let his distress show. For the first time, she realised how much the whole marriage situation had taken a toll on him.

If the reasonable part of her wanted him to leave, the other - the one she seemingly had no control over - needed him close to her. It was absurd how reassuring his presence felt. Maybe that was what had drawn her to him in the first place. When everything around her was swirling, when there was nothing certain or reliable, Tommy was stable, solid. Something to hold on to.

Nina forced those thoughts away. She was losing her mind. Tommy was the least stable thing in her life. He wasn’t there to stay, he would leave in two weeks time and she would never see him again, except for a few occasions, like Christmas or maybe weddings. Indulging in that kind of fantasy would only make things harder.

“Is this your plan?” Tommy suddenly asked, a hint of accusation leaking out of his neutral tone. “Say yes to Spinietta?”

Nina felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her, and her musings disappeared to give way to pure surprise. “What?” she asked in disbelief, widening her eyes.

“You heard me.”

“That’s ridiculous, I’d never do that.”

“Is that why you were dancing with him?” he raised his eyebrows, pointing at the door with his finger, as if Stefano were outside the room.

Nina shook her head, still not believing they were actually having that conversation. “You shouldn’t mix whiskey with champagne,” she said dryly, her voice coming out harsher than she had intended. But Tommy didn’t seem fazed by it.

“You looked rather intimate,” he noted with a touch of contempt, too upset to realise how preposterous his assumptions sounded.

Nina’s mouth fell agape. She hadn’t missed the inflection in his voice. Was he… jealous? She squinted her eyes, taking a step towards him. “What’s this?” she inquired.

Her question seemed to catch him off guard. He wavered, and an emotion difficult to define flashed across his features. It was more than simply pain. It was like all the resentment Tommy had harboured since that fateful afternoon was flowing out, inexorable, making him unable to think with a clear mind. Biting back was the only way he had to protect the feelings he had foolishly let show. Guilt ate at her stomach at the sight, and she had to remind herself she had done what she had done for him, before anyone else.

As if finally coming back to himself, Tommy clenched his jaw, and took on his usual, impassive expression. “I can’t believe you,” he murmured. “After everything he’s done to you.”

Nina nervously fidgeted with her fingers, not knowing how to make him see that he couldn’t be more wrong. Did he think so little of her? “I’m not..” she trailed off, torn between her sense of guilt and her pride. The latter took the upper hand. She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You have no right to lecture me.”

“True,” he nodded. “I have no right. Cause what happened between us was a mistake and you don’t care about me.”

That was the point. That had always been the point. Tommy thought she had cruelly played him, maybe even used him, just to discard him when she didn’t want him anymore. She exhaled deeply, not meeting his eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s not like that,” he let out a humourless chuckle. “You said it, you’re taking it back now?”

“Stop it.”

“Eh?” Tommy’s voice raised, overlapping hers. “Are you taking it back?”

“I said stop.”

“You said-”

“I lied!” she snapped.

A tense silence fell in the room. Tommy blinked, and all the bitterness faded from his features. “Wha… what?” he stuttered, a confused frown forming on his face.

Nina didn’t regret her admission. She was so tired of pretending, of lying, of hurting him, and saying it out loud lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“I lied,” she repeated, more softly. “I never meant to hurt you. I…” her voice cracked. “I did it to protect you. To protect both of us.” There was no going back now. Her walls had been breached, and the words she had fought hard to keep to herself were leaving her lips before she had the chance to measure them. “Do you have any idea how much we’re risking? I’m risking? We talked about it, I told you how these things work.”

Tentatively, Tommy broke the distance between them, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up. “Is this what you’re scared of?” he asked incredulous, searching her face frantically, his frown deepening. “I’d never let anything bad happen to you. I’d never let anyone lay a fucking finger on you. You hear me?”

Nina believed him. He would stand between her and harm’s way without a second thought. But that was the problem. She took his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over it before pulling it away from her face. “And what about you?”

“What?”

“Do you really think you could’ve changed your mind? That they would let you, at that point? You made your decision when you started courting Agnese.”

“Maybe they would’ve understood-”

“No. Her father would’ve wanted your head for humiliating his daughter. The deal would’ve been off and you would’ve been six feet underground in a matter of hours.”

And I’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you because of me, she wanted to add.

Tommy didn’t reply, but the pain in his eyes spoke for him. He knew she was right.

Nina gently stroked his cheek. “We never had a chance,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m not worth starting a war over.”

Tommy squeezed his eyelids, shaking his head as if to chase that unbearable thought away. Then, impetuously, he kicked the door shut and crushed his lips against hers. The force of the kiss knocked Nina’s breath out of her lungs, but she was quick to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing their bodies together.

Tommy backed her towards the dresser behind her, then he hoisted her up in his strong arms and sat her on it. A groan left his lips when Nina hooked a leg around him, bringing him even closer. His hands roamed down to her hips, gripping, squeezing, his tongue exploring her sweet mouth. He relished her warmth, her scent, her soft hands caressing his face, trying to imprint every little feeling into his memory. He wanted her, in the most raw, primal way. Because it was the only way he had to have her. Or at least, to delude himself he did. She was like water in his hands, she slipped through his fingers again and again, never letting him hold her, never letting him keep her. But with his fingers digging in her skin, she almost seemed real.

Pulling away to catch his breath, Tommy dropped his forehead into her neck, grabbing her waist. “You’re killing me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You’re fucking killing me.”

Tears began to stream down Nina’s cheeks. She felt like the worst person alive. She was causing so much pain, to him, to herself. She gently stroked the back of his head, sniffling. “You should go,” she compelled herself to say, although in that moment she wanted nothing more than for him to stay. “They’ll notice your absence.”

“They’re all drunk, they won’t,” he contradicted her.

“Agnese will.”

“She’s with her sisters.”

“But-”

Tommy’s head shot up to look at her, silencing her with his icy glare. “Fuck them,” he husked, wiping away her tears.

Fuck them.

Their mouths collided again. Blood rushed through Nina’s veins as Tommy kissed her hungrily. She could feel him everywhere, she was completely enveloped by him, by his smell of soap, whiskey and cigarettes, by the feeling of his rough hands, and yet she wanted more. She wanted to crumble and be brought into a new existence, to melt in his arms and become one heart, one body, one soul.

They only parted so she could help Tommy get free of his jacket. He was back on her right away, leaving a trail of kisses from her neck down to her chest, his teeth grazing the soft skin from time to time, making goosebumps ripple down her skin. He impatiently lifted her dress, fingers brushing against her smooth legs. More free to move, Nina allowed him more space, and her insides clenched with desire when she felt the bulge in his trousers against her.

Tommy’s hand ghosted over her clothed sex, making her squirm in anticipation. “Tommy,” she moaned, urging him to touch her where she needed the most. Pushing her underwear to the side, he slid two digits into her wet entrance, coaxing a sinful, beautiful sound out of her lips. Nina held onto his shoulders as he started to move his fingers, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Look at me,” Tommy commanded, cupping her chin with his free hand. Her eyelids fluttered open, showing him her glossy eyes filled with pleasure, causing his cock to painfully twitch.

He pumped his fingers in and out of her, working her open, eliciting small gasps from her that threatened to make him lose his mind. His thumb went to stroke her clit, the unexpected motion making her yelp.

Fuck, she was so beautiful.

“Tommy, please…” she whispered, clutching the soft material of his shirt. “I need you.”

She didn’t need to say it twice. Wasting no time, Tommy slid his fingers out of her to get rid of her knickers, discarding them somewhere on the floor, then fumbled with his trousers, finally freeing himself from all restraints. He grabbed Nina’s thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the dresser so he could position himself between her folds, then he entered her with one swift thrust, burying himself inside of her. Nina hid her face in his shoulder, one hand coming to cup the nape of his neck, the other clutching the fabric of his shirt. Tommy began to rock his hips, firmly yet slowly, giving her the time to adjust to the feeling of him stretching her walls.

Nina clung onto him as if he could shield her from the unknown, as if he were a shelter, a place where she could forget, even for a moment, the uncertain future that awaited her. A future she tried to escape from, but the more she ran, the more she found it on her heels, ready to catch her, to drag her into the darkness that had been threatening her for years.

Tommy’s pace quickened, becoming more desperate, almost brutal, arms wrapped around her waist, bringing every inch of their bodies together. Nina was surprised to find that was exactly what she needed in that moment. It kept her anchored to him and only him.

“You feel so good,” Tommy growled, digging his fingers in her flesh, and her cheeks burned at his words.

He set a merciless rhythm, pounding into her with sharp thrusts. Nina barely recognised the sounds that were coming out of her, but she was too lost in her pleasure to be worried about them. Breath hitched in her throat when he reached a particular spot that made her see stars, and he hit it again and again, drawing shaky whimpers out of her. With each minute that passed she felt closer and closer to her release, and Tommy must’ve been aware of that too. She let out a strangled noise when he brought a finger to her swollen clit, the fire in her abdomen too much to bear.

“C’mon, love,” he rasped. “Cum for me.”

He drew small circles on her sensitive bud, pushing her over the edge. Her walls fluttered around his cock, shockwaves gripping her body as she came undone. Tommy kept on thrusting into her, hips ruthlessly snapping as he chased his climax, until with a last, powerful thrust, he emptied himself inside of her, grunting in her ear.

For a while, neither of them moved. They stayed in each other’s embrace, panting, savouring that ephemeral semblance of peace. Nina nuzzled her cheek against his, the comforting scent of his aftershave filling her nostrils. Neither of them seemed to intend to let go first.

God, she didn’t want to let him go. Before she could control them, tears filled Nina’s eyes again, and she tried her best to prevent them from falling. Why did it have to be so hard? Why did she have to fall for the one man she could never have? Why did her happiness have to cause so much damage? The most irrational part of it was that despite all of that, being in his arms felt like the rightest thing in the world. They perfectly moulded together like they had been created just fit into each other’s arms, to fill each other’s voids. Nothing she had ever felt could compare to it.

Eventually, they moved apart. They fixed their clothes in silence, pulling themselves together as best they could. Not that Nina cared at all. There was no way she was going back to the party. No one would notice anyway.

“Go,” she whispered, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen on his forehead. “They must be looking for you.”

Tommy gently cradled the back of her head, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll come to you later,” he promised.

Nina nodded, forcing herself to smile. But tears started flowing as soon as she watched him walk out the door.

NEXT CHAPTER

Heart, Body and Sould tag list

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Tommy Shelby tag list:

@50svibes @bellabarnes1378

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x oc

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